Reluctant Siege Page 13

  “You had the dispatches?” he screamed. “Do you know what political favors I could have earned? What business arrangements I could have done with those dispatches? And all the while, my idiot son had them.”

  Armenius shook his head as if to clear his vision. Then he threw off the hand gripping his elbow and straightened up.

  “When I was covered in blood from carrying wounded Legionaries and ten more were begging for my guidance, I wondered what my father would think,” Armenius explained. “When I sank beneath the cold water ready to give up, I thought what would my father think. When the savages tied me to a tree and used me for target practice, I wondered what my father would think.”

  The young Tribune turned to Alerio.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera. We did complete the mission and relief is on the way to our men at Volsinii, am I correct?” he asked.

  “Yes, Tribune. At great personal risk to you and despite your injuries and illness,” Alerio assured the young man. “We completed the mission, sir.”

  Armenius stepped up and stood nose to nose with his father.

  “I am a Tribune of the Legion. A decorated hero of the Republic. And, I am the Assistant Governor for the eastern province,” explained the younger Peregrinus. “Do you know what I am not worried about?”

  “What?” questioned his father.

  “I am going home to say goodbye to my mother and organize transportation to Crotone,” announced Armenius Peregrinus. “The thing I am not worried about, is what my father thinks.”

  With those words, Armenius Peregrinus brushed by his father and slung people out of his way as he reached and exited through the doorway.

  ***

  The elder Peregrinus and the old administrator were shocked. They looked confused until Peregrinus raised his eyes and locked them on the young Lance Corporal.

  “You. You had the dispatches,” he mumbled. “You’ve made an enemy. And I am not a man to be trifled with.”

  “You sir, are a father who raised a brave son,” Alerio replied.

  “Don’t patronize me,” shot back Armenius’ father. “I am going to…”

  “Going to do what, Master Peregrinus?” Belen inquired.

  The Senator’s secretary stood with an older Legionary. A man who appeared to be far beyond retirement age. Tribune Velius, head of Intelligence for the Southern Legion, tilted his head in greeting.

  “Master Peregrinus, understand this, Lance Corporal Sisera is a patron of Senator Spurius Maximus,” explained Belen. “Any threats directed towards him will be considered as threats to the Senator. Now, I believe you have a son who will soon leave the Capital. I suggest you go and make peace with him.”

  Peregrinus and his administrator gave Belen and Velius a wide berth as they hurried for the exit.

  “Thank you, Master Belen,” Alerio said.

  “No need, Lance Corporal,” the secretary replied. “The Senator thought something like that would happen. Now, I must get back to Senate business.”

  Belen rushed away and Alerio caught Velius shaking his head and grinning at him.

  “Tribune Velius, is something funny?” asked Alerio.

  “No, not really,” the head spymaster for the Southern Legion admitted. “It’s just if you don’t come back alive, I’ll have to answer to Senior Centurion Patroclus and First Sergeant Gerontius. Plus, explain why to one of the Republic’s most powerful Senators.”

  “I thought I’d go north with Flaccus Legion. Afterwards, I’ll go and visit with my family,” Alerio ventured. Then he paused, thought about the Tribune’s statement, and inquired, “Come back from where?”

  “Sicilia, Lance Corporal Sisera,” Tribune Velius explained. “I need you in Syracuse.”

  Chapter -24 Historia Fae, Armorer to the Gods

  Alerio rapped on the exterior door of Historia Fae. When no one answered, he knocked again but harder. An iron plate slid open and an eye stared out from the small square.

  “What?” a deep voice demanded.

  “Master Kellerian, I am in need of your assistance,” Alerio stated.

  “You’re too pretty to need weapons or armor,” Tomas Kellerian challenged. “In that uniform, you should be at a nobleman’s villa sipping quality vino and chasing kitchen wenches.”

  “As handsome as I am, I should be,” replied Alerio lifting a scarred arm and rubbing the crescent shaped scar on the crown of his head. “Yet here I am speaking to a cyclops and asking for admittance to his den of iniquity.”

  “I’ve been called worse and the description of my work depends on if you’re standing behind or in front of the pointy end,” Tomas Kellerian, the Armorer to the God, shot back. “Hold on.”

  Iron bars grating on iron hooks reached Alerio’s ears. He waited on the street until the locking braces stopped screeching and the door opened. Quickly, he crossed the first threshold and four steps later the second doorway.

  “I don’t know why you refuse to oil those rods,” ventured Alerio as Thomas noisily shoved the iron bars back into place.

  “Rust is the enemy of smoothly operating armor and the edge of a steel gladius,” replied the Armorer as he closed the interior door. “However, rust makes the iron squeal. It reminds anyone entering my establishment that the door is barred. Just in case they think about coming back later, uninvited.”

  “So, rust is a tool of your security?” inquired Alerio.

  “It is. Now what can I help you with?” Thomas asked.

  “I’m going to Syracuse and carrying Legion gladii isn’t the best way to blend in with the citizens,” Alerio explained as he pulled his dual gladius rig out of his pack. “I need another pair of swords.”

  Tomas Kellerian reached out and took the harness and gladii from the Legionary. He examined the leather rig and full sheaths by gripping them in one hand and then in the other.

  “Too bulky to hide and too heavy to conceal, you’re right,” proclaimed the Armorer. “Come with me.”

  They walked through the showroom. Along the way, they past rows of stands displaying gold plated and gold trimmed sets of ceremonial armor.

  “That set is for General Quintus Gurges when he returns from Volsinii,” Tomas said as they walked by a beautiful set of armor.

  “Unfortunately, General Gurges will not be coming to claim his armor,” Alerio stated. “He died in the battle along with a lot of good Legionaries.”

  Tomas Kellerian stopped short and Alerio almost collided with the Armorers broad back. Looking first at the armor, then at Alerio, he exclaimed, "That is disheartening news.”

  “Did you lose a large commission?” inquired Alerio as he turned to look at the intricate gold work on the polished armor.

  “No. My heart goes out to the dead and wounded Legionaries,” Tomas explained. “I collected half the commission in advance from Gurges before I started the project. Some other nobleman, after playing General, will buy it. Enough talk. Follow me.”

  ***

  They crossed through the large workroom where two craftsmen sat shaping armor sections. And by areas where less gaudy armor and gladii were stored. At the backdoor door, the Armorer pushed through and led them into the rear lot.

  Several outbuildings, a stable, a smoking forge, and a gazebo with leather hanging from the rafters occupied part of the walled compound. One corner had a sand pit with grinders. Two mounted whet stone wheels, one rough sandstone and the other smooth granite, sat beside a work table. They had square holes in the center of the stones and both were plugged with wooden blocks. Running through the blocks were iron bars holding the whet stones on frames. Handles attached to the bars allowed for manual turning of the stones. However, attached to the handles were rods connecting to peddles for steady foot powered motion.

  All the stations were manned by workers with massive scars or missing body parts.

  “Here we go,” announced Tomas as he reached into a shed and pulled a covering from a pile of rusty items.

  “Rust?” noted Alerio as the Armor
moved a few items.

  “Surface rust,” Tomas explained as he selected four blades from the pile.

  Without another word, he carried them to the grinding area.

  ***

  The Armorer ran his fingers along the flat of the first blade. After holding it up and eyeing the length for straightness and taking a couple of practice swings, he set the blade on the workbench. The next blade he tossed to the side with no more inspection than the finger test. When he glanced down the length of the third blade, he shook his head and tossed it to the side. The fourth blade caused him pause but, eventually, he placed it with the first.

  Alerio could see the blades were old gladii. The guard, grip and pommel had been removed and the blades ground down. Whether from years of maintenance by Legionary metalworkers, or from hard grinding to remove gouges and chips from the blades, they were barely recognizable as Legion gladius blades.

  “Those look rough,” Alerio commented.

  “I bought them from a supply Sergeant,” the Armorer explained. “Some of them I can grind down into knives or short swords. Others are useless because the temper is gone or they have cracks. In both cases, the blade will snap under stress.”

  “And those two?” Alerio asked pointing towards the workbench.

  “Solid steel, mostly straight and thin enough to pass as reworked gladii to an expert,” Thomas assured him. “There are enough old blades around that they won’t mark you as a Legionary. But, your haircut will.”

  “My haircut?” asked Alerio as he ran a hand over his short-cropped hair.

  “Most freemen in Hellenistic[JS2] countries don’t have Legion haircuts,” Tomas observed as he picked up a handful of sand and began buffing the rust scales off the first blade.

  “I’m leaving on a mail boat tomorrow afternoon,” explained Alerio. “I don’t think my hair will grow much between now and then.”

  “Corporal. Can you leave the felting and get our customer a hat?” Tomas shouted to a man stirring a kettle with a paddle.

  “It’s at a critical heat. Can you get me someone to keep it moving?” the man inquired while still stirring whatever was cooking in the pot. “Do you want a phrygian or a petasos?”

  “Lance Corporal Sisera go relieve Corporal Gilibertus at the pot,” Tomas ordered. Then to Gilibertus instructed, “Bring one of each. We’ll see which hat frames his baby face best.”

  As Alerio took the paddle, he glanced into the kettle. A mass of wet wool swirled around in murky water stinking of stale meat and urine. He wrinkled his nose, breathed through his mouth and continued to stir the mixture.

  He noticed the missing foot as Corporal Gilibertus walked stiffly away. On the end of the stump and wrapped around his ankle was a piece of fabric. Below the cloth, a block of wood held in place by strips of leather added enough height so the legs were the same length. Despite the appendage, the man’s stride was stinted. He vanished into the main building and Alerio concentrated on twirling the ball of wool.

  ***

  Tomas called the Corporal over when he came back with two hats. After a few instructions, the Armorer took the hats and turned over the blades to Gilibertus.

  “What’s in this?” asked Alerio as Tomas crossed to the kettle. “And why are you not separating the wool? Bundled up like this, it’ll never untangle for the spinner.”

  “Tallow and lye. And we don’t want the sheep hairs to separate,” explained Tomas. “Beef fat and lye water thickens the wool and once it’s knotted up properly, Corporal Gilibertus will spread it on a bronze form. Another bronze piece will be placed over the mixture. Once the pieces are clamped together, the Corporal will mount it over a fire and keep the bronze rotating for a full day.”

  “To what end?” asked Alerio.

  “The phrygian, like this hat,” exclaimed Tomas holding up a cone shaped hat. “It’s made from a flat piece of felt. Rolled and trimmed with the top bent forward at a jaunty angle, it’s very popular with ship’s crews.”

  “The hairs in the cloth remind me of a beaver dam. Logs and sticks crisscrossing so tightly, they hold themselves in place,” observed Alerio.

  “That is the beauty of felt. Soft and durable and not labor intensive,” suggested Tomas. “And speaking of beavers. This is a petasos and it’s not wool felt, it’s felt made with beaver hair.”

  The hat was shaped with a wide-brim around a low, rounded crown. The Armorer reached out and placed the phrygian on Alerio’s head. He stepped back and shook his head while studying the Legionary.

  “No, definitely not the phrygian,” Tomas said as he snatched the hat off and replaced it with the petasos. Then he reached out and cocked the hat to one side. Nodding his satisfaction, he announced, “Better.”

  A workman strolled across the lot. Tomas pulled him over and pointed with pride at the brimmed felt hat.

  “I was with the Eastern Legion and some of the rich folks from Greece wore those,” the workman said. “It looks good on him, Centurion.”

  Alerio knew Tomas Kellerian had retired from the Legion after twenty years of service before becoming an armorer. Looking around at Tomas’ staff, he realized all of them were scarred and wounded.

  “Your craftsmen are Legion veterans?” asked Alerio.

  “You think I’d buy slaves and teach them how to make swords and armor?” replied Thomas. “I spent half a life defending the Republic. I’ll not teach our enemies how to defeat us.”

  They were interrupted by a call from Corporal Gilibertus at a grinding wheel.

  “Swing the kettle away from the fire so it can cool,” he instructed. “Come here, I have an idea.”

  Alerio used the paddle to pivot the pot from over the fire. He and Tomas strolled back to the grinding area.

  “That petasos looks good on you, Lance Corporal,” Gilibertus said as he lifted his good foot from the peddle. Without the pumping of the foot peddle, the limestone grinding wheel slowed. “It’s one of my best. Took me a full day to pound out the bronze plates to get that shape. And I left the clamps in place to keep the felt under pressure for two days.”

  “You are a felt craftsman, I agree,” mumbled Tomas. “Now, what idea did you have?”

  “These gladii have the most wear at their tips and in the center of the blades,” the former Legion Corporal explained. “I saw several Qart Hadasht swords a few years ago. Sharpened point, edge on one side and a blade that tapers to a thin belly. These blades have enough heft that I can grind out that shape.”

  “That shape will work,” Tomas observed. “Make sure they’re matched and balanced. Our young Lance Corporal likes to use two swords at the same time.”

  Gilibertus shot Alerio a quizzical look before he reached out and spun the grinding wheel. Once it reached speed, he began pumping the peddle to maintain the grinding velocity.

  “What about handles?” Alerio inquired while pointing to the bare hilts.

  “We’ll keep them simple. No big pommels as I don’t think you’ll be fighting in a shield wall,” Tomas informed him. “If you do end up in a blood bath, grip them tighter. Because you won’t have a ball on the end to keep your hands from slipping.”

  “Will they fit my rig?” Alerio asked.

  “You’re supposed to be sneaking and peeking. Wear a sword fighter’s harness and you’ll have eyes on you everywhere you go,” Tomas explained. “I have a better idea. Now, get out of my shop so we can get some work done. Come back at first light.”

  “Thank you, Master Kellerian,” Alerio said as he headed for the door of the shop.

  Chapter – 25 The Clay Ear

  “That’s a pretty cap you have there,” Thomasious Harricus said as Alerio opened the front door and stepped into the Chronicles Humanum Inn.

  “They call it a petasos,” Alerio stated while crossing the great room to reach the granite counter.

  “Do they now?” teased the Innkeeper. “What did you learn at the Senate?”

  “Senator Codex was nominated first,” reported Alerio.


  “How did Maximus allow that to happen?” Harricus asked more to himself than to Alerio. “When is Codex holding the big party to woo the citizens?”

  “In two days. But, I believe Senator Flaccus stole his thunder when he announced the formation of a Legion to march north,” Alerio added. “Senator Maximus staged the nomination, the announcement of Flaccus Legion, and the promotion of my Tribune to a post with the eastern province’s governor. He played a masterful game.”

  “That sounds more like the old war dog,” the Innkeeper stated. “I bet Consul Codex is chewing clay bricks at having his chance for fame taken by the other Consul getting a Generalship.”

  “Is fame important to him?” inquired Alerio.

  “Consul Codex is a man who believes he has a destiny,” Thomasious Harricus responded. “Building out the city should have been his benchmark project and his legacy. The Consul who almost doubled the size of the Capital. It does have a nice ring to it. I imagine you’ll be marching north with Flaccus Legion?”

  “No, I’ve been recalled to the Southern Legion,” Alerio told him. “But I don’t leave until afternoon tomorrow. So, I have time for a mug of vino.”

  Chapter – 26 Qart Hadasht Swords

  In the morning, Alerio ate with the Innkeeper before shouldering his pack and marching to the Historia Fae. Although the sun lightened the eastern sky, there were shadows at street level. He rapped loudly. Surprisingly, the Armorer unbolted the security bars immediately and opened the door.

  “Can’t sleep?” Alerio asked as he stepped over the threshold.

  “Excited for you to try the Qart Hadasht swords,” Tomas Kellerian explained. “They’re on the workbench in the back.”

  After the Armorer finished latching the door, they walked to the assembly room.

  ***

  The workbench held several pieces of steel for armor, leather straps to mount the pieces, squares of felt to protect the buyer’s skin from the straps of the armor and a bedroll. It was a nicely done bedroll with a leather tie buckled around one end, a leather cap sealing the other end and a shoulder strap for carrying it. But in all the searching, Alerio couldn’t locate a pair of swords.