“You may but it won’t be from the deck of a trihemiolia,” Vilppu assured him.

  ***

  Helios, the Sun God, loomed over the harbor and Vilppu led a prayer while the ship passed into the port. The three warships found empty slips and beached.

  Shortly after making landfall, Alerio thanked the Commander and, resembling a pack mule, lugged his belongings off the beach and into the city of Rhodes.

  ***

  “Welcome back, Tribune Sisera,” the landlord of the apartment greeted Alerio.

  “Any messages from Master Vasil?” Alerio asked.

  He didn’t have much hope that Pasi Vasil, the shipping tycoon who was paying for the accommodations, had changed the Chief Magistrate’s mind. But Alerio felt obligated to inquire.

  “No, sir,” the landlord replied. “But he has secured your rent for three more months.”

  After Alerio saved Pasi’s son from Cilician pirates, the businessman provided a reason for Alerio to stay in Rhodian territory. Vasil made Alerio the warrantee for a blind contract with Senator Spurius Maximus. As much as Niels wanted to exile Alerio Sisera, he couldn’t break the agreement and send the Tribune away. The Magistrate did exercise his right to limit Alerio’s stays on the Isle of Rhodes.

  Also, Pasi Vasil picked up the tab for anything Tribune Sisera wanted. Everything except for putting pressure on Magistrate Niels to accept Alerio’s position as the military attaché from the Republic.

  “Will you be staying long?” the landlord called after Alerio.

  Struggling towards the suite of rooms with his armor, helmet, and bags of personal belongings, he didn’t reply to the landlord.

  “It’s not like I have a choice of leaving,” Alerio grumbled to himself. “Chief Magistrate Niels wants me off his rock.”

  In the apartment, Alerio unstrapped his gladius and dumped it and the rest of his gear in a corner of the great room. Then as if in a trance, he went into the bedroom and fell, exhausted, onto the bed. Before he could untie his sandals, his eyes closed, and he was in the arms of Morpheus. Fortunately, the God of Dreams was busy elsewhere which allowed the Tribune to nap peacefully.

  ***

  It was a small noise. One easily dismissed as coming from outside. But a combat officer knew to distinguish between close quiet sounds and disturbances in the distance. And the noise came from inside the apartment.

  Alerio leaped from the bed, pulled the Noric dagger, and stalked from the bedroom. A glance at his gear in the corner told the tale. Gone from the pile was his Noric steel gladius. Alerio raced down the hallway, sticking his head into rooms and storage spaces looking for the thief. After the pantry, he picked up his speed and ran out to the courtyard.

  On the far side of the open space, he spied a pair of legs dropping over the far wall. In five strides, he shoved the dagger into its sheath, jumped, and caught the top of the wall with his elbows. Pulling up, Alerio peered down an alleyway to see a gangly youth with wavy light brown hair running away. Barefoot and dressed in dirty, warn woolen pants and shirt, Alerio figured him for a street urchin.

  He dropped back into the courtyard. Tracking the young man through the city would prove easier than getting beat in a foot race with the youth. Although it would take time, Alerio was confident of a successful search. Afterall, how many merchants in the market would be bold enough to buy an obviously stolen Legion gladius. And for the one who did buy it, how tough would he need to be to resist Alerio’s questioning.

  Chapter 3 – Lost Legacy

  Alerio bathed to get the salt off his skin and out of his hair from the sea voyage and changed into a long tunic. Then he wrote a note to Pasi Vasil requesting passage to Akyaka on Rhode’s mainland and left the apartment.

  At midday, many of the booths in the market were closed for business. Although the proprietors retired for a meal, the goods remained on display being watched over by sons, daughters, assistants, or slaves. Knowing the routine, a few smart shoppers used the opportunity to browse and compare quality. They would return later for price haggling. But most customers remained at home making the foot traffic light.

  Alerio used the lack of crowds to quickly evaluate the locations for likely buyers of the stolen gladius. Weapons sellers topped the list, but he didn’t stop with them. Dealers of metals, pans, and lamps, and jewelers were suspect as well as barrel makers or anyone in need of a sharp blade for chopping, shaping, or trimming materials. After scurrying through on an initial pass, he rethought the decision to let the kid run away. It might have been easier to chase him down.

  When the sun moved beyond its zenith, Tribune Sisera went shopping.

  “I’m in the market for a gladius,” he explained at a booth.

  “A what?” the owner asked.

  “A sword,” Alerio described. “It’s about two pounds with a blade in the range of twenty-two inches long, and wide, like two to two and a half inches wide. And it has a knobbed hilt.”

  In a perfect situation, the buyer would offer up the sword and Alerio could ask about the young man. Not expecting perfection, he watched the proprietors with practiced eyes. Infantry NCOs and Centurions needed the ability to read their Legionnaires. Beyond brave and steady, the infantrymen of the Republic had to be of good character. A thief, cheat, liar, or a ruthless killer would undermine discipline. They had to be weeded out of the ranks. The process began with acute observations by the Century’s leaders during questioning.

  “I have copper pots and iron pans for sale,” the owner replied. “There are a few bronze knives on the shelf, but nothing like what you described. The knives are good quality. I can let them go for a good price.”

  Alerio thanked the man and moved to the next booth on his list. He received the same reply. Five booths later, the exchanges mirrored the first. They denied knowledge of the short sword and ended with an offer to sell him a substitute. At the seventh booth, the discussion with the owner changed.

  “I don’t deal in weapons,” the cooper snapped after Alerio asked about the missing gladius.

  Barrels in different phases of construction sat around the cooper’s booth. Some almost completed barrels rested upright waiting for finishing work. Stacks of wooden boards leaned on a shaping station. Thin blades sat on a bench amid a mound of curled wood shavings. On the opposite side, trimmed slats with beveled edges were stacked and ready to be assembled into barrels.

  The quick answer by the cooper along with the thin carving blades at the shaping station perked Alerio’s interest.

  “Your work must require sturdy and sharp blades,” Alerio offered.

  “Oak is hardwood,” the proprietor responded. “You can’t come back here.”

  The last statement was a response to Alerio jumping the front of the booth. Once in the work area, he strolled around moving items to expose what might be hidden. At a bucket of brooms and brushes, he reached between the reeds and pulled out the Noric steel gladius.

  “Would you look at this,” Alerio exclaimed while holding the weapon out and pointing the tip at the barrel maker. “You have two choices.”

  “What choices?” the cooper asked. “Sell you the sword? Or catch the blade in my gut?”

  “Both are excellent ideas,” Alerio admitted. “But I was going to say, give me my scabbard or I will wreck your business looking for it.”

  The man went to a pile of leather straps he used to secure small cask.

  “Here is the sheath,” he said, extracting the sword belt and the scabbard. “What about my payment?”

  “You didn’t have a sword, remember. How can I pay for something you don’t have?” Alerio reminded the craftsman. “As far as getting your coins back, that would be between the young man who sold it and you. Unless?”

  “Unless what?” the cooper questioned.

  “You tell me his name and where to find him,” Alerio replied. “I’ll see you get your buying price refunded.”

  “You would do that?” the cooper inquired. Seeing the stranger nod agreement but sneer his impatience, the craftsman told him. “He hangs out north of the market near the apartments. I don’t know his name, but everyone calls him File-Leader.”

  “Why is that?” Alerio asked. “Was he with a phalanx?”

  “He’s too young to have served in the army,” the barrel maker informed Alerio. “You’ll know why we call him that once you talk to him.”

  ***

  A File-Leader had control of a single file of highly trained Hoplites. In a tight phalanx formation, the NCO, like a Decanus of a Legion squad, maintained control and prevented the rank from drifting offline. Why a dirty street kid would have the nickname, Alerio could not figure out.

  He had one thing in his favor. File-Leader did not know what Alerio looked like. And while Alerio could not identify the face of the youth, he had an image of the young man’s shape, hair, and clothing. Armed with what he did have, Tribune Sisera began leisurely strolling around the apartments and housing north of the market.

  ***

  Near dark and after wasting all afternoon searching, Alerio realized the thief had coins. With coins, the youth was probably in a restaurant or a rented room for the evening. With little chance of catching him on the street, Alerio headed back to his quarters.

  Waiting for him at the apartment was a reply from the shipping magnet.

  Alerio Carvilius Sisera, Tribune of Rome and Lieutenant of Rhodes,

  It was a pleasure hearing from you. Perhaps on your next visit to the island, you will consider dining with Symeon and me. I know my son misses hearing your tales of adventure.

  As to your first quarry, I must admit to my short comings. No matter how much I speak on your behalf, Chief Magistrate Niels refuses to review your status. Or to submit your situation to the citizens for a vote. However, fear not for I continue to plead on your behalf.

  On the second request, I have ships leaving Rhodes daily for various parts of the Mediterranean. Forgive me my boasting when by contract, you can only travel to Rhodian held territory or with the Navy of Rhodes. It was heartless of me to tease an obviously homesick military man. Your journey to Akyaka requires only that you present yourself at the port and use my name. Every Captain will accommodate you and grant you passage.

  Until we meet again,

  I am Pasi Vasil, Citizen of Rhodes and Master of Commerce

  Alerio folded the letter, placed it in a pouch, and went to repack his gear for the trip to Rhodian Peraea.

  ***

  In the morning, Pasi Vasil’s name proved to be as good as gold. Beyond passage to Akyaka, it granted Alerio a place on the steering platform and underdeck storage for his armor and baggage. Other passengers were required to walk a side oar, help with the sail, and assist in loading and unloading. All the while, their belongings were tied to the deck and exposed to the weather and splash over from high waves. For Alerio, the privileges granted him would make the two-day voyage down the ocean bay a pleasure cruise.

  “We’ll stop overnight at Oren,” the Captain told Alerio. “After a predawn launch, we’ll make Akyaka by early afternoon the next day.”

  But Alerio wasn’t listening. His attention diverted, he watched as a youth tucked a rusty and dented helmet under a frayed cloak while walking the boarding ramp. His face meant nothing to Alerio and at first the Legion officer thought he might be an agent for a band of pirates.

  “Dead men are not a threat to honest merchants,” Alerio mumbled.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the Captain asked. “Did you say something?”

  Then the young man turned his back and Alerio recognized the thief. The light brown hair was clean but still curly, and the limbs and arms just as lanky. Pirate or common burglar, Alerio did not care which, he just wanted words with the youth. Before he killed him.

  “Who is that?” Alerio questioned the merchant Captain.

  “He said his name is Nicanor, Hektor Nicanor,” the ship’s officer scoffed. “Imagine the likes of him being named for the greatest warrior of Troy. And with the sur name of the Captain from King Alexander’s famed Silver Shields.”

  “Can’t imagine that at all,” Alerio commented.

  He had no idea who the Silver Shields were and only a vague recall of the battle for Tory and the mention of Hektor. The only thing Alerio was positive about, Hektor Nicanor would not survive the voyage to Akyaka.

  ***

  Not in the mood to kill the youth and take his place rowing out of the harbor, Alerio let the ship get far from the Isle of Rhodes. Once the sail blossomed with air, he strolled to where the thief sat on the deck.

  From his height, Alerio mistook him to be older. In fact, the youth was about sixteen, a couple of years shy of qualifying for a Legion. Although in hindsight, it didn’t stop a local Centurion from volunteering Alerio for the infantry when he was almost the same age.

  “What is your name boy?” he demanded.

  “Hektor Nicanor, Ouragos,” he replied while jumping to his feet and bracing. “Can I be of assistance, sir?”

  Alerio rocked back on his heels. Confusion and the physical presence of the boy caused the reaction. Hektor was thin but tall enough that Alerio’s forehead reach only to the youth’s nose. After the surprise of the height difference, calling Alerio by the title of Ouragos stunned the Tribune.

  Ouragos was Greek for a Phalanx’s senior officer, or in plain language, a Tail-Leader. Typically, Hoplites used it as a sign of deference for any admired person. Hektor was not a heavy infantryman but a thief. A thief who used military ranks as a sign of respect.

  “Does this look familiar?” Alerio questioned after pulling the Noric dagger.

  “It is a fine double-edged knife,” Hektor described. “But I don’t recognize it, sir. Should I?”

  Alerio wanted to stab the thief and throw his body overboard. He really desired revenge on the youth who invaded his apartment. But training from a former philosophy teacher conflicted with the base urge. Conversely, he had questions.

  “It is the brother blade to the one you took from my apartment,” he stated. When Hektor jerked sideways, Alerio warned. “You won’t get two steps.”

  Hektor Nicanor peered into the eyes of the man with the dagger and shivered. The eyes were cold, focused, and deadly. Then he smiled as he recalled an earlier time and place. A place where hard eyed men sat around campfires and told stories.

  “Tell me how you ended up a thief on the Isle of Rhodes,” Alerio questioned.

  “Can we sit down?” Hektor asked. “If the Gods wanted man to be at sea, they would have given us webbed feet and gills.”

  “You sound like an infantryman,” Alerio observed. “Sit down and tell me why.”

  “My father used to say that,” Hektor replied while settling to the deck, “every time a campaign required his phalanx to take a boat.”

  “He was a File-Leader?” Alerio inquired once he sat on the deck.

  “No sir, that was my grandfather, Tail-Leader Nicanor of the Silver Shields,” Hektor said with pride. “You have heard of them?”

  “Not until recently,” Alerio admitted. “Why don’t you tell me about the Silver Shields.”

  ***

  Hektor crossed his legs, straightened his back, and spoke as if his words were prayers to Gods of long ago.

  “One hundred and seventy-five miles north of the Aegean Sea is the land of Getae,” Hektor described. “A nation along the lower Danube river, the Getae fielded an army to oppose Alexander. He had just united the Greek states and wanted to secure Macedonia’s rear before venturing to Asia Minor. But the Getae would not accept the new King or his offer of peace.”

  Alerio nodded, wondering where the story was going and what it had to do with Hector’s grandfather. But he let the youth talk instead of questioning him.

  “The army was composed of new units. Few had proven themselves in major battles,” Hektor continued. “As the Macedonian army neared the Danube, ten thousand Getae warriors broke from cover and charged. The left flank and center of the untested army were pushed back. Some Generals advised Alexander to retreat. Being a young King of just twenty-one, he began gathering his entourage and preparing to retreat. Then Alexander noted one side of his front standing strong against the waves of Getae attackers. Taking heart from those heavy infantrymen, he ordered his weaker units to retake the ground they lost. Suddenly, the army surged, driving the Getae warriors to their graves and their leadership to the negotiation tent.”

  “Let me guess,” Alerio ventured, “your grandfather was in the phalanx formation?”

  “My grandfather was Tail-Leader for the main phalanx,” Hektor bragged. “Decorated by Alexander himself, Captain Nicanor and the young infantrymen of the units accepted the accolades. From then on, they were a favorite of the King, and served as the indomitable right flank of his attacks. Once they reached India, they used silver from their conquests and covered their shields with sheets of it.”

  “So, you are a rich descendant of a famous Captain of the Silver Shields,” Alerio offered.

  “Not exactly,” Hector responded. His back stooped and the reverence left his tone. “My father was one of the last of the Silver Shields. After Alexander’s death, the units were fighting their way back to Greece when General Antigonus, who was vying to be King of Macedonia, seized the wagon train with the Silver Shield’s wealth and families. He hated the phalanx because of the times they defeated him during the first Wars of Alexander’s Succession.”

  “Your family lost their wealth to the General?” Alerio guessed.

  “No, sir. The veterans of the Silver Shields, most in their sixties, turned over their General Eumenes to Antigonus for their families and most of the wealth,” Hektor stated. “Some went home to Greece, but most were forced to fight for Sibyrtius, the Macedonian Satrap of Arachosia. But Antigonus, who was King of Macedonia by then, sent along evil orders. He instructed Sibyrtius to send the Silver Shields out on dangerous missions. Soon their numbers dwindled to nothing. My father was a victim of the purge.”