Death Caller (Clay Warrior Stories Book 13) Read online

  “The messenger,” the one at the gate responded.

  “What messenger?”

  “The lad sitting in the dirt,” the guard pointed out.

  “Since when do we take orders from street urchins?”

  Before the gate guard could respond, the rumble of hooves came from the dark. In a few heartbeats, a unit of Legion cavalrymen crowded the gate.

  “Open it,” a Centurion ordered.

  “We are Temple…”

  A javelin appeared in the guard’s chest.

  “The Centurion said open the gate,” the cavalry’s NCO exclaimed. He focused on the second guard. “You. Open the gate or do I have to bury you as well?”

  The second guard opened the gate and stepped back.

  “Optio, secure the town,” the officer instructed.

  “Yes, sir,” the Sergeant acknowledged. “Give me two squads to the east and two to the west. Two squads stay with the Centurion. The last two, follow me.”

  No one mentioned the murder of the guard. Then again, no one would. Orders from a Legion combat officer were to be carried out, immediately. The mounted Legionaries split up by squads and rode to surround the town of Malagrotta.

  “Disarm him,” the officer instructed as his mount passed the gate.

  A foot shot out and kicked the Temple Guard in the head. He fell and a Legionary slid off his horse to remove the guard’s sword.

  Again, no one questioned the Legionary’s tactics because the Centurion had ordered it. If the officer wanted mercy or the guard treated gently, he would have added it to the order.

  Seeing the fate of the Temple Guards, the youthful messenger faded into the dark. In a stand of trees, he hid among the trunks. After seeing what transpired, he would begin the long walk back to the Capital and the Temple. As he squatted, his mind turned over thoughts of how to explain to Fetial Priest Mattia the loss of his iron bound chest.

  ***

  Colonel Claudius, his bodyguards, and staff rode around a jogging Century. Ahead, the Battle Commander could see the outlines of lean-tos and sheds in the early morning light. A walled estate was the largest structure in the village.

  “Where do you want the infantry, sir?” a Tribune asked.

  “In the village,” Claudius responded. “I want to know if they have stolen Legion gear.”

  “Yes, sir,” the staff officer acknowledged.

  He pulled up and trotted back to inform the infantry.

  Gaius Claudius led his staff through the gate and reined in at the entrance to the villa. A man in quality armor sat off to the side with two cavalrymen guarding him.

  “Look through the house for any contraband,” Gaius instructed his staff officers. Then, as he dismounted, the Colonel studied the man being guarded. “Who is that?”

  “A man-at-arms from the villa,” the Centurion replied. “He keeps asking if I know who owns the house and compound.”

  “Remove him,” the Battle Commander ordered. “If we find Legion gear around here, it won’t matter who owns the embers.”

  At a signal from their officer, the two cavalrymen jerked the Temple Guard to his feet.

  “Don’t you know…,” the Temple Guard shouted.

  The combat officer made a fist and swung it across his chest. In reply, one of the mounted Legionaries slammed the hilt of his sword into the guard’s face. His jaw shattered and his knees buckled. They hoisted him by his shoulder armor and walked him away from the officers.

  “I have a feeling this villa is trouble, sir,” the Centurion offered.

  “Not for us,” Claudius assured him.

  One of the Tribunes reappeared on the porch.

  “Sir. You need to see this,” the staff officer insisted.

  “Show me,” Claudius said. He followed the Tribune into the house.

  ***

  A chest, the lid once held in place by iron bands, sprawled on the tile floor. Its content spilled out in a wave of expensive fabric.

  “Who broke it open?” Claudius asked.

  “I did, sir,” a nervous Junior Tribune admitted. “They appear to be priest robes.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Gaius lied.

  He waked to the chest and nudged it with his hobnailed boot. It felt heavier than it looked. To test the idea, the Battle Commander tapped the wood with his toe. The chest rocked and a bulging sack tumbled out.

  “What do we have here?” Claudius pondered.

  Reaching down, the Colonel lifted the bag and shook it. Inside the cloth, small pieces of metal clinked together.

  “It’s a massive coin purse, sir,” a Tribune guessed.

  Colonel Claudius faced a dilemma. If they did not find stolen gear, he would have to visit the Fetial Priest, return the coins, and apologize for invading his country home. Then, the Centurion called from the front of the villa.

  “Colonel, if you please,” the combat officer requested. “I need you to see this.”

  Claudius walked through the house having to strain one arm to hold the coins in one hand. When he walked out of the front door, he no longer worried about visiting the Priest.

  “Explain that,” Claudius directed.

  There were five separate stacks of helmets, another five of chest and back armor, and several more with shoulder rigs.

  “The separate piles are from different craftsmen,” the Centurion described. “All the gear is new. Sir, in my opinion, this equipment is stolen.”

  “Burn the villa and put men to the task of dismantling the walls,” Claudius ordered. “And after you finish with this place, I want the village burned and every tool broken. Malagrotta has been stealing from the Legion. Therefore, the Legion will turn this place into a dump.”

  Act 5

  Chapter 18 – Better than a Cross

  Alerio allowed Phobos to walk slowly through the town of Ostia. Early risers moved between shops and villas, but they were too busy to pay attention to a lone rider. A couple of streets off the main throughfare, Alerio caught a view of the sea. A short distance down the block, he approached the blue villa.

  “Why, my friend?” he asked, reining in the horse near the wall. While the rider and saddle were out of sight, Phobos’ nose was visible through the iron bars.

  “Why what?” the guard at the gate asked. “Come forward if you want to talk to me. I’ll not converse with a nag.”

  “Why, my friend?” Alerio asked again.

  “I will not hold a conversation with a man through iron bars,” the sentry complained. “Especially one I can’t see.”

  “Why, my friend?” Alerio repeated.

  Frustrated and maybe bored from standing sentry early in the morning, the guard unlatched the iron barrier and opened it. Then he stepped outside the wall.

  As the gate began moving, Alerio jumped up on the saddle and leaped to the top of the defensive wall. Dangling momentarily, he peered over the wall and into the courtyard.

  A single cart rested beside the stable. His bravado of seeking vengeance during the night ride had faded with the sunrise. But seeing Hamus Ivo’s rig in Tristis’ possession rekindled Alerio’s anger. With a kick, he swung his legs to the top of the wall and rolled off the opposite side.

  “What?” the guard shouted when he saw a riderless horse and a pair of legs vanish over the wall.

  Stepping back, the sentry gripped the gate, preparing to close it before going after…

  Phobos reared up and smashed the iron bars with his front hooves.

  The gate slammed shut then rebounded, throwing the guard savagely to the ground. With the entrance unobstructed, the stallion pranced into the compound, looking for his master.

  Pushing off the ground, the sentry dashed into the courtyard, sprinted around the horse, and ran right into one of Alerio’s blades.

  “Why, my friend?

  Amicitia sends few friends my way

  The Goddess blessed me with one

  But he seems to be misplaced.”

  The sentry slid to a stop, drew his
sword, and dashed Alerio’s aside. While he parried, the Legion officer rapped the man in the head with his second blade.

  “They never see that one coming,” Alerio observed.

  He continued singing as he ran for the stairs on the far side of the courtyard.

  “I see signs of his passing this way

  I best find him in your bath

  Or your black heart

  Will feel my wrath.”

  Another of the household guards jogged from around the stable. Seeing the gate guard on the ground and an intruder heading for the villa’s entrance, he drew a dagger, brought it up to his ear, and sighted in on the man’s back. At this distance, he rarely missed.

  Focused on Alerio, the knife throwing guard failed to pay attention to the chestnut stallion. Before he could pitch the dagger, Phobos rose high into the air and came down. A hoof crushed the man’s shoulder.

  Hearing the disturbance, Alerio stopped and looked back at the horse. His mount stood menacingly over an injured guard. Unfortunately, the guard moved which angered Phobos. The heavy stallion pawed on the man’s back until the guard stopped moving.

  “The stockyard man was right. You are crazy,” Alerio submitted to the horse. “But you just saved my life and I will not forget it.”

  Phobos cocked back his head as if acknowledging the promise. Alerio finished the verse while heading for the stairs.

  “Why, my friend?

  Answer me if you can.”

  ***

  Alerio dashed up the first three risers then stopped. Blocking the stairwell were two more household guards coming from the other direction.

  “Why, my friend?”

  The men-at-arms exchanged puzzled looks, then together, they drew their swords. Their opponent chanted.

  “He was not extraordinary nor a Prince

  But told good lies around the campfire

  His tales they made me wince.”

  Most people assumed a fighter with two swords preferred offensive moves. What they failed to understand, while one blade attacked, the other acted as a shield. Further confusing the guards facing Alerio, most swordsmen favored their right hand especially if there were former Legionaries. The Legion trained exclusively right-handed to benefit their shield formations.

  The men-at-arms on the stairs with Alerio believed these things. They had no way of knowing the intruder was a sword prodigy and ambidextrous.

  Alerio poked weakly with his left hand and slashed in an uncontrolled manner with his right.

  Two blades, two offensive moves, and the guards relaxed. Taking out this amateur should be easy, they thought.

  “A wise man yet too young to expire,” Alerio sang.

  The blade on the right went from thrashing to countering the opposing sword. While that one blocked, the left blade stiffened and slammed the guard’s sword up and out of position.

  Alerio’s sword swirled in a half circle before snaking under the guard’s wrist. The tip and a length of steel pierced the man’s forearm. As the blade withdrew, the guard dropped his sword and grabbed the wounded arm.

  The move to stem the blood flowing from the arm left the guard on the right alone in the fight. And the swordsman sang.

  “Explain why he was killed

  Or your rotten heart

  Will be skewed and grilled.”

  Alerio put his arms close together and stabbed with both blades. The remaining guard defended against one sword. It was the other that stabbed him in the neck.

  Alerio hopped over the wounded guards and crooned as he moved up the steps.

  Why, my friend?

  Answer me if you can.”

  ***

  A spear made a devastating weapon system. Given room to use the reach and an enemy forced to come from one direction, a spearman had the advantage. The intruder emerging from the stairwell satisfied the directional requirement and the wide hallway provided space.

  To the surprise of the household guard with the spear, the intruder sang as he reached the top of the stairs. Even when he saw the steel spearhead, the man, although off key and sounding as if his throat was being tortured, warbled on.

  “Why, my friend?

  A man’s journey is a lonely staircase

  With a few rest stations for the heart

  Some for tender embraces.”

  Alerio came level with the second floor and began to spin. His blades held away from his sides as his body rotated. Combined with erratic steps, the revolutions made his torso a blurred target.

  Chancing a stab, the spearman jabbed. A snag of fabric caught, then ripped away.

  Alerio felt the cloth tear and judged the location of the spear shaft. Reaching across, he hacked into the wood and left the blade in place. Still spinning, he followed the pole.

  The spearman was attempting to shake the weight of the impaled blade off his shaft. If he could, the intruder would eat either the spear head or the blunt end of the shaft. Confusing the situation, the interloper sang as he spun.

  “Rarer are cases of companionship

  Cursed reveal his fate

  Or your evil heart

  Will be shredded on a grate.”

  Alerio brought the sword around with his spin and stopped. Buried deep into the spearman’s throat, the blade was halted by the bones at the back of the guard’s neck.

  “Why, my friend?

  Answer me if you can.”

  Alerio retrieved both swords. Then he proceeded along the corridor.

  ***

  From the hallway, Alerio could see into the great room. Agent Tristis stood at the big windows gazing out at the sea.

  “Why, my friend?

  When you cleaved him from my life

  You gouged out a piece of my soul.”

  Alerio moved rapidly towards the room and the criminal transporter. Just before he reached the doorway, Tristis turned.

  With a smile on his lips, the agent greeted Alerio, “Welcome back, Top Coin. Come in. Let’s talk.”

  Something gnawed at the back of Alerio’s mind.

  “In the emptiness that is left

  I am filled with hurt and distress.”

  Alerio reached the end of the hall, bent his knees, and dove into the room. An arrow shot across the threshold. If he had walked in, the sixth household guard would have sunk an arrow into his chest.

  “Tell me before it goes badly

  Or your cold heart

  I will cut out gladly.”

  Rolling forward, Alerio came up on a knee, cocked his arm back, and threw one of the swords. The blade tumbled through the air before stabbing the guard. From attempting to notch another arrow on his bow, the archer grabbed the blade stuck in his gut.

  “Are you coming with me to face crucifixion?” Alerio asked Tristis. “Or will you fight.”

  “Why would I fight a Legionary?” the agent asked.

  “Because it’s better than dying on a cross,” Alerio replied.

  Tristis pulled a knife and drew a sword.

  Alerio answered by singing as he stalked forward.

  “Why, my friend?

  Answer me if you can.”

  ***

  Alerio stripped off his tunic while descending the staircase. Thinking about saving the soiled garment, he inspected the bloody cloth before tossing it to the steps. He made it to the bottom step and stopped.

  The guard he knocked unconscious and the one with the arm wound were pressed against the villa wall. Phobos towered over them. The stallion watched the humans as if daring them to try and escape.

  “Where is the well?” Alerio asked as he crossed to the horse and pulled a bag from the rear saddle horn.

  One of the cowering men-at-arms indicated the other side of the villa.

  “I’m taking Phobos to the well for a drink,” Alerio offered. “While I clean up, I suggest you head for Doctor Allocco’s clinic.”

  Taking the reins, he led the mount towards the well. Supporting each other, the guards stepped away from the w
all, and rushed for the gate.

  After cleaning the gore from his flesh, Alerio dressed, and mounted. Then he guided the horse from the villa and headed for the Legion Fort. The job of bringing an end to the criminal organization was not finished yet.

  Chapter 19 – Messages for Three

  The morning sun beat down on the young messenger. High enough to disperse the shadows in alleyways, its heat pounded the pavement and drained the last of the lad’s energy. Stumbling into a wall, he collided with the bricks then decided to rest for a moment. Everything hurt. Some parts from falling with the horse and other body parts from dodging Legionaries as he ran back from Malagrotta.

  ‘The priest must have the news about the Legion raiding his estate,’ the youth scolded himself.

  With his destination still several blocks away, the dedicated messenger pushed off the wall and staggered towards Capitoline Hill and The Temple of Jupiter.

  ***

  Fetial Priest Mattia never developed an appetite for grain or vegetables. Almost wolf like, he craved beef. His two other passions were power and gold. As a young Fetial Priest, he discovered that power did not necessarily bring riches. Advising the Senate on foreign trade and declarations of war brought him influence and the ability to twist people and situations to his will. But it did not bring wealth. For the gold, he needed to formulate other schemes.

  Sadly, the recycling of stolen Legion equipment had been discovered. But his thoughts were not on the fate of his accomplices. His concerns were on the loss of income.

  A knock on the door drew his thoughts away from his problems.

  “Come in,” he instructed.

  The door to his apartment opened and a sentry poked his head inside the room.

  “Sir, there is a messenger for you,” the Temple Guard informed him.

  Mattia’s eyes glared at the guard over the piece of meat the priest held in his hands. Almost as if defiling the guard’s flesh, he ripped off a piece of beef with his teeth.

  “Send him in,” Mattia instructed while chewing the meat.

  The exhausted, dirty, and aching messenger appeared in the doorway. Although he attempted to stand erect, he failed when a stitch in his side cause the youth to bend sideways.

  “Well, what is it?” Mattia demanded.