Uncertain Honor Page 10

“They’re acting suspicious,” Hektor announced. “You could see the nervousness in their eyes.”

  “This is an outpost of the Southern Legion,” Alerio justified. “With their headquarters across the Messina Strait, these Legionaries don’t get many visits from Senior Tribunes.”

  “You’re correct, sir,” a Centurion confirmed. He walked from a hallway and saluted. “What can my detachment help you with?”

  “In my wake, there are three hundred plus warships full of hungry Legionaries and oarsmen,” Alerio replied. “I’m here to secure grain for the fleet.”

  “Senior Tribune, you are a day late,” the Centurion told him. “A Punic trader arrived yesterday and purchased every kernel of grain in Catania.”

  Alerio sagged at the news, but quickly regained his posture, if not his attitude.

  “At first I thought it was coincidence and I had fallen under the spell of the Goddess of Ruin,” Alerio stated. “But it’s not Até. It’s the Qart Hadasht Empire trying to stop us.”

  “At least it’s not a fleet of ships-of-war bearing down on you, sir,” the line officer suggested.

  Alerio wrinkled his forehead and the Centurion worried that he had displeased the staff officer. He hadn’t.

  “On second thought, a shortage of grain will not stop our fleet,” Alerio pondered aloud. “It’s more like someone is attempting to delay our passage. But why?”

  “They need time to ready their fleet,” Hektor guessed.

  Alerio tensed. The ramifications were staggering. Spies had passed the word to Qart Hadasht command about the invasion. That was expected. But to have purchasing agents in place with transport ships and coins revealed how early in the planning process they learned of the invasion? Buying up the grain would slow the Republic fleet just a couple of weeks. If Hektor’s conjecture was accurate, the Qart Hadasht fleet had almost assembled.

  “Centurion, my compliments to your Optio on his alert guards and their quick reaction,” Alerio stated while walking to a desk in the officer’s quarters. “I do need something from you. A wineskin of good vino, a change of clothing, two fast horses, and a squad on the beach to greet our fleet. When Consul Regulus arrives, you will carry my message to him, personally.”

  “Yes, sir,” the line officer agreed.

  After he wrote a long missive laying out his theory, Alerio and Hektor rode to the beach. While the boy carried Alerio’s armor and clothing identifying him as a staff officer to the warship, Alerio crossed the sand to the ship’s senior officer.

  “Centurion Kimo. You will launch as planned,” Alerio directed. “Catch the Punic grain ships and confiscate the vessels and their cargo if you can. However, be advised, there may be a Qart Hadasht fleet out there somewhere.”

  “If we run into any Qart Hadasht ships, we’ll send them to Poseidon,” Kimo swore.

  “If you sight a ship-of-war, turn around and row away,” Alerio ordered. “It’s more important that you warn our fleet than for you to prove your courage in battle.”

  “So be it,” Kimo whined. Then he inquired. “Where will you be, sir?”

  “Hektor and I are going to Syracuse to see about grain,” Alerio explained. “We’ll meet you at Pozzallo.”

  “Yes, sir,” the ship’s officer acknowledged.

  Hektor returned with a leather satchel.

  “Are you ready?” Alerio asked him.

  “Yes, Senior Tribune,” the boy replied.

  “Try to keep up,” Alerio challenged.

  He vaulted onto the saddle, tied the satchel between the twin saddle horns, and kicked the mount into motion. Hektor’s horse was right off the haunches of Alerio’s as they vanished into the dark.

  Chapter 11 – The Price of Chance

  Napping at midday under the Mediterranean sun was an acceptable practice. Unless the sentry was on duty. On the other side of the spectrum, napping outdoors under the full moon meant the person should go to bed. Unless it was a guardsman manning the northwest gate of Syracuse.

  Getting posted at the northwest gate, placed the sentry out near the abandoned fort. In another few months, the renovations on the fortifications would be completed, and Companies of soldiers would take over the guard duty. Until then, no NCO or officer bothered to make the trip across town to inspect the guardsman on the northwest gate.

  “Ah, civilization at last,” Alerio exclaimed as he and Hektor reined in at the closed gate.

  “Who’s there?” the startled guard blustered. While wiping the sleep from his eyes, he stepped from the gatehouse. He held a torch up and examined Alerio through the bars. “What’s your business in Syracuse, Latian?”

  “We’ve been on the road from Echetla for three days,” Alerio described. “Rocks for our bed, cold for comfort, dried meat for nourishment, and nothing except a few skins of good red wine to soothe our souls.”

  “The gate is secured until dawn. Camp away from the wall,” the guard instructed.

  He began to turn away.

  “Please, sir, pass the guard this wineskin,” Alerio begged Hektor. “We have extra and it’s a long wait until dawn.”

  The mention of wine stopped the sentry. He faced the bars and reached for the wineskin.

  “You’re Greek,” the sentry noted.

  “I am, sir,” Hektor bragged. “My grandfather was a Silver Shield who fought with King Alexander. You’ve heard of the Shields?”

  “Every Greek boy grows up dreaming of fighting with Alexander the Great as a Shield,” the guardsmen admitted. “Why do you travel with the Latian? Is he your master?”

  Hektor burst out laughing. After a few deep breaths, the youth regained his composure.

  “Oh, the humor of thinking Tail Leader Nicanor’s grandson would be a servant to a Latian,” Hektor chuckled. “May Feronia, the Goddess of Freedmen, forgive your blasphemy. The Latian is my weapon’s instructor and traveling companion.”

  The guard fumbled when balancing the wineskin and the torch. Giving up on juggling, he placed the items on the ground and lifted the locking beam. Once free, he flung the gate open.

  “Enter, grandson of General Nicanor,” the sentry announced.

  Hektor and Alerio rode through the gate and followed the path towards the city. Behind them, the guardsman lifted the wineskin and saluted the Silver Shields, Commander Nicanor, and his grandson.

  “I thought Nicanor was a Captain of Phalanx,” Alerio mentioned when they were away from the gate. “The sentry called him General.”

  “At first Nicanor was the Tail Leader for the Shields,” Hektor answered. “But Alexander promoted him to the General of his elite foot-guards. I like the Silver Shields story better.”

  “Apparently the guardsman did as well,” Alerio confirmed. “Let’s pick up the pace. We need to be done by daylight.”

  “Need to be done with what, sir?” Hektor inquired.

  ***

  Although a full moon brightened the slate roofs and the eaves of the structures, between buildings deep shadows shrouded the facades. Despite the night and shade, Alerio made turns and walked the horse confidently down empty roads.

  “Do you know where we’re going, sir?” Hektor asked.

  “To buy grain,” Alerio replied.

  “I meant, where are we going to buy the grain?”

  “At a grain sellers.”

  “Senior Tribune, I don’t understand,” the boy admitted. “It’s the middle of the night. No sane trader will be open for business.”

  Alerio pulled the reins and guided the horse to the dark wall of a compound.

  “Wait here and try not to get killed,” he urged while slipping off the horse.

  At a gate that was recognizable only because it was darker than the wall, the Senior Tribune rapped on the wood. Hektor couldn’t see anything move, but he heard a pile of leaves and rags on the roadside rustled as if a gust of wind blew the rubble. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except there was no wind.

  The gate opened and a flicker of candlelight escap
ed from the compound. In a moment, the light winked out and a click revealed the closing of the gate. In the dark, Hektor could make out the empty wall. Senior Tribune Sisera was gone.

  ***

  Milon guided Alerio down the hallway to his office. Without saying a word, the manager for the Golden Valley Trading House directed Alerio to a seat.

  “As an ally of the Golden Valley you have the right to demand sanctuary. However, you rode in at night with a companion. I presume you are not being hunted,” Milon suggested. “You do not appear to require medical attention. And as you know, the house will not accept a contract on you. Nor will we take a contract on your enemy. Unless you pay for one. That leaves information. What do you need to know?”

  “Every time I’ve been to a Trading House,” Alerio remarked, “I’ve been tested to demonstrate something to an apprentice. And the managers, you included, read the markings on my Ally of the Golden Valley dagger. What has you distracted?”

  “It is nothing that concerns you, Tribune,” Milon assured Alerio. To emphasize his words, he waved a hand as if brushing the topic aside. “What information do you need?”

  “In a manner of speaking, it’s not information I require,” Alerio told him. “What I need is to buy four hundred tons of grain, and have it shipped to the town of Pozzallo. If you can broker the deal, I’ll be pleased. If not, I’ll settle for the name of a trusted merchant.”

  Milon settled back in his chair and lifted both arms so the cloth sleeves rolled back exposing his forearms. A host of knife scars, from years of blade practice, crisscrossed both arms. All the trading house managers appeared intense and, while pleasant in a brisk sort of way at every meeting, Alerio sensed violence crouching just below the surface. Given the history stoicism, the relaxed posture and the amused expression on Milon’s face puzzled Alerio.

  “Did I say something entertaining?” Alerio questioned.

  “Are you familiar with the Goddess Tyche? Or Palamedes the inventor of dice?” Milon inquired. When Alerio shook his head no, the manager continued. “A hero of the Trojan War, Palamedes, journeyed to the city of Argos with his invention. There, he met the Goddess. Until then, his invention had demonstrated indiscriminate odds for gambling. But when he handed the dice to Tyche, she experienced a freeing feeling. No longer did she need to study a person’s life before bestowing luck. With a throw of Palamedes’ dice, the Goddess was able to dispense fortune for good or ill with just a throw. This night, she has thrown for us, Tribune Sisera. The result is you are a victim while I am the beneficiary of Palamedes’ dice.”

  “You might want to update the carvings on the hilt,” Alerio corrected. He learned a few years ago that the trading house managers marked the hilt of the ally dagger with his information. Figuring to bring Milton up to date, he reported. “I’m a Senior Tribune now and married. But what do you mean by a victim?”

  “You need grain and obviously you can’t go through normal trading channels,” Milon described. “And as luck would have it, I am in need of a swordsman.”

  “I’m not an assassin,” Alerio warned him. Beyond quality merchandise, the Golden Valley Trading House also offered, to a discerning clientele, death by contract. “Besides, doesn’t your trading house keep a couple of spare killers on the premises?”

  “Unfortunately, they’re both on an assignment,” Milon stated. “And I don’t need you to kill my client. I need you to protect her.”

  “Not that I’m saying yes to the offer,” Alerio commented. “But who needs to be protected. And who am I protecting the client from?”

  “Her name if Lady Cassia Tolis Lagos,” the manager responded. “The Lady Cassia has fallen in love with a dashing cavalryman. Her problem? She is already married to Ganis Lagos, a one-time Olympian running champion. Since the marriage and his glory days in front of cheering crowds, Master Lagos has let himself go.”

  “Define letting himself go?” Alerio asked.

  “He doesn’t bathe, nor change into clean clothing,” Milton listed. “Physically, he had gone to fat, and he lays around the house drinking wine all day.”

  “That’s pretty far gone,” Alerio admitted. “It does explain the calvary officer. But why does she need defending. Master Lagos doesn’t sound dangerous. You could just get her out of the house.”

  “The house is the crux of the matter,” Milton explained. “They bought the house with Cassia’s dowery. And although she plans to petition for a divorce, she will not leave the property until Ganis pays her the coins.”

  “I take it Master Lagos doesn’t have the funds to refund the dowry. Or maybe he doesn’t want the divorce,” Alerio offered. “He seems to be comfortable being taken care of by a rich wife.”

  “But you see Senior Tribune,” Milton told him while cutting tiny notches in the hilt of Alerio’s dagger, “by law when a wife commits adultery, the husband must divorce her. Or he will lose his citizenship.”

  “So far it sounds as if the husband should be contacting you for the services of the Sweet Fists,” Alerio surmised. “And not the Lady Cassia.”

  “No one said Master Lagos did not communicate me,” Milton responded. “And no one said Lady Cassia didn’t, either.”

  “Hold on,” Alerio exclaimed. “What contract are your two assassins working?”

  “Please Senior Tribune, you know we never talk about our clients or their contracts,” Milton countered. “But Lady Cassia needs protection for two days. Just until her brothers arrive from the family’s country estate. Once her male relatives come to claim the house, a magistrate will decide the matter.”

  “What if the Lady Cassia dies? Or your friends meet a nasty ending?” Alerio questioned. “Or I end up in Nenia Dea’s embrace?”

  “In all cases, your grain will be delivered,” Milton assured him. The manager slid a piece of reed paper and Alerio’s ally dagger across his desktop. “And you will be pleased to note, the Golden Valley Trading House will fulfill the grain contract at half the market cost.”

  “With the other half paid in blood,” Alerio complained. He picked up the items and stood. “Don’t bother getting up. I’ll show myself out.”

  ***

  The gate opened briefly, the Senior Tribune was backlit, and next the gateway went dark.

  “We’re going to get you a room at an inn for a couple of days,” Alerio informed Hektor.

  “If I’m napping at an inn, sir,” the boy inquired. “Where will you be?”

  “Making good on a contract,” Alerio replied while drawing his gladii and dual sword rig from the bundle.

  “No disrespect intended, sir, but I can’t go to an inn,” Hektor insisted. “You are preparing for a fight. No decent infantryman hides from battle.”

  “There are plenty of respectable infantrymen who don’t go looking for trouble,” Alerio proposed. “I suggest you be one of them.”

  “But I’m sworn to guard your back,” Hektor declared before asking. “What contract?”

  “To protect a woman from a pair of professional assassins,” Alerio replied.

  “Then let’s get going,” the youth declared.

  He climbed into the saddle. Thankfully, in the dark, the Senior Tribune couldn’t see the sweat on the youth’s brow. Nor could Hektor see the beads of moisture on Alerio’s forehead, either.

  Chapter 12 – Revenge is a Waste

  The stop at the tavern served a couple of purposes. Alerio and Hektor ate a late dinner or an early breakfast depending on the dish they ordered. after satisfying their hunger, Alerio balanced a silver coin on its edge and Hektor pointed it out to the serving girl.

  “We have two questions,” Alerio began.

  The waitress jumped back, and the candlelight flashed in her angry eyes.

  “I am no drama girl,” she hissed while holding the tray out as if holding a shield.

  Abusing the server was the farthest thing from either of their minds.

  “No, no that isn’t the thing,” Alerio begged. “Please just a couple
of questions.”

  “And the coin is yours,” Hektor promised.

  “The answer is no,” she mocked. “I know the game.”

  “Do you know the Lagos house?” Alerio asked quickly before she ran away. “And the apartment building where Ganis Lagos is staying?”

  “Lady Cassia’s home is two blocks away,” the girl told them. “It’s the one with the stone rabbit fashioned on the porch.”

  The citizens of Syracuse used many different building materials to create facades. The use of brick, coral, natural stone, wood, and chiseled black volcanic rock gave the homes unique bas relief imagery. A hare of stone should be easily located even in a city full of creative fronts.

  “And the apartment?” Hektor asked. He held the coin at arm’s length.

  “It’s in the other direction,” the server stated while inching forward. Her hand shot out and the coin vanished into her fist. “There’s a woodened octopus over the front door of the building.”

  She hopped back and winked at Hektor before sashaying towards the rear of the tavern.

  “Come on, lover boy,” Alerio teased, “we need to find both buildings while it’s still dark.”

  “Why aren’t we heading for Lady Cassia’s home straight away?” Hektor asked.

  “Because Ganis Lagos has to make the final payment before his contract goes active,” Alerio responded. “He will deliver the coins in the morning. Before that, we need to be ready.”

  They walked until spotting a sign in the lamplight displaying an octopus.

  “Take the wineskin,” Alerio offered.

  “I’m not thirsty, Senior Tribune,” the youth pleaded.

  “It’s not for you,” Alerio scolded. “It’s for Master Lagos. When you see him, ask if he’s thirsty?”

  “Oh, a temptation to delay him,” Hektor guessed.

  “Once you know he’s going for the trading house to make the payment,” Alerio instructed, “come find me. Or, if you’re smart, run away.”

  “I can’t do that, Senior Tribune,” Hektor assured Alerio.

  ***

  The rabbit relief was constricted of granite and, in the soft light of dawn, the chiseled stone resembled gray fur. Someone had paid handsomely to commission the granite artwork. Alerio opened the gate in the villa’s wall and crossed a small courtyard. He stopped briefly to admire the craftsman’s skill, before knocking on the front door.