Tribune's Oath (Clay Warrior Stories Book 17)

by J. Clifton Slater

  Alerio studied several of the homes along the street. Although a little light leaked from around their shutters, every window was boarded up. As Remus described, the residents had no interest in getting involved in the Legionaries escape.

  “Fold in your perimeter,” Alerio instructed. “And start sending your Century to roof.”

  “My Century?” Remus repeated. “I never thought I’d be an Optio let along an officer.”

  “Why’s that?” Alerio inquired. “You’re a capable Legionary.”

  “I’d rather mold clay,” Remus admitted. He tapped the shoulders of a pair of infantrymen in the center of the street and ordered. “Fall back to the escape building.”

  The two began the final withdrawal from the city. As if paint peeled from a vase, the Legionaries of the guard Century left their positions and drifted back to the building. Soon, only the entrance to the three-story building had security.

  “You know, Remus, training men is a lot like molding clay,” Alerio stated. “You shape them into your vision of a successful Legionary.”

  “But that’s the problem, Colonel Sisera,” the Master of Clay remarked. “With clay, once I put it in the kiln, the heat sets the shape. And the shape is permanent. With Legionaries, one too many cups of vino and everything falls apart.”

  “Two hundred years ago the Greek statesman Pericles proposed what you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others.”

  “Sirs, we are the last ones left,” an infantryman notified Remus and Alerio.

  Alerio placed a hand on his arm and pushed the Legionary through the doorway. Then he reached for Remus.

  “I’m the last one out,” Alerio informed the Master of Clay.

  “Because you want to demonstrate leadership by example?” Remus guessed.

  “Yes,” Alerio admitted. “It’s my way of weaving duty into the lives of others.”

  Alerio followed Remus through the doorway, and they found the infantryman waiting inside.

  “I thought you’d be up the steps by now,” Alerio questioned him.

  “Sir, your words touched me,” the Legionary commented. “But while you’re discussing high concepts, I’m a practical man.”

  The infantryman closed the door, shoved a beam into place, and secured the entrance. Then he went to the steps and walked to the second floor.

  “I forgot about the doorway,” Alerio admitted.

  “That infantryman’s response to your words, helped me understand Pericles’ meaning,” Remus stated as he mounted the steps. “But, Colonel, I still prefer molding clay to molding men.”

  ***

  Alerio followed Remus up the steps, and the two ladders to the roof. On the far side of the bridge, the Master of Clay proceeded to the far edge of the wall. Alerio stopped to talk to a man wearing a tunic and holding a coil of rope.

  “Moonrise, sir,” the Latian observed. “The night is half over.”

  “What are you waiting for?” Alerio inquired.

  “I’m the chief rigger,” he said. “When the last man is over, I’ll drop the bridge. After he descends, I’ll drop the lines. Then repel down on the last rope.”

  “I’m the last Legionary out of the city,” Alerio informed him.

  “Not exactly, sir,” the Legionary noted.

  Alerio clamped the man’s arm and shook it to acknowledge the order of exit. Then, while the rigger reached down to dislodge the ladder bridge, the Battle Commander backed to the edge of the defensive barrier and knelt.

  Picking up one of the three ropes that ran between his knees, Alerio scooted backward. Squirming off the ledge, Alerio’s legs swung free, and he felt the weight of his body in the muscles of his arms and shoulders. After a few misses, one foot located the rung of the suspended ladder. Held up by the other two ropes, the ladder swayed but hung fast as he descended.

  Fear of the unknown and the uncertainty that the ropes would hold the ladder gave Alerio a hint of what the men who had gone before felt. But the knowledge also gave him comfort. Three hundred men had climbed down and escaped Qart Hadasht. When the floating ladder ended, he tapped around until locating the one grounded at the base of the wall. The descent into the dark ended when a hand touched his back.

  “Welcome to freedom,” a man said. Along with his words, he left his arm extended for support. “Forty feet in the dark is unnerving.”

  “That it is,” Alerio confirmed.

  He didn’t realize it as he climbed down the last few rungs, but the tension of traversing the wall revealed itself in wobbly knees. Alerio held the arm for a beat until he was steady on his feet.

  “You’ll find a guide at the top of the ditch,” the man informed him. “Follow his directions and you’ll catch up with the others. How many more are up there?”

  “Just the rigger,” Alerio reported.

  “Then you better get moving,” the Legionary encouraged. “Because once the rigger gets here, we’ll be running you down.”

  Alerio climbed the defensive ditch to find a man kneeling in the dirt.

  The guide pointed eastward and directed, “That way.”

  In the light of the rising moon, Alerio looked back. High above, the rigger released ropes and the top ladder fell. Although he wanted to wait and thank the men who facilitated the movement down the wall, Alerio understood the desire to get away from Qart Hadasht.

  Alerio jogged away from the ditch. Although it appeared he was running away, in reality, Battle Commander Sisera ran towards his Legionaries and freedom.

  ***

  Proconsul Marcus Regulus tossed and turned until he was fully awake. At that point in the night, he threw off the light blanket and swung his legs to the floor.

  “Can I get you something, sir?” Tutus inquired from the door to the other room.

  The aides, as they had done in Qart Hadasht, split the night standing watch over the Proconsul.

  “Something bitter to wash away my guilt,” Marcus mumbled into his hands. Then, so as not to inflict his self-hate on the Legionary, he answered. “No, thank you. I just need to think.”

  “In that case, sir, I’ll leave you to your contemplations,” Tutus told him.

  The aide went back to the adjoining room, crossed the floor, and shook his partner awake.

  “He’s troubled again,” he notified Vitus.

  The other aide sat up.

  “We don’t know the mind of a Senator,” Vitus said. “It might be nothing that concerns us.”

  “I’ve seen befuddled men in the Legions,” Tutus informed him. “I’m going to the dock and check on the launch.”

  “And you want me alert, in case the Proconsul needs company,” Vitus stated.

  “In case the Proconsul wants to be alone, permanently,” Tutus corrected.

  He strapped on a gladius, tossed a red Legion cloak over his shoulder, and left the rented rooms.

  ***

  Below the hillside town, the harbor and beach had a few lanterns burning. But most of the illumination came from moonlight reflecting off the water.

  It had taken two days for the Egyptian trader to reach Malta. The next leg of the journey would take Proconsul Regulus and his aides to Sicilia. At Syracuse, they’d change vessels and go up the strait to Messina. Regulus would then commandeer space on any Navy vessel sailing for Rome.

  Tutus located the trading vessel at the docks. Men moved around the deck and pier positioning carts and amphorae.

  “Going somewhere?” he inquired.

  “Optio, good morning. We were just organizing the deck,” the ship’s Captain clarified. “Why don’t you go wake the Proconsul and begin packing? My son will be along directly to collect you.”

  “How far is it to Sicilia?” Tutus asked.

  “It’ll take us all day to reach Portopalo di Capo,” the Egyptian answered.

  The captain’s twelve-year-old son strolled down the dock with a bag. As he approached, Tutus latched onto the boy’s arm and pulle
d him close.

  “You’re correct,” the Legion NCO said. “We do need your son’s help. Come on lad.”

  Before the skipper could protest, Tutus escorted the young Egyptian back towards town. Tutus hadn’t trusted the merchant after watching the man trade with locals along the route. Taking the boy assured that the vessel would be at the dock when the Legion NCOs and the Proconsul returned.

  Tutus had no problem with an early start on the day’s sailing and he knew Marcus Regulus held the same view.

  What none of them knew, sailors and rowers of a Republic fleet on the coast of Sicilia felt differently about a moonlight launch.

  ***

  Consul Servius Nobilior stood on the deck of his flagship examining the Roman fleet.

  “Senior Tribune, we seem to be a little sluggish this morning,” Servius observed.

  “General, you’ve pushed the fleet hard since we left Ostia,” the senior staff office responded. “It might do the men good to rest here for a day.”

  “I have no intention of remaining at Portopalo di Capo any longer than is necessary,” Consul Nobilior told him. “We’ve fifteen thousand men to pull out of Punic territory. Go ask our rowers what I should do if it was them stranded between the sea and an Empire army.”

  “We all know the answer to that, Consul.”

  “Then let’s get launched,” Servius Nobilior instructed. “It’ll be light soon and I want to be far, far north of here before noon.”

  “Launch the screen,” the Senior Tribune instructed the signalmen.

  Using lanterns, the Legionaries waved predetermined patterns. In response, five three-bankers slid into the water and rowed out to sea. Another five launched and rowed northward to scout in front of the fleet. The squadron of trireme didn’t row far. They couldn’t as there were still four hundred and fifty-four warships and transports still at the beach.

  ***

  Battle Commander Sisera finished tying an armored skirt around his waist. He reached for a piece of chest armor and Didacus tapped the armor with a finger.

  “Sir, we need you to guide the expedition,” he pleaded. “Let someone else lead the attack.”

  “Craftsmen and builders are good for organizing and finding creative solutions,” Alerio told the Foreman. “But in a shield wall, only a combat officer can hold a line together when things get rough.”

  “Does it have to be you?” Albin demanded.

  “Let me see,” Alerio remarked. He faked glancing around at the shadowy figures of the men near him. “There’s no sign of the God Quirinus in the group. I guess, it’ll be me leading the assault.”

  His mentions of the ancient God of War and Spears brought groans from the craftsmen.

  “We could just bypass the hill fort,” Tullius recommended.

  “On the move, we’d be too loud,” Naevus commented. “Besides, tell me carpenter, what commander leaves seventy-five cavalrymen in place to attack the rear of his march.”

  “Who’ll guard my right flank and secure the corral?” Alerio questioned.

  “That would be my Century,” Remus volunteered. “Ever since your speech at the building, my infantrymen can’t talk about anything else except going into battle with Colonel Sisera.”

  “And how do you feel about that?”

  “I’m still not convinced that you wouldn’t be better off with an apprentice boy in command,” Remus answered. “But I’ve brought my infantrymen this far, I’ll see it to the end. Even though I’m afraid I’ll fail them.”

  “The first and greatest victory is to conquer yourself. To be conquered by yourself is of all things most shameful and vile,” Alerio quoted. “That’s what Plato said one hundred and thirty years ago. And it’s true today.”

  “How does that apply to this situation?” Didacus asked.

  “You don’t need to fear the Empire horsemen,” Alerio assured them. “In the morning and in the days ahead, hold yourself to a standard of courage and honor. Do that and in every battle, the enemy is already defeated.”

  “Even the troops on Jellaz Hill?” Naevus asked.

  “They just don’t know it yet,” Alerio guaranteed the Foundation Mole. He glanced at the fading stars in the sky and instructed. “Optio Celso, get us moving forward.”

  The man who helped Alerio stalk the route of march through the city and during the first phase of the escape, left the commanders meeting. A short way from Alerio, he entered a circle of fifty-five heavy infantrymen.

  “Centurion Remus’ Century will cover our right flank,” Celso told them. “We’ll move up the high side of the hill with Colonel Sisera. Let me remind you all. Our first job is to protect the Battle Commander.”

  “Optio Celso. You do realize you’re talking about Sisera, the Battle Commander of North Legion,” one of the infantrymen pointed out. “He’s not known for avoiding a fight.”

  “Just be sure he has scuta on either side of him during the actual assault,” the NCO advise. “We’re moving one hundred paces into the trees. Let’s go.”

  ***

  Alerio squatted under a tree and allowed his eyes to sweep up the slope to the hill fort. If he had experienced officers and NCOs, he would order a dawn attack while the shadows were long, and the enemy slumbered. As it stood, he couldn’t risk the confusion caused by weak leadership.

  “Centurion Remus. I’m going to lead the attack up the spine of the hill,” Alerio informed the Master of Clay. “I need you to sweep up the lower slope and stop any horsemen from breaking out.”

  “What about the sentries?” Remus questioned.

  “Nothing to be done about them,” Alerio said. Then he asked. “Optio Celso, are we ready?”

  “Yes, sir,” the NCO replied.

  Stealth might have been a smart strategy. But Colonel Sisera lacked the scouts to sneak up the ridge. Plus, his Legionaries needed motivation. Thus, he threw out silent-and-deadly, and went full throated. Standing, he drew his gladius, and while springing from the woods, Alerio sang.

  Although my feet trip and stumble

  Goddess Hybris shows the way

  As if a giant spoon had taken a scoop from a lake size platter of lard, the rocky ridge curved around a steep drop off. With his feet dancing along the edge, Alerio powered up the hill.

  Attributes to clear the path

  Insolence and violence

  My blade, my wrath

  One advantage to running the crest, the route brought Alerio and his squads in from the high side of the hill fort. The approach allowed the Legionaries to get close as the Empire sentries ignored that direction. But down on the lower slope, Remus’ Century came out of the trees in plain sight.

  I’ve got seventy miles of hike

  Just to reach the beach

  Seventy miles of fight

  Alerio leaped from a battlement, sailed into the fort, and landed on a distracted sentry. Before the Colonel could stab the man, two Legionaries appeared on either side of him. One stabbed the downed man before racing ahead of Alerio.

  Just to launch a ship

  Eight hundred miles to sail

  Just to see Ostia

  Eight hundred miles of sea

  Just to be free

  But one dead sentry didn’t stop the cries of alarm. Cavalrymen swinging swords rushed from the sleeping bunkers. The ones who stood and fought, posed no problem for the heavy infantrymen. But, a large portion of the nimble horsemen dodged around the big shields and escaped.

  While lambs can frolic and play

  Pious Priest dismiss her gifts

  On our trail behind or ahead

  With the enemy closing in

  It’s Hybris or death

  An officer dashed from a tent and Alerio set his guard to duel with the man. Before their blades crossed, two shields slammed together in front of Alerio. When they parted, the officer lay dead from a pair of stab wounds.

  I’ve got seventy miles of hike

  Just to reach the beach

  Seventy miles of fig
ht

  Just to launch a ship

  While Alerio’s squads fought for the hill fort, down slope, Remus’ units defended the corral. Their shield wall stopped any of the Empire horsemen from gaining a mount and getting away. On the road and in the fields around the base of the hill, unarmored Legionaries sealed off Jellaz Hill. They prevented any cavalrymen on foot from breaking out.

  Eight hundred miles to sail

  Just to see Ostia

  Eight hundred miles of sea

  Just to be free

  By the time the fighting ended, the Legionaries controlled the fort and to Alerio’s disappointment, his blade was still clean. As Centurion Didacus had alluded to before, Colonel Sisera was needed to guide the expedition and was too important to be leading a charge into a melee.

  Chapter 21 – Counter Ambush

  It wasn’t the men slowing down the escape. Hiking for Legionnaires went beyond training and conditioning. To qualify as a Legionary, an infantryman needed to march and run for miles and still be able to function. Therefore, it wasn’t the men slowing down the escape.

  “I’ve nothing to report,” Naevus recounted. His horse pranced to the side while settling down from the run. “No one is on our trail, sir.”

  The Legion detachment had eighty-five men assigned to captured horses. To coordinate the cavalry units, Alerio appointed the Foundation Mole as the Centurion of Horse. Naevus protested at first saying it wasn’t right for a man accustomed to crawling around in the dark of a hole to be that high above ground. But all Legionaries were taught to ride so the digger had the physical skills. Plus, the talent it took to anticipate a weak wall of soil translated to visualizing the placement of scouts over a broad area.

  “We’re five hundred strong, Centurion,” Alerio pointed out. He continued to walk the path beaten by the men hiking out front. “It’s not as if the Empire can dispatch a few squads of irregulars to bring us back.”

  “Still, Colonel,” Naevus observed, “you would think someone would have noticed our disappearance.”

  “Feeling snubbed?” Alerio teased.

  “No, sir, I’m going to check out front.”

  “Carry on, Centurion,” Alerio said, dismissing the Foundation Mole turned cavalry officer.