Neptune's Fury Page 11

  The man fell forward and his arm shot out to prevent a fall. His hand sank into the mud.

  The momentary touch to stabilize the assailant lasted an instant before the man righted himself and ran off into the dark. Alerio rolled to his butt, put his hands on the ground, and pushed off. He drew his gladius and the pugio, dropped into a defensive stand, and waited with both blades extended for another attack.

  ***

  Being soaked from the rain, the roof steamed at first. But the intense fire consumed the walls after burning everything inside the shed. Almost as if tipping a hat in greeting to the dawn, the roof tilted, paused, then collapsed into the flames.

  “What was in that shed?” Alerio asked when the engineer and boat builder ran up.

  “Those were our one hundred and seventy oars, Centurion Sisera. Plus, thirty or more extra,” Cata reported. “It will take a while to harvest that many young fir trees.”

  “Plus, the weeks needed to dry and carve the oars,” Pejus advised. “It seems the saboteur has visited another unpleasant deed on us.”

  “I sensed desperation in this act,” Alerio suggested. He rubbed the back of his head and winced when his palm ran over the knot.

  “Because he burned the shed during your watch?” Pejus inquired.

  “No. Because for a brief moment, he collected his manhood and came at me,” Alerio responded. He pointed to the handprint in the mud. “I want that fenced in.”

  “The handprint?” Cata questioned.

  Alerio spit at the depression. A glob smashed into the imprint of one finger.

  “Yes, and I want a sign posted,” the Legion officer ordered. “Have it spell this, by the Goddess Algea, I will break each of those fingers. Until that day, everyone is invited to spit on the handprint of a coward.”

  “You would have us blaspheme the goddess of pain for a public jest,” Pejus asked in horror.

  “Master engineer, it’s better than if I invoke my personal goddess,” Alerio informed him.

  “And who is that, sir?” Optio Florian inquired.

  The NCOs stepped forward to confront their Centurion about a bad decision. They had arrived before daylight and worked with the militia to guard the rest of the sheds. The Legionaries were exhausted from tension and lack of sleep.

  Alerio spit on the handprint again and started to march off.

  “Sir. I asked you a question?” Florian insisted taking a step as if to chase down the Centurion. “Who do you pray to in the darkest of times, Sisera?”

  Alerio stopped and turned to face the group of laborers, his staff, and the construction masters.

  “The blessed Nenia is my personal goddess. In my heart when all is lost, I demand that the goddess of death make a choice. Take me or take my enemies,” he spoke the words slowly so they sank in. “Fence and sign, now. And gentlemen, do not question me again about oaths of vengeance.”

  At the words from the young infantry officer, a chill ran down the spine of everyone in the crowd. In addition, one of the witnesses to Alerio’s revelation began to sweat.

  ***

  Late in the afternoon, Alerio woke and stretched. Along with a slight headache, his body felt stiff. It was an odd sensation for the extremely fit weapon’s instructor. Fearing the job of being the officer-in-charge of Stifone was making him soft, he tossed on his woolen work clothes, strapped on his gladius, took a spear from the weapons rack, and left the house in search of a training partner.

  Luckily, as soon as he stepped out of the front door, he spotted five partners.

  “I’d like to apologize to you,” Alerio declared when he reached the bottom tier of Stifone. The five militiamen stopped their sword drills and stared at the Centurion. “I’ve been so busy, I’ve neglected you.”

  The five stepped away from the Centurion as if a strong wind blew them back.

  “What’s the problem?” Alerio inquired.

  They hesitated before one took a half step forward.

  “We do not want your goddess to decide our fate,” the militiaman stammered.

  Alerio glanced from face to face. Believing it was a sin to let a good myth pass by unreinforced, he agreed.

  “I, of all people, understand that sentiment,” Alerio said in a low serious voice. The five nodded in appreciation of his dilemma. Having a relationship, so close to a goddess that you demand she take you or your enemy during a fight, was too severe for the Umbrians. Then he eased their tension. “This is not a fight unless you make it one. Nenia Dea has no interest in spear drills. Sheath your swords, stack your shields, and collect your spears.”

  When faced with the top military authority in the mountain town, the five had no choice but to follow orders.

  “Spear drills. First position,” Alerio instructed.

  He ran them through the nine positions, had them do each in triplicate, then formed the five into a single file.

  “Come at me hard. Run through the drills, and move to the back of the line,” Alerio told them. “First up. Fight.”

  The spears swung left and right at eye level. Then repeated the movement at waist level and again at knee height. Every slash found spears clashing as the weapon’s instructor easily blocked the militiaman. At seven, the spears ripped upward followed by the downward cut of the eight count. Finally, the shafts shot out directly at the opponents’ chests.

  “Nine! Good balance and focus,” Alerio complimented the man. “Move to the back of the line. Next up. Fight.”

  On the third rotation, Optio Florian arrived. He found a log and sat to watch the drills. As proficient as any weapon’s instructor the Sergeant had ever seen, Centurion Sisera shifted smoothly and efficiently blocking and countering. It was obvious the infantry officer was expending little energy while the militiamen sweated and huffed trying to bash aside Sisera’s spear.

  “I hate to break up this happy party, sir,” Florian finally called out. “But three of your striking donkeys have to go on watch.”

  “Good drill, militia. I thank you for the workout,” Alerio announced. “Dismissed.”

  He walked to the Optio and made a show of wiping his forehead on the sleeve of his shirt.

  “Nice try, sir. But nobody is buying that you worked up a sweat from drilling these Umbrians,” Florian told him. “I noticed you didn’t have them use their shields.”

  “And I noticed Sergeant, they didn’t miss their shields. You haven’t taught them how to combine the two weapons, have you?”

  “Or how to attack in unison,” Florian remarked. “Some of our Legion’s secrets should not be shared with barbarians.”

  “Does Tesserarius Humi agree with your selective training methods?” Alerio asked.

  “Unfortunately, while Corporal Humi is an excellent book and diary keeper,” Florian explained. “But he is lacking in infantry experience.”

  “He’s a sea going Legionary?” Alerio guessed.

  “No, sir. Humi is a scribe,” Florian informed the officer. “A few months ago, I reported to the transit station in the Capital looking for a position. The next thing I know, I’m guiding a baggage train up the Tiber with Tribune Subausterus, his Etruscan slave Teucer, a couple more servants, and Tesserarius Humi.”

  “Humi knew the Tribune before this assignment?” Alerio questioned.

  “I never heard them speak of shared experiences,” Florian replied. “But Teucer always deferred to Humi in discussions. I assumed it was mutual appreciation between bookish types. If you’ll excuse me Centurion, I need to get some food.”

  “And I need to bathe,” Alerio said while stripping off his shirt. “Despite the fact I didn’t sweat much during the drills. Then I’m going to check on the progress of the ship.”

  ***

  In the initial phase of the build, the ramps angled downward to the bottom of the channel. It’s where the keel was laid and the oak boards were pegged together. With the exterior hull complete, the ramps were moved. They now bridged the distance from land to the top boards of the hull. I
nside the empty trireme, the drop was thirteen feet to the keel and the bilge.

  “What are you going to do, Master Pous?” Alerio quizzed the ship builder. “Toss the lumber down and try not to hit one of the carpenters? Or, have the laborers balance the supplies on their shoulders and carry them down ladders?”

  Alerio stood at the top of one ramp and Cata occupied the adjacent ramp.

  “Neither, Centurion. We’ll build a landing around the inside perimeter of the ship,” Cata replied. “A second platform will step down reducing the drop to the lowest level of construction.”

  “It does smell fresh,” Alerio commented.

  “It’s the cedar,” Cata replied. “But don’t get accustomed to the aroma.”

  On surrounding ramps, apprentices carried planks up to the edge of the hull.

  “I see laborers standing around,” Alerio observed when he noted some waiting for him and Cata to clear the ramps. “Let’s give them room. The sooner we complete this project, the sooner we can get the senate involved.”

  Even with five feet of warship tucked inside the trench, the men still had to walk the ramps down to the ground. As soon as they were off, laborers hauling planks rushed up the incline to the top of the hull some eight feet above the boatyard.

  “It’s a beautiful ship,” Pejus Monilis offered when he joined them. “One hundred and thirty feet of Republic justice. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I’ll withhold my opinion until the day we row it onto the beach at Ostia,” Alerio remarked. “and I hand the trireme and Nardi Cocceia’s bills over to Fleet Praetor Sudoris.”

  “If you can’t bring yourself to appreciate the work we’ve accomplished,” Cata Pous urged. “At least give us your thoughts on this gorgeous warship.”

  “Despite the fear that I will call Nemesis down on me,” Alerio replied. “I feel akin to Prometheus. I have given the world fire in the form of a ship-of-war. Until it’s delivered, I could be chained to a rock and have my liver eaten by an eagle. However, unlike the Titan, I am mortal so, at least, the punishment will be finite.”

  “I don’t see that as arrogance requiring punishment by Nemesis,” Pejus offered. “And as far as being penalized for your work here, the senate should reward you.”

  “How do you relate to Prometheus?” Cata questioned.

  “Because the ship represents a cost of over one million eighty-eight thousand silver coins,” Alerio said. “and my name is on every promissory note. When I look at the ship, I see a rock and my signature on each piece of parchment as another link in my chain.”

  “And the eagle?” Pejus inquired.

  “My own knife. If we fail to deliver this ship, I might as well cut out my own liver.”

  Chapter 17 - Retribution Revisited

  Lugging a shield and spear around was not convenient. At least not when you needed a free hand to keep your cloak closed against the early morning chill. Ever since the assault and arson attack, Centurion Sisera brought both to his shift while on guard duty. But the cumbersome tools of war were stacked below the lantern near the trireme, while the infantry officer stood across the boatyard next to the steps.

  “What about tonight?” Alerio asked the sentry. He extended his hands towards the small fire. “anything hunting in the dark?”

  “Night predators pass silently,” the militiaman suggested. “or else they wouldn’t survive to maturity. You’ll only know of their presence when the claws dig in.”

  “You are a cheery fellow,” Alerio mentioned. “I really enjoy our talks, I think.”

  The Legion officer turned from the steps and the sentry. Before he had gone two paces, the militiaman spoke adding to the lore.

  “Most people don’t think of shadows after sun down,” he offered. “but a blacker shade of night may conceal a hunter.”

  Alerio didn’t acknowledge the observation. However, based on his previous experience with the guard’s mountain wisdom, he began searching the deeper shadows for signs of movement. Halfway to the channel, a charcoal line at the end of a dusky bush rose from the black mass.

  If he was in the woods, it might be a limb moving with a breeze or shaking from an animal jumping from branch to branch. In the center of the boatyard, dotted with defined geometrical shapes, there were no trees or few bushes. The silhouette was the shadow of a man, drawing back his arm, preparing to throw a spear.

  Alerio sprang ahead as far as the quick flex of his legs allowed. While dropping from the short flight, he tucked his head and rolled on his shoulders. The ground hammered his upper back but he remained tucked. Resembling a ball, the Legion officer rotated twice before leaping to his feet. The thud of a spearhead burying itself in dirt and stone rang from behind Alerio. He ignored the near miss and sprinted for his shield.

  In Legion training the instructors took great pride in locating undefended backs. A punch or kick soon taught the trainees to fear having their backs exposed. As a result, even when frightened, Legionaries never turned their backs on the enemy. Many times, this face forward attitude had turned hopeless situations into victory.

  Alerio wasn’t as panicked as he was surprised. He pondered if the fenced-in handprint and globs of mucus partially covering the imprint of the digits were the reasons for this assault. He really didn’t care. The thought process was to keep his mind off the feeling that, in the next step, a spear would penetrate his back and slam him to the ground.

  Rather than charge directly at his weapons and light, Alerio diverged off to the side. Not too far off line, just enough so his body wasn’t highlighted by the lantern light for his enemy.

  The training drove and guided him all the way to the edge of the trench. As he came abreast of the lantern, Alerio lunged sideways and slammed the shield with his arm. The barrier and the Legionary continued tumbling from under the light and out into the dark.

  ***

  When he rose to his feet, the shield protected his body and the bare blade of his gladius hovered at his side. Rays from the rising sun peeked over the eastern horizon. They provided a little light for this small battle.

  “Come face me,” Alerio shouted. “I promise not to kill you before I break your fingers.”

  To his surprise, four shapes peeled away from the darkness and approached him. When the men got closer, the Centurion identified two individuals.

  “I see the Baldoni clan is well represented,” Alerio stated. The pair were from his militia. “I thought it was odd when Tite selected two from the same family.”

  “Our cousin limps, and his hearing is bad in one ear,” one of the militiamen sneered. “For that you will die.”

  “Your cousin? Who is he?” Alerio questioned.

  “You should know. You cowardly Latians ambushed him and two friends,” the other stated. “When they were camped on the road to Orte.”

  For a moment, Alerio thought about correcting the narrative. It was the Umbrians who assaulted him and not the other way around. Then he realized the futility of explaining.

  “Wait. Cutu Baldoni? The inept archer and his two stone footed playmates?” Alerio questioned. Then he inhaled and glanced up at the sky as if searching for something. Two heartbeats later, he shouted. “Nenia Dea! Again, I offer you a choice. Choose…”

  The militiamen held spears while the second pair of tribesmen brandished knives. An aware Legionary with a shield didn’t feared the short blades. It was the ability of the long shafts to reach over or under the personal barrier that made the spears a priority.

  ***

  “Nenia Dea! Again, I offer you a choice. Choose…”

  Alerio sprinted at a spear tip. When he reached the steel point, he nudged it aside with his shield and whirled, allowing his gladius to whip around with his body. The blade sank into the spearmen’s neck. The Legionary yanked it free while stepping into the face of a knifeman.

  The man leaped to the side. His attempt to reach around the armored screen with his arm failed when the sharp steel of Alerio’s gladius ripped upward. Dr
opping the knife, the man gripped his nearly severed forearm. Sinking to his knees, he tried to hold the sections together and stem the flow of blood.

  A shield snapping back and forth had the power of a mule’s kick. The second knifemen’s hand crunched from contact with the wooden face and the return hammering of the shield knocked him on his butt.

  For a heartbeat, the man embraced the pain in his wrist because it took him out of the fight. Images of running off to tend the broken bones flashed through his mind. Then the bottom of a hobnailed boot blocked his vision and crushed his face as the Legion heavy infantryman stomped him to the ground. He died when Alerio stuttered stepped to position his other foot over the tribesmen’s throat and stomped again.

  The final spearman retreated. In what seemed the blink of an eye, his three companions were down and still or bleeding onto the dirt and rocks.

  “I owe you an oath,” Alerio advised the Umbrian.

  “What are you…?”

  The flat of the gladius’ blade cracked across the hand holding the shaft. Without support from the forward hand, the spear dipped.

  “Close enough,” Alerio said as he stepped forward and lunged with the gladius.

  Once it entered the tribesman’s gut, he twisted the blade expanding the wound. A string of bowels, resembling sausage links, spilled onto the ground. Where the blade sliced the membrane, merda splashed on the soil.

  “Cata was right,” Alerio commented to the dying man while cleaning his blade on the tribesmen’s tunic. “The clean smell didn’t last.”

  ***

  By the time the sun was a bright ball in the sky, a crowd had gathered around the sight of the small battle. Men whispered about Centurion Sisera’s Goddess having made her choices.

  “You could have left one alive,” Pejus scolded while circling and studying the four bodies. “Now, we don’t have an answer.”

  “Master Pous, have the fence removed and dirt kicked over that handprint,” Alerio directed the boat builder while ignoring the engineer. “And get your crews back to work.”