Bloody Water (Clay Warrior Stories Book 3)

by J. Clifton Slater

  The rest of the exchange was lost to distance, the gurgling creek, and the rain. Alerio sat up and watched as the figures disappeared into the mist.

  Slipping the pack over his shoulder Alerio stood stiffly and walked to the back edge of the ledge. Although barely visible, he could make out the imprints from the men’s sandals in the mud on the far side of the creek.

  He was still wet from the river. So, when he jumped off the ledge and began to slide down the cliff face of the saddle, it didn’t matter. He splashed down in the creek. Six unsteady steps across allowed him to climb from the swollen creek. Once on the path, he dropped to his knees and examined the sandals’ prints.

  Lads born on farms hunt game for recreation and to supplement the family’s diet. Alerio recalled the tracking skills from his childhood and set off after the strangers. They weren’t hiding their footsteps, which told Alerio this wasn’t the primary path to their camp. If it was, they would have eradicated their footprints to confuse an enemy. And although the rain smeared their tracks, they didn’t seem concerned about an attack from this direction. The washed-out sandal prints and the fading light forced Alerio to stop frequently and feel for the imprints.

  At a fork in the trail Alerio squatted again to study the trail. The tracks headed off on a lower path. Glancing at the higher path, he noted it led into the hills.

  Suddenly, his hunter’s instincts raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Rather than stand Alerio remained low and crept forward. The men’s tracks ran true for a few feet before one turned right scuffing the mud. Now facing off the trail, the sandals’ imprints shuffled under a bush, before turning to rejoin the other set. The man had either relieved himself, or he’d spoken to someone in the bush. Maybe a sentry?

  Alerio pondered this as the defused light of a cloudy evening finally faded. In the dark, he waited and listened trying to form a plan.

  The sneeze was soft and the noise almost blended with the sounds of raindrops on leaves. If Alerio hadn’t been listening he would have missed it.

  The sentry was located off to the right of the lower path. But he was posted too far from the trail to engage an approaching enemy. Alerio sneaked back to the fork in the trail figuring to avoid the guard’s notice.

  He then went in the opposite direction and followed the high path. It rose, zigzagging back and forth as it climbed the steep hill. At an overlook that faced the lower trail he slowly unslung the strap and eased the pack under a bush. Ignoring the cold and dampness he crept back to the fork in the trails.

  ***

  If the listening post was guarding a secondary approach to the strangers’ campsite, the sentry’s relief, if any, would come from the direction of the main encampment. Alerio waited until the wind gusted before sliding under a bush and carefully crawling further off the trail. Then he waited.

  He fought the shivers for fear the shaking would attract the guard’s attention. He kept his breathing shallow for the same reason. As Alerio lay against the damp earth, he recited the training Sergeants’ mantra, “It’s that voice inside you screaming about pain, fear, and hunger. Give in and die. Ignore it and survive. Conquer it and thrive. Because, your first enemy is your mind.”

  Just when Alerio began to doubt his tactics, brush to his left and behind the sentry began to shake and snap. Bodies were coming and as the noise of their passing came closer, Alerio crept forward.

  He had waited a relatively short time and this was another clue to the make-up of the strangers. Rebels, highwaymen, barbarians, and marauders, didn’t maintain regular guard rotations. This group was bringing a relief for the sentry.

  Not only was a relief coming, but a supervisor accompanied the man. Only one entity had the discipline to protect their men from mental and physical fatigue by regularly relieving them – these men were part of a military unit.

  Recalling the earlier discussion by the two strangers, Alerio reached a conclusion. The reference to Syracuse raiders didn’t mean they were pirates or marauders. Rather it referred to a detached military unit. And, if a Sergeant was in charge, they would be on a mission. Armed with these thoughts, Alerio no longer doubted his tactics.

  As he crawled forward, using the noise of the approaching relief and noncommissioned officer to cover his movements, he thought, “Now, all I need is a more accurate count. And to get back and report the unit to Centurion Laurens at Bovesia Garrison.”

  Alerio paused when the three men met and whispered to each other. As the NCO and the off-duty guard backtracked through the bush Alerio fell in behind them.

  ***

  The camp was composed of three ten-men tents with shielded lanterns marking the entrance to each shelter. As the off-duty guard disappeared into a tent, the NCO tapped another man on the shoulder. They walked into the bushes to Alerio’s right.

  While creeping back from the edge of the clearing, Alerio smiled. Now, he knew the strength of the Syracusan unit and the locations of their sentries. By splitting the distance between the listening posts, he was able to safely move back to the trail.

  Alerio retrieved his pack and hiked up the winding path. Although tired, he couldn’t rest on this side of the hill. It was one of the many problems with night maneuvers. A dark hiding spot in the night might turn out to be clearly visible to your enemy in the light of day. Moving slowly, he felt for the path with his feet until the ground leveled. When it began to fall away he located a thick bush and crawled between the branches.

  Sometime in the early morning the rain stopped. The silence woke Alerio. He listened for footfalls in the dark. When none came, he fell back to sleep. A sharp rock and the arrow wound in his side rousted him at dawn.

  Chapter 40 – Hamlet on the Hill

  The foothills before him reached to higher elevations at each peak as they stretched out toward the mountains. Green covered most of the lower portions with clumps of small trees in spots. Where it wasn’t grass, it was bare rock. Just as Lupus had described it, the landscape consisted of high hills. And, almost as if Mars had used his gladius to slice some of the tops off, the plateau areas were smooth but not flat.

  After shaking the leaves from his cloak, he slung it over the pack and marched down the first hill. In the back of his mind he worried the Syracuse NCOs might send out a patrol at first light. He couldn’t afford to be seen, so even though the path was treacherous, he rushed toward the valley below.

  Two rabbits squatted, chewed, and watched him cross the valley floor. They rightly didn’t consider him a threat. In his present state of mind, he wasn’t. But, he hoped a few of their cousins, over the next hill, had the same relaxed attitude. Moments later, his attitude was no longer relaxed.

  ***

  Alerio found himself sweating and kneeling in a clump of trees. On the hill where he spent the night, stood four men. They’d appeared when he was halfway up the hill. The soldiers had stopped to take in the vista before glancing down into the valley, and scanning the far hillside; that saved him. Luckily, he caught a glimpse of their heads as they crest the hill and he ran for the trees.

  His stomach grumbled when the four sat down, pulled strips from pouches, and began gnawing on the strips. In Alerio’s mind, he went to an extreme and envisioned them chewing on fresh beef. It was more likely dried goat but, if you’re going to be envious, you might as well make it worthwhile.

  A root dug painfully into one knee and his back ached from remaining stooped. Alerio thought seriously about standing up and calling the four over. He wondered if they would share a few meat strips before the fight?

  What saved his, was the appearance of a fifth man. The man must have been their squad leader as the four jumped quickly to their feet. He wasn’t happy and demonstrated it with a few explicit hand gestures. After the display, the five disappeared behind the crest of the hill.

  Alerio waited a short time before standing and continuing his march upward. His stomach grumbled overriding his worries about the soldiers. Instead, he worried about not seeing rabbits
on the far side.

  Thankfully, there were rabbits. After several well thrown rocks, Alerio had food. Unfortunately, all the kindling and potential firewood were soaked from last night’s rain. He cut down a sapling and stripped off the branches. With three fat hares hanging from the pole, Alerio crossed another valley and climbed the next slope.

  ***

  Heavy clouds rolled in and hung low hiding the sun and threatening more rain. Alerio’s direction was generally northward. But with all the climbing, traversing, and crossing, he didn’t have a fix on his location. Somewhere off to his right was the Kaikinos River. Behind, the Syracuse military unit and ahead lay the town of Passomasseria. He craned his neck to look up at the steep grade. Glanced down, he shrugged, and started up the slope.

  He was sweating and his right thigh throbbed by the time he reached the top. It was the steepest climb yet. From the crest, Alerio peered down on a cliff face. No boulders clung to the bare granite; only sharp outcrops broke the plane. Climbing down was impossible; it would be easy to fall down the smooth face. Except for narrow ledge ten feet down and far to his right, there were no handholds or spots to place his feet.

  The smell of burning wood drifted on the midday breeze. Alerio set down his pack and the rabbits, and got down on his knees. When he leaned his body out over the cliff, the odor got stronger. Judging it to be coming from his right, he gathered the stick and pack and followed the edge in that direction.

  As he followed the line of the cliff, giving wide berth to several crevasses, the ledge rose. Fifty feet later, it became reachable. Alerio stepped down on the narrow path.

  Some places required him to turn sideways and inch around outcrops. Then, the path would widen and he could face forward. At the outcrops, he noted chisel marks. They showed someone had carved the path in the granite at least in some places. Twice the path entered large crevasses where steps were carved in the rock. At these, he was forced to turn around and back down. Blind to the front, he felt with a toe before easing his foot to the next rough-cut step.

  The path, ever descending, led Alerio lower and lower along the cliff face. Below him, a green boxed in valley ended at a sheer wall. At multiple places, runoff poured over the end of the canyon forming a rushing stream that cut through the center of this small sliver of fertile land. As he progressed, the smell of burning wood grew stronger.

  ***

  Alerio crept into another crevasse, turned, and began backing down. But these steps were steeper than the others. Also, they wrapped around the far side of the fissure’s edge. He descended down and around facing the steps. The path and cliff face behind him and out of his sight.

  “It’ll be a quick death, falling into the valley,” a voice at Alerio’s back stated. “Or, you can go back the way you came.”

  Straining to look over his shoulder at the speaker, Alerio saw the deeply etched skin around the eyes of an old man. But, things were out of place. For one, his beard and hair were trimmed and neatly combed. The beard had leather strips woven into the gray hairs. Also, his bare arms were corded with muscles, and although the flesh was loose as you’d expect on an older person, the muscles were those of a well-conditioned fighter.

  Alerio noticed the muscularity because the man stood erect and held a bronzed tipped spear in his hands. The shaft was polished and greased as if it had just come from an armory. And the tip’s sharp edges shined with no tarnish or marring to its gleaming surface.

  “It’s a long climb back,” Alerio said. “I’ve rabbit to share.”

  “What makes you think I eat rabbit?” asked the man.

  “Everyone likes roasted rabbit,” suggested Alerio. “And to be truthful, I don’t think my leg can make the climb without a rest.”

  The old man leaned forward and squinted. After a pause to examine the pink scar on Alerio’s right leg, he straightened.

  “Where did you pick up the wound?” inquired the old warrior.

  “An Illyrian pirate arrow,” replied Alerio. “While protecting a merchant ship.”

  “Name,” demanded the man.

  “Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera, Third Century, Eighth Squad,” Alerio replied. “Of the Republic’s Southern Legion.”

  “All right Lance Corporal Sisera, come down,” offered the old man. Then he warned, “Go for a weapon and I’ll run you through and throw you over the side.”

  “Not very trusting, are you?” Alerio observed as he took the last five steps to the path. Once on solid footing, he slowly turned around.

  The narrow path ended five feet behind the old man. There, it widened to a broad and deep ledge. Big enough to accommodate a walk-in hut with a thatched roof pinned to the cliff face. A porch extended the footprint of the hut. Neatly organized around the hut were a weaving stand, a cook pit, a work area, and a small grazing area with three sheep and a goat.

  The oddest area was a sand pit with wood poles jutting from holes in the granite wall. Each pole was a different length and stuck out over the sand at various heights. Alerio had never seen the type, but he identified it as a weapon’s training pit.

  “You’ve a training area,” noted Alerio. “I don’t recognize the origin.”

  “And you’ve a good eye,” the old man said with pride in his voice. “It’s modified a bit but, basically, it’s the design we use in Sparta.”

  “So that would make you, what?” asked Alerio.

  “I’m Helicaon, a Spartan,” the old man announced.

  Chapter 41 – The Spartan

  While Alerio turned the skewed rabbits over a fire, he asked, “Helicaon. How far is it to Passomasseria?”

  “North of here but you can’t get there,” the old warrior said reaching down to turn three yams that lay in the hot ash.

  “Can’t get there from here?” repeated Alerio.

  “If you climb back up, head west for a few days, then hike into the high hills; you can come at Passomasseria from the northern approach. You’ll reach it in a week,” instructed the old man. “Or you can wait for two days until the river goes down. Then you can walk to it in a day and a half along the river bank.”

  “So, it’s not far?” asked Alerio.

  “Not most of the year,” the Spartan replied. “But in the fall and spring, the river swells, the creeks rise, and you can’t get places. Best to stay put.”

  They were sitting on wooden benches on opposite sides of the cookfire. The Spartan, with the butt end of his spear on the ground, nestled the shaft in the crook of his arm. Alerio knew the old man, although sitting relaxed, could bring the tip down in less than a heartbeat.

  “I’m going to pull my knife to test the rabbit,” Alerio alerted his host.

  “Of course, you are,” the Spartan said. “The yams should be ready, as well. I’ll get plates.”

  While the sheep remained in the small pen, the she-goat had wandered over and stood beside the old man. When he stood and walked into the hut, the goat tagged along.

  “She’s been with me since she was a kid,” the old man said as he reemerged from the hut and handed Alerio two clay plates. “We found this valley and built a home here. Away from people, civilization, slaves, and war.”

  “Sounds idyllic, if not a little lonely,” Alerio said as he laid slices of rabbit on a plate and handed it to the old man. “Don’t you miss conversation?”

  “Sometimes, but then I remember why I choose this life,” the old man said while placing a baked yam on Alerio’s plate.

  “Why did you?” inquire Alerio.

  “I’ve been in military training, or in a Spartan mess on active duty since I was seven years old,” the Spartan said between bites. “Five years ago, my fifteen brothers sailed with King Areus to fight in Crete. At fifty-nine and seven months, I was nearing retirement. They elected me to stay in Sparta to supervise work on our barracks. And, to audition new recruits from those graduating from the Agoge.”

  The Spartan picked up the yam and bit off a chunk. He chewed hard as if the soft vegetable was tough
. It wasn’t the food that was tough, it was his story.

  “Let me tell you, sleeping in a bed and eating regular meals maybe decadent, but after fifty-two years of living the life of a Spartan soldier, I couldn’t complain. One day, word reached Sparta that King Pyrrhus had landed on our coast,” he related. “The king had just returned from the kick in the cōleī your Legions handed him in the Republic. Still, he commanded a twenty-thousand-man army. Our emissaries met with the king. He assured them that his only intention was freeing a few cities west of Sparta.”

  The old man picked up a piece of rabbit, inspected it, then plopped it into his mouth. He shook his head and frowned.

  “When Pyrrhus’ scouts began marching toward Sparta, our emissaries went back to see him,” Helicaon explained. “Same merda. By then his vanguard was headed north up the Eurotas River directly toward Sparta. He wouldn’t have tried it if our army had been in the city. With our forces fighting in Crete, and other units posted elsewhere, we weren’t prepared to defend our city.”

  “But you are Spartans,” said Alerio. “I’ve been told one Spartan equals seven warriors. Well, maybe not Legionaries, but seven of anybody else’s soldiers.”

  The comment earned Alerio a sideways look from the Spartan. Before continuing, Helicaon pulled out a comb and began running it through his long gray hair.

  “Twenty-thousand warriors plus, Pyrrhus brought elephants,” explained Helicaon. “Big animals that can crush a phalanx, or break through a stockade barrier. One day, I’m feasting and watching teenage soldiers trying to impress me with their bravery. And the next, the peace of the city shatters. At first there was panic, however, our former queen Arachidamia called everyone to the city center. Spartan women will not flee, she declared. They would assist in the defense of the city. Now, here’s the issue. The job of Spartan women is to stay fit and to birth new Spartan warriors. If Pyrrhus captured our city, and sold our women into slavery, Sparta would cease to exist.”

  “Couldn’t you just stay put, and defend your city’s defensive walls?” asked Alerio. “Why take the field against a larger force?”