“Of course not, Tribune,” Ezio said, his voice oozing with charm. “I require my units to learn the Republic’s battle line techniques. So that we too can defeat Qart Hadasht’s forces.”
“We should start with the marching camp,” Alerio ventured. Then he lied. “It’s how we teach division of labor and discipline to our recruits.”
“That doesn’t sound right, Centurion,” Junior Tribune Morum corrected. “I believe…”
“Pardon, sir,” Alerio broke in. “How many recruits have you trained?”
“None,” the Junior Tribune admitted.
“Let’s leave the infantry to the infantry officer,” Trigoni suggested. “When does my Centurion start?”
“He said the camp was a key to learning,” Ezio replied. “I’ll have two Companies there at dawn. If that is agreeable, Centurion Sisera?”
“Perfectly, Sub Commander,” Alerio acknowledged.
“Dismissed, Centurion,” Trigoni said, releasing Alerio.
Halfway to the door, an older man walked in as Alerio walked out.
“Do I know you, young man?” City Magistrate Basil commented.
“No, sir,” Alerio lied.
If anyone of them recognized Alerio, he could be brought up on charges for murder, arson, and the destruction of public and private property. Thankfully, no one seemed to associate Centurion Sisera with the Republic criminal who escaped from the cell and left a trail of destruction in his wake. With that in mind, Alerio decided to remove himself from the city.
Chapter 6 – The Prohibited Teachings
The sun rose and rays drifted into the officer’s tent. Alerio attempted to delay the start of the day by pulling the blanket over his eyes.
“Sisera. Are you up?” Tribune Trigoni called from outside.
The sounds of a pair of horses pawing the ground notified Alerio that two riders were waiting for him.
“Yes, sir,” Alerio replied. He rolled out of the bed, grabbed a waterskin, and drenched his head and shoulders. “I’m just cleaning up.”
Dripping water, Alerio stepped out of the tent.
“Good morning, Tribune,” he greeted Trigoni while toweling off his naked torso.
“You have quarters in the city,” Trigoni observed. “I don’t know why you insist on staying in this abandoned marching camp.”
“I need to be near the men I’m training,” Alerio replied.
He twisted around and tossed the towel into the tent. When Alerio turned his back, Junior Tribune Morum gasped.
“Is something wrong, sir?” Alerio inquired of the junior staff officer.
Other than stiffness in the morning, Alerio paid little attention to the scars crisscrossing his spine. Apparently, the Junior Tribune had never seen Sisera’s back. And probably, the young noble had never been close to flesh disfigured by a whip designed to kill.
“Your back,” Morum pointed out. “Are you nothing but a common criminal?”
“I understand your confusion,” Alerio admitted. “But I can assure you, Junior Tribune, I am an infantry officer of the Legion.”
“Centurion Sisera has a problem with authority,” Trigoni explained as if the statement was general knowledge. It certainly was news to Alerio. “Some infantry officers require more supervision and a firmer hand from command. Sisera is one of them.”
“Sir. Where is this coming from?” Alerio questioned.
“I have reports on you from General Duilius’ staff,” Trigoni sneered at Alerio. “I am wise to your kind. You will follow my orders or, you will find yourself on the punishment post. Just like before when you earned those scars.”
Alerio was shocked. He assumed this assignment was a reward for his actions at Enna from Gaius Caecilius.
“Why am I on this mission, sir?” Alerio asked.
“Young Morum and I have little combat experience,” Trigoni admitted. “I needed a brawler. Someone who could mix it up with the soldier of Echetla and not be a diplomat.”
“I take it that is your specialty,” Alerio offered. From beyond the horses, Alerio noted columns of men marching from the city. “Sir, you know we have a problem with the training.”
“What? Your incompetence?” Trigoni challenged. “Ezio wants his units to resemble Legionaries. And you will teach them to move and react like Legionaries. I will not be embarrassed because you caroused all night and couldn’t get up in the morning.”
With his hands clinched into fists and his jaw set, Alerio fought to control his temper.
“We do not train the Republic’s enemies on how to defeat her Legions,” Alerio stated.
“We do what I want,” Trigoni threatened. “You will not ruin the trade agreement I am working on with Magistrate Basil. If Ezio is happy then Basil is open to negotiations. This is a lucrative opportunity. If I wanted nobility from the ranks, I would have selected a weapons’ instructor. But I did not. I picked you.”
“Then you can count on me to do my duty, Tribune,” Alerio promised.
Trigoni and Morum guided their mounts around, kneed the beasts in the flanks and, together, they cantered over the camp bridge. As the noblemen enjoyed their morning ride, Alerio went into the Centurion’s tent to prepare for his day. The difficult part would be creating interesting classes while avoiding real Legion training.
***
“The secret of the Legion is precision,” Alerio stated. He held a triangle made of wooden slats against the inside slope of the defensive trench. “Exactness in everything creates discipline. This section is too flat. Shave off the bottom to make it steeper and harder to climb.”
Around him, Lieutenants and NCOs from an Echetla Company watched impatiently. So far, the Legion Centurion had their men cutting logs and digging a square trench for a new marching camp. Nothing he did had anything to do with war or teaching their soldiers to fight like Legionaries in a shield wall.
Once a line of men was peeling off layers of dirt with hoes and tossing it on top of the trench to make the inside higher, Alerio climbed out of the dig. A few feet away, men trimmed branches from poles while others sharpened one end.
“The end that goes in the ground needs to be a blunt point,” he described. “You don’t want the pole to be too narrow. Once it is set in place, then you carve the sharp point into the pole.”
Half the NCOs and officers turned and marched away.
“This is useless,” Lieutenant Opsis declared. “I’m going to see the Captain and the Sub Commander about this travesty.”
Opsis mounted, gently guided his horse around, and rode slowly for the gates of Echetla.
“The Lieutenant is angry,” one of his Sergeants suggested.
“How can you tell?” a spearman inquired.
“Because Lieutenant Opsis only rides at that pace when he is really irritated,” the NCO commented.
***
The next morning, alone in the marching camp, Alerio woke early. Deciding to take advantage of the privacy, he grabbed two gladii and went outside. After loosening his shoulders and stretching his legs, the weapons’ instructor swept his left arm over the right. Then with a snap of his wrists, the blades crossed. The scissor movement of the gladii would have severed a neck or an arm, or anything between the steel edges.
Next Alerio raised the blades just above shoulder height. Stepping out with one leg, he twisted at the waist and dropped to a low stance. One gladius extended out from his side while the other hung over his head as if a stinger on a venomous insect.
A flurry of strikes and blocks with the blades along with leaps and measured steps carried Alerio ten feet from where he started. Leaning to the side, he began a series of cartwheels that carried him back to where he began. Glancing up, weapons’ instructor Sisera noted the gates of Echetla opening. A short while later, columns of marching men appeared.
“Another day, another lie,” he grumbled.
Before Alerio made it to the tent flaps, Ezio, Trigoni, and Morum trotted from the gate and traveled between the spearmen. They
raced ahead of the unit’s mounted officers heading towards the camp.
“Breakfast must have been early,” Alerio sneered.
He headed into the tent to dress for the day. One regret about the early arrivals, Alerio did not have time to eat anything. And hunger always made him irritable.
***
Alerio met his visitors at the stacks of poles. The Tribune waited for the Company and its officers to arrive. He seemed to need an audience.
“You are wasting time,” Trigoni accused from horseback. “We have been handed an opportunity to make Echetla a partner. And rather than showing them respect, you have their soldiers digging in the dirt.”
“Sir, I can…” Alerio attempted to say.
“You are not showing friendship,” Ezio broke in with his own thoughts. “Or fulfilling the Republic’s commitment. My soldiers are not common laborers to be wallowing in the dirt.”
“And your choice of dress is an embarrassment to the Legion,” Junior Tribune Morum added.
Alerio lifted his eyes to the brim of his petasos, then glanced down at the washed-out woolen tunic and trousers. No gladius or visible dagger hung from his hips. Although he appeared unarmed, there was a long-curved assassin’s dagger hidden under the tunic. As it was, the only thing Legion about his attire were his hobnailed boots. He had no standing to argue against the young nobleman’s point.
“You are correct, Junior Tribune,” Alerio admitted.
“These are officers,” Trigoni said indicating the capes and bright armor of the Company’s Captain and Lieutenants. “How is the Legion supposed to gain respect when a Centurion is dressed like a slave.”
“I thought my job was to teach soldiers,” Alerio offered. “Not to strut around preening with a flock of pigeons.”
Opsis vaulted off his horse, drew his sword, and marched up, stopping when he stood nose to nose with Alerio.
“Arm yourself, Centurion,” the Lieutenant ordered. “I will personally show you what a pigeon can do to a disrespectful worm.”
“Pork?” Alerio inquired.
“Pork?” Opsis demanded. “What?”
“You had pork for breakfast,” Alerio remarked. “Was it delicious? It’s hard to tell, the sour vino has fouled your breath.”
Opsis stepped back and brought his sword to a guard position. The tip rested a hand’s width from Alerio’s forehead.
“Arm yourself so that I can watch you choke on your own blood,” the Lieutenant instructed.
Alerio bent sideways to peer around the sword as if the steel tip was wider than a fine point. From the lateral stoop, he ran his eyes up and down Opsis’ body judging the man’s dueling posture.
“Can I apologize, sir?” Alerio inquired while holding up a finger as if asking for a moment to collect his thoughts.
A wicked sneer appeared on the Lieutenant’s face. With his temper up, he did not want to grant leniency. He wanted to cut the pig of a Republic officer and watch him bleed.
“I’m not sure I’m in the mood…,” Opsis began.
Alerio’s leg shot out to the side. His foot stomped down on the end of a pole and the wooden rod rocked off the pile. Snatching it from the air, the weapons’ instructor spun the shaft, knocking the Lieutenant’s blade high above Opsis’ head.
With his blade climbing and out of position, the Echetla officer shuffled back, putting distance between himself and the rotating pole. But the shaft stopped with the carved point aimed directly at his chest. Then the Legion officer cocked back his arm and threw the pole like a spear.
Opsis jerked to his left to avoid the fat spear. But rather than avoiding the pole, he leaned into it. It caught the officer’s cape but did not pierce the material. The almost blunt end, the power of the throw, and the weight of the shaft snatched Opsis off his feet. The Lieutenant slammed into the ground, his fist popped open, and the sword rolled from his fingers.
Seeing his officer taken down, an NCO signaled a squad and the eleven soldiers stepped forward.
“It isn’t good to see your officer defeated,” Alerio remarked. He held the Lieutenant’s sword with the tip pressed against the officer’s throat. “But it’s worse to cause his death. Get back in your ranks.”
The Sergeant waved the squad back, but he held his ground and continued to stare at the Legion officer.
“Would you like a little revenge?” Alerio suggested to the NCO. “Pick half a squad that worked on trimming poles yesterday. Have them take hoes, and hand me a shield.”
Four soldiers marched to the open-sided storage shed. They selected hoes and shuffled to an area indicated by Alerio.
“Here Morum, catch,” Alerio called out to the Junior Tribune.
Opsis’ sword soared high and arched across the distance. Only a reflex grab saved the young nobleman from being stabbed in the thigh. He gawked at the steel tip arrested just above his leg.
After strapping the shield to his arm, Centurion Sisera jerked Opsis to his feet.
“Come on Lieutenant,” Alerio offered. He added a bash with the shield to keep the dazed Echetla officer sedated. “We are going to test the progress of the training.”
The four soldiers with the hoes watched as their officer staggered to a place in front of them. He was supported by the Legion officer.
“Here is the drill,” Alerio described to the four. “The Lieutenant and I will move down the line. In turn, you bring your hoe down and hook the shield exposing your officer and me.”
“Sounds good,” a big soldier remarked. “Do we get a shot at you?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Alerio commented. “But now that you bring it up, sure. But fair is fair. If you do not bring my shield down, I am going to hurt you.”
The four soldiers laughed and made hooking motions with the poles and iron heads of the hoes. After a few practice swings, Alerio moved Opsis to the first man.
“Here we are,” Alerio invited the spearman. “Remove my shield.”
The hoe came down at an angle where the blade of the hoe could easily catch the top inside edge of the shield. Except, the weapons’ instructor tilted the shield and the hoe slid down the face of the scutum before curving away. Alerio stepped forward and smashed the spearman in the face with the shield.
“You were trimming poles yesterday, weren’t you?” Alerio inquired.
Looking up from his back the spearman nodded yes. Alerio didn’t say anything, he just scooted Lieutenant Opsis over to stand in front of the next man.
“Ah, you are a big one,” Alerio greeted the spearman. After driving the shield into Opsis’ side to keep him calm, Alerio offered the large soldier. “Here I am, come and take the shield.”
The hoe extended far beyond the shield and the two officers. It would have hooked the back of Alerio’s shoulder and pulled the officers off balance. But the iron band of Alerio’s shield jerked upward, breaking the shaft of the hoe.
The big spearman swore at the broken handle. Then Alerio’s hobnailed boot shot out and struck the big man’s knee before the soldier could do anything else. He went from blasphemy and standing to sitting and praying for relief from the pain in his leg. Somewhere in his self-pity, a voice broke into his misery.
“What?” the large soldier asked between sobs.
“I asked. Were you on pole trimming duty yesterday?” Alerio questioned.
“Yes, sir,” the big spearman confirmed.
Alerio and Opsis were almost to the third spearman when the Sub Commander spoke up.
“Centurion Sisera, I sense there is a lesson in all of this,” Ezio commented. “Can you cut to the moral of the story, if there is one?”
Alerio searched the ranks of spearmen until he recognized a group leader.
“You oversaw a trench detail yesterday,” he said. “Come forward.”
The group leader marched to Alerio.
“My squad was digging, yes,” he announced.
“What are these soldiers doing wrong?” Alerio asked.
Confused by th
e question, the group leader shrugged his shoulders. Laughter rose from the spearmen and groans came from the officers of the Echetla Company.
“I think this has gone far enough,” Tribune Trigoni announced. “Sub Commander please accept my apology.”
“It’s the angle,” shouted the group leader.
The laughter stopped and everyone focused on the spearman.
“The hoe blade works best with a flat drop,” he explained. “If you swing from too high, the hoe cuts a curve. It moves towards before angling away from the target. Or if you overreach you lose power. Bringing it straight down is more efficient. Like when we cut the steep sides of the trench. Is that right, Centurion?”
Alerio released the Lieutenant who stumbled away.
“In a shield wall fight, you can’t hurt the enemy if you can’t reach them,” Alerio instructed. “The precise construction of the trench teaches the skills to pull down shields. Done correctly, it gives you an opening for your spears to reach your enemy.”
Centurion Sisera walked to Junior Tribune Morum and held out his hand. The Lieutenant’s sword was placed in the open palm and Alerio carried it to Opsis.
“Give me a moment to get my gladius and armor, Lieutenant,” Alerio told him while handing over the sword. “Then we can settle this.”
Sub Commander Ezio began clapping and, soon, the spearmen joined him in the applause while stomping their feet.
Greeks enjoyed theater and believed that audience participation was their civic duty. If displeased, loud booing and the throwing of fruits and vegetables was the norm. But given a quality performance, they hooted, yelled, and made as much noise as possible. It took several moments for the cheering to die down.
In response to the acknowledgement of the quality lesson, Lieutenant Opsis sheathed his sword, bowed to the Legion Centurion, and marched back to his unit.
With no fight against the Echetla officer in the offering, Alerio asked, “Can we get the day’s training started?”
Muted Implications (Clay Warrior Stories Book 12) Page 5
