Another punch, this one in the solar plexus, crushed the breath from the youth’s lungs.

  “Answer me,” Cletus ordered. “Or I will beat you to death.”

  Hektor hung at the end of the rope, his one unswollen eye pleading for understanding even as his breath wouldn’t allow him to speak. The face glaring back held no compassion, only malice.

  “If you have no information,” the Lieutenant growled, “the next strike will be with the blade of my sword.”

  Hektor Nicanor’s dream of joining the Mercenary Corps faded as his vision clouded from tears. Lowering his head, he tried to inhale enough to address the ghosts of his father and grandfather. If he could speak, he would apologize for failing to become an infantryman.

  Lieutenant Cletus lifted the sword and waved it in front of the suspect’s good eye.

  “Last chance,” he threatened. “Speak now or die.”

  Hektor blinked and studied the officer. Was this really the type of man he wanted to follow into battle? Was this an example of…?

  ***

  “He can’t speak with blood in his mouth,” Alerio shouted as he fast walked to the side of the building, “and with broken ribs pressing on his lungs.”

  “Who are you?” Cletus demanded.

  “Let’s just say I am an interested bystander,” Alerio responded. Glancing at Hektor, he saw the one eye open wide in recognition. “Hold on lad. I’ll have you down in a moment.”

  Through the pain and feeling of helplessness, Hektor Nicanor watched the Legion officer march up and place his body between him and the angry Lieutenant with the bare blade.

  “I was sitting at a café when the robbery occurred,” Alerio explained. “Two men slashed and grabbed bags of what I am told were sacks of ore dust. Hektor, the boy hanging behind me, blindly rushed forward to help foil the robbery. Except, he hasn’t the weight to fight a full-grown man.”

  “My guards reported he was one of the four thieves,” the Mercenary Corps officer argued. “They caught him in the act.”

  “Your guard caught a bludgeon from behind,” Alerio corrected. “It might have felt like four men. But it was only one who took him down.”

  “And how do you know this boy wasn’t part of the robbery?” Cletus demanded. “What is he to you?”

  Since he was a teen, Alerio Sisera had been an infantryman. No matter what role or position he held, he considered himself a Legionary. An essential part of a Century’s battle line, a fighter for Rome, and a protector of the Republic. Strong, self-sufficient, and more than capable of handling his gear as well extra equipment on any march. Even as a Centurion, he held tightly to his infantry roots.

  The Lieutenant’s question brought a realization to light. Alerio was no longer an infantryman. As a Tribune, he commanded infantry. And as a staff officer, he directed the fighting to protect the Republic. But a sword in his hand and a stack of luggage on his shoulders were wasted efforts. Alerio Carvilius Sisera had wealth, position and, if he unraveled the secret sauce to become Rome’s diplomat to Rhodes, a political force.

  “Hektor Nicanor is my valet,” Alerio replied. “Do you expect a Tribune of Rome to not have a man servant? Now, cut my man down. And where is my cart.”

  The porter and the cart came wheeling around the corner.

  “Excellent, you finally got here. Load Hektor and let us go to headquarters so I can introduce myself,” Alerio announced. But Cletus hadn’t moved or ordered any of the soldiers around them to cut Hektor free. Alerio leaned forward and in a low, deep voice said. “Lieutenant, before assuming the title of Tribune, I was a Weapon’s Instructor for combat Legions. If you challenge my word, I will consider it an attack on my person. For that, I will kill you in a duel. The play, as they say in dice, is up to you.”

  “What’s your name,” Cletus inquired.

  Now was the time for Alerio to roll out the titles and names.

  “Alerio Carvilius Sisera, son of Senator Spurius Carvilius Maximus,” Alerio enunciated slowly so the officer had time to consider the information. “Citizen and Tribune of Rome, and military observer authorized by Chief Magistrate of Rhodes, Kolya Niels.”

  “Cut him down,” Cletus ordered. Then he paused before asking. “You saw the robbery. Can you remember anything about the brigands?”

  “A few things,” Alerio told him. “Specifically, the injury from Hektor’s teeth on one man’s knuckles. It’s not much but it is a start.”

  “Come with me,” Cletus invited. “Send your man to the headquarters building and they will assign you quarters. I’m going to organize search patrols. I need you to brief them.”

  The soldiers loaded Hektor on the cart and after a few words with Alerio, the porter went to find the Sergeant. The NCO would guide them to the officer’s quarters and collect payment for allowing Alerio and the porter through the gate. With some people, bribes worked better than name dropping and pulling rank.

  ***

  Lieutenant Cletus guided Alerio to the stables where eight cavalrymen strapped saddles on their horses.

  “Tribune Sisera witnessed the robbery,” the Mercenary Corps officer announced. “He’ll give you some things to look for.”

  “Four men running with eight sacks of ore dust shouldn’t be hard to locate,” a horseman declared. “That’s the report we received.”

  Alerio studied the cavalrymen and the Lieutenant. From their proud postures, superior attitudes, and unguarded manner of speech, he decided they were citizens of Rhodes.

  “First there were only three bandits and they made their getaway with just three bags of ore,” Alerio described. “They left on foot. Come to think of it, the two I saw had good leather boots. A lot like the ones you are wearing.”

  The eight glanced down at their expensive leather footwear then at each other.

  “We have two leather shops in town that make quality boots,” another horseman stated. “There is nothing identifiable about proper footwear.”

  The other seven nodded their approval.

  “Is that all you know, Tribune?” a third inquired.

  “One of the thieves has cuts on the knuckles of his left hand,” Alerio answered, “and bruises on the same elbow.”

  Memories of two bodies rolling on the ground flashed through Alerio’s mind. But nothing specific stood out in the encounter other than the difference between Hector’s good shirt and trousers and the dress of the thief.

  “They were dressed better than a laborer,” Alerio added, “on a festival day in his going to temple clothing.”

  “So, we are searching for overdressed journeymen. One with injuries to his hand and elbow,” a fourth cavalryman listed. He and the others climbed onto their mounts. “That shouldn’t be hard. The description only fits half the residents of Akyaka.”

  “Because the rest are women and laborers,” two said as the riders put heels to their horses’ flanks.

  They rode away and Alerio addressed Lieutenant Cletus.

  “I am sorry I couldn’t be more specific,” Alerio apologized. “I was shocked seeing Hektor’s actions and more worried about the boy than planning a mural of the bandits. To be honest, the thieves were simply taking bags of rock dust.”

  Alerio was not shocked. He watched the robbery out of curiosity to see if the youth would survive another bad decision. Plus, he knew the sacks were more valuable than rocks dust. But he wanted the Rhodian Lieutenant to underestimate him. Every infantryman and junior officer knew to get along with an arrogant officer. You allowed him to feel superior and did not challenge his decisions.”

  “Come with me, Sisera,” Cletus responded. “I’ll show you the value of that dust.”

  ***

  From the stables, they strolled by the troops’ barracks. Alerio fought the urge to march in and roust the guardsmen. In his professional opinion, the accommodations were a mess with peeling paint, trash, and other discarded items scattered around the entrance. He could imagine the mess in the living spaces. Resisting the Legion Tribune’s drive for order, he continued walking with Cletus.

  At the end of the barracks, they passed a smaller building. This one was cleaner and well maintained.

  “That’s our duty office,” Cletus told Alerio. “Everyone coming on duty and off duty reports there for inspection.”

  “Every army has issues with drinking while on duty,” Alerio offered. “For fighting it’s fine. But you can’t have a drunk walking a perimeter.”

  “That is not why we inspect them,” the Lieutenant snapped as if Alerio had insulted his organization.

  Or had Alerio made the Legion officers sound feeble? Before he could defend his remark, they reached a check point.

  “Lieutenant,” a sentry said in greeting. The guardsman visually inspected Alerio. Then he announced. “Sir, your guest has two pouches and weapons.”

  “Yes, yes, that’s right,” Cletus acknowledged the observation. “Tribune Sisera. I’ll ask you to remove the pouches, the sword, and the dagger. You can leave them at the guard post.”

  “If you insist,” Alerio uttered. “But why?”

  “Weapons and containers are not allowed beyond this point,” the mercenary officer clarified, “or through the apprentices’ gate in the back.”

  Alerio untied the pouches, slipped the gladius belt off his shoulder, and unbuckled the knife belt. After handing them to the guard, he asked, “Why am I being disarmed?”

  “In every workshop from here to the back of the compound, there are purified metals in various stages, laying out in the open,” Cletus explained. “Scraps, bars, or blanks, they are easily hidden in pouches. Which should explain the ban on weapons.”

  “You’re afraid of armed robbery,” Alerio guessed.

  “Armed robbery and people who help themselves to samples,” Cletus illustrated by plucking imaginary things from the air. “We cannot have everyone at the mint stealing the gold, silver, copper, and tin. They won’t leave enough left to make a profit.”

  ***

  Once away from the guard post, they saw the donkeys. The convoy had been disbanded and the pack animals tied up at different stations. Before reaching the first set of donkeys, they passed a beautiful stone building.

  Compared to the duty office and the buildings farther down the street, the structure seemed out of place. From the expensive stonework of the walls to the granite flooring, the building belonged in a palace complex or on the grounds of an estate.

  “That is our mint and the final step for the ore,” Cletus announced. “The metals harvested from the dust in the other workshops end up here.”

  Beyond the mint, they approached long sheds. Barrels of water and bins full of charcoal stood outside of low-slung open-air structures. Men hauling pails of both rushed into and out of four workshops.

  In one shed, Alerio saw soapy water poured slowly into a narrow channel. A worker sprinkled ore dust into the flow and the dirty water trickled down a cloth lined trench.

  “They use felt to trap the gold flakes,” Cletus described. “The soap helps to separate the valuable metal from the dust.”

  The spilling of the dirty water stopped, and men carefully lifted out the felt. They rinsed the fabric in shallow pans. As one finished a section, spots of shiny yellow glistened in the bottom of the pans.

  “In there, they are harvesting gold,” Cletus pointed out. “As you can see, it comes not from rock dust, as you described it, but from ground ore.”

  At another workshop, Alerio noted hip high stacks of mud-covered bricks with leather bellows attached by a pipe.

  “Are those iron smelting ovens,” he inquired, referring to the only process he knew that used domed structures.

  “Copper,” Cletus corrected. “You’ll notice unlike iron ovens, those are covered. Copper needs to be enclosed to melt correctly.”

  At a workbench, a laborer holding tongs plucked clumps out of a broken oven. After rinsing the metal free of burnt charcoal, he held up gnarly pieces of copper.

  “Again, that is from the ore dust,” Cletus informed Alerio. “The other workshop extracts silver from the dust.”

  “I am impressed,” Alerio admitted. Then he observed. “But there are no animals with sacks for the fourth workshop. Why is that?”

  “Tin is smelted in that one,” Cletus responded. “We don’t mine it in Rhodian Peraea. For our tin we travel through the mountains to the plains of Asia Minor. The ore is brought in by caravan from the Babylon region and sold at Bolvadin.”

  “Thank you for the tour. You have given me an appreciation of the ore dust,” Alerio offered. “Which way is headquarters? I need to present myself to the commander.”

  “I’ll walk you to the checkpoint,” Cletus stated. “It’ll make the body search go quicker.”

  Alerio shrugged off the indignity of being searched. Instead, he focused on the robbery in the plaza.

  “What ore did the thieves take?” Alerio questioned as they strolled to the guard post.

  “Gold,” Cletus replied. “It was lucky for them if not for us. There were only two donkeys carrying gold dust.”

  ***

  Alerio and a soldier assigned to guide him marched out of the compound. Once on the plaza, they headed towards the headquarters building.

  “Tell me,” Alerio inquired, “if there is a buffer zone between here and the estates in the woods, why didn’t troops go there when the robbery started?”

  “The buffer zone, sir,” the soldier replied, “is a myth for the civilians. We don’t have enough squads to rapidly field a blocking force. Mostly it’s a rumor to keep pirates from attacking the mint.”

  “And that works?” Alerio asked when they reached a building.

  “It has so far, sir,” he responded. “Here is the administration facility.”

  They had stopped in front of an unmarked building that resembled all the other structures around the plaza.

  “The Rhodes Mercenary Corps Headquarters is in there?” Alerio questioned.

  “It is in there somewhere,” the soldier assured him. “Good luck, sir.”

  Alerio mounted two steps to a veranda, crossed to a door, and pushed his way into the building. Inside he faced rows of bookkeepers.

  “May I help you,” a man in a robe with gold trim inquired.

  “I would like to make my introduction to the Colonel,” Alerio answered.

  “Eustace is on the second floor,” the man replied.

  “Colonel Eustace?” Alerio repeated.

  “Colonel Eustace?” the man laughed. “His name is Eustace Arastoo. Oh, I see. You military types are enamored with those titles. You’ll find Colonel Arastoo’s office on the second floor.”

  Alerio scanned the room of men working on ledgers while he climbed the stairs. None were in uniform or even carried a blade. It was the oddest army headquarters he had ever seen.

  Chapter 6 – Toppled Radishes

  On the second floor, Alerio found four men sitting at desks in the hallway. Of the quartet, only one of the secretaries wore a uniform.

  “I am Alerio Sisera,” Alerio said to the man. “I am reporting to the Mercenary Corps as a military observer.”

  “Go right in, Tribune,” the Lieutenant instructed. “Eustace is expecting you.”

  Despite what Alerio thought about the poor discipline in the Rhodian army, he had to admire their intelligence. Someone had passed along word about him to the commanding officer. He walked into an office decorated with memorabilia. As far as Alerio could tell none of the items held military significance.

  “Sir, I am Tribune Alerio Carvilius Sisera,” Alerio said while saluting.

  “Eustace Arastoo,” the Colonel greeted him. “Have a seat, Alerio.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Alerio replied.

  “I cannot understand why the Chief Magistrate would bother you with my command,” Eustace ventured. “Our presence on the mainland dissuades enemies from invading our territory. But our prime duty is to patrol and keep theft from the mines to a minimum. For real military campaigns, I am afraid, you need to be with the Navy.”

  “The Navy wasn’t very cooperative,” Alerio admitted. “Maybe if I spend some time with the Mercenary Corps, I’ll have a better idea of how to help.”

  “There you see, Alerio, we are Rhodians,” Eustace Arastoo boasted. “We do not require help or guidance or anything from Rome. You are on a fool’s errand, Tribune.”

  “Because the citizens of Rhodes are excellent in all things?” Alerio asked before catching himself.

  It was never a good idea to inject sarcasm into an introduction. As Alerio started to apologize for the remark, Colonel Arastoo held up a hand and stopped him.

  “You have the core of it,” Eustace agreed. Then dismissing Alerio, he exclaimed. “An apartment has been arranged for you. I hope you find the suite and the steward to your liking.”

  Alerio stood but didn’t bother saluting before leaving the office. Mostly because Eustace Arastoo was no more a commanding officer than a recruit was a Legionary before he started training.

  On the stairs down, he recalled the escort saying this was the administration building. And the mercenary headquarters was in there somewhere. Alerio now understood the meaning of the soldier dismissing the military part of the building’s occupants.

  ***

  On the street, he found another guardsman waiting for him. Together they walked to a separate building, climbed stairs, and Alerio was left at the door to his assigned quarters. Before he could grasp the handle, the door opened. Just inside the doorframe, an older man bowed in greeting.

  “Tribune Sisera, please enter,” the man invited. Stepping aside, he reported. “I am Nima, the steward of the apartment.”

  “How is Hektor?” Alerio asked. Then he realized he wasn’t sure if Hektor or his baggage had gotten to the suite. “Is he here?”

  “Your valet is in the servant’s room,” Nima assured him. “I am afraid, he is unable to perform his duties at the present time. Hopefully, my attempts at unpacking will please you.”

  “I am sure you have done a good job,” Alerio offered. He glanced around the large main room and his eyes settled on a balcony overlooking the plaza. “I don’t suppose you have any wine here?”