Incompetent people always blamed others when disastrous struck. In the animal handler’s case, he failed to secure the tiedowns and wanted to use abuse to cover his error. It showed the mean streak in his nature.

  “Keep your knife handy and sleep light,” he warned Hektor. “The handler must have friends in the caravan. And the guards are not the professionals I was told about.”

  “But they are Rhodian Mercenary Corps,” the youth protested. “Everyone knows to invade Rhodian Peraea brings defeat from the Corps.”

  Alerio waited for a horse handler to finish checking the rig behind them before commenting, “Not from this group of amateurs. Do you suppose they keep the infantryman at the forts?”

  “Truthfully, Tribune I didn’t see it at Akyaka,” Hektor considered. “Of course, I couldn’t see much being tied up and all.”

  “There didn’t seem to be discipline beyond rules to protect the mint and smelting equipment,” Alerio added. “They acted more like temple guards than combat troops.”

  From farther up the line, Arman shouted, “Get them moving. If you haven’t checked the ropes and load on each donkey by now, leave. Walkaway because the next time, I will beat you with a club. Get them moving.”

  “The trail master likes his donkeys better than people,” Alerio remarked.

  The caravan guards stood from where they were sitting during the break.

  “None of them remained on guard while the convoy was stopped,” Alerio noted. “Bandits could have danced in and sauntered away with the supplies before the guardsmen got off the ground.”

  “I may be wrong, but if the Egyptians, or Macedonians, or Mesopotamians believed the Corps was weak,” Hektor ventured, “wouldn’t they march in and take the territory?”

  “That is how it usually works,” Alerio agreed. “I’m going to speak with Arman. Watch yourself.”

  Alerio felt the eyes of the guards on his back as he walked to catch up with the trail master. He didn’t expect it, but Tribune Sisera carried the anticipation of a spear in his back the entire way.

  ***

  “Bolvadin is the closest tin trading center to Denizli,” Arman told Alerio. “At one hundred and thirty miles of mountains, valleys, and stream crossings, it is a tough trek. But I loved it.”

  “What happened that you don’t make the trip anymore?” Alerio inquired.

  The two men walked ahead of the first donkey. Arman stopped, scooped up a large rock, and tossed it off the trail.

  “Bad for the pack animals,” he stated. Once the ground was clear, they resumed their pace and he explained. “The Governor for the Seleucid Empire happened. He came from the temple at Ashur in Mesopotamia two years ago. The mines at Ashur produce tin and, it appears, greedy governors.”

  “Greedy how?” Alerio questioned.

  He spied a big stone, picked it up, and lobbed it off the path.

  “Tin ore is carried eight hundred miles from Ashur to Bolvadin,” Arman replied. “Then they haul silver, lead, copper, and gold back. The caravan owners are expected to return twice what they paid for the tin. Two years ago, Seleucid soldiers kept order along the border. They didn’t want trouble between Rhodes and their territories. But the new Governor is no longer enforcing control.”

  “You think he is being paid off by the tin caravan owners?” Alerio questioned.

  “It’s that or he has gone full bandit,” Arman declared. “Ever since he took over, the Seleucid Empire is absent from the trails into Rhodian Peraea. What is there are outlaws. I can’t swear the bandits are the Governor’s soldiers. But I never saw robbers and infantry at the same place on the trail.”

  “But you have the Mercenary Corps for protection,” Alerio pointed out. “Surely a band of thieves are no match for armed defenders.”

  “You wouldn’t think so, would you?” Arman asked. “But, four times, I drove men and donkeys through the mountains only to lose half my caravan. We were ambushed at four different locations. The outlaws varied the locations and caught my caravan security out of place.”

  “Surely the Rhodian authorities offered help,” Alerio guessed.

  “Captain Cepos assigned more guards, but the bandits added thieves,” Arman said. “That’s the reason I believe the robbers are Seleucid sponsored. They didn’t seem to have a problem finding young, strong men to counter my guards. Sick of taking my life in my hands for no profit, I switched to the supply and ore convoys.”

  “And they allowed that?” Alerio asked.

  “Captain Cepos is in charge of the Denizli sector,” Arman responded. “He isn’t much of a military man, but he is a well-respected administrator. On his word, I was permitted to change.”

  “What are they doing about the caravan loses?” Alero inquired.

  “They went to smaller convoys,” Arman grumbled. “But remember, the tin traders need to double the value. The caravans that make it through, bring back less tin. Yet, with the losses to the bandits, the tin cost more than twice as much.”

  “I am a military man not a merchant,” Alerio stated. “But even I can tell that is bad business.”

  “Speaking of business,” Arman told Alerio, “our first stop is over this mound.”

  Act 4

  Chapter 10 – More Valuable than Gold

  On the far side, the mound transitioned to a slope. At the bottom, a fast-flowing creek had no shoreline on the right bank for resting before crossing. The earth vanished directly into the water.

  “I’m going to wait here for my valet,” Alerio advised the trail master.

  “I would appreciate it if our talk was not repeated in public,” Arman requested.

  “I am not in the habit of gossiping,” Alerio replied.

  The trail master nodded his understanding before descending the slope. At the bottom, he splashed into the creek. By dragging his feet, he tested the bottom. Part way across, something drew his attention. Dipping his arms into the water, Arman lifted a large rock that had washed down during a storm. He walked the rock to the far bank and dropped it beside the donkey path. Then he faced the slope and watched his caravan come down the hill.

  “Tribune you won’t believe this. But the handler was not exceedingly popular,” Hektor declared when the cart reached Alerio. “It turns out he was lazy, short tempered, and blamed other people for his problems.”

  “If I had known his disposition,” Alerio replied, “I would have kicked him harder. Give me the reins. I’ll walk our livestock.”

  Hektor rested in the rear of a horse cart with his back to the slope. Unaware of the descent, when the bed tilted, he cried out in panic.

  “You could have warned me,” he complained once the cart steadied.

  “What fun would that be?” Alerio questioned.

  ***

  Across the creek, a gentle slope rose to a flat and cleared area. Occupying the opening were wooden shelters and fencing for the donkeys and the horses.

  Alerio reached the top and saw Arman surrounded by piles of cargo from the pack animals. Sitting idle and unmoving seemed unnatural for the trail master. During the march, he had been loose, constantly patrolling the convoy, and scanning the neighboring landscape. Now, he sat at a field desk scribbling on a scroll while men looked over his shoulders. They scrutinized every stroke of his pen.

  “Can you get down on your own?” Alerio asked Hektor.

  “I’m feeling better,” the boy replied.

  While tying the reins to a post, Alerio wondered if he had every been that resilient.

  “If you are able, feed the animals,” he instructed. “If not, sit down and I’ll take care of them when I get back.”

  “Where are you going?” Hektor inquired. He peered at the mountains above them and the valley below. “There is nothing here.”

  “If that was true, those men around the trail master wouldn’t be here,” Alerio pointed out.

  ***

  Alerio strolled around the piles of gear. From the caravan’s cargo of equipment, items had been distributed to separate stacks of shovels, picks, chisels, dishes, pans, and hammers. Besides the varied hardgoods, sacks of grain and dried meat rested atop the provisions.

  Arman looked up and indicated an item. The handler, managing the desired article, placed it on a new stack. The trail master then counted out coins and, after one of the locals signed on the scroll, Arman handed him the coinage.

  Scanning the area around the plateau, Alerio could not locate any signs of civilization. But high on the mountain, he noted tentacles of smoke rising from various locations.

  “The smoke is from ore mines,” an animal handler commented. “We carry supplies, and the mine bosses meet us here for trading.”

  The man stood beside a load of iron pots. His donkeys like the others were behind the fencing.

  “I don’t see any ore bags being exchanged as payment for the provisions,” Alerio mentioned.

  “We are going in the wrong direction for ore,” the handler remarked. “Another caravan heading southwest will collect the ores and take the sacks to Muğla. But for all the value of the silver, copper, and gold, the scroll Arman is writing on holds the real value.”

  “How can a scroll of papyrus be more valuable than copper and gold?” Alerio questioned.

  “Because it is a record of debt,” the animal handler described. “Every name is a promise to dig, separate, and send ore to the smelters at Akyaka.”

  “What happens when the ore caravan comes through?” Alerio inquired.

  “The trail master will note the bags and sign another scroll along with the mine manager,” the handler responded. Arman pointed at the handler. The man picked up an iron pot and walked it to a new pile. When he returned, he added. “That scroll is another record of debt. Not against the miners but against the managers of the mint. And the two never balance.”

  “Because the ore is more valuable than the supplies?” Alerio asked.

  “That’s right,” the animal handler confirmed.

  Weights and balances, signatures as promises, coins for ore, but on a scroll, the entire system seemed ponderous. Alerio began to turn away and go check on Hektor. Then another question came to him.

  “You said the ore caravan would have another scroll,” Alerio questioned. “What happens to the one Arman is having signed?”

  “That scroll will be stored at Denizli. Other scrolls are stored at Muğla, Aydın, and Dalyan,” the handler replied. “The scrolls are why the Corps has the largest number of mercenaries stationed at the forts. Want to know why?”

  “Because the scrolls are more valuable than gold or copper,” Alerio ventured.

  “You got that right,” the handler agreed.

  ***

  Alerio roamed the gathering for a few more moments. Seeing nothing of significance, he headed to where he left Hektor. At the campsite, the animals appeared brushed and fed. And a pot hanging over a campfire issued steam and favorable aromas.

  “You are blessed by Asclepius,” Alerio remarked.

  He referred to the boy’s recovery and ability to accomplish the chores.

  “Not so much from Asclepius, the God of Healing,” Hektor corrected. Red spots of fresh blood had leaked through the bandage on his leg. “You know, I was familiar with the Goddess Algea before. With this leg, I have become truly acquainted with her gift of pain.”

  “I could have left you with Lieutenant Cletus,” Alerio reminded the youth. “You wouldn’t feel anything by now.”

  “Because I would be dead,” Hektor declared. “No thank you, Tribune. I am perfectly happy to know Algea. Her blessings are better than the alternative. Have some stew.”

  Alerio selected a position opposite the youth. Between them, they had a view of anyone approaching their campsite. He accepted a bowl and while he ate, the Legion officer thought about security. He and Hektor needed to set a watch schedule for overnight. Especially with the caravan guard’s attitude towards them unknown.

  “This caravan ends at Denizli,” Hector explained. “It’s the garrison and fort at the western edge of Rhodes’ territory.”

  “Who is in charge there?” Alerio asked.

  Alerio didn’t have a plan only a need. The need to endear himself, somehow, to the person in authority. Even if the Rhodian manager couldn’t grant Alerio legal status as a military attaché, maybe the boss at Denizli wouldn’t try and have him assassinated.

  “A guy named Cepos is in charge there,” Hektor replied. “I am not sure of his title yet. You’ll have that information after I ask around.”

  For a moment, Alerio forgot Hektor Nicanor was a thief. He tended the animals, made a passable camp stew, and provided another set of ears for gathering intelligence. It was almost as if the staff officer had a real valet.

  “We have company,” Hektor announced. “Coming up behind you are two caravan guards armed with spears and carrying shields.”

  The youth pulled his good leg under his butt preparing to stand.

  “Stay right there,” Alerio ordered. He drew his two Noric blades and rested the dagger against his hip. The Gladius was placed alongside his thigh. “Let me know if their spears are leveled at my back.”

  “Both have them resting over their shoulders,” Hektor told him.

  “Then this should be an interesting conversation,” Alerio remarked.

  In a smooth motion, he rose from the sitting position and rotated his body to face the guards. His blades flowed unseen by the mercenaries to the small of his back and behind his leg.

  Hektor, who watched the transfer, knew Alerio cuffed the dagger and slid the gladius around the unfolding leg. Even though he witnessed the motions, the smooth transfer appeared to be no more than the Tribune moving his arms while standing. Neither spearman knew Alerio Sisera held drawn blades.

  “Are you the military observer?” one demanded.

  “Arman said you were,” the other mercenary added.

  “How did you deflect Ylli’s spear?” the first one asked.

  “Hold on a heartbeat,” Alerio suggested. “I have several questions of my own. Who is Ylli? Who are you? And why do you want to know if I am the military observer?”

  “I’m Vibia, the caravan’s NCO,” the shorter of the two answered. “And the big guy is Othmar.”

  The guard named Othmar carried thick muscles over a large frame. He nodded to confirm his identity instead of verbally answering.

  “Ylli is one of my best spearmen,” Corporal Vibia reported. “He would be here if not for his wounded Illyrian pride. You embarrassed him.”

  Hektor observed Alerio’s fingers shift on the hilts of his weapons. Just once, then his grips tightened and the tendons in his wrists stood out under the skin as he flexed.

  “And you are here for what?” Alerio inquired. “Retribution?”

  “No sir,” Vibia replied. “We are here to ask for your help.”

  “How can a military observer from the Roman Republic help the Rhodian Mercenary Corps?” Alerio asked.

  “By showing us how you were able to dodge Ylli’s spear thrust,” Vibia replied.

  Hektor noted the tension ease from Alerio’s wrists.

  ***

  At the end of the trading session, Arman shared a meal and drinks with the mine managers. Afterward, the trail master needed to stretch his legs and clear his head. It was a nice evening and most of the caravan’s personnel were settled down in the open. He stepped between campfires, greeting his handlers and guards. At a few groups, he stopped to hear a joke or the tail end of a yarn. After laughing or politely acknowledging the story, he moved to the next campfire.

  To the uninitiated, the size of the encampment appeared large. Handlers and guards for a convoy of twenty-five donkeys, and three horses took up space. But Arman yearned for the sprawling camps of a long-distance trading caravan.

  It could have been he missed the power that came with the authority of bossing the venture. Or did he miss the experience? He had spoken with former military men over the years about campaigning. Although they described the discomforts and unsightly happenings in a nightly bivouac. They also told of companionship and humorous mishaps that came with the phenomenon of a massive camp. Did he miss organizing the long-distance caravans like the old soldiers missed the fellowship?

  Before he could ponder the thought further, voices rose from the far side of the camp.

  “Stick him,” they shouted.

  A glance between the shelter structures revealed his largest guard leveling a spear. Then Othmar charged at Tribune Sisera. Fearing a blood feud between his guards and the traveler, the trail master sprinted towards the fight.

  As he ran, a realization came to him. Arman missed the responsibility of caring for a crew on a long track, and the accountability of completing a difficult trading mission. In the end, it came down to his pride.

  He was an overland trail master hiding in short haul supply convoys. While racing between the structures, he made a promise to himself.

  ***

  Othmar held the spear out front while lumbering towards the Latian. In his experience, people panicked when faced with a sharp point and wide shoulders. If they didn’t run from the spearhead, they backed away from his powerful chest and thick arms. With confidence, he carried the shaft forward.

  When he planted his left foot, Othmar’s weight balanced front to back and side to side. For a heartbeat, the spear shaft reached its most stable position. As he stepped out with his right leg however, all the big man’s weight shifted forward. Briefly, the spearhead and his right foot floated out front, off balance, and wobbly. That’s when his victim became the aggressor.

  Alerio leaped forward and pirouetted around the spearhead. In the middle of his twirl, the Tribune kicked backwards. His foot impacted the big guard’s raised knee. Then, while the spear and man pivoted off to the side, Alerio dropped low before powering upward, delivering a punch to Othmar’s exposed left side.

  Muscles and thick bones were intimidating, even frightening. Bent sideways, holding his rib, and gasping for air, Othmar no longer dominated. Alerio pried the spear shaft from Othmar’s fingers and held it over his head. The small crowd moaned at the ease at which the military observer had disarmed the caravan guard.