“There is wine, sir,” Nima told him. Then he noted the direction of Alerio’s eyes. “Would you like to take a mug on the terrace?”

  “Yes, after I check on Hektor,” Alero confirmed.

  Nima pointed at a door off the main room before vanishing down a hallway. Alerio went to the indicated door and peered inside. A standalone dresser, a wash table, a chair, and a bed, occupied by a sleeping Hektor Nicanor, comprised the contents of the space.

  The blanket laid over Hektor ended at his ankles. Sticking out beyond the cover, his feet swaddled bandages were elevated on a pile of folded fabric. Beside the care of his wounded feet, someone had washed the blood off his face. Hektor seemed to be a youth at peace with the world except for the bruises and the bandages.

  It might have been Alerio’s presence, or that Hektor had been waiting for him. In either case, the boy opened his eyes.

  “Tribune Sisera, sir,” he mumbled in a weak voice. A hand came out from under the blanket and beckoned Alerio to come closer. “I owe you my life. For that I give you my oath of allegiance. And my promise to serve you faithfully.”

  “We will talk more about that when you are up and around,” Alerio deflected the pledge of fidelity. “For now, rest and heal. Is there anything you need?”

  “A shield,” Hektor answered.

  “Why a shield?” Alerio questioned.

  “So that I may guard your back,” the youth declared.

  “Two good feet might help with that job,” Alerio commented. “Until you can walk, stay in bed, and get better.”

  Alerio left Hektor, crossed the great room, and strolled onto the balcony. Nima had placed a mug of wine, slices of cheese, and a piece of bread on a table. Alerio sat, picked up the mug, took a sip, and peered out over the plaza.

  “The refreshments should hold you over until the dinner party,” Nima announced from the doorway.

  “Dinner party?” Alerio inquired.

  He didn’t look back at the steward because his eyes were seeking the street where he entered the quad.

  “Yes, Tribune. Master Minos is hosting the first day of Anthesteria Festival,” Nima informed Alerio. “You are invited for the Jar Opening ceremony. And of course, the feast and entertainment that follows.”

  “In your opinion, should I attend?” Alerio asked, hoping to avoid a social gathering after a day of traveling.

  “That is your decision to make, sir,” Nima replied. “However, Iosif Minos is the territories manager for all the mainland regions under Rhodian control.”

  Obviously, Minos was too important a man to brush off.

  “Fine, where can I clean up?” Alerio asked, settling the issue.

  As quickly as that idea was resolved, the store front where the thieves had hidden before the robbery, came into focus. And an image of a bronze hilt floated through Alerio’s mind.

  Nima began to reply about the wash facilities. But Alerio didn’t hear the steward. After placing the mug on the table, Alerio rushed from the apartment, took the steps two at a time, reached the street, and headed to the far side of the quad.

  ***

  Halfway across the plaza, the vision of the bronze hilt settled and Alerio remembered where he saw the knife. It was on the hip of the thief fighting with Hektor. At each rotation, the shiny handle flashed as they rolled on the ground. Other than the color of bronze, the hilt had a large rear bolster, meaning a hand would fit snuggly between the front and rear for serious blade work.

  Anyone owning a knife of that quality would not be desperate and attempting to feed a family. Nor would they be likely to sacrifice themselves for a bag of gold dust. There was more to the theft then Lieutenant Cletus knew or was willing to admit.

  Plus, the treatment of Hektor Nicanor seemed excessive as if Cletus were making a show of looking for the bandits. And finally, the luck of the bandits to locate the exact mules carrying sacks of gold dust, their miraculous escape, and the fortunate happenstance of their positioning on the street when the caravan arrived made Alerio suspicious.

  The latter being the reason Alerio was going to the shop. He wanted to know how long the thieves loitered, if the proprietor knew them, and if anyone from the Mercenary Corps had questioned him.

  ***

  Aromas of spring and summer vacillated over Alerio when he entered the shop. Vegetables that could be hung such as beets, celery, and cucumbers dangled from the overhead rafters. Those with structure as demonstrated by leeks, asparagus, and garlic plants were tied together and stacked on shelves. Occupying other display surfaces, clay jars released the smells from mint, chives, basil, and other aromatic leaves. Around the floor, baskets contained loose onions, gourds, and radishes. Apples, pears, and figs were stored in barrels.

  “Did you have an accident?” Alerio asked the man.

  The proprietor crouched on his knees stuffing radishes into a basket. While they were almost all corralled, the leaves, stems, and reeds of various vegetables and fruits covered the floor. It was obvious someone had upended several baskets, bins, and shelves.

  “Who did this?” Alerio inquired.

  “A shelf fell and overturned some baskets,” he answered.

  It wasn’t the lie that told Alerio the most. The falsehood was delivered almost convincingly. What revealed the truth to Alerio was the tremor of the proprietor’s fingers. Deep seated fear can cripple, and the first signs of dread were powerful shivers passing through the hands.

  The physical reaction established the shop owner as being petrified by the question. Enough so, he neglected to pick up any more radishes.

  “Those go into the hamper,” Alerio coached by pointing from the pile of radishes on the floor to the basket. He glanced around and asked the last question. “Has anyone from the Mercenary Corps been by to question you?”

  “No, sir,” the owner responded. He placed a single radish in the basket. “But if they do, I’ll tell them the same thing I’m telling you. I didn’t see the two men who robbed the ore caravan.”

  And that told Alerio all he needed about the men who robbed the caravan. They were not common criminals or strangers in town. The thieves were known to the shopkeeper. And they were decidedly dangerous men, at least to the manager.

  “I am attending a dinner party tonight,” Alerio informed the owner. “I think a weight of figs would make a nice gift.”

  “Yes, sir,” the owner acknowledged.

  He pushed off the floor and moved to a barrel. His hands steadied as he went about the routine business of the shop.

  Moments later, Alerio left with the figs wrapped in a sheet of papyrus. And more questions than he had when he went into the produce store.

  ***

  “Nima, what is the best form of transportation for me?” Alerio asked as he stripped off his traveling tunic.

  “If you can ride sir, I can procure a horse from the Mercenary Corps stables,” the steward informed Alerio. “But if you prefer, a carriage can be arranged.”

  Alerio splashed soapy water on his face and rubbed until lather built up on his skin.

  “I can ride,” he explained. “But I’ll require directions.”

  Palming a pumice stone, Alerio worked it over his face in small circular motions.

  “Locating the Minos estate will be quite simple,” Nima promised. “Between the traffic of attendees and soldiers posted on the streets.”

  Once the stubble was removed by the pumice stone, Alerio threaded his fingers through to the holes of his novacila. A few back-and-forth motions on a leather strap honed the edge. He tested the razor on his cheek. The sharp blade easily removed the remainder of his facial hair.

  “On second thought,” Alerio corrected, “riding to a party like a Junior Centurion without a care in the world would be easy. But a diplomat should arrive in a carriage and be greeted at the entrance.”

  Alerio splashed water onto his face and rinsed the soap off his skin.

  “Absolutely true, sir,” Nima assured him. “So, it’s to be a carriage and driver for tonight?”

  Alerio pried the cap for a small clay pot and dapped two fingers into a white substance. Working the cream into his skin, he felt the fat soften, the mild abrasion of the tin oxide clean, and the mint soothe his freshly shaven face.

  “A carriage for tonight, yes,” Alerio decided. “I will arrive as if I were already recognized as a diplomat.”

  “Very good, sir,” the apartment steward acknowledged. “I will secure the coach and driver.”

  While Alerio cleaned and dried his shaving gear, Nima left the room. What Tribune Sisera did not see was the smirk on the steward’s face or the disbelieving shake of the old man’s head as he went to order the carriage.

  “You, my young friend, will never be officially recognized,” Nima whispered. “Master Iosif Minos will see to it.”

  ***

  When the sun was low in the western sky, Alerio descended the steps and climbed into a coach. Once he was settled on the seat and the package of figs placed on the bench beside him, the driver snapped the reins and the horse trotted away from the apartment building. On the far side of the quad, the rig took the road heading for the treelined streets with the huge villas.

  ***

  Strolling behind a porter’s cart to reach the plaza gave the impression of a long distance. While riding behind a lively horse compressed the travel time and made the distance seem shorter. Alerio marveled at the difference in perception. After reaching the forest estate area, the coach took an access road that ended at a gate. They were waved through and proceeded to a massive estate.

  His mind and eyes being mesmerized by the stone façade of the house, Alerio failed to note the significance of the guards. They waved the wagon through without checking to verify the passenger.

  “Good evening, sir,” a servant greeted him. “A beverage?”

  Although it was still light, torches burned and pushed back the early evening shadows. Behind the servant, two men stood talking to recently arrived guests. One had lines on his face showing his age. The other man beamed with the vigor of young adulthood. Except for the fat around the older man’s midriff, they resembled each other.

  Alerio stepped off the carriage, took a glass of wine, and march to the pair of men.

  “I am Tribune Alerio Sisera of the Roman Republic,” he stated.

  “Ah yes, the Military Observer,” the older man replied. “I am Iosif Minos. And this is my son, Ganix.”

  Ganix stood stiff backed with his chin elevated in a snooty pose and kept his left arm behind his back.

  Alerio bowed then offered his hand. Iosif took the hand, pressed the palm briefly, and withdrew his arm. Stepping to the son, Alerio repeated the shallow bow before extending his hand.

  Ganix Minos reached out, clasped Alerio’s hand, and attempted to crush it. Legion Weapon’s Instructors drilled consistently with the gladius. If not against a training post, the instructors fought against groups of infantrymen. Getting into a contest of grips with Alerio was not a good idea.

  “Nice to meet you,” Alerio greeted the young man.

  As if a woodworker’s clamp, the Tribune’s fingers tightened down compressing Ganix’s hand. Enough pain shot up his arm that Ganix brought his left arm from behind his back to help constrict his muscles.

  Alerio’s focus failed and he almost lost the contest.

  Ganix Minos’ left hand was wrapped in a bandage. Alerio speculated if Ganix had bruising on his left elbow to go along with the raw knuckles. The thoughts were rhetorical as Alerio now knew who the shopkeeper feared and why Lieutenant Cletus only questioned Hektor.

  One of the thieves, if not the leader of the bandits, was the son of Iosif Minos, the Rhodian manager for the island’s mainland territory.

  Act 3

  Chapter 7 – Up the Hill

  People rotated around the main hall talking in groups and sampling dishes from various food stations. On the tables, in addition to the food, were festival bouquets of spring flowers.

  Without friends or acquaintances calling for his attention, Alerio avoided mingling as he tasted the dishes. He did see Colonel Arastoo, but the Commander was engaged with a group and he didn’t see Alerio.

  The isolation was fine as Alerio needed to decide whether to get mixed up in the ore sack affair. Although it was an opportunity to solve the theft and collect praise, accusing an important man’s son of being a bandit had drawbacks. He could end up in the same shape as Hektor. Maybe not physically beaten, but certainly socially wounded and that would hamper his goal of being officially recognized as a diplomat.

  Servants ringing bells walked among the guest, calling attention to a curtain at one end of the room. Everyone stopped talking and focused on the cloth. Iosif Minos marched to the material and jerked a rope. The curtain fell revealing a massive clay vessel. It dominated the end of the main hall and dwarfed Master Minos.

  “Today we celebrate the first day of Anthesteria,” he declared. Iosif reached up and patted the side of the container. Beaming at the crowd of party goers, he explained. “We ask Dionysus, our God of Wine, to bless last year’s vintage. After we sacrifice a few drops to the God, you are invited to sample the wine.”

  Amid cheering, the estate’s Master Vintner climbed a ladder, pried the cap off the clay vessel, and held it up for all to see. Besides decanting the wine, the removal of the plug opened a door to the underworld. At each entrance to the hall, servants smeared doors with tar to keep evil and the dead away from the living. Once the doors were marked and the dead blocked, the Master Vintner drew a portion and handed the glass to Iosif.

  “For you Dionysus, we offer the first,” Iosif prayed. He poured the wine into a ceremonial bowl, then invited the guests and servants. “As is the custom on the day of the jar opening, let all present step forward and receive a libation.”

  Alerio selected a beaker from a table full of glasses and joined a line for a taste of the new wine. For now, he would keep his suspicions to himself and work on building a relationship with Iosif Minos. The gift of figs would help. The figs?

  He had left the host gift in the carriage. After replacing the glass, Alerio located a servant’s door and ducked through. He began searching for an underutilized exit. Hopefully, using a side door would allow him to collect the figs and get back unobserved. Then he would present the delicacies to Iosif Minos along with his thanks for the hospitality and the man’s kindness towards a stranger. But first, Alerio needed to locate the coach.

  ***

  Every gala created a horse and wagon park and a corral area on the estate grounds. Between coaches, carriages, and riders on horseback, the space required to store the transports for the evening involved over a half an acre. Typically, the grooms and teamsters would congregate around campfires and be available. But the opening of the jar on the first day of Anthesteria was a festival for everyone. Masters, slaves, servants, drivers, and animal handlers were invited into the villa to celebrate the new wine and to toast Dionysus.

  In the dark, the carriages appeared as black shapes crouching on wheels. Several far-flung fires identified a few drivers who decided relaxing or napping was preferable to walking to the main house for a cup of wine. Adding to the gloom of the night, clumps of trees in the temporary stable and coach area blocked the night sky.

  Alerio marched between trees heading for the closest campfire. From there, it would be a process of asking drivers at various other campfires about who had delivered him to the Minos Estate. Eventually, he would locate his driver, the carriage, and the forgotten package of figs. Before reaching the fire, Alerio stopped, tilted his ear in a different direction, and listened.

  It only required a couple of seasons in a marching Legion to become aware of certain sounds. One was a file scraping down the length of a long steel blade. Knives were common, especially short sharp blades, for men working with leather harnesses or saddles. What was uncommon in the estate wagon park was a sword. A tool of war for a different type of craftsman.

  Curious about the weapon and thinking about a possible robbery, Alerio moved towards the sounds. He walked between trees until he identified a tiny blaze. There was another odd thing. Most of the drivers had large inviting fires. The tiny flames seemed secretive and uninviting in the dark. For the rest of the sneak, Tribune Sisera kept tree trunks and branches between him and the small campfire. Before reaching the low blaze, he stopped on the other side of a group of trees.

  One positive came from following the sound, he located his driver. In fact, the teamster was the one sharpening a sword. Three other men sat with him around a firepit.

  “We could take him here and bury his body in the marshes,” one suggested.

  “No. It has to be public,” Alerio’s driver replied. “You’ll do it on the road.”

  “Why do they want witnesses to find the body?” another questioned.

  “They need to send accounts and testimonies to his father,” the driver informed the other three. “You can’t just make a diplomat vanish. Especially one from Rome.”

  “Whatever you say, Corporal Chronos,” the fourth man in the circle stated.

  Three positives came from following the sound. Alerio had located his driver, been forewarned about an assassination attempt, and learned the assailants were from the Mercenary Corps.

  The latter might not have been a positive to most people. For Alerio, it told him who in the town of Akyaka he could not trust.

  Backing away from the trees, he moved out of hearing range of the four before turning and jogging away.

  ***

  Colonel Eustace Arastoo and Master Iosif Minos were high on the list of people not to be trusted. Considering the power of the pair, Alerio realized he needed to get out of Akyaka. One option was the sea. But where would he go and still have a chance of succeeding in his mission. The other option had him moving off the coast and deeper into the Rhodian controlled territory.

  The secretive nature of an assassination offered one benefit. Even powerful men such as Arastoo and Minos could not issue a public death warrant for a military observer. The odds were favorable that Corporal Chronos and his three men were the only ones with knowledge of the potential murder. It gave Alerio a thread of hope.