Fortune Reigns Read online

  But the Legion’s weapons instructor grabbed him by the shoulders, pulled him close and put his lips beside the transportation officer’s ear.

  “This is trouble that might go up to the General’s staff,” whispered Carnifex. “I suggest, you go back to your office and make busy with your scrolls.”

  Visibly shaken, either from the rough physical contact or the idea of dealing with staff issues, the Centurion turned to go.

  “Corporal. Come with me,” he ordered.

  “No. Your Tesserarius stays here,” Carnifex informed the Centurion.

  The transportation officer was an old campaigner nearing mandatory retirement age. If he lost his position in Caudex Legion, he probably wouldn’t find another Legion to recruit him. In his younger days, he might have disputed the challenge to his leadership. But, Sanctus Carnifex understood personal combat and knew death intimately. Whatever the trouble, he’d let the weapons instructor sort it out. For now, he’d seek the sanctuary of his office.

  “Corporal. I’m looking for four of your men,” Sanctus stated as the mule drivers and transportation personnel shuffled into the yard. “Let me know if any of your troops are missing.”

  “Yes, sir,” the NCO replied. Then he ordered. “Transportation Century, form up on me.”

  More men came from stables, tents, and warehouses commandeered by the Legion. When the flow of men stopped, the Tesserarius began looking over the assembly.

  “There are eleven missing,” he announced. “Two are at medical. And five are on assignment delivering supplies to the defensive lines. I don’t know about the other four.”

  From between the tents, two men appeared. An infantryman nudged a mule driver with the tip of his gladius. The mule driver looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else except marching towards the weapons instructor and the Corporal.

  “This one tried to sneak out the back of a tent,” the infantryman exclaimed. “The Lance Corporal found a betting slip on him.”

  As they approached the center of the yard, Sanctus reached out and took the mule driver by the throat and drew his dagger.

  “Can you handle a mule team with one eye?” he inquired.

  “Yes, Centurion,” the man replied.

  “Good. Because I wouldn’t want to short the Legion a man while we’re in contact with the enemy,” Carnifex explained. “I’m going to ask you a question, then I’m going to carve out your eyeball.”

  “Wait, weapons instructor,” the man begged. “Don’t you mean, if I don’t answer, you’ll take my eye?”

  “No. If I have to work to get information about the mistreatment of Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera, I’m taking an eye as payment for my labor,” Carnifex stated.

  “It was Caratcus’ idea to place the death bets,” the wagon driver blurted out. “He claimed he had a message and coin for the punishment Sergeant to hurt Sisera, bad. Knowing our Sergeant, we figured the odds of the Legionary dying were worth the coins ventured.”

  “And where is Caratcus?” demanded the Corporal.

  “I don’t know, Tesserarius,” the driver replied. “After the infantry surrounded the Sergeant at the punishment post, we ran back here.”

  From a warehouse, two infantrymen dragged a driver out of a building and across the yard.

  “We found him hiding under the grain,” one of the Legionaries said. Then he slapped the driver across the top of his head. “Nasty piece of merda, putting your dirty cūlus in our grain.”

  “That’s Caratcus, sir,” the Corporal said identifying the wagon driver.

  “Take him to the First Sergeant,” Carnifex ordered the two Legionaries holding the driver. Then he yelled. “Squad leaders, form up on the road and report to your Century.”

  From the tents, buildings, and warehouses, the other squad assigned to Centurion Carnifex emerged. They fell into columns next to the squad in the transportation yard. Together they marched away with the Legion’s weapons instructor marching behind them.

  ***

  “Sergeant. Is this the Private who brought you the message and the sack of coins?” demanded Carnifex as he shoved Caratcus into the house.

  “Yes, Centurion,” he replied.

  First Sergeant Brictius pulled out his gladius and held the weapon at his side. It hung motionless but the punishment Sergeant and the wagon driver both cringed at the unspoken threat of the naked blade.

  Turning to the Private, Carnifex inquired, “Who brought you the message?”

  “I don’t know his name, sir,” pleaded the Private. “But I recognized him. He’s on the squad protecting Tribune Eutropius.”

  “Now look here, sir,” the Sergeant blustered. “Enough of this game. Your questions are dangerously close to accusing a Senior Staff Officer of committing a violation. But we all know you’ll do nothing, except get all of us a session on the punishment post. Maybe not you, Centurion, but First Sergeant Brictius, Private Caratcus and me. We’re the ones who will be up on charges.”

  “You aren’t wrong, Sergeant,” replied Carnifex. “That’s why this is a secret inquiry. Private Caratcus. Describe the Legionary who brought you the message.”

  “He is average height, stands with his back real straight and he didn’t look me in the eyes,” Caratcus related. “Plus, he’s not very smart. When I asked why the orders to hurt the Lance Corporal, he got confused before telling me. Oh, and he’s missing an ear on the left side.”

  “That’s Private Hippolytus,” announced Carnifex. “Sergeant. Take your man back to the transportation Century. I don’t want to hear any gossip about the message or what we discussed in this room. And if you ever get another bribe to hurt a Legionary, I want to hear about it.”

  The Sergeant nodded his understanding, put a hand on Caratcus’s back and shoved the Private out of the door. Before leaving, he locked eyes with First Sergeant Brictius.

  “Don’t get over your station, First Sergeant,” he warned before following Caratcus out of the house.

  Brictius sheathed his gladius and cocked his head in a questioning manner.

  “What now, Centurion?” he inquired.

  “You go tell Tribune Claudius what we discovered,” directed Carnifex. “I’m going to speak with Private Hippolytus.”

  Chapter 8 – Bees’ Wax

  The infantry tents were neatly arranged in Legion squares. In the center of the camp, the line officer’s large tent anchored the Century’s area. While the First Century, Headquarters guarded the General and access to the Citadel, patrolling the structure, fell to infantry squads of rotating Centuries. The duty would end when the Legion went into combat.

  Legionaries sat in front of tents repairing or cleaning their equipment. Sanctus Carnifex located the tent he wanted and marched to it.

  “Centurion Carnifex. What can I do for you, sir?” the Lance Corporal asked as he looked up from where he was sharpening his gladius.

  “I need to speak with Private Hippolytus,” Sanctus stated.

  “Sir. I’m aware of Hippolytus’ actions,” the squad leader admitted. “I’m waiting for my Centurion and Sergeant to get back from inspecting the northern defensives. I’m sure they’ll administer the appropriate punishment.”

  “And you had nothing to do with it?” inquired Carnifex.

  “No, sir. I’m studying my numbers and letters,” replied the Lance Corporal. “Someday, I’d like to be a Tesserarius. Permitting my men to get blind drunk while on duty would hurt my chances of being selected.”

  “Drunk on duty?” asked a confused Carnifex.

  “I promise you, sir. I inspected the guards before they were posted,” reported the squad leader. “Hippolytus was sober. I didn’t even smell vino on his breath. You can imagine my surprise when I was informed one of my Legionaries was passed out behind the Citadel. That’s why you wanted to speak with him. Isn’t it, sir.”

  “Where’s Hippolytus now?” demanded the Centurion.

  “In the tent sleeping it off,” the Lance Corporal said pointing behind
him at the squad’s tent.

  Sanctus rushed to the tent, tossed back the flap and stepped into the muted interior. One bedroll was occupied. The Centurion knelt down and felt Hippolytus’ forehead. It was wet and cold. After placing a hand on the Private’s neck and finding a weak pulse, he shouted.

  “Get this man to medical,” Carnifex ordered.

  ***

  “And we know a Private Hippolytus from Tribune Eutropius’ protection detail delivered the coins and the message,” related First Sergeant Brictius. As he talked, Senior Tribune Claudius paced outside the surgery tent forcing Brictius to turn his head back and forth as he reported. “And that’s as far as I dare take the investigation, sir.”

  “I want to speak with Private Hippolytus, later,” Gaius Claudius informed the First Sergeant. “For now, I need Lance Corporal Sisera.”

  They both looked up the street to see Centurion Carnifex and four Legionaries carrying a man on a shield.

  “Medic!” one of the porters called. A tent flap opened and the men and the stretcher vanished through the opening. Moments later, the Centurion emerged and marched to Gaius Claudius.

  “Who was that, Centurion?” Gaius inquired.

  “Private Hippolytus, sir. I’ve seen food poisoning from spoiled grain and meat and illness from bad water and vino,” Carnifex offered. “But I’ve never seen any of those put a man down as hard as whatever the Private drank.”

  “You think he was intentionally poisoned?” asked the Senior Tribune.

  “I wouldn’t know about poisons, sir,” Carnifex replied. “That’s a weapon only wealthy people can afford to wield.”

  Gaius Claudius’ forehead creased and his lips pressed together hard. Before he could say what was on his mind, a doctor, wiping his bloody hands with a rag came from the surgery tent.

  “Your Legionary is stitched up and bound,” the doctor announced. “He’ll need a few days of rest. The lashes didn’t rip the muscles, just scratched them. But his flesh was jagged and I had to stretch it to sew the stitches.”

  “I need him on his feet,” demanded the Gaius.

  “If he moves around too much, he’ll break the linen stitches,” advised the doctor. “And if the wound isn’t flushed with vinegar twice a day, it’ll get the rot. He could die.”

  “If he isn’t on his feet, we may all die,” Gaius informed the Doctor. “What can you do to get him back on duty?”

  “I could apply a compress of honey and olive oil and seal it with bees’ wax,” replied the Doctor. “That should keep the flesh around the stitches supple. And a tight binding will hold it together. But, he wouldn’t be able to hold a shield or swing a gladius.”

  “I’m not putting him in a shield wall,” explained the Senior Tribune. “I just need his eyes and his voice.”

  “Let me prepare the balm and dressing,” the Doctor informed Gaius. “But this goes against my recommendations.”

  “Noted. Now get Lance Corporal Sisera patched up,” ordered the Senior Tribune. Then to the First Sergeant. “I’m going to clean up and get on my armor. As soon as Sisera is released, bring him to Citadel Hill.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Brictius. “How should we transport him?”

  “As fast and as comfortably as possible, First Sergeant,” Gaius suggested as he swung onto the horse’s back. “Try not to open the wound. It wouldn’t do him or us any good if he bleeds out before finishing the mission.”

  The Senior Tribune trotted west through the city and Centurion Carnifex glanced at the First Sergeant.

  “Any ideas?” he asked.

  “Maybe, but I need a messenger,” Brictius said. Glancing around he saw a young man squatting beside the medical tent. “Legionary. Come here.”

  “Yes, First Sergeant. What can I do for you?” asked the medic in training.

  “I need you to find Captain Frigian from the Sons of Mars,” Brictius instructed as he pulled coins from a pouch. “Gives these to him and ask him…”

  ***

  Senior Tribune Gaius Claudius, General Caudex, and Senior Tribune Maris Eutropius stood on the crest of Citadel Hill gazing to the south. Only Gaius was actually watching anything. To the General and Eutropius, the Syracusan troops appeared as discoloration on the grass in the distance.

  “King Hiero is running commanders through his tent as if they were a festival parade,” described Claudius. “It must be in preparation for an attack.”

  Messengers and Junior Tribunes sprinted from the Citadel building and raced down the hill. The messengers continued to run and the young Tribunes leaped on horses and galloped away. After the surge of pounding legs and cranking elbows, Palaemon Nicephrus and Pericles Requiem calmly strolled from the Citadel building.

  As the Colonels drew closer, General Caudex turned from the vista and focused on his Division commanders.

  “Can we hold Messina?” he asked.

  “Against the Syracusan troops, yes,” Nicephrus replied.

  “Against the Qart Hadasht mercenaries, positively,” Requiem added.

  “What about their combined forces?” questioned Caudex.

  “It’ll be an epic battle,” Nicephrus commented.

  “One for the annals of the Republic,” Requiem assured the General.

  “Colonels. Those are not answers,” Caudex observed.

  “Because, General, there are no answers,” explained Nicephrus.

  “We need additional Legionaries in the south to handle the phalanxes and cavalry to counter the Syracusan horsemen,” Requiem said analyzing the requirements. “In the north, we’ll need additional ranks to fight through the pinch point between the marsh and the Strait.”

  “Neither campaign is insurmountable,” Nicephrus exclaimed. “It’s just we don’t have the Centuries to do both at the same time.”

  “Senior Tribune Claudius. Besides your voyeur preoccupation with King Hiero,” inquired the General. “Do you have anything to add?”

  “My plan is to prevent them from coordinating their attacks,” Gaius stated.

  “I don’t see any movement on that front,” commented Maris Eutropius.

  Gaius snapped his head around and glared at the other Senior Tribune. General Caudex caught the tension between the two and pointed a finger in their direction.

  “Gentlemen, we have troubles enough,” scolded the General. “Maris, do you have any ideas you would like to share?”

  “We send advanced units to the north to keep the Qart Hadasht occupied,” Maris Eutropius proclaimed. “Then we march on the Syracusans. Drive them across the river and return to finish the mercenaries.”

  “A bold plan. Colonels, your thoughts on Senior Tribune Eutropius’ battle strategy?” Caudex asked.

  “Six thousand Qart Hadasht troops and a narrow strip of land,” Requiem pondered. “The Spartans did it at Thermopylae. Would you like to lead the three hundred at Messina, Tribune Eutropius?”

  “Before you answer, remember the Spartans died,” Nicephrus reminded the Senior Tribune. “And the width is a lot wider than a seaside mountain pass.”

  “I like the plan where we don’t fight on two fronts,” suggested Colonel Requiem.

  “Is that an option?” Caudex inquired.

  Then, Colonel Nicephrus pointed to a street beyond the toe of Citadel Hill.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “When I was a young man, I traveled to Egypt on family business,” General Caudex explained. “What you see approaching is a Lectica. Although most are public transportation and, except for nobility, don’t have extra porters, an elaborately carved car, and gaudy cloth. This one seems to have silk or fine Egyptian linen curtains.”

  Multilayers of cloth blew around a box of dark wood. Four large men, two in front and two behind carried the box on poles. Marching beside the litter, First Sergeant Brictius gave a cross chest salute to the command staff on the hill. Only Tribune Gaius Claudius returned the salute and he did so with a smile.

  “I believe, Lance Corporal Sisera has
arrived,” exclaimed Gaius.

  “Where?” asked Eutropius. When Gaius pointed to the royal box, Eutropius demanded. “Have the Lance Corporal climb out of his royal Lectica, come up here and present himself properly.”

  Tribune Claudius snapped his fingers and a messenger came running up with a pouch. Gaius reached in and pulled out a coiled length of leather. Then he let it unspool to the ground before he flicked his wrist. The whip snapped a few hands width in front of Maris’ face. Yelling in shock and surprise, the Senior Tribune jumped back.

  “Notice the seashells woven into the leather weaves,” explained Gaius as he snapped the whip again. “Lance Corporal Sisera took lashes from this whip this morning. The surgeon, who sewed him up, said he’s lucky to be alive. I disagreed with the doctor. It is us, the Legions, who are lucky he’s alive.”

  “That’s the man who can identify the royal messenger?” questioned General Caudex. “And how do you propose a man wounded by such a whip can get around and find the messenger.”

  “Because General, we will bring the messenger to the Lance Corporal,” announced Tribune Claudius. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a conversation with my emissary catcher.”

  ***

  Senior Tribune Claudius approached the litter which the porters had rested on the ground.

  “What have you got?” Gaius asked as he stopped in front of the First Sergeant.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera as fast, portable and comfortable as we can make him,” announced Brictius.

  Gaius leaned over and parted the billowing curtains. He stared at Alerio’s back for a moment before realizing the Lance Corporal was sitting backward in the chair. Moving around to the rear, he again parted the curtains.

  “Senior Tribune Claudius. My apologiges for not greeting you properly,” Alerio said. He sat with the chair back under his arms to support his upper body. “I don’t seem to be at my best, sir.”

  “Can you recognize Macario Hicetus from in there?” inquired Gaius.

  “Yes sir, as long as I’m facing in the right direction,” Alerio assured the Tribune. “What’s the plan, sir?”

  “Still working on it. Stand by,” Gaius said as he dropped the curtains.