Uncertain Honor Page 6

  “You just miss your art lessons from Isos Monos,” Alerio accused. “You do realize that you are already a painter. What can the Greek teach you?”

  “His grasp of colors is exceeded by none,” she responded. “Other than possibly the Goddess Flora and her flowers.”

  “I see there is one thing Monos is teaching you,” Alerio stated while rolling the scroll.

  “What’s that, husband?”

  “His arrogance,” Alerio replied.

  He walked to his wife and gazed into her eyes before kissing her lips. After the tender moment, he left to dress for the ceremony.

  ***

  A short while later, Senior Tribune Sisera stood next to Proconsul Regulus. Around them an honor guard held at attention while the General/Consul and his entourage rode out of the naval facility.

  “The next time we see Quintus Caedicius,” Regulus boasted, “our job here will be done. We’ll wave goodbye to the fleet and to Ostia.”

  “We’ve a lot more to do before then, sir,” Alerio reminded him. “I’m going to change and get to work. Unless you need something from me.”

  “No. Go on. I’ve reports to write about the preparations,” the Proconsul stated while watching the Consul get farther away. “We must keep the Senate informed. And you should know, I’ve mentioned you excessively.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Alerio acknowledged.

  A short while later, Alerio hung up his pretty armor, changed into a work tunic and his battle gear before strapping on his gladius. Feeling more comfortable in the well-used equipment, he left his office and jogged to the stables.

  ***

  “It’s only five feet across,” an instructor shouted. “But much deeper if you fall.”

  Two Centuries of Legion Marines stood in the cargo hold of the transport, looking up at the NCO. He walked the narrow deck along the rail, pointing to an unseen warship that floated beyond their view from the merchant vessel.

  “It’s the deep that worries me,” one of the Marines commented.

  “Then make the jump, get up, and fight,” the instructor countered. “Fifth Century, on the stairs.”

  Centurion Palle positioned his Optio in the center of the stack. And although he didn’t expect any of his Marines to hesitate, he placed his Tesserarius in the back of the Century.

  “Where do you want me, Centurion?” Alerio questioned.

  The combat officer glanced at the Senior Tribune. To most of the Marines, having a staff officer come to play riled them. They didn’t mind taking orders. But to have their drill reduced to an adventure for a nobleman, didn’t sit right.

  “Sir, you can fall in behind my first squad,” Palle directed.

  “Excellent, let’s go show the infantry how Marines do it,” Alerio boomed.

  Around him, a few men groaned. Bravado from a Senior Tribune was not motivational.

  “Ready, Fifth Century?” the instructor called down. “The warship is off the aft. On it are a hundred Qart Hadasht mercenaries. You can jump and fight. Or fall and drown. The result is entirely up to you. Ready. Go.”

  Palle, the Ardent Rabbit, shrieked a war cry. While Alerio’s words didn’t fire up the Marines, their Centurion’s high-pitched scream did. Energy ran through the Marines as they shuffled forward. The first squad rushed up the ladder following their officer.

  The big shield bounced against Alerio’s back as he used the handrails to aid in the speed of the ascent. On the steering platform, he couldn’t see anything except Palle and the first squad spanning out to open sections of the railing. Once at the rail, they planted a foot and leaped. Alerio hit the rail a moment later, pushed off, and stretched out. His fingers reaching for the outrigger on the side of the quinquereme.

  The blind assault was to give the Marines a taste of attacking into an unfamiliar situation. Today’s drill was safer than the unknown enemy formation they would face on the Punic shore.

  Alerio and the first squad crawled up and over a short banister and onto the outrigger. Behind them, a few Marines fell into the gap. Their throat ripping screams released and reverberated between the hulls as they fell into the sea. Affecting the Marines behind them, their failures added doubt and more Marines fell with each proceeding squad.

  From the outrigger, Alerio pushed up, slung his shield forward, and jumped the three feet up to the main deck of the warship. No mercenaries waited to defend the vessel. Instead, Centurion Palle stood yelling and encouraging his Marines to run across the deck and join the successful jumpers.

  Alerio ignored the combat officer. He walked to the edge of the deck and stepped down to a location where he wouldn’t block any of the Marines rushing across the from transport’s steering deck. Laughter from the beach echoed off the hulls.

  Although both vessels were afloat, the water under the keels was only five feet deep. The Marines who had missed the outrigger and fallen, landed hard, got wet, but were in no danger of drowning. They did however suffer ridicule from Legionaries sitting on the beach watching the exercise.

  Alerio handed his borrowed helmet and shield to an instructor, threw a salute in Palle’s direction, and jumped into the water. More warships were rowing in and he needed to be in his office.

  ***

  Alerio made a quick stop at the baths to wash off the salt water. Dressed in a clean tunic and carrying his armor, he walked by several nice carriages on his way to the headquarters building. He thought nothing of them until he entered the outer office and found a near riot.

  “Sir, the merchants are here for the proconsul,” the duty NCO reported. “He instructed them to wait for you.”

  Ten men dressed in expensive robes waved pieces of parchment while attempting to speak over each other.

  “Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?” Alerio asked the merchants.

  “You dumped a half a million oarsmen on our streets,” the loudest spoke above the rest. “I demand the Legion pay for the damages.”

  He attempted to shove his piece of animal skin paper into Alerio’s hand.

  “Silence,” Alerio roared. When the group quieted, he informed them. “At last count, we have around one hundred and twenty-four thousand men on the beach. Let’s stop with the exaggerations.”

  “But look at the damages they’ve caused,” another shop owner complained.

  He held up what Alerio could only guess was a bill for reimbursements.

  “Each oarsman earns around twenty-five bronze a month,” Alerio told them. “The Senate has delivered to you one hundred and twenty-four thousand customers. Some quick math shows me Ostia Town has had an influx of over three million bronze coins. When I think about it, maybe the Legion should start taxing you?”

  The ten merchants leaned back, and a few clutched their chests as if they had been struck.

  “No, no,” they pleaded. “We just wanted to…”

  “I don’t care what you want,” Alerio growled. Afraid of overstepping his authority with the citizens, he softened and suggested. “However, I know what you need. I will begin patrols of the town to cut down on the vandalism. Maybe, just maybe, I can accomplish that without a tax, provided I can convince Proconsul Regulus.”

  “Please, do what you can for us,” the merchants begged.

  They shuffled out of the building and Alerio turned to the duty NCO.

  “Is the Proconsul in?” he asked.

  “No, sir. As soon as the merchants arrived, he left to check on the warehouses,” the Optio replied.

  “We have ships rowing in. Send for Centurion Gratian,” Alerio instructed. “And while I’m gathering officers, send runners to the duty Centurions.”

  Alerio chuckled as he marched to his office. Marcus Regulus had been to the supply buildings once when Alerio gave him a tour. By leaving the angry men for his Senior Tribune, the politician had managed to extract himself from offending the merchants.

  “Sometimes I’d prefer to face a battle line of barbarians, rather than solve another support problem,” Aleri
o exclaimed to his empty office. “Life was simpler as an infantryman.”

  He thought of his lie about putting a tax on the merchants. It was far beyond his power to enforce a tariff, but the ploy worked to pacify the businessmen. Regulus had trusted him to find a solution and he had. It was nice to be valued.

  ***

  A week later, Alerio left the office early. In the last two months, he had worked late into the evenings most days. Now, as the process of equipping the fleet drew to a close, he could spend more time with his new wife.

  On the road from the naval facility, he noted Centuries arriving. Four Legions meant housing one hundred forty-eight of the eighty-man units. While riding by them, Alerio was tempted to ask if they were Consul Longus’ or Consul Caedicius’ Legions. Deciding it didn’t matter, he kept moving, settling for a few salutes from Centurions as the only contact. His housing Tribune would direct them to the proper billeting area.

  Alerio did have one detour to make before going to the rented villa. From the highway, he guided Phobos onto the main road. When he first came to Ostia, it barely qualified as a hamlet. After the Senate enlarged the naval facilities and began construction of a large Legion fort, the community had grown. To that end, he urged the horse forward as they entered the commercial section of the town.

  “Any trouble?” he asked a shopkeeper who swept dirt away from the front of his establishment.

  “No Senior Tribune, the patrols are a whistle away,” the business owner reported.

  “Well, you won’t have to put up with the oarsmen very much longer,” Alerio commented. To himself, he added. ‘Or put up with me.’

  “That’s a shame,” the merchant reflected, “the fleet has been good for business.”

  You can’t have it both ways the Senior Tribune wanted to shout. But he didn’t. He urged Phobos away from the shop and continued the inspection.

  At the end of his tour, Alerio was satisfied. The patrols were keeping the peace in town and he could get home in time to watch the sunset with Gabriella.

  ***

  On the back patio, Alerio and Gabriella held hands, sipped wine, and shared the warmth of the setting sun on their faces.

  “When we get back to the Capital,” she suggested, “we should throw a proper party.”

  “Since when did you become a socialite,” he teased.

  “Since my husband built a distribution network to equip three hundred and thirty warships, their crews, four Legions, and two hundred transports,” she bragged. “I received a letter from Lady Aquila. You, my husband, are the talk of Rome. Senator Maximus thinks you should go into politics. Your adopted Mother believes your future lies in commerce.”

  “What do you think?” Alerio inquired.

  “I think you should be a greedy businessman,” Gabrielle answered. “Or a blowhard of a politician. Anything that keeps you home at night. The party will help you entertain offers.”

  “In other words, anything except the Legion?” Alerio questioned.

  From the doorway, Hektor rapped on the doorframe to get their attention.

  “Will you be taking your meal in the great room or on the patio, sir?” the youth asked.

  “I think we’ll dine inside,” Alerio told him. He offered his arm to Gabriella and reminded her. “You didn’t answer me about the Legion.”

  Hektor vanished into the villa, leaving the couple standing in the fading light.

  “It would make me very happy if Ostia was the last duty station for Senior Tribune Sisera,” she declared while intertwining her arm in his. “A father should be home for the birth of his son.”

  Alerio stopped in the doorway, turned her to face him, and cocked his head as if he were hard of hearing.

  “Say that again,” he ordered.

  “Alerio Carvilius Sisera, you are going to be a father,” Gabriella exclaimed.

  The cry of joy brought Hektor running to see what was wrong. But he relaxed when he discovered Alerio and Gabrielle in an embrace.

  “Hektor Nicanor, I am going to be a father,” Alerio bragged. “Whatever we were having for dinner, throw it out. Go buy something better, maybe rabbits and quality vino. Tonight, is special. And I want it to be memorable.”

  “Hektor, you will do nothing of the sort,” Gabriella corrected. “The dinner is fine. And I am sure the vino will be satisfactory.”

  She took Alerio’s arm and tugged him into the villa. They were five steps down the hallway when the Legion courier knocked on the front door.

  Act 3

  Chapter 7 – Heart and Duty

  Senior Tribune Alerio Carvilius Sisera,

  I trust this missive finds you in robust health and full of stamina.

  It is with a heavy heart that I send news of the death of General/Consul Quintus Caedicius. This morning, the Goddess Nenia came for the soul of my friend and colleague. His worthy spirit has no doubt crossed the river Styx. By now he waits on Minos, Rhadamanthys, and Aiakos to judge him a good man.

  I will offer sacrifices and a feast to honor my departed friend at a later date. For now, we have important matters to discuss.

  At daybreak, the Senate will vote on Caedicius’ replacement. A faction has nominated Marcus Atilius Regulus as the new Co-Consul. Seeing as you are duty sworn to the Proconsul, I need your thoughts on the submission. Should I vote for Regulus knowing you will accompany him on the invasion? Or against him, and deny both of you the honor and glory of the campaign?

  For such a discussion, I need you at the Capital long before the sun rises on the Senate of The Republic.

  Your father, Senator/General Spurius Carvilius Maximus

  ***

  Alerio let the letter hang from his fingers as his eyes glossed over.

  “Nenia Dia, can you not let me have an evening of joy?” he demanded of his personal Goddess. “Is there no end to the souls you need to sate your desire?”

  Gabrielle and Hektor stepped back, their mouths falling open at the blasphemy.

  “Your words are disrespectful,” Gabrielle warned. While saying it, she rubbed her belly. “We must make a sacrifice to the Goddess Orbona for the protection of our child. Afterwards, we’ll eat.”

  Alerio handed the letter to his wife.

  “Of course, we will sacrifice to the Goddess of Children,” he informed her. “But my appetite has drained away with the news. Hektor, pack a mule with my ceremonial armor and my battle gear. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  “Should I pack for me as well?” the youth inquired.

  “Not now. You can join me when the Legion comes to Ostia.”

  “Do you want to go to war?” Gabrielle questioned. “Maximus says he might vote against Regulus. In that case, the Legion will released you.”

  “My heart wants to remain by your side,” Alerio assured her. “But it seems that Nenia, and my duty to the Republic, has other plans for me.”

  ***

  In the middle of the night, Alerio rode through the gate of the Capital and proceeded to Villa Maximus. It only took one session of rapping on the front entrance to get a reply.

  “Master Sisera, it is good to see you,” Belen greeted him while opening the door. “The General left instructions to be awakened when you got here.”

  “Do you ever sleep?” he questioned the Greek secretary while stepping into the house.

  “I napped near the door in anticipation of your arrival,” Belen answered. To a sleepy-eyed young servant, he instructed. “Take the mule to the stables and unpack it. And be wary of the stallion.”

  “Phobos bites and kicks,” Alerio warned the livestock handler. To the secretary, he suggested. “Come with me to the office. I need to be brought in on what’s happening before I face my father.”

  “Very wise of you, Master Sisera,” Belen acknowledged.

  The two men strolled down the hallway. Near the end, they entered an office with walls decorated with cracked and notched shields and broken swords.

  “I’ve always loved the General�
��s office,” Alerio remarked.

  He went to a wall and lightly ran a hand over the pieces of ruined Samnite battle gear.

  “It holds memories and memorabilia from a life of service,” Belen noted.

  “And that’s why I wanted to speak with you first,” Alerio stated. “My father is a proud man. A man who has never used political connections to dodge the Republic’s call to war. Yet, he asks me for advice about just that.”

  “Because he…” Belen was interrupted by a booming voice from the doorway.

  “Because, the Qart Hadasht homeland is eight hundred miles from here. That’s eight hundred miles of water filled with sharks and ships-of-war,” Spurius Maximus proclaimed. He went to a wall and rested a hand on a broken tribal sword. “For my battles, the grind was a few hundred miles of mountain trails and valleys. Reinforcements and resupply were never but a few days away. This invasion will take four Legions far, far from home. One bad storm could strand those good citizens on the shores of our enemy for the rest of their short lives.”

  “But if we win,” Alerio pointed out, “the war will be over. The Republic victorious.”

  “Risk versus reward,” Maximus observed. He circled his desk before sitting in his chair. “You have done enough for a dozen men, Alerio. Fought and won. Negotiated and won. Organized and won. You have nothing else to prove.”

  “I have other news, but I’ll let that wait,” Alerio commented. “There’s something bothering you besides the distance. What is it?”

  “Most of the Senate feels Consul Lucius Longus is too young to command the Legions. He has been designated as the Commander of the Navy and, of course, will have his two Legions,” Maximus explained. “However, if elected, Consul Marcus Regulus will be the senior commander of our ground forces. Tell me, Alerio Carvilius Sisera, is the Proconsul an inspiring leader? A tactician of note, a man with a vision? Or is he an able administrator with no heart for battle?”

  “General. Father. You’re asking me to comment about the fitness of my commanding officer,” Alerio protested. He rubbed his hands together before thinking of a way out. “Why ask me when the collective wisdom of the Senate will decide.”