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  Olive oil, you would serve me?

  I would grease a wheel

  Dip and soak it up with bread

  The rich oil from an olive pressed

  Honey, you would serve me?

  I would add it to a meal

  Eat the comb’s delicious spread

  The sweet of the honeybees’ nest

  But, if I had some water

  I’d cool my neck

  Clean my clothes

  Wash my toes

  Sprinkle a rose

  And quench my thirst

  If I had some water

  Gritting his teeth, the soldier climbed to his feet and drew his sword. Bending down, he judged where the voice was behind the door and rammed the length of the blade through the gap. What difference would it make if the Legionary was injured? He could die as easily hurt as being thirsty.

  ***

  Bent double so his voice projected under the door, Alerio held the ends of his gladius belt. On the floor, the looped end lay flat on the stone. When the soldier’s blade poked through the gap, he jerked the belt, trapping the blade. Using two hands, he pulled up hard. A slight bend held the sword against the bottom of the door and, with the upward pressure, the door lifted. Both pins in the pentle hinges separated from their bases, leaving the door hanging by the slack pole in the outside brackets.

  Alerio dropped the belt, grasped the edge and opened the door as far as it would go. With the third bovine rib held between the fingers of his right hand, he reached out and knocked the pole free from one bracket. The end of the pole fell to the floor allowing the door to open a little wider.

  At this point, Alerio’s mind screamed at him to stop. The plan was flawed. The soldier stood on the other side of the door ready to hack into his wrist and remove his hand. But he was slated for an agonizing death in the morning anyway. At least he wouldn’t live long enough to miss the hand. Besides, the Tribunes needed to escape and warn the Legionaries. Biting the inside of his lip, Alerio shoved his arm through the crack in the door and grabbed the pole.

  His arm shot straight up to the top of the doorframe. A jolt took the pole from Alerio’s hand as the guard’s blade chopped into the wood. With the door free, the Corporal pulled it back, released the weight and it thumped against the stone floor of his cell. Then, he stepped to the side and stood in the darkness. What light there was in the hallway barely penetrated the storage room.

  “Cute trick. That took some cōleī,” the soldier admitted. “But you’re still in the room and you’ll need to get by my sword to get out.”

  “Why don’t you come in and get me?” asked Alerio. “Better yet, go get some help.”

  “I’m not going anywhere and neither are you,” the guard advised. “Let’s make this easy. Show yourself and I won’t hurt you too much.”

  Alerio shuffled from the dark. His right hand behind his back and the left cocked in what appeared to be an awkwardly held fist.

  “Do you participate in Apollo’s sport?” the Legionary inquired. “I’m just learning. It’s wonderful exercise.”

  “Apollo is a God and you’re not,” replied the guard. “You want to box against a sword? Step right up.”

  Alerio shuffled from side to side while jabbing slowly with his left hand. He looked at his own feet. To the guard, he resembled a person who had watched people box and was mimicking a few of the fundamentals.

  Olive oil, you would serve me?

  I would grease a wheel

  Dip and soak it up with bread

  The rich oil from an olive pressed

  He sang while lumbering forward. Before he came close to the tip of the Syracusan’s blade, he scooted back, still looking down and jabbing in slow motion with the left fist.

  Honey, you would serve me?

  I would add it to a meal

  Suddenly, the Legionary sprang at the guard. His left fist rotated up revealing a sharpened rib bone. The bone smacked the blade shoving it aside. As Alerio pushed the blade, his right arm came around. From an inept boxer, the soldier faced a man holding two sharp objects. One pointing up and the other down.

  Eat the comb’s delicious spread

  The sweet of the honeybees’ nest

  Alerio sang as he got his hip past the tip of the sword and swiped at the guard’s face. Ducking back, the Syracusan tried to disengage by putting distance between himself and the prisoner.

  But, if I had some water

  I’d cool my neck

  The soldier stomped backward and the Legionary crowded each step. The sword rising, lowering and swinging to the left and right. But every attack was stopped from reaching the Legionary by bone knives pressed against both sides of Syracusan’s blade.

  Clean my clothes

  Wash my toes

  Alerio rotated his wrists juggling and countering the movement of the sword. Bent to the side, he imagined himself rowing a canoe and badly mishandling the paddle. In one breath the bones were over and under the blade and, in the next breath, they caught the sides of the blade. Then the soldier drew back his sword arm while throwing a punch at Alerio’s face with his left fist.

  Sprinkle a rose

  And quench my thirst

  The Legionary stabbed the sword hand while spinning away from the fist. As he completed the circle, Alerio raised the bone knife and backhand, sank it into the soldier’s neck. As the guard fell to his knees, he grabbed for the rib bone with both hands. Alerio finished the song.

  “If I had some water,” he sang as he reached down and picked up the sword. “I’d quench my thirst.”

  Chapter 24 – A Celebration of Sterculius

  “Senior Tribune Claudius?” Alerio called into the storage room.

  “What was that noise?” Castor asked in a sleepy voice. “It sounded like lost souls from Hades crying out in agony.”

  “I don’t know, Tribune Ireneus,” Alerio replied. “We can discuss your nightmare later. Right now, we need to vacate this area.”

  “Corporal Sisera. How are you? Did they injure you?” inquired Gaius as he crawled to the entrance and used the doorframe to climb to his feet. Then he stepped out of the storage room and into the light of three candles.

  “I’m fine, sir. But we need to move,” insisted Alerio.

  Gaius glanced at the dead guard with the rib bone sticking out of his neck and the missing door on the storage room across the hall.

  “I slipped you the rib so you could eat,” Gaius explained. “I never considered it would be used as a weapon.”

  “It was delicious, sir,” Alerio assured the Tribune. He pulled the guard into his cell, reset and closed the door. Then, he dropped the poles across both storage rooms. Heading up the hallway towards the front of the building, he called back. “This way.”

  “We need to slip out the back,” Castor exclaimed. He marched in the direction of the rear door.

  “Sir, that’s a military compound full of Echetla soldiers,” described Alerio. Castor stopped in the candlelight, glared at the Corporal and shook his head. He pointed at the rear, insisting they go that way. “Tribune Claudius. I’m trying to get you out of the city safely. However, it’s impossible if Tribune Ireneus questions my directions. And it leaves me with split loyalties.”

  “How dare you, Corporal Sisera,” challenged Castor.

  “Let him finish, Junior Tribune,” ordered Gaius. “Please explain, Corporal Sisera.”

  “Tribune Claudius, we have Legionaries, your detachment, who will be wiped out in the morning,” Alerio replied. “I may be able to get you and Tribune Ireneus out of the city in time to warn them. Or, I can leave you on your own and definitely alert the camp.”

  “You’d leave us here?” asked Castor.

  “Not willingly,” admitted Alerio.

  “Corporal Sisera. We’ll follow your lead without question,” promised Gaius. He began to walk up the dark hallway. “Get me out of the city.”

  “What about me?” asked Castor.

  Alerio didn’t s
ay anything. Picking up a candle, he handed it to the Senior Tribune and guided him towards the meeting room. Then Alerio felt along the walls for the heavy doors. Once he located them, he began pulling them to close off the hallway. Castor brushed by him and joined the Senior Tribune.

  “You can’t lock them,” Gaius exclaimed, noticing the brackets were on the other side of the closing doors.

  With only the single candle for light, it was dark and Gaius didn’t see Alerio pull out the sharpened bones and jam them under the defensive doors. It wouldn’t prevent the doors from being pushed or pulled open but, the wedges held the doors firmly, offering some resistance.

  “Move to the front of the room and wait by the entrance where we came in,” instructed Alerio.

  While they crossed the meeting room, he walked to the far side and located the four high backed council chairs. Selecting a chair, he lifted it and upended it in front of an entrance. Then he moved the other chairs and placed them as obstacles at three other entrances. Before rejoining the Tribunes, he selected two chairs from the feasting table and placed them at a wooden column. Between the sword and his foot, the two chairs were soon splintered and heaps of wood.

  “I don’t understand,” questioned Castor when Corporal Sisera appeared behind him. “I thought we were sneaking out of the city.”

  “Hand me the candle, sir,” instructed Alerio. Taking it, he went back to the column and lit pieces of the shattered chairs.

  The interior of the meeting room went from darkness to shifting shadows in the growing flames. Slowly, the fire began to climb the column.

  “We need to get out of here,” Castor asserted. He took a step towards the entrance.

  Placing a restraining hand on the young nobleman’s shoulder, Gaius ordered, “You will wait for instructions.”

  “We’re trapped in a burning building, in a city filled with hostile soldiers,” Castor protested. “And you want to wait for a mad Legionary who is touched by Furor?”

  “Right now, I’ll take crazy over rash,” Gaius informed Castor. Then looking at Alerio who was at the entrance watching the porch and street. “Corporal Sisera. I don’t mean to question your tactics, but is there a method to your insanity?”

  Turning from the entrance, Alerio’s face glowed in the light from the flames and he did appear to be touched by the God of Madness.

  “The Echetla Council has declared a feast. Probably to honor Ares and ask his blessings for ferocity tomorrow,” Alerio explained. “If our escape is discovered, every soldier will stop drinking and begin searching for us.”

  “It won’t be difficult to find us,” commented Castor as he coughed on the smoke. “We’re standing in a burning building.”

  “I’m hoping the citizens and soldiers get busy fighting the fire,” Alerio offered as he turned back to watch the porch. “I’m hoping it will delay them in setting up their search grids.”

  “You’ll sacrifice two noblemen to save a bunch of common Legionaries,” shouted Castor.

  “Tribune Ireneus. Life in the Legion isn’t for everybody,” Alerio suggested. Then he added. “Excuse me, Senior Tribune.”

  Two figures broke through the entrance on the far side of the meeting room. Alerio sprinted towards them and arrived as they tripped over the highbacked chair. With the flat of his blade, he beat the two unconscious and stripped them of their robes. Clutching the garments in his arms, he raced back to the Tribunes.

  “Put these on,” Alerio ordered. “It’s time to go.”

  “You were waiting for clothing?” Castor asked as he wrapped the garment around his shoulders.

  “How did you know the first ones in would have robes?” inquired Gaius as he settled the cloth over his ornate armor.

  “Only a wealthy man would run into a burning building to save contracts and deeds, before shouting for help,” offered Alerio. “To them, the stacks of scrolls and parchment were more valuable than anyone’s life. When we leave, shout and point back at the burning building.”

  Alerio stepped onto the porch and immediately cried out. Waving his arms frantically at the gathering crowd, he guided the Tribunes down the steps and away from the smoke and flames consuming Echetla’s administration building. Once across the street, they ducked into an alleyway to avoid mobs of soldiers and citizens rushing towards the fire.

  ***

  Three streets from the blazing building, the three Legionaries changed direction and headed towards the wall. After a few blocks, the buildings went from residences to commercial buildings then tradesmen compounds and warehouses.

  “The gates and the wall facing our camp are that way,” Castor said pointing to his left.

  “Yes, sir. And that’s where Sub Commander Ezio will have staged the most troops,” Alerio pointed out as they crossed a dark street. “We’ll need to go over where they least expect us.”

  “And where would that be, Corporal?” inquired Gaius.

  “When we rode in, I noticed the stockyards near the wall,” Alerio advised the Tribunes.

  “We’re going to climb the wall with animals whinnying, neighing and pawing the ground?” ventured Castor. “Don’t you think the stockyard guards will hear and come to investigate?”

  “Not the stockyards,” Alerio corrected. “We’re going to worship Sterculius.”

  “Because no one wants to loiter at the dung piles,” Gaius guessed. Then he had to catch his breath before continuing. “For this mission, the God of manure should be invoked. Or he has been involved the whole time. And, I’m just now realizing it.”

  The usually robust Senior Tribune appeared to be exhausted. Not wanting to drag a youth who couldn’t keep silent or a man who might collapse from exhaustion, Alerio decided to leave them.

  “Wait here, sirs,” instructed Alerio as he gently shoved the Tribunes in a space between two warehouses. “I need to find some supplies.”

  “How do we locate the manure piles in the dark?” inquired Castor.

  “Sniff the air, sir. You’ll detect the location by the time I get back,” Alerio answered before slipping away in the dark.

  ***

  In a port city like the Capital, Messina, Syracuse or Catania, the place to find hemp rope and hooks were the shipbuilder’s compound. In an inland city, the craftsman with the widest selection of ropes and hooks was a stonemason. Alerio’s problem. He had no idea where to find the compound in Echetla. Doubling back the way the three had come, the Corporal jogged until he located a group of civilians. Rushing to the torch-carrying men, he slid to a stop.

  “I’m with Lieutenant Hicetus’ company from Syracuse,” he lied while stepping into the torchlight. “I was told to report to a position near the stonemason’s compound. But I got turned around. Can you point me in the right direction?”

  “The quarryman is located near the wall in that direction,” a man replied. Luckily, he indicated a quadrant of the city not far from the stockyards. As Alerio ran off, the man spoke to his companions. “Why would they station troops at Xander’s compound?”

  Alerio missed the comment as he jogged down twisting and winding streets. The buildings became widely spaced until he located empty lots across from warehouses. Dividing the vacant areas were short walls around tradesmen compounds. A tanner and a soap maker were close together. One scraped fat from hide and the other rendered the fat and mixed it with wet ash to make soap. And, both used urine in the process. Even in the still of the night, the sharp aroma of ammonia was overpowering. Wisely, the compounds were located near the city’s defensive wall so as not to offend their neighbors.

  Staying next to the warehouses, Alerio stuck to the shadows. Once he avoided a patrol marching up the street and hid several times from night watchmen carrying lanterns. In all the cases, there was no immediacy to their steps. It appeared the Legionaries’ escape had gone unnoticed.

  Beyond the soap maker, Alerio saw the outlines of large blocks of stone. In the midst of the blocks sat a large house and stable. On the side of the house
was a spacious covered work area. Alerio left the warehouse, crossed the street and moved between the stones. He detected no movement as he approached the awning. Squatting down, Alerio listened for snoring or similar noises made by sleeping men. Once satisfied the work area was deserted, the Legionary crept onto the stone flooring.

  He located hemp rope and pulled two lengths off a pile. With the ropes over one shoulder, he sorted through tools. Small hammers, large mallets of wood and steel, various sized chisels and wedges, were arranged on benches. As he approached the far end of a bench, his hand identified oversized iron hooks with eyelets at one end. To move heavy pieces of stone, the stonemason placed these hooks under the blocks so they could be hoisted. Strong and built to lift stones, the weight of one or two men on a hook posed no problem. Then, the door to the house opened and a man, whose shoulders crowded the doorframe, limped into the work area. Holding a kettle sized lantern in one hand and a spear with a broadhead tip in the other, he peered around checking for shadows in the dark beyond the light.

  “Put my equipment back where you found it,” the massive man instructed once his eyes settled on Alerio. When the Legionary hesitated, the man sat the lantern on a workbench. In a blur, the spear spun. Passing the rotating shaft over his head, the man continued spinning it with the other hand and warned. “Run and you’ll never make it off the patio.”

  “I was only borrowing the ropes and hooks,” Alerio explained as he placed the climbing gear on the stone floor.

  “Borrowing is usually a two-party agreement,” observed the man. “When the taking is one-sided, it’s called stealing.”

  Holding out a hand to show he needed a moment, Alerio reached under his leather armor and pulled out a coin pouch.

  “How about a lease?” Alerio asked as he tossed the pouch to the man.

  “I catch you stealing and now you want to buy the rope and hooks?” inquired the man after snatching the purse out of the air.

  “Not buy. I want to rent them,” explained Alerio.

  “So, we’ve gone from theft to a gentleman’s agreement,” teased the man while pointing the spear’s tip at Alerio. “What’s your name lad?”