Abject Authority (Clay Warrior Stories Book 19) Read online

  By the time he neared a grove of trees, Alerio had reached the extent of his knowledge on the issue. His mind thirsted for new information. He pulled Phobos to a stop.

  “This must be where it happened,” he said while patting the stallion’s shoulder.

  A brick and board altar stood beside the dirt road. Flowers lay scattered over the surface around a clay idle of Orbona. Alerio wasn’t sure if the Goddess of Children had done her job by allowing Pollio Suasus to die. Then again, she had given the boy seven years of life.

  He dismounted and walked through the trees. At spots, he noted areas of crushed grass. He counted the places where the robbers had waited and found a larger space where they collected around a set of ruts from a cart. Based on the damage done to the grass, he figured the robbers had waited a long time for their prey. How would highwaymen know the road and the traffic patterns well enough to lounge around before an attack?

  With only questions after the inspection, Alerio went to the altar. As a sacrifice, he sprinkled salt on the clay image of the Goddess Orbona.

  But his pray went to a different deity, “Goddess Nenia, I hope you took the boy quickly.”

  After showing his respects, Alerio mounted Phobos and urged the horse back onto the wagon track. As the waiter described, he easily located the next turn off. Guiding Phobos onto the farm road, he headed for the Suasus estate.

  ***

  At the front of the villa, a servant intercepted Alerio, “Can we help you, sir?”

  He reached for the bridle, but Phobos nipped at him. Jerking back, the servant avoided the stallion’s teeth.

  “You’re lucky. He usually kicks,” Alerio told the man as he slipped from the saddle. “I’m here to see Master Suasus.”

  Alerio led Phobos to a grassy patch under a stand of trees.

  “Sir, the Master isn’t receiving visitors,” the servant pleaded. “If you leave your name, I’ll pass it to him.”

  “That doesn’t fit my schedule,” Alerio informed the man. He marched towards the front steps while advising. “You might want to get ahead of me and warn him.”

  On the way to the porch, the servant ran by Alerio, sprinted up the steps, and raced through the doorway.

  “That helps,” Alerio mumbled. “If he had closed the door and bolted it, I’d have to kick it down.”

  A middle-aged man in a stained tunic appeared in the doorframe. Besides the state of his garment, his eyes were red and swollen.

  “Grantian Suasus?” Alerio questioned.

  “Yes, that’s me. Who are you?”

  “In the Table of Laws, Table VII states under Land Rights and Crimes,” Alerio recited, “people who live near the road are charged with maintaining it. If the road is not well maintained, then carts and animals can be ridden where the riders want to travel. Your road is a mess, Suasus. I’m surprised your neighbors aren’t riding through your garden in protest.”

  “I know the law,” Grantian growled. His eyes showed a little fire. “I asked who you are?”

  “Lictor Alerio Sisera and we need to talk.”

  The farmer straightened his back and focused his eyes on the woolen travel clothing and the felt hat.

  “How do I know you’re a Lictor? Where’s your fasces?”

  “About the fasces, it’s a long story,” Alerio responded. “Don’t make this difficult. I need to ask you about the Bronze Man.”

  At the mention of the murdering bandit, Grantian Suasus stepped aside and gestured for the Lictor to enter.

  Alerio wanted to feel badly about quoting the law to a grieving father. But it helped snap Grantian Suasus out of his melancholy. Comforted by that thought, Lictor Sisera entered the villa.

  ***

  Later in the estate’s office over mugs of vino, Grantian Suasus told his heartbreaking story.

  “I am sorry for your loss,” Alerio said acknowledging the sad tale. “But I’m not a priest. My job is to find the Bronze Man and bring him to justice.”

  “The point of your blade is all the justice I want for him,” Grantian responded.

  “If it comes to that be assured, I won’t hesitate,” Alerio promised. “Right now, I want as much detail as you can remember.”

  Grantian reached to a side table and picked up a small porcelain bowl. He placed it on his desk in front of Alerio.

  “Latians quake in fear of an Etruscan warrior and we are all cowards,” Grantian recalled. “When I cried and asked why he murdered my son, he placed this quarter of a coin on my son’s forehead. Because you are here, and your kind shouldn’t be, were his words.”

  “What did he mean by that?” Alerio asked while fishing the small piece of bronze from the bowl.

  On one side, the slice of coin had the imprint of a wheat shaft along the edge with what appeared to be clouds at the center of the coin. Turning the wedge shape over, Alerio noted a pair of legs stamped on the reverse side. A few letters rubbed smooth by use were illegible.

  “I have to think he and his outlaws are Etruscans angry about the last war,” Grantian replied. “They have no reluctance to injuring or killing during the robberies.”

  “Do you recognize this coin?”

  “No. But truthfully, I’ve barely looked at it,” the farmer admitted. “It reminds me too much of that day.”

  “Can I keep it?”

  “Yes, of course. What else do you need, Lictor?”

  “A note of introduction and directions to the villa of another victim.”

  “Do you really think you can catch him?” Grantian asked while scratching a note on a piece of parchment. “I’d like to be there if you do.”

  He handed the letter to Alerio.

  “Fix your road Master Suasus and take care of yourself and your farm.”

  “Yes, Lictor Sisera,” Grantian replied.

  ***

  By the time he got back to the main road, a chill in the air warned of a cold night. Alerio pulled a fur jacket from a pouch and slipped it over his woolen shirt. He should be heading for Rieti to find a room for himself and a stable for Phobos. But the next villa lay due west and was only a mile farther down the road.

  Pulling the reins, he turned the stallion north and pushed the animal to a trot.

  “This’ll warm us up,” he said to Phobos.

  The beast took the road in quick strides and the four-mile marker came into view moments later. Allowing the stallion to maintain the pace, he guided Phobos onto another farm road and they rapidly approached a large villa.

  But there wasn’t a single servant in the yard to greet him at this one.

  “Turn around and leave,” a man instructed, “or draw your blade and die.”

  He held a steel tipped spear in a proper guard position. On one side of him, an older man brandished a gladius, supported by a large servant, and on the other side two servants with harvesting implements completed a defensive line.

  To spare the stallion an injury if he moved forward, Alerio tuned Phobos to the side and spoke directly to the man with the spear.

  “Good posture and foot placement,” he observed, “shaft held loose, and shoulders relaxed. You’re Legion trained. And from the lowered head, I’d say a heavy infantryman.”

  “How does your head position tell him that?” the older man inquired.

  “A Legionary can only see just above his shield and below his helmet, grandfather,” the man replied. “After a while, you tilt your head down and look forward with your eyes before any fight.”

  “And how does he know that?”

  “Well, sir,” Alerio answered, “I’m a Legion weapons’ instructor. Or rather I was before I got promoted.”

  “Promoted to what, Centurion?” the grandson inquired.

  “Let me introduce myself,” Alerio said holding out the note from Grantian Suasus. One of the servants took it and carried the letter to the old man. “I am Alerio Sisera, and I’m a Lictor from the Senate of the Republic.”

  “I know all of Crassus’ enforcers,” the eld
er challenged. “But I don’t know you.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Alerio informed him. “They’re too well known to catch the Bronze Man.”

  “And you being a stranger gives you freedom of movement?”

  “That is the plan, sir.”

  “Siponar, Grantian’s note vouches for him,” the grandfather stated.

  “I’m Siponar Della and this is my grandfather, Rovere Della,” the grandson said. “Let’s go inside, grandfather doesn’t handle the night air as well as he once did.”

  “I’m as fit as any man,” Rovere Della boasted.

  “I’m sure you are, sir,” Alerio offered. “But I’ve been on the road most of the day and the chill is effecting my knee.”

  “In that case, come inside and we’ll talk by the fireplace,” Rovere directed. “Siponar, have the stableman take care of his horse.”

  “He’s a bit temperamental,” Alerio warned while slipping from the saddle. “I better take him.”

  “I’ll walk with you,” Siponar volunteered. “We’ll be along shortly, grandfather.”

  “Fine, fine but don’t tell any Legion stories without me being there to hear,” Rovere requested.

  The old man shuffled slowly to the villa with the help of a servant. Siponar rested the spear on his shoulder while he and Alerio walked Phobos to the stable.

  “I was with Proconsul Florus’ Legion in Sicilia,” Siponar Della explained. “Twenty-Second Century, Fourth Squad.”

  “So, I was right, you were a heavy infantryman,” Alerio noted. “What happened between you and the Bronze Man?”

  “It wasn’t me,” Siponar replied. “It was my grandfather and probably a good thing.”

  “Why is that?” Alerio asked while he guided Phobos into a stall.

  “I would have fought and died,” Siponar suggested. “Because everyone who has resisted the Bronze Man has been killed.”

  “No one wounded?” Alerio inquired.

  He closed the stall door and leaned on it for a moment.

  “Everyone who resists him is murdered,” Siponar assured him.

  Alerio pushed off the door and headed for the villa. His mind spun around the information. What bandit intentionally escalated the reason to be hunted? More questions, and still no answers.

  ***

  After dining, the three relaxed with wine in front of a fireplace. And much to the delight of Rovere Della, Siponar and Alerio told stories from their days in the Legion. Eventually, Alerio turned serious and addressed the older man.

  “Master Della, tell me about the Bronze Man,” Alerio encouraged.

  “Not much to tell,” Rovere responded. “My manservant and I were in my coach heading back from a neighbor’s villa. Suddenly, five men, one with a Greek helmet and a bronze chest piece stepped in front of the horse.”

  The old man shook his fist at the fire.

  “They took the coach and horse and his coin purse,” Siponar finished answering for his grandfather. “But they didn’t harm anyone.”

  “Did they leave a piece of a coin?”

  Rovere pushed out of the chair, then stopped. “They did. I can’t remember where I put it. But, if that Etruscan crook was here, I’d show him we Romans aren’t cowards.”

  “That tidies up my next question,” Alerio stated.

  “That’s it,” Rovere announced.

  He left the room leaving Alerio and Siponar puzzled. They sipped from their mugs until the old man strutted back into the room.

  “When Siponar returned from Sicilia, my wife put his medals in a box to tidy up his dresser,” Rovere declared. “I dropped the bronze coin in the box when I got home.”

  Alerio took the quarter of a coin and examined it. Like the first one, the lettering was rubbed smooth. But he made out what appeared to be a bunch of grapes on a vine on one side, and another pair of legs on the reverse.

  “Were you robbed just before Grantian Suasus?”

  “No, Lictor,” Siponar informed him, “there were two other holdups between them.”

  Alerio held the edges of the coins together. They were from the same coin or at least from the same minting. But all he had were a bunch of grapes on one side, and two pairs of legs on the other half of the coin.

  “You’ll stay the night, Lictor?” Rovere asked.

  “It will be my pleasure, Master Della.”

  Act 2

  Chapter 4 – Order of incidents

  In the morning, Alerio guided Phobos to the Viale Emilio Maraini. After turning north, they followed the road as it curved to the east. The mountains drew closer and Alerio pondered the richness of the forest and the excellent soil in the Rieti Valley. But for all his early morning ponderings, he couldn’t visualize a swamp covering the acreage. Or imagine how much water it would take to bury the farmland. At the seven-mile marker, he and the stallion took a farm road towards a villa built on a raised finger of land.

  The elevation wasn’t much more than a steep mound, but it allowed the residents a commanding view of the fields, the Viale Emilio Maraini, and the path to the house. When two men stepped into the roadway and blocked his path, there was no doubt of their military training.

  “We don’t get many strangers around here,” one said over the top of a Legion shield. “State your business.”

  His spear rested on the rim as steady as if an Optio would be along shortly to review his shield and spear drill. A second man with the same war gear stood to the speaker’s right. His shield tucked in close to protect his partner’s flank.

  “I wanted to ask about the Bronze Man,” Alerio replied. “But seeing you two, I’ll ask for an exercise session first.”

  “Legion?” the speaker asked.

  “I was once a Colonel and before that a weapons’ instructor,” Alerio replied. He extended Grantian’s note. “But I have a new job.”

  The right-side man stepped forward using the scutum as cover. He took the note and stepped back before reading it.

  “He’s a Lictor.”

  “I know Proconsul Crassus’ Lictors, but I don’t recognize this one,” the other man replied.

  “They brought me in from the Adriatic coast to hunt the Bronze Man and his gang,” Alerio explained.

  “One man to find the murderers?” the infantryman questioned. “How can you succeed when the entire Northern Legion can’t?

  “Because the Legion commanders are seeking an enemy to battle,” Alerio clarified. “I’m looking for the tracks of a Lynx.”

  “The Lynx is a crafty animal,” the flanker noted.

  “I’m Smalt Semitalis and this is my brother Lentul,” said the man with the centered spear. He lowered the weapon. “Come to the house and we can talk.”

  Alerio dismounted and walked with the brothers to a patio garden between two buildings. He tied Phobos to a post. While Lentul brought over a bucket of water for the stallion, Alerio joined Smalt at a table.

  “Our father had relieved me on watch,” the older brother described. “Ever since the robberies began, we’ve rotated one man to keep an eye on the fields and our flocks.”

  “I was up in the hills collecting a few stray goats,” Lentul added. “We both saw riders come from the road. They dismounted and surrounded our father. Then one threw a spear.”

  “They were gone before I could get back,” Smalt uttered. “Our father was dead when I arrived.”

  “What did they take?” Alerio asked.

  “Nothing. Except our father’s life,” Lentul replied.

  A servant brought a pitcher of watered wine. While he filled mugs, Alerio ran the details over in his mind.

  The bandit didn’t rob the senior Semitalis. Until now, he used resistance as a reason to attack. But the Bronze Man and his gang seemed to have stopped at the Semitalis’ farm just to kill.

  “Was your father also a Legionary?” Alerio inquired.

  “Unlike Lentul and I, who served with heavy infantry Centuries,” Smalt answered, “our father was a lamb. As he put it, he was a she
ep who raised a pair of wolves.”

  Was it a stroke of luck that the bandits had arrived while the father was on guard duty? If they had attacked an experienced infantryman with a shield and spear, either Smalt or Lentul could have held them off until the other arrived.

  “Because they didn’t take anything,” Alerio probed, “did the Bronze Man, by chance, leave a piece of coin?”

  “Bronze Man my hairy cūlus,” Lentul swore. “I fought Macedonian raiders at Crotone. He may have bronze sheeting on his helmet and breast plate for show. But no one wearing real bronze could move that easily or as fast as an unarmored man.”

  “He left a piece of a bronze coin on our father’s forehead,” Smalt answered.

  But Alerio wasn’t listening. The picture being painted by the victims of the Bronze Man didn’t fit with a bandit out to get rich robbing Republic citizens.

  “Would you like to see it?”

  “See what?” Alerio asked.

  “The piece of bronze coin?”

  “Yes, please.”

  ***

  Curved lines as if cucumbers placed side by side on a display stand took up most of one side. Flipping the piece of bronze over gave Alerio a jolt. He pulled out Grantian Suasus’ piece of coin and position the legs under the new image.

  “It looks like a man carrying another person,” Lentul observed. “But a cross body carry isn’t practical so it can’t represent combat.”

  Adding the third piece to the coin showed a second pair of legs.

  “The legs are the same,” Smalt commented. “Want to bet the missing piece will have another person carrying someone?”

  “Do either of you recognize the coin?” Alerio asked. “Or the artwork?

  “Nothing that I’ve seen,” each brother replied.

  The servant brought out a platter. On it were portions of thinly sliced ham and chunks of cheese along with a pile of olives.

  “Try the cheese,” Smalt suggested. “We make it with milk from our goats using an old Sabine technique. Isn’t that right, Ulpia?”