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  “Back then, it could only be swordsmanship,” Alerio answered. “Do you mind if I keep the message?”

  “Why would you want that piece of vexed leather?” Senator Maximus inquired.

  “I’m going to mount it on the wall of my office.”

  Chapter 2 – The Journey into Illyria

  The shoreline slid by making trees and beaches a blur. With the midship sail full of air and the foredeck straining on the shorter mast, Juno’s Grip appeared ready to leave the swells and fly. Then a huge, ungainly pelican flapped by showing the real speed of the transport.

  “She’s a decent ship,” Hektor said, “and sort of fast.”

  “It’s a good sailing day and our hold is half empty,” Captain Orsini remarked. “I don’t know what the scroll said, but Senator Maximus only allowed us a partial load.”

  “Should we be nervous?” Cafatia asked.

  “The Senator has his reasons,” Alerio offered from where he sat. While his legs dangled off the steering platform, his face was turned to the afternoon sun. In a lazy manner, he assured the crew. “You don’t need cargo to pay ransom. I’m here to fulfill the demand.”

  “I hope you’re worth more than you look,” Cafatia observed.

  Hektor pivoted to face the First Mate. Before he could challenge the crewman, Alerio called to him.

  “Hektor, if you don’t mind. Please, hand me my hat.”

  Distracted from correcting the offensive tone with a knife blade, Hektor pulled a felt petasos from a bundle, crossed the deck, and handed it to Alerio.

  “Remember, the Captain does, but the crew doesn’t know who I am,” Alerio whispered to Hektor.

  “Having the Senator’s adopted son turn himself over to pirates isn’t a clever idea,” Hektor uttered. “And putting up with a sailor’s disrespect is maddening.”

  “Let’s assume we’ll hear worse before we’re finished in Ardiaein,” Alerio told him. “For now, relax and enjoy the ride.”

  Hektor blew out hard to show his dissatisfaction.

  “The Port of Bari isn’t far,” Orsini announced. “We’ll put in, do some trading, and relaunch in the morning.”

  They hadn’t seen any Illyrian vessels which, under normal circumstances, would be a good thing. But the pirate leader had threatened the crew if they didn’t come back with an answer to the scroll. Hopefully, docking at Bari would give the Illyrian a chance to find them.

  When Orsini leaned on the rear oar to angle the transport closer to shore, Cafatia strolled to the bow section. The First Mate had already forgotten about the poor Legionary and the medic.

  On the aft platform, Alerio sat quietly watching the wind fill the sails. In the threadbare woolen pants and shirt and a pair of old hobnailed boots with cracked leather bindings, he appeared to be a poor soldier-of-fortune. And worthy of the First Mate’s scorn.

  ***

  In the morning, the crew of Juno’s Grip finished loading new cargo and setting the deck boards. Then they hurried to the dock and clustered around a vendor. Smoke from a grill filled the air with an alluring aroma.

  “Other than the crew eating honey coated pork,” Alerio questioned, “why aren’t we launching?”

  “The wind at mid-morning blows to the northeast,” Orsini explained. “If we left now, we’d row against the tide trying to reach the point at Vieste. By waiting, we’ll reach there with less wear on my crew. Unless you think otherwise.”

  “You’re the Captain,” Alerio granted. He sniffed and added. “The pork smells delicious.”

  “Usually, the vendor is set up near the market,” Orsini told him. “We got lucky, he’s at the dock today.”

  Alerio glanced around until spotting Hektor standing near the grill. He held up two fingers. A short while later, Alerio, Hektor, and the crew munched on grilled pork encrusted with honey and waited for the wind to rise.

  Thirty-three miles up the coast, an Illyrian vessel slid from the beach at Barletta. For the sleek two-banker, the tide didn’t present a problem. Plus, the early start would let the crew fish in deep water until the Republic transport happened along.

  The night before, a rider reported that Juno’s Grip had docked at Bari. Along with the message, the spy assured the pirates that his brother, the vendor, would fire up the grill. The grilling pork was a guarantee that the transport would be late leaving the harbor.

  ***

  The sweet spot across the Bay of Manfredonia was sixteen miles. Sixteen from the mainland and the same distance from where the land reached far out into the Adriatic Sea. And, as predetermined by the Illyrian raiders, the perfect area to intercept Juno’s Grip.

  “How did they find us out here?” Orsini questioned.

  From over the horizon, the Illyrian raider rowed on a direct course to the merchantman. What the Captain couldn’t see were the warriors putting away the fishing nets and stowing the catch in baskets. At a rapid closing rate, the two vessels soon came abreast, then slid side to side.

  “I told you we’d be here when you returned,” the pirate leader exclaimed from the rail of his ship. After jumping onboard the Juno, he inquired. “Do you have the reply to my King’s message or my bag of silver?”

  Alerio stood, touched the brim of his cap in greeting, and dropped both hands outward as if dumping something on the deck.

  “You asked for Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera, and you get Legionary Alerio Sisera,” he declared. “Easy tasks done in a timely manner, the difficult may take me a little longer.”

  “You’re pretty brash for a destitute vagabond,” the pirate said, noting the rough clothing and barely held together hobnailed boots.

  “Pull that sica off your belt, and we’ll see who’s the poorer man,” Alerio challenged. Looking at the Illyrian crew, he called out. “Anybody want to put coins on your Navarch?”

  The crew laughed at the title. Their Captain wasn’t even a squadron leader, let alone an Admiral. A few touched their coin purses. Then they remembered their purpose was to transport the man not to bet against him.

  “If you’re Sisera, grab your gear and come with me.”

  Alerio picked up a bundle, then twisted his neck in Hektor’s direction.

  “You wanted adventure,” he said to the youth. “Here’s your opportunity.”

  Hektor hesitated as if he couldn’t decide. Finally, he picked up a bundle and crossed the deck to Alerio.

  “Wait, I’m here to pick up Sisera,” the pirate complained. “Not a Latian delegation.”

  “Hektor is my medic,” Alerio responded. Dropping his bundle, he crossed his arms. “If he doesn’t go, neither do I. Besides, he’s Greek, not Latian.”

  “We can pull you off this tub,” the pirate leader threatened.

  Alerio squatted and reached into his bundle. In a smooth series of motions, he pulled out a pair of short swords and rose. Then with a flourish, he spun both blades into the air. The sharp steel reflected the midday light in flashes before coming down. He caught both swords and rested them on his shoulders.

  “How many of your crew are you willing to sacrifice to the Goddess Nenia?” Alerio inquired.

  Leaders of war bands, be they raiders on foot, on horseback, or afloat needed to be brave and the best among their fighters. Another requirement was to protect their men by avoiding dangerous engagements. And the Legionary, although poor, certainly qualified as a hazard to the Illyrian crewmen.

  “Fine, he can come with us. Step lively, we’ve a long way to go.”

  “How far?” Alerio questioned. He stowed the blades and picked up the bundle.

  “If the God Redon allows, we’ll make the coast before dark,” the pirate skipper replied. “If the God who protects travelers doesn’t, then we may never reach home.”

  “That’s a harsh God,” Alerio observed.

  He jumped to the two-banker followed by Hektor.

  “Redon doesn’t usually meddle in the affairs of men,” the pirate Captain explained. “None of the Illyrian Gods do, unless they’re
motivated by revenge or debt.”

  “Have you offended Redon?” Alerio inquired.

  “I haven’t but he wears a petasos like yours to signify traveling. I’m not sure if that offends the God or not.”

  “I’m not taking off my hat,” Alerio remarked. “So, I guess we’ll find out by the end of the day.”

  The oarsmen powered the liburnian to the east, away from Juno’s Grip and the coast of the Republic.

  ***

  Alerio had crossed the Ionian Sea, but each time in slow-moving merchant vessels. The cargo boats required a night’s sailing on the open sea to reach the other coast. To transit the Adriatic, the Illyrian two-banker had sixty oars to aid the sail. Even when they gave sections of rowers breaks, the wind pushed the raider swiftly through the water.

  Alerio sat on the steering platform beside the pirate leader.

  “What’s your name?” Alerio inquired. “And the name of your vessel.”

  “I command the Boria, a ship as sturdy as the mountain God its named for,” he replied. After pounding his chest with a fist, he bragged. “I am Epulon, feared by lesser men from north to south and on either coast. And a lover of beautiful women from north to south and on either coast.”

  “They all weren’t so beautiful,” one of the warriors tossed out.

  Epulon leaped to his feet and drew his blade.

  “Do you challenge me?” he demanded.

  “No Captain. It was a joke,” the warrior responded. He lifted both hands away from his blades to show he wasn’t willing to draw.

  “Then keep your opinions to yourself,” Epulon advised. He sheathed the sica and dropped onto the platform. Then he whispered to Alerio. “I’ll admit, they weren’t all like the Goddess Prende.”

  “I take it she’s your Goddess of Beauty,” Alerio guessed. He received a smile and a nod of confirmation. “Do you take the Boria across the sea often?”

  “Whenever the mood strikes me or my purse is light,” Epulon told Alerio.

  “Aren’t you afraid of the Republic Navy?” Alerio inquired before pointing out. “Your ship doesn’t have a ram for offense.”

  “A ram would only slow us down. We take what the sea has to offer,” Epulon exclaimed. “Whether from beneath the waves or from boats sailing over them. It’s all there for us. And no waddling warship can catch the Boria.”

  Alerio noticed an empty rowing station at midship.

  “Do you mind if I get my hands on an oar?” he asked.

  “As long as you don’t disrupt the rhythm of my oarsmen.”

  Alerio dropped the wide brimmed felt hat on the platform next to his bundle.

  Several pirates eyed the nice petasos. However, when the Legionary pulled his woolen shirt over his head, battle scars from prior fights became visible. Considering the signs of an experienced fighter, none would touch the hat.

  “I’ll do my best not to interrupt,” Alerio promised before marching to the empty rower’s bench.

  ***

  Late in the day, the sun hung low, and light washed down the length of the two-banker, creating shadows. But the sky darkened, and the long shadows vanished when cloud moved overhead. Soon after, a light rain fell forcing Epulon to call for the sails to be rolled.

  “This can’t be good,” Alerio offered. He glanced at the rowers who now provided all the power for the ship. Lifting his face to the sky, Alerio let rain drops splatter off his forehead. “How far to the coast?”

  The question wasn’t an off-the-cuff inquiry. Memories of waves washing across the deck boards of a transport sent shivers down Alerio’s spine.

  “About as long as I want,” Epulon stated by pointing at the bow.

  “Are you a wizard?” Alerio asked. He gazed ahead of the ship and into the curtain of rain. “I don’t see anything except a wall of wet.”

  “Look closely, that’s not sheets of rain. Those are cliffs of stone,” Epulon told him. “My choice is to seek shelter under the cliffs or make for a beach.”

  “When will you decide?”

  “When we’re close enough for me to recognize our location.”

  ***

  The Boria rowed through the haze and rain. As it drew closer, the wall of damp rock took shape until it towered over the water.

  “It looks dangerous,” Alerio observed while staring upward, trying to find the top of the cliff.

  “Only if you don’t know the area,” Epulon boasted. “I know exactly where we are. First Mate, bring us around, back it down, and let the boat drift in.”

  While the first officer issued the orders, Epulon grabbed Alerio’s arm and guided him to one side of the steering platform. Hektor tagged along.

  “This is one of the blue caves,” the pirate Captain explained. From racing across the water, the two-banker drifted into a small bay. Epulon instructed. “First Mate, bring us closer. Starboard oars, keep us off the rocks until the anchors are set.”

  As the Boria maneuvered in the bay, Alerio could see a spot where the surface of the water vanished under the cliff. Through the drizzle and the little light that seeped through the clouds, he made out a sea cave. By the time the ship finished swiveling, the cave was off the stern and lost to Alerio.

  “What’s a blue cave?” he asked.

  “You’ll see in the morning,” Epulon promised.

  Crewmen pulled out leather tarps, raw fish, iron skillets, sticks, kindling, and logs. A few men jumped into the water and swam for the flat part of a rocky protuberance. After they climbed up, others on the ship tossed them the items. The flipping of the axes to the men on the rock provoked the most laughter. Second was the humor derived from men trying to stop the logs from skipping into the water on the far side of the rock. After fires were built under rainproof covers, the rowers and soldiers on the ship stripped down and dove over the side.

  “The cliff walls protect the bay, and the caves pass the tides through the sea vents,” Epulon described. “Without the slapping of waves against the granite, the water here is always calm.”

  “Making it a good place to spend the night,” Alerio submitted.

  “And the rock, a good place for the cooking fires.”

  Hektor pulled his shirt and pants off, climbed to the rail, and vaulted into the sea. When he splashed down, the Greek went under but quickly reappeared.

  “It’s not as salty as the Mediterranean,” he observed.

  “We have a lot of rivers feeding the Adriatic,” Epulon explained. “Now, Lance Corporal, come swim with me to the rock. We have things to discuss.”

  Moments later, Alerio and Epulon climbed out of the water. They didn’t stop at any of the fires where cooks were cleaning fish but climbed higher on the rock. Once out of hearing range from the crew, they selected flat areas and sat.

  “This is very curious,” Alerio mentioned. “What do we have to discuss that requires secrecy?”

  “King Pleuratus didn’t send the scroll.”

  “If your King didn’t, who authored the threat to Senator Maximus?”

  “It was sent on behest of Queen Jeta,” Epulon replied. “She requires…”

  An Illyrian cried out in pain. Blood gushed from between his fingers as he attempted to stem the bleeding by clamping his hand over a wounded wrist.

  “In my bundle is a leather satchel,” Hektor shouted while climbing out of the water. “Throw it to me.”

  A pirate holding an ax stood over the injured man stammering, “I’m sorry. So, very sorry.”

  A partially split log lay on its side. Hektor put a foot on the log and shoved it away. Then he reached for the wounded wrist.

  “Don’t touch me,” the injured man screamed.

  Other Illyrians shoved the youth away.

  “Master Sisera, a little help?” Hektor pleaded.

  From high on the rock, Alerio and Epulon watched the drama unfold.

  “Captain Epulon. Are any of your oarsmen or soldiers trained medics?” Alerio inquired.

  “The best I have can scarcely se
w a sail,” Epulon admitted. “Why?”

  “Hektor Nicanor, although young, is a combat medic,” Alerio offered. “He can treat your man. Or we can wait and chance him losing the hand.”

  “He’s a good oarsman,” Epulon remarked. Then to the group gawking at the wounded man but not doing anything else, he ordered. “Let the Greek see the wrist.”

  Hektor peeled the fingers back and studied a piece of bone sticking through the cut. Around him, crewmen pressed in to be sure the Greek did nothing more than study the wound.

  “What have you got Hektor?” Alerio called down.

  “The ax glanced off the bone and cut a splinter loose,” he reported. “Painful, but I can save the hand if he lets me.”

  “Captain?” Alerio questioned.

  “We’re a hardy people, Sisera. It’s a rough land and going to sea isn’t much easier. Our Gods and the serpent demand strength from us,” Epulon said. Then he shouted down to the crew. “A one-handed man can’t farm, learn a trade, or go to sea. Let the youth treat him.”

  The crewmen separated and Hektor’s medical kit was placed within reach. While the medic worked, Alerio turned to Epulon.

  “The Gods, I honor and understand,” the Legion officer granted. “But you said the Gods and the serpent demand strength. What did you mean by serpent?”

  “The snake is sacred to all Illyrian tribes,” Epulon replied. “I told you the Gods don’t mettle in our everyday lives. While they don’t, the serpent does.”

  “The God Asclepius has snakes in his temple. They assist in healing,” Alerio recounted. Seeking understanding, he asked. “Do you mean serpents in a temple?”

  “We worship serpents in temples, under rocks, in trees, in water, and on land. It’s against the law to kill a snake. And to prove the power of the serpent,” Epulon informed Alerio, “the Cleric of the Snake authored the scroll that brought you and the medic to us.”

  On the flat part of the rock, Hektor cut away the splinter of bone, and washed the wound with vinegar. Although rough men, the crew cringed while the injured oarsman screamed.

  Chapter 3 - Cleric of the Snake