Death Caller (Clay Warrior Stories Book 13) Page 2

  At a main artery, he directed Phobos to the left. Had he gone right, they would have intercepted the Via Latina and been on a course to the Capital, some nineteen miles to the north.

  Not much further south, he took the horse off the road and started up a twisting and climbing path. Nine hundred feet above the plain, the Temple of Jupiter at Alban Hills nearly touched the sky. It was fitting for the King of Gods to have a view of the surrounding landscape. And while the Temple was visible to those far away, on the trail through the forest, the walls were hidden by the trees.

  ***

  Phobos rounded a switchback and, suddenly, the grade flattened and ran straight. At the top of the slope, the trail widened into a carriage parking lot just outside the walls of the temple.

  “Welcome to the Temple of Jupiter, traveler,” a young celebrant greeted Alerio. “I will rub down and feed your horse while you pay homage to the God.”

  “Do you do that for a lot of people?” Alerio asked while handing the youth a coin.

  “For everyone who comes up that hill,” the cleric in training replied. “It’s a steep climb.”

  “He bites and kicks,” Alerio warned. “But I’ll pay double if you have him pampered and ready to go when I come back.”

  After accepting another coin, the apprentice cleric promised to have Phobos waiting. Alerio marched to the gate and into the Temple of Jupiter.

  ***

  “What does that mean?” Cleric Evandrus demanded.

  Alerio stood in front of the priest holding out both hands with the palms up. A Legion dagger spanned one hand while a single gold coin rested on the other.

  “Read the inscription,” Alerio urged while extending the hand holding the dagger.

  The Priest of Jupiter bent and studied the letters etched on the blade.

  “Memento Mori. Is that a threat?” the priest questioned.

  “Not at all,” Alerio assured him. “It’s just a reminder that the Goddess Nenia visits everyone. Because, in the end, we all will die.”

  “It feels like a threat,” Evandrus described. “What is your name and what do you want?”

  “My name is not important,” Alerio stated. “What I want is for you to take this offering of five gold coins.”

  “You are mistaken, sir,” the priest pointed out. “There is only one coin in your hand.”

  “Look with your black, scoundrel’s heart,” Alerio instructed, “and visualize the other four. Then produce them from the coins you fleeced from the Carvilius Maximus farm.”

  “Guards, guards,” Evandrus shouted. He backed away but Alerio grabbed his robe and jerked the priest forward.

  Three temple guards ran from behind columns. Their naked blades flashed in the strips of light filtering into the temple.

  “You will tell the guards that calling them was a mistake,” Alerio coached while pressing the tip of the pugio into the priest’s chest. “Send them away before they get hurt.”

  “You speak with a lot of confidence for a thief,” Evandrus articulated. “One trapped in a temple on top of an isolated hill and surrounded by armed guards.”

  “Shouldn’t that tell you something about me?” Alerio asked.

  The question, and the fact that the man was not afraid, struck Evandrus and the priest shivered.

  “Take the gold,” he stammered while loosening the strings on his coin purse. He dumped the contents into Alerio’s hand.

  “That is very generous,” Alero announced. “But I’m afraid it is too much. I only figured on five gold.”

  “You have eleven gold,” Evandrus exclaimed, “and seven silver.”

  The guards spread apart and approached the two men from different angles. Tilting his hand, Alerio dumped the extra coins. Clanging and rolling, the coins scattered. At the sight of the gold and silver spilling to the Temple floor the guards stopped.

  “That’s better,” Alerio exclaimed when he held five gold coins. He slid the Legion dagger into the sheath, grabbed Evandrus’ arm and, from above the priest’s hand, he fed the five gold into the cleric’s palm, one at a time. “You will send a note to the Capital mentioning the generosity of the Carvilius Maximus family.”

  “And why would I do that?” Evandrus demanded.

  “Because, the Senator will read your letter in the Senate,” Alerio replied. “Your temple will be acknowledged as a worthy recipient which will generate more donations. And you will be recognized as a priest who knows how to raise funds.”

  “But most of these are my coins,” Evandrus protested.

  “No, priest,” Alerio insisted. He stepped back and said. “Those are coins for the Temple of Jupiter. Maybe you can use them to build a better road up to the temple. And, don’t forget the letter.”

  “And if I do?” the priest inquired.

  “Remember the motto on my dagger,” Alerio responded. “Memento Mori. And that is a threat.”

  The guards rushed to check on the priest while Alerio strutted to the exit. Barraged with questions by the guards, Evandrus needed a moment before his instructions to detain the traveler were clear.

  By the time, the three guards reached the doorway, the man and his horse were far down the trail. Standing at the edge of the carriage parking lot, the apprentice celebrant stood waving farewell to the traveler.

  ***

  At the bottom of the temple’s hill, Alerio guided Phobos northward. A mile later, man and mount turned east. Shortly after, they passed the turnoff to the Temple of Diana. By midafternoon, the city of Albano Laziale appeared below them. The road they were on dropped in elevation until the road matched the rolling hills of the city.

  Alerio guided the horse off the trail and dismounted. Phobos went to a stable for rest and feed, and the Tribune found a restaurant with outdoor seating.

  “Vino, bread, and stew?” the serving girl asked.

  “Yes, please,” Alerio confirmed the order.

  Seeing the direction her customer was facing, the girl pointed out, “If you look closely at the far peak, you can see the Temple of Jupiter in the trees.”

  “You can indeed,” Alerio acknowledged.

  After resting and eating, Alerio collected Phobos from the stable. He mounted and they continued the trek eastward.

  Four miles from the town, the land flattened, and the trees cleared. Sprawled across the landscape were rows and rows of tents and several wooden structures still under construction. Details of the massive Central Legion camp grew clearer as Alerio rode closer.

  One thing stood out. The camp appeared as if it could be packed up and moved on short notice. Except, there were not enough Legionaries, teamsters, or civilian tradesmen around to use all the equipment. Or enough animals to haul all the gear.

  “Our new home,” Alerio mentioned to Phobos. “The Legion camp at Ariccia.”

  In response, the big horse bristled, picked up his feet, and proudly trotted towards the main gate.

  Chapter 3 – Changes in the Legion

  In the headquarters’ building, Alerio waited until an aide called his name. He marched into the Battle Commander’s office and braced.

  “How an officer dresses and grooms are expressions of his ability to lead men and to get their respect,” Colonel Claudius complained. “I sent you a Centurion and I get back a farmer.”

  Alerio looked down at his woolen pants and shirt. Then subconsciously, he plucked the petasos off his head and held the felt hat next to his thigh.

  “Sir, my uniform and armor are in transit from the Capital,” Alerio explained. “I can go and scrounge up a staff officer’s tunic, if you prefer.”

  “Unnecessary. Sit down, Tribune Sisera,” Gaius Claudius ordered. The Colonel poured two mugs of watered wine and slid one across the desktop. “I trust your health is good.”

  “It is sir, and I hope your vitality is as well,” Alerio replied. He raised his mug in salute. “To your health.”

  They drank sips and Gaius sat. Placing a hand on the desktop, the Battle Commander
twisted his mouth as if he tasted something unpleasant.

  “When I joined the Legion, I knew every Tribune and most of the active Centurions,” Claudius said with a hint of melancholy. “But that was over twelve years ago. Once we moved on Sicilia and built a fleet, the Legion expanded.”

  “It has grown, sir,” Alerio agreed. “Is that why I’m here?”

  “The Senate has voted two bills that mark further changes,” Claudius explained while ignoring Alerio’s question. “They voted Aquillius Florus as Proconsul of Sicilia. It’s the first step in making the island a territory and a prerequisite before assigning a Governor.”

  “That is serious,” Alerio offered. “But what does it have to do with me, sir?”

  Claudius held up a finger, took a sip, and continued, “The other piece of the directive is to fund a half Legion for Sicilia.”

  “A fulltime Legion?” Alerio inquired. “Like the regional garrisons?”

  “Fifteen hundred permanent infantrymen and officers in Sicilia. But only a half Legion,” Claudius reminded Alerio. “We’re not sure if it will be an addition to the Southern Legion. Or a new outfit all together. No matter what the Senate decides, Central Legion has been tasked with training the new Legionaries.”

  “And that’s why this camp looks temporary,” Alerio ventured. “Am I here to train the recruits?”

  “We have the room, facilities, and ranges to train a half Legion,” Claudius detailed. “Except, the Senate has not released the funds. All this is ready and yet we are training one ten-man contubernium at a time. In reply to your insistent questions, you are not here to train Legionaries.”

  “I’m going to Sicilia to train the new Centuries?” Alerio inquired.

  “No,” Claudius responded.

  Being out of questions, Alerio took a sip and waited for the Battle Commander.

  “With the growth of the Legion comes unverified officers,” Colonel Claudius described. “Some are proving to be less than competent.”

  “We’ve always had Centurions and Tribunes who gain a position but don’t measure up,” Alerio stated. “Usually, the Legion sorts them out.”

  “Things are happening too fast for the normal weeding out process,” Claudius described. “Gaius Sulpicius Paterculus and Atilius Calatinus, our new Consuls, want an inspection.”

  “Inspection for what and where, sir?” Alerio asked.

  “Profiteering off Legion supplies, scams, and outright theft,” Claudius listed. “As to where? Every place a Legion or a fleet is forming.”

  “For fleet and Legion supplies, Ostia has the most activity,” Alerio proposed. “When do I meet the inspection team, sir?”

  “If Tribune Sisera and a wagon full of accountants roll in,” the Battle Commander pointed out, “the rats will cover their tracks and go into hiding until you leave.”

  “Then how am I supposed to inspect the Legions, sir?” Alerio questioned.

  “The same way you hid from being a staff officer when you came into my office,” Gaius Claudius told him. “Undercover and in disguise.”

  “Any suggestions on my covert identity, Colonel?” Alerio asked.

  “None at all,” Claudius responded. “As I said in my letter, I need the opinion of a staff officer I trust.”

  The Battle Commander handed over a folded piece of paper coated in wax.

  “What’s this, sir,” Alerio asked while balancing the waterproof missive on the palm of his hand.

  “That is your authorization from the Consuls,” Claudius replied. “It’s sealed because the letter pardons you for any crime less than treason. And even then, it is open to interpretation. Do not show the letter unless it is necessary.”

  “How serious is the theft, Colonel?” Alerio inquired while still holding the letter.

  “The Republic is moving thousands in trade goods and massive amounts of coins to feed, pay, and house the Legions and the fleet,” Claudius responded. “It doesn’t take much for dishonorable men to become dangerously greedy.”

  “You’ll store my armor and gear here, sir?” Alerio requested.

  “I certainly have the space,” Claudius confirmed. Then he asked. “What else do you need, Tribune Sisera?”

  “An old horse, a two wheeled cart,” Alerio answered. He peered down at his hobnailed boots and added, “and a pair of broken in sandals.”

  Act 2

  Chapter 4 – The River of Forgetfulness

  The horse had years on her as did the old cart. Balanced over the axle of the two wheeled transport and centered between six barrels, the teamster nodded with the bumping of the cart and the gait of the mare.

  “You sleep around here, and you will end up looking for your rig,” a voice called from another wagon.

  Peering out from under his hood, Alerio eyed the other porter.

  “And what about you?” he inquired.

  The other man held the reins loose between his fingers as he sprawled on his back. His head positioned comfortably on sacks of grain with a view of the sky and not the road.

  “It’ll be a sad day when brigands can get the better of Hamus Ivo,” the other driver declared. He kicked his legs, swung them off the grain sacks, and dangled his feet over the side. “Say, you aren’t one of Tristis’ lads, are you?”

  “I don’t know,” Alerio admitted, “who is he?”

  “If you were, you would know,” Hamus decided after a moment. “He is a transport agent in Ostia.”

  “Having an agent sounds like a good idea,” Alerio offered. “My name is Sisera.”

  Without directions, the horses moved off the road and onto an open field. Hamus did not seem alarmed so Alerio allowed his mare to follow the other horse. They stopped next to a stream.

  “What are you hauling?” Hamus inquired.

  He hopped down and walked around to the horse and set planks under the shafts. With the load supported, Hamus unharnessed his horse.

  “Barrels of spearheads,” Alerio responded as he blocked his cart and freed the mare.

  “Ah, a military contract,” Hamus Ivo said with a hint of envy. “Sisera, are you sure you aren’t one of Tristis’ drivers?”

  “The load is a favor from my old Optio in the Capital,” Alerio half lied. The contract for the barrels was from a Sergeant, but as a favor to Colonel Claudius. “I asked him where a man could earn some honest coins. He pointed me towards Ostia. And supplied me with a load to get me started.”

  “What is he paying you?” Hamus inquired.

  “A half bronze per mile,” Alerio told him.

  Both men pulled oat bags from trunks mounted on the shafts behind the horses. The location of the boxes kept their personal gear dry and off the valuable space of the cargo bed.

  “I hate to tell you, but you got cheated,” Hamus informed Alerio while he fed his horse. “You should have gotten at least two bronze per mile. But now I know.”

  “Know what?” Alerio asked.

  “That you aren’t one of Tristis’ gang,” Hamus replied.

  “I thought he was a broker?”

  “Oh, he is. But there are rumors,” Hamus remarked. “I have dried beef. Dinner is on me as I am getting two and twenty-five bronze for the trip.”

  “Nineteen miles of travel,” Alerio did the math. “That’s four silver and two and seventy-five bronze. I agree, you should provide dinner.”

  “You cook, and I’ll explain how we independent transporters survive,” Hamus exclaimed. He pulled a package out of his trunk and handed it to Alerio. “The first rule, never take less than two bronze per mile.”

  “What’s the second rule?” Alerio inquired. He stacked firewood then struck steel to flint.

  “Never take more than a silver per mile,” Hamus warned.

  “Who would pay ten bronze per mile?” Alerio questioned.

  “From what I hear, Tristis does,” Hamus told him. “For overnight hauling, once the Legion sentries let down their guard.”

  “That’s a lot of coins,” Alerio suggest
ed, “for hauling a load.”

  “But is it worth your life?” Hamus questioned. “Because if the Legionaries catch you, you’ll enjoy sunrise at the top of a cross.”

  “Along with the sentries who were asleep at their post,” Alerio added.

  Sisera thought as he prepared the meal. Taking did not become theft until the pilfered items were moved away from their rightful place. He may not have a hint who was organizing the stealing of Legion supplies. Or who was buying the illicit merchandise. But he had a possible lead on the transporter. And that was a good start.

  Happy to have made progress before reaching Ostia, Alerio busied himself with fixing the meal. He added water to the vegetables to boil them, and to the biscuits to soften them.

  “You were in the Legion,” Hamus observed. “I can tell by the comment about the guards being punished and the way you cook. Proficient with no wasted effort. Sicilia?”

  “No. I was up north in garrison,” Alerio lied. “Mostly we chased outlaws.”

  ***

  The next afternoon, Alerio continued towards the military base while Hamus turned off.

  “There’s an empty lot on the north side of town,” Hamus called as his cart headed into Ostia. “If you don’t discover better accommodations, come camp with me. You can buy dinner.”

  “And you will cook?” Alerio asked.

  “I am a terrible cook,” Hamus Ivo admitted.

  Alerio guided the horse further down the road. At the main gate, he turned the rig onto an open area across from a pair of sentries. From his vantage point, he could see the sprawling military complex. Besides the two Legionaries standing guard duty, two off duty infantrymen were loitering at the gate.

  “Delivery for the armory,” Alerio told the sentries.

  “How much do you guys make sitting on your tail?” one of the idle infantrymen asked.

  He swaggered across the road, moved behind the cart, and peered between barrels at the teamster.

  “I made nine and a half bronze for the trip down from the Capital,” Alerio answered.

  “Sitting all the way,” the Legionary pointed out. “I made six and a sixty-sixth bronze over two days. But I ran twenty miles this morning.”