Muted Implications (Clay Warrior Stories Book 12) Read online

  “The Sons are pirates,” Flaccus reminded the Tribune. “Could he have purchased passage?”

  “Centurion Sisera came to the paymaster for funds,” the officer answered. “We uncovered his crimes while he was asking about an advance on his pay. In short, sir, he has no coins to use as a bribe for the Sons.”

  “Senator, may I have a word in private?” the secretary asked.

  “I don’t see why not,” Flaccus agreed. “Tribunes, thank you both for your diligence. Leave the charge sheet and I’ll sign it.”

  “Sir,” the two staff officers said while saluting.

  They marched from the room and Flaccus turned his attention to his assistant.

  “Sir, Alerio Sisera is the officer Senator Maximus wants in the Capital,” the secretary prompted his boss. “As a favor to the Senator, you might not want to sign the charge sheet.”

  “Very good,” Flaccus agreed. He picked up the sheet and scanned the crimes. “I’ll burn these, and I’ll write a letter warning Maximus about the issues.”

  “Will we be carrying the letter to Rome?” the secretary asked.

  “No. Send it Legion post,” Flaccus advised. “That way, it won’t get lost in our luggage.”

  Act 5

  Chapter 14 – Proper Fear Installed

  Early morning rays streaked the sky but hadn’t grace the calm waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Pivoting ninety degrees to port, the bireme backstroked for shore. A lone figure with a pair of hobnailed boots in his hand climbed to the stern, thanked the ship’s Captain for the ride, and waited. When the warship’s keel touched the seabed, the oarsmen held water.

  “Take care of yourself, Captain Sisera,” several rowers yelled.

  Alerio tossed a salute to the big oarsmen before leaping off the steering deck. He landed in water knee deep and splashed towards the beach.

  While Centurion Sisera made for dry land, the Sons of Mars’ warship rowed hard, heading out to sea. They needed to be away from shore while skirting the Republic naval facility at Ostia. Too close to the mouth of the Tiber and the Legion would launch warships to investigate. Avoiding conflict with the Navy was the reason for the early morning delivery to the beach.

  Alerio hiked to the top of the rocks and sand. In the grass, he strapped on his boots. Then the Legion infantry officer marched northward along the shoreline in the direction of Ostia.

  ***

  Expansion of the town had not diminished while Alerio served in Sicilia. New buildings lengthened and widened the footprint of the settlement. Where he entered the streets, instead of being near Doctor Allocco’s clinic, he passed between two new structures. One a restaurant and pub and the other a metalworker’s shop. Both were silent in the early morning.

  Several streets later, he located the medical clinic. And next door, the deserted building that had been the leather shop of Gabriella and Nicholas DeMarco. Alerio stopped in the middle of the road and gazed at the deserted business.

  “There should be a sign reading gone to Syracuse,” he said in the direction of the empty building. After a few lost heartbeats, Alerio faced the medical clinic.

  Like the town of Ostia, the doctor’s facility had enlarged to cover far more ground than before. In addition, she had replaced the two-room building with a two-story structure.

  A guard stood at the street entrance behind a stout gate and a short wall. To Alerio’s trained eyes, the defensive barrier was perfect. It would break an attacking formation while allowing defenders to counter the assault force. Be they a mob or armed assailants, the physician had her building secured.

  “Is Doctor Allocco awake?” Alerio questioned the sentry.

  “You aren’t bleeding,” the armored figure noted. “You can wait until the apprentices begin taking patients.”

  “If I had the luxury, I would wait,” Alerio told the sentry. But he did not. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he yelled. “Doctor Frances Allocco. Doctor, I need to see you. Doctor Frances Allocco.”

  His weapons’ instructor voice, designed to carry instructions to infantrymen on the back ranks of Centuries, echoed off the walls of the two-story building. The rebounding tones bounced down the street, no doubt disturbing the proprietors of neighboring businesses. But the raw power of his voice also invaded the windows of the clinic.

  In short order, a woman appeared at the edge of the roof.

  “Centurion Sisera, you are out of uniform,” Frances Allocco called down. “Are you injured?”

  “Just my heart,” Alerio replied.

  “I can’t fix those,” the Doctor admitted, “but I can offer breakfast.”

  Alerio fixed his eyes on the guard to be sure he was following along with the loud conversation. A wave of the spear’s tip indicated the entrance was open.

  “Breakfast sounds good,” Alerio responded. “As does company that doesn’t want to lock me in a cell.”

  “I need to hear that story and why you look like a drowned sailor newly washed up on the beach,” Allocco remarked. “Come, breakfast with me.”

  ***

  From the roof deck, the growth of the town as well as the vastness of the new military base were obvious.

  “An excellent view,” Alerio offered. He walked around peering in all directions before settling into a cushioned chair at a table. “and an impressive medical complex.”

  “Thank you. My practice is growing with the town,” Doctor Allocco said from the other side of the table. A moment after they settled, a man in a quality robe came up the stairs. The physician motioned the man to the table and remarked. “Speaking of growth and change.”

  Two bags of coins were placed on the table. Frances Allocco slid the smaller coin purse across the tabletop to Alerio. She lifted the larger purse to demonstrate the weight. It resounded with a solid thump when she dropped it.

  “The smaller bag is your share of profits from the grain mill,” Allocco explained.

  “What’s with the bigger purse?” Alerio questioned while balancing the pouch in the palm of his hand.

  “The mill needs to be moved and enlarged. I bought out the DeMarco’s when they moved,” the physician answered. She indicated the man in the robe. “It’ll be easier for my accountant to manage the cost if I don’t have to keep track of your part. So, I am offering to buy your share of the mill.”

  Frances Allocco used both hands to push the large sack across the table.

  “That depends,” Alerio announced while eyeing the heavy purse.

  “Depends on what?” Doctor Allocco asked.

  “If you will add a horse to the deal,” Alerio replied, “plus breakfast now, and stitches to be installed at a later date. You do that and we have an agreement.”

  “Done,” Doctor Allocco confirmed. As if they had prearranged it, servers came from the stairs carrying platters of food. “Tell me Centurion Sisera, why are you dressed like a poor fisherman?”

  She was referring to the weathered and sun-bleached woolen trousers, the ill-fitting long-sleeved shirt, and the soft cap that hugged his head.

  “In the past week, I have, with the help of accomplices, escaped two jail cells at opposite ends of Sicilia,” Alerio responded. “In each case of imprisonment, the jailers took my possessions and my money. This set of clothing is the best I could beg.”

  “You are a Legion officer and now a wealthy man,” Allocco pointed out. “You can afford more appropriate clothing.”

  “Right now, I’m hungry,” Alerio countered. “And afterward, I need the horse to get to the Capital.”

  “Why the haste?” the Doctor inquired. “And why travel dressed like a vagabond?”

  “I have to locate a staff officer,” Alerio commented. “He is the only one who can clear me. Well there is another, but Dispansus is unreliable. How I dress is less important than the speed at which I gather the information.”

  “Have it your way,” Doctor Frances Allocco urged. “Please, eat.”

  ***

  Bartering for services had its up
s and downs. On one hand, the tradesmen got paid, in merchandise, for their services. On the back side, the tradesmen needed to sell the merchandise and turn it into ready cash or other products. A benefit was everyone without coins but with possessions could afford medical treatment. And Doctor Allocco was known for her even terms. Despite her generous nature, the two horses she collected in lieu of payments were excellent animals.

  “The mare is gentle,” Frances Allocco pointed out. “The stallion is brute force.”

  “Excuse me?” Alerio asked.

  He was bent over examining the mare’s hoofs.

  “The stallion requires two ropes,” Allocco declared, “to keep him in the stall.”

  “Is he mean?” Alerio questioned. He released the mare’s leg and walked to the stallion.

  “He nips a little,” Allocco admitted. Although she wanted to get rid of the male horse, she could not lie. “But mostly, he kicks or stomps.”

  “Let me get this right,” Alerio listed while slowly approaching the stallion from the side. “He doesn’t like to be penned up. He kicks and stomps anyone he doesn’t like, and he has an attitude. Did I miss anything?”

  “He is muscular and the one time I rode him, he showed good stamina,” the physician remarked, “and he is healthy.”

  “You just described a Legion heavy infantryman,” Alerio commented. “I think I’ll call him Phobos.”

  “The God of Fear?” the Doctor asked. “Why that name?”

  “Look at the faces of your stable boys,” Alerio suggested. “They are terrified of the horse.”

  “Wait. You named him,” Frances Allocco pointed out. “Does that mean you are taking the stallion?”

  “Yes,” Alerio confirmed.

  Chapter 15 – Finding a Missing Tribune

  The chestnut stallion moved through the city gates with a majestic toss of his head. Despite Phobos’ pace over the seventeen miles from Ostia, the beast acted like a proud Legionary, not letting anyone know he was tired.

  Several blocks from the Servian Wall, Alerio guided Phobos off the road and onto the private drive of the Chronicles Humanum Inn. They were met by a barbarian tribesman, the inn’s yardman.

  “Where did you get the horse, Centurion Sisera?” Erebus inquired while opening the gate.

  “I traded a grain mill for him,” Alerio replied.

  Given a nudge, the stallion moved around the corner to the rear courtyard.

  “That’s good,” Erebus remarked. “For a moment, I assumed you traded your Legion gear and clothing for him.”

  “He is a new boy,” Alerio warned as he slid off the horse. “I’m not sure of his attitude towards strangers. To be honest, I’m not sure how he feels about me.”

  Erebus pulled his shirt off, grabbed the reins, and placed the material over the horse’s head.

  “Trust in good food and back rubs,” the big barbarian exclaimed, “but keep them blind.”

  “Common horse sense?” Alerio guessed.

  “No, Centurion, in my tribe,” Erebus explained, “it’s the recipe for a good marriage.”

  “Take care of my horse,” Alerio ordered.

  He reached the rear of the inn and, just as Alerio stepped over the threshold, Erebus commented, “Just like he is my favorite wife.”

  ***

  Once down the hallway, Alerio pushed through a set of double doors. As he stepped into the great room, a voice spoke to him from behind a long marble counter.

  “Nice horse,” Thomasious Harricus remarked, “did you sell your Legion gear and clothing for it?”

  “No, I traded a…” Alerio started to say but stopped. “I need a bed.”

  “That is a problem,” Harricus informed him. “The Ides of March is next week. Every room I have is booked. But I do have a storage room.”

  “Is there an exterior lock on the door?” Alerio questioned.

  “A what?” Harricus asked.

  “Never mind,” Alerio said, “I’ll take the room.”

  “It’s yours,” Harricus exclaimed. “Now go across the street and buy some clothes. You do have coins, don’t you?”

  Alerio pulled a bag off his shoulder and dropped it on the marble counter. The solid thud attested to the weight.

  “What’s that, the world’s largest coin pouch?” Harricus inquired.

  “I haven’t had time to get to a temple to secure this,” Alerio explained. “Can you watch it for me?”

  Thomasious Harricus unlaced the bag and peered inside.

  “If not a record breaker, it is big enough to be a contender,” Harricus exclaimed.

  “Thank you for keeping my coins safe,” Alerio affirmed. “While I am off buying suitable clothes, can you find a Senior Tribune for me.”

  “The Ides of March is next week,” Harricus reminded Alerio. “There are so many Senior Tribunes in the Capital, it’ll be hard to walk down the street without bumping into a staff officer.”

  “I only need one and his name is Gaius Claudius,” Alerio told the innkeeper. “It really is important that I locate Senior Tribune Claudius.”

  “I’ll put out feelers on the Clay Ear network,” Harricus proposed. “But you realize the information I collect is passive. Unless Claudius’ name is being bantered about, he may not come up in conversation.”

  “Suppose the word got out that Gaius Claudius has been judged by a foreign government and sentenced?” Alerio ventured. “As decreed by the city council of Echetla, an execution awaits him should he ever return.”

  “Is he?” Harricus asked. His eyes grew large at the prospect of being first to spread a piece of gossip.

  “He must be,” Alerio replied, “because I am.”

  ***

  Dressed in a serviceable tunic with better quality ones on order, Centurion Sisera left the cloth sellers. He turned at the street corner and headed away from the Chronicles Humanum Inn.

  Alerio felt dangerously light without a gladius and a pugio. The addition of a long blade and a Legion dagger would solve the problem. And the armorer to the gods, Tomas Kellerian, produced the best quality armor and sharpest weapons.

  Several blocks north, the compound of the Historia Fae came into view.

  Alerio smiled wondering what harassment the armorer would lay on him when he knocked. Thinking of the adages Tomas Kellerian spewed when he visited, Alerio chuckled. Then, one of the sayings stuck in Alerio’s mind.

  “The streets have ears,” Tomas said frequently.

  From a casual stroll and speculative thoughts, Centurion Sisera snapped into combat mode. People on the street were scanned as possible threats, corners of buildings appeared sharper, and the darkness of shadows seemed to lighten. Hidden in two places, men lounged almost out of sight. A foot gave one away and the elbow of another marked his position.

  They might have been beggars, taking a break from accosting people to donate a few coins for Egeria, the God of the Poor. Or, they might be a pair of foot soldiers keeping their eyes on Tomas Kellerian’s front door. Eyes and ears meant the street was awake, aware, and waiting to identify Alerio, or anyone, who visited the Historia Fae.

  At the next intersection, Alerio ducked onto a side street and continued at the same pace. The detour was more than avoiding the watchers. For that, Alerio simply needed to make another left turn. But he wanted a look at the observers. Alerio needed a vantage point and a way to pull them out into view. He turned right on the next street.

  “You, lad,” Alerio called to a street urchin. “Where is the closest baker?”

  “It will cost you, Master,” the dirty faced youth advised.

  “You will do,” Alerio told him. “Make a choice.”

  “What choice?” the lad inquired.

  “Bronze or silver,” Alerio offered.

  “I don’t understand,” the youth admitted.

  “Bronze for directions to the baker’s establishment,” Alerio teased. “Silver for making a delivery. Oh, by the way, are you fast?”

  “Faster than you,
” the urchin boasted. “I’ll take the silver.”

  “No, little man, you will earn the silver,” Alerio warned. “Now, take me to the bakery.”

  ***

  “Hold this silver for Feto,” Alerio told the baker while pointing to the street lad. “And these bronze coins should be more than enough to pay for the loaves of bread, the honey cakes, and your services.”

  “Absolutely, sir,” the proprietor agreed. “Very generous of you.”

  Alerio loaded Feto’s arms with the baked goods and they left the shop.

  “Do you remember what to do?” Alerio asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Feto replied. Then he indicated the bread and cakes with his chin. “Why the extra honey cakes?”

  “Those?” Alerio stated. He took one of the cakes and bit off a piece. “Those are for us. Remember this, little man, never go into combat hungry.”

  The street youth shuffled his load until he balanced the bread and cakes in one arm. In the other hand, he held a honey cake.

  “Never go into combat hungry,” the lad parroted. He chomped into the cake and stopped. Lifting his head, Feto questioned. “Are we going into combat? Will I have to fight?”

  “Combat means to take action to reduce or prevent,” Alerio explained. “There are staff officers who go into combat all the time and never fight.”

  “I would like that,” the lad stated while chewing a mouthful of honey and cake. “When I grow up, I’m going to be a staff officer.”

  “Sorry little man but, you have to be a patrician, a nobleman, with an established family name to be a Tribune,” Alerio instructed. “If you are just a plebeian citizen, like me, the highest rank you can achieve is Centurion.”

  “Do Centurions fight?” the lad inquired. “You know, with a gladius and a shield.”

  “Yes, infantry officers fight,” Alerio responded, “at least part of the time.”

  “I think I’ll stay away from the Legion,” Feto proposed. “Unless I can be a Tribune.”

  Alerio guided the lad away from the shop. While still munching on the sweet cakes, they headed towards the street where the Historia Fae was located.