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  “Gladius instructor?” the Sergeant repeated. Then he tested the young Legionary’s pronouncement. “Your evaluation?”

  “Some sloppy gladius work,” Alerio stated. “But the biggest issue is unit cohesion during attacks. Nothing proper drilling and instructions can’t fix.”

  The Sergeant stared at the young Legionary for a long time. Finally, he broke eye contact and strolled to the two piles of coin.

  “Which one is yours, weapons instructor?” he asked.

  “The smallest,” Alerio responded.

  “Did you tell them you were an instructor before they placed the bets?” the Sergeant asked.

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Alerio replied.

  “Take your winnings,” the NCO stated. “You are my gladius instructor for the rest of the cruise. Squad, get below and get your heavy shields and report back to the instructor. Corporal, a word, in my cabin.”

  The Sergeant waited for the squad members to climb down before he led a dejected Corporal off the training deck.

  For the final nine days of the cruise, Alerio drilled all the shipboard Legionaries. From unit tactics with heavy infantry shields to individual gladius drills, he had them sharp and moving in unison by the time the ship entered the mouth of the Tiber river.

  Alerio had just finished with the last squad on the last day of the cruise. The NCO climbed to the training deck and watched the final maneuvers. When the squad was dismissed, the Sergeant waved the instructor over to the rail.

  “Good work, Lance Corporal Sisera,” Sergeant Chlotharius said. “I could use a full-time gladius instructor. Interested in the position?”

  “For reasons I can’t go into,” Alerio replied while pointing towards the docks and the city rising above them. “I’m better off in the southern Legion rather than here.”

  Sergeant Chlotharius had been in the Legion for fifteen years. Over the years, he’d seen Legionaries get into a wide variety of troubles. For him, Sisera was just another in the long line.

  “If you get stuck in the city for a while, I’d like to buy you a mug of vino,” offered the Sergeant.

  “I’m not sure how long,” confessed Alerio. “It’ll depend on when the ship for the southern region sails.”

  “If you’re here long and need a place to stay, there’s an inn that welcomes Legionaries,” Chlotharius said. “Nice enough place but the proprietor is a bit eccentric. Interested?”

  “Yes, Sergeant Chlotharius,” Alerio said. “I don’t know a soul in the city.”

  “Get directions to the Chronicles Humanum Inn,” the NCO instructed. “When you get there ask for Thomasious Harricus. He’s the owner. Tell him Sergeant Chlotharius sent you.”

  Chapter 4 - The Capital City

  Alerio walked down the ramp onto the dock. In his workmen’s woolen trousers and long sleeve shirt, he resembled every other worker on the dock. No one paid him any attention.

  He located the Legion transfer building and reported to a Lance Corporal.

  “Get a decent military tunic,” the NCO suggested as he read the transfer orders. “Southern Legion? Alright. Your ship isn’t due in for another week. That’s the earliest we expect it in port. But, depending on the weather, it could be later. Give it a week, then check in here for updates every few days.”

  “Can you give me directions to the Chronicles Humanum Inn?” Alerio asked.

  “Go north six blocks,” the NCO directed. “Turn right and cross over the boulevard. When you reach the intersection at the city’s defensive wall, you’ll see a Candle Maker’s compound. Turn left. You’ll find the inn on your right. It’s about twenty-five blocks. Most people rent a carriage for their luggage.”

  “This is my luggage,” Alerio said holding up a large hemp rope bag. “I can handle it. Thank you, Lance Corporal.”

  “Enjoy the city, Sisera,” the NCO said then advised. “Stay out of trouble. For the slightest infraction, the City Guard takes too much pleasure in arresting and fining Legion transfers.”

  “I’m not planning on getting into anything except a hot meal,” replied Alerio. “And, a bed that doesn’t rock and swing with each wave.”

  Alerio left the building and stepped onto the road heading north. The dockyard was busy.

  Loaded carts with grain, unworked metals or raw ores rolled towards the city. While wagons filled with finished goods arrived for shipment from craftsmen compounds. He dodged between the wagons and carts as he left the harbor area.

  Six blocks to the north, the road ended at a line of well-spaced trees in an open grassy area. The lush landscape occupied about two square blocks. On a hill, in the center of the space, stood a rectangular building constructed of white marble. Four tall columns, also of white granite, held up a roof that was impossibly high. As a farm lad from the western region and more recently, a Legionary from the east, he had never been this close to such an amazing manmade wonder.

  “It’s the Temple of Portunus,” a man in an expensive toga said. “Portunus is the protector of harbors, livestock and keys. You’ve come from direction of the harbor. You might consider giving a few coins to Portunus as a display of gratitude for a safe arrival.”

  Alerio possessed a full purse thanks to winning a sword competition before shipping off to the eastern Legion. During his time there, he hadn’t spent much coin. After glancing down at his rough woolen clothing and back at the man’s richly embroidered toga, he declined.

  “Maybe later, Priest,” Alerio said as he turned to his right and walked away.

  “Blessings of Portunus on you, my son,” the man announced loudly. Then under his breath mumbled, “Cheap farm hick.”

  Alerio came to a doublewide avenue. Horses, carts, and carriages traveled rapidly in both directions. Judging the flow of traffic, he picked an opening and jogged across the road. Half way across, he looked north and stopped. Seven blocks away, the avenues wrapped around a fountain.

  A marble sculpture of rearing horses rose from the center of the fountain. Water arched up from the sides and fell majestically into a pool. The streams splashed down just shy of the mighty hooves of the horses. Alerio stood mesmerized in the middle of the boulevard.

  “Get out of the road,” a man on horseback yelled. “Do you want to get yourself killed?”

  Alerio spun his head around but the rider was already far down the boulevard. Something cracked over his head. Looking up, he watched as a whip finished cracking and withdrew. A man in a carriage shook the handle of the whip at him.

  “Get out of the road, slave,” the man ordered.

  Figuring he could get a better and safer look at the fountain later, Alerio picked a spot and sprinted between traffic to the far side of the road. Between the temple, the fountain, and the rapid movement of so many people, the former farm lad was in awe.

  The astonishment of walking through a cosmopolitan city clouded his mind and he didn’t remember to count blocks. Eventually, he smelled a Candle Maker’s shop. Over a low brick wall surrounding a compound, aromatic smoke drifted upward. The pleasant aromas of the seasonings used in the candle making process brought him back to the present.

  Looming in front of him was the Capital City’s defensive wall. Thirty feet of stacked three-foot-long clay bricks rose skyward just fifteen feet from the intersection. As directed, he turned left.

  The clay bricks of the Candle Maker’s compound wrapped around the façade of the shop. Courses of brick gave a solid appearance to the lower half of the building. Above the brick the building material changed to wood. Topping off the structure was a gently sloping roof of interlocking red clay shingles.

  Two other shops occupied the same block as the Candle Shop. He strolled by an Apothecary and a Cloth Seller, both were built in the same style and design as the Candle Shop. On the other side of the road, the imposing city wall angled away from the road. Where the wall edged away, it left an open space. Someone had corralled off the area. Horses in the corral chewed hay and followed him with their eyes as he strolled up
the street.

  Chapter 5 - The Chronicles Humanum Inn

  The fencing ended at a ten-foot-high clay brick wall. The wall ended at the corner of an unusual building. The front porch and center of the building faced the intersection of the next street. Alerio stopped and gazed at the unusual building.

  Where the wall met the building, the layers of clay brick continued around encasing the ground floor. Then, the bricks stepped up ten more feet creating columns bracketing the second floor. Above the brick, wooden construction rose in tiers to form another two stories. Four divided balconies were observable on each floor of the building. The inn resembled a giant four-step staircase.

  Alerio strolled by the Cloth Seller shop and out onto the intersecting street. Turning to his right, he read the sign hanging over the porch.

  “The Chronicles Humanum Inn,” he whispered as he took the four steps up to the clay pavers of the porch.

  Inside, a large room with tables and chairs occupied the front of the ground floor. Two Legion Cavalry Officers sat at a table on one side of the room. They had clay mugs in their hands. A large pitcher of wine sat on the table.

  A counter top of white marble ran along the rear of the room. Behind the marble, stacked barrels of wine covered most of the wall. On the other end of the room, where the wall and the wine castes ended, was a double door. In the center of the room, behind the wall and the countertop sat an alcove.

  Alerio walked to the marble counter and peered into the recess. In the back of the wide workspace was a long hallway. He could see light pouring into the hallway from the back of the inn. None of the light reached a man sitting at a desk in the workspace. By lantern light, the man was scribbling frantically on a scroll that dangled all the way to the floor.

  The man didn’t acknowledge Alerio so the Lance Corporal coughed into his hand.

  “Deliveries around back,” the man said sharply without looking up.

  “I was told, I could get a room here,” Alerio insisted.

  “All booked up,” the man said absentmindedly as he continued to fill in the scroll with tight, exact letters.

  From one end of the great room, a voice rose. Seconds later, it climbed several more octaves. Alerio glanced around. One of the cavalrymen was standing bent over and screaming into the face of the other Officer.

  “You talk about her like that again and I’ll carve your guts out,” he screamed.

  A scraping noise from the alcove drew Alerio’s attention. The proprietor’s chair flew back and the man took two steps before vaulting the marble counter. He raced to get between the cavalrymen.

  “Gentlemen. No fighting in the Chronicles Humanum Inn,” he said softly.

  He continued to speak in almost a whisper as he rested a hand on the standing Officer’s chest. The Officer cocked on ear in an attempt to hear the innkeeper’s voice and forgot to be mad. The men moved away from the table.

  Gentle persuasion was a good way to handle an angry drunk. Pressure from light hand contact and softly spoken words allowed the man to defused the situation.

  A tiny movement by the other Officer caught Alerio’s attention. The sitting cavalryman pulled a four-inch knife from his riding boot. It was a tool everyone who worked with harnesses carried. The edge was honed razor sharp so it could shave rough spots from leather harnesses. In addition, it was needle pointed for punching holes in the leather for buckle adjustments.

  The knife was also the perfect weapon for stabbing a man in the back. The Officer stood unsteadily and took a step towards the unsuspecting proprietor.

  Alerio dropped his hemp rope bag, sprinted over, and faced the armed cavalryman.

  “Sir. Is everything alright?” he asked.

  For a second nothing happened, until the cavalryman stabbed at Alerio’s chest with the wicked weapon. The knife hand was halfway to its target when Alerio raised the heel of his left hand and redirected it off to the side.

  The cavalryman adjusted and tried to realign the blade. Alerio’s hand remained in contact, and using pressure on the man’s wrist, forced the knife downward.

  Suddenly, the cavalry Officer punched out with his left fist. Its momentum was redirected by the palm of Alerio’s right hand. The punching fist ended up harmlessly near the knife hand at the cavalryman’s crotch.

  Both the Officer’s arms rose in an attempt to dislodge Alerio’s hands. It didn’t work. Alerio controlled the wrists so the arms circled outward and traveled up and over the Officer’s head. This further infuriated the intoxicated man. He bent his elbows and pulled his hands downward. Alerio’s hands followed them down and when the Officer’s hands were chest high, Alerio pushed hard.

  The Officer’s hands, one still holding the sharp knife, ended up pinned against his chest by Alerio. Stepping back while trying to shake free, the back of the cavalry Officer’s knees connected with the chair. The man, caught by surprise, collapsed into the seat.

  Alerio snatched the knife from his hand.

  At the sound of racing feet, the innkeeper had turned his head. He watched as the delivery boy, in the bleached out workmen’s clothing, almost effortlessly evaded the knife. When the lad disarmed the cavalryman, without once assaulting the Legion Officer, he became curious.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  Smiling and holding up the knife, Alerio announced, “A leather tool.”

  “No lad, the fighting style?” the innkeeper asked.

  “It’s called sticky hands,” explained Alerio. “A Legion Scout taught it to me when were stationed together in the eastern Legion.”

  “Hold on a second,” the innkeeper said. Then he yelled in the direction of the alcove, “Erebus. I need a little assistance.”

  Four heartbeats later, the double doors on the other end of the great room swung open. A huge northern barbarian rushed in and moved quickly to the innkeeper.

  Unlike the rest of him, his face was clean-shaven and his long blond hair was clean. A whiff of stable odors drifted off the man. The dirty clothes and the dried mud on his sandals explained the smells.

  “You called?” asked the barbarian.

  “Yes, Erebus.” The innkeeper explained. “These two gentlemen have just checked out. Please be sure their belongings and their bodies are on their horses when you let them out of the gate.”

  Erebus spun on one of the Cavalry Officers and delivered a powerful fist to the side of the man’s head. Before the unconscious man reached the tile floor, the barbarian hit the second Officer. He also fell. With a limp body under each arm, Erebus trudged towards the double doors.

  Aren’t you concerned that you’ll get in trouble for hitting Legion Officers?” Alerio inquired as the barbarian and his cargo disappeared through the doorway.

  “No, they are too full of vino to remember who or what hit them,” the innkeeper explained. “Now lad. You claim to be a Legionary?”

  “Lance Corporal Sisera, formerly of the eastern Legion,” Alerio stated. “I’m in transit to the southern Legion.”

  “A bit young to be a Lance Corporal,” observed the innkeeper. “So where is your luggage?”

  “Luggage?” asked Alerio as he walked over and picked up the rope bag. “This is all the luggage I have.”

  He lifted out the duel gladii rig, a saddlebag, and a pouch of personal items, two types of leather grease, and another set of workman’s clothing.

  “These are all my worldly goods,” Alerio explained. “So, I wouldn’t be needing a large room.”

  The innkeeper stared at the young man and the duel sword rig. Shaking his head as if he’d made a decision, he said, “The name’s Thomasious Harricus, proprietor of the Chronicles Humanum Inn and scourge of the upper class. And for a young Lance Corporal who saved my life, I have a room available.”

  “You’re Master Harricus,” exclaimed Alerio. “Sergeant Chlotharius sends his regards. He may stop by in a few days to have a drink.”

  “And how do you know good Sergeant Chlotharius?” asked Thomasious.


  “I was his weapons instructor on the passage around from the east,” explained Alerio.

  “A weapons instructor, and you are how old?” an astonished Thomasious asked. “And where are your armor, your hip sheath, and your uniforms?”

  “I’m seventeen-years-old. And yes, I am a gladius instructor,” confirmed Alerio. “As for uniforms? I’ve never purchased any. There was no need for formal wear in the Raider Century.”

  “You were a Raider?” Thomasious asked as his jaw dropped.

  “Yes, sir,” Alerio replied. “If that room is available, I’d like to freshen up and get a nap.”

  “Of course Lance Corporal Sisera,” Thomasious said. “Let me show you to your accommodations.”

  Chapter 6 - Scourge of the Upper Class

  Alerio stretched and for a second braced for the next roll of the ship. When it didn’t come, he opened his eyes.

  The room was fifteen feet long and ten feet wide. Plenty of room for the spacious feather bed where he lay. Other furniture included a nightstand, a writing table with a chair, and two wide dressers. Wide enough for a Legionary’s armor, which he didn’t own. And uniforms, which he also didn’t own.

  He rolled over and blinked in the afternoon sunlight pouring in through the slats in the window. From his third floor room, he had an unobstructed view of the north side of the Temple of Portunus. Even partially blocked and ten blocks away, the temple was impressive. It glowed in the backdrop of the sun’s golden rays and for a moment he regretted not leaving an offering for the god.

  Reluctantly, he crawled out of the comfortable bed. There was no reason to rush other than the growling of his empty stomach. Once he dressed in the woolen workman’s trousers and shirt, strapped on his hob nailed boots, and hid the Golden Valley dagger and his coin purses under the shirt, he left the room.

  Alerio peered over the marble counter top and watched the innkeeper, Thomasious Harricus. Two street urchins were standing on either side of the man. The lads were speaking in hushed tones and Harricus was nodding and writing furiously on a scroll. Three others were standing in the doorway at the end of the long hallway. They were eating bread and sipping from wide clay bowls.