Bloody Water (Clay Warrior Stories Book 3)

by J. Clifton Slater

  ***

  Squads Four and Five descended the stairs to the second level plaza. Once on the plaza, they separated and silently searched the area for any hidden pirates. After making sure the level was clear, the squads took up positions on either side of the stairs leading down to level one. A Legionary separated from the ranks and walked back to the stairs.

  “Clear,” he whispered to the eight-man assault squad waiting there.

  Third Squad filed down from level three and crossed the plaza. No one spoke, or stomped, or rattled their equipment. There were pirates were snoozing on the stairs; along with about thirty-five Illyrian soldiers sleeping on the plaza below.

  The assault squad stopped and stood perfectly still. Some of their eyes fixed on the quiet and motionless beach below; others cast further down the beach to the fires near the large pavilion.

  Above them on the third level plaza, Legionaries talked and a bard sang a melancholy love song about Cupid’s love of for the beautiful princess Psyche. Third Squad stood between the low noises from above and the silent Illyrians below.

  Chapter 54 – The Navarch Pavilion

  Alerio tapped the three archers on their shoulders before pushing them toward the top of the beach. Higher up, where the beach met dirt, they heal-and-toed it forward until they could see to the front of the pavilion. Sleeping forms sprawled around two low campfires close to the large tent’s entrance. From the high ground, all the other campfires caused the beach to resemble a starry night.

  The archers stuck out an arm to be sure they had the proper distance between them. Once satisfied they had elbow room, the three slowly unslung the bundles from their shoulder and squatted down. From the bundles, they extracted arrows one at a time. As each arrow emerged, the archers stuck the arrowhead into the dirt to their front. When they had one hundred twenty arrows placed, the archers strung their bows and waited.

  “The goddess calls,” Lupus whispered from behind Alerio.

  “Then answer her call,” Alerio said with a slight turn of his head.

  There was a shuffling of feet on sand and Alerio caught a quick glimpse of a form at the edge of the pavilion before it disappeared.

  The archers noticed the movement. In response, they stood, set their feet, and plucked the first arrows form the soil.

  An apparition materialized from around the pavilion. A naked man glistened in the night except for the dark strip that coiled around his body. Above the shoulders, a cobra’s head turned rapidly from side to side, vigorously, as if excited about discovering humans on the beach.

  “Snakes. Snakes on the beach,” screamed the apparition as it raced from campfire to campfire. “Who is blessed with the gift? Snakes on the beach.”

  At each the first fire, the spirit dropped a snake on the chest of a sleeping man.

  The assaulted man felt the squirming immediately. He brushed the snake aside and jumped up yelling, “Snakes. Snakes on the beach.”

  The brushed aside snake landed on another sleeping pirate. He, as well, cried out and he leaped to his feet yelling, “Snakes on the beach. Snakes on the beach.”

  Both men were swept off their feet when arrowheads pierced their necks. As the others pirates around the campfire tossed back their blankets and rose, arrow shafts appeared in their chests. They fell back onto their blankets.

  The action played out in the camp-circles radiating out from the pavilion. A snake landed, was slung onto a mate, and men jumped up shouting about snakes on the beach. The Legion archers dropped several of the first group. But the cry of snakes and the panic spread quickly beyond the campsites targeted by the spirit. Spread so fast, the archers couldn’t keep up with the targets.

  As with all surprise attacks, the affected were afraid and those nearby picked up on the confusion. Eventually, the farthest away, and unaffected, were able to sort out the chaos. Soon they would discover the archers and the attack would end with the death of the Legionaries.

  Except, from the plaza and the beach near the stairs Illyrian pirates shouted about another attack. The attack-cry rolled from the stairs, down the beach, through each of the unaffected campsites until it clashed with the snake-cry. When choosing between chasing after an unknown and naturally feared foe, like snakes and a solid, recognizable enemy, the mind always picks the known. Thusly, the snake-cry was forgotten and the pirates, grabbing knives and swords, ran for the stairs and the fight on the plaza.

  No one noticed the apparition as it stumbled. His words garbled. One would have to be very close to hear the words.

  “Goddess Angitia, come take me from this realm,” he mumbled. The last two snakes he held up as if making an offering. Both hands and arms bleed from fang marks. He stopped and gazed at the puncture wounds. “Take back your gift, my goddess, and carry me home.”

  With those words, the apparition dropped to his knees. Slowly, he toppled face first into the hot coals of a campfire. The last sensation of his troubled life was the aroma of a second chance. But for Private Lupus, there would be no second chance; the goddess came and carried him from this realm.

  Chapter 55 – Steps into Hades

  Third Squad couldn’t understand the words. The cry of the pirates from the beach was too far away making it an undulating roar. Yet, they understood the meaning. Eight shields lifted, and the men growled while running down the steps to the lower plaza. To help alert the Illyrians to the attacking Legionaries, Fourth and Fifth Squads yelled at the top of their lungs. Despite the noisy display, they maintained their positions.

  As Third Squad descended the stairs, two abreast, the Legionaries slashed and hacked the pirates sleeping on the steps. At the first plaza level, they slowed and came on line.

  “Advance. Advance,” shouted Procopius, the acting squad leader. “And yell. Let the perfututum Illyrians know, they’ve entered a wolf’s den.”

  The shields shot forward and the few soldiers and pirates who were awake and standing in front of the gladii, died.

  “Pivot right,” Procopius shouted and the line swung to face Illyrians scrambling to pick up their shields. “Advance. Advance.”

  The unprepared Illyrians fell dead or wounded to the clay pavers of the plaza.

  “Turn about,” Procopius ordered. Each Legionary spun in place to face the enemy behind them. “Advance. Advance.”

  Now, the Legionaries faced the shields of Illyrian soldiers. In addition to the professionals, the plaza was filling with pirates and rowers from the beach. After glancing at the crowded stairs, where men pushed and shoved to get at the Legionaries, he decided Lance Corporal Sisera had enough of a diversion.

  “Right face and at the double step back,” Procopius shouted as he moved to the front of the line.

  Two Legionaries fell and were swarmed by sica wielding pirates. With his shield swinging back and forth, the temporary squad leader protected the remaining five members of his squad as they raced for the stairs.

  The plan was to form a shield wall and back up to the second level plaza. If Procopius lost any more men, there wouldn’t be enough of Third Squad left to seal the steps.

  “Welcome to Hades. Greetings from the wolves,” Procopius screamed as shields and spears battered his lone shield. He stepped back and stumbled. The Illyrians sensing a kill moved in on the off balanced Legionary.

  Suddenly a wall of Legion shields closed down in front of him. Fearing Third Squad was sacrificing themselves for him, he screamed, “Step back.”

  A hand slammed into his shoulder armor and he turned to see Fourth Squad’s Lance Corporal with his face an inch away.

  “You haven’t been a squad leader long enough to order my men around,” the NCO said. “Now. Hit the steps so my lads can step back.”

  Procopius paused on the steps to look down on the plaza. Fourth and Fifth Squads were stacked in two ranks. In front of them were hundreds of pirates and two squads of Illyrian soldiers. The engaged Legionaries slammed their shields forward, but didn’t follow with a gladius strike. For this ma
neuver, they used the space created by the thrust to step back before bracing for another assault.

  Disengaging with the enemy while collapsing their formation to mount the steps was going to be a problem. The pirates massed on the plaza created constant pressure against the Legion ranks. Again, the Legionaries shoved forward with their shields, but the space opened and closed almost as rapidly as the shields created it. A battle of attrition spelled doom for the Legion squads.

  “Procopius. Would you like to join us?” a voice rang out.

  The temporary squad leader spun around to see Commander Cephas standing at the top of the stairs. Around him, on the second level plaza, were the remaining members of Third Squad and a half squad of additional Legionaries. Procopius sprinted up the steps. At the top, four javelins were placed in his hands.

  “Arching throws,” ordered Cephas. “Drop them in close but don’t hit our men. On my command. Throw.”

  Eleven javelins disappeared against the night sky. When they reappeared, the shafts were embodied in the heads, shoulders, or chests of pirates.

  “On my command,” shouted Cephas. “Throw.”

  Again, eleven iron tipped javelins arched up and over before raining down on the second rank of pirates. Now, the first rank realized the pressure from behind had lifted. The Legionaries also noticed the easing, and the familiar shafts falling among the Illyrians. When a third flight struck down another eleven pirates, the squads shoved their shields forward and followed with their gladii.

  As the squads folded in their flanks, trumpets sounded from the beach. Before half of Fifth and Fourth Squads were on the stairs to the third level plaza, the Illyrians broke off and ran for the steps leading to the first level plaza. The second level plaza emptied. It became a no-man’s land between the opposing forces.

  ***

  “Good work. Clean your gear. Get some rest,” Cephas said to one Legionary as he climbed to the third level plaza and filed passed. Each man was greeted by the Garrison Commander as he reached the plaza. “Good work. Clean your gear. Get some rest.”

  Third Squad’s temporary squad leader was the last to climb the stairs. He had an injured Legionary slung over his shoulder.

  He stopped in front of the Commander. After the Medics took the wounded man, Procopius asked, “Did we give the weapon instructor enough time?”

  “I don’t know. But, I do know this; Third Squad gave him all they had,” Cephas offered. “Go clean your gear. And, get some rest.”

  Chapter 56 – Underestimate at Your Peril

  Alerio crept around the side of the pavilion. He knew the Legion archers were on the hill watching, but he was cautious anyway. Peering around the corner, he saw the arrow ridden bodies around several of the closest campsites. Someone had fallen into one of the fires.

  Flames around the naked man’s head flared and burned with an intensity beyond simple burning cloth.

  “Swift and overwhelming violence,” Helicaon whispered from behind him. “Never give your foe a chance to organize or to bring in reinforcements.”

  Alerio didn’t reply. His hands rose above his shoulders and he took a firm grip on both hilts. As he stepped around to the front of the pavilion, both gladii came free. He held them crossed at chest height as he approached the pavilion’s entrance.

  Without breaking stride, Alerio extended the crossed gladii and inserted the tips in the tent flaps. By jerking the blades to the sides, he threw the cloth entrance wide open. Then, he squatted, tucked his head, and shoulder rolled through the opening.

  A dagger and an arrow clipped the edges of the material as the flaps closed. By then, Alerio was through the opening and coming up on his feet.

  Two men stood in the back of the pavilion. One held a Greek sword while the other fumbled to fit an arrow on a bow.

  “You are too close for the bow, Navarch Martinus Cetea,” Alerio sneered. “Sergeant Pholus has the right idea. This is sword work distance. And, I brought both of mine.”

  “Do I know you?” Martinus Cetea asked as he tossed the bow to the ground. He replaced it with two curved sicas pulled from his belt. “I don’t recall us meeting.”

  Before Alerio could reply, the tent flaps opened and Helicaon shuffled through the opening. He seemed harmless with the gladius tucked into his belt and a comb in his hand.

  “Are they dead yet?” the old Spartan asked. Then he looked around and added, “No? That could be a mistake.”

  The three combatants watched as Helicaon navigated the carpeted floor. As if his old legs could barely support his weight, the Spartan inched across the floor to a stool. He started to sit, but the gladius caught in the stool’s legs. After fumbling with the hilt, he managed to pull the blade free of his belt. Holding it in his left hand, he eased down on the seat. As an accent to his age, he grunted as he sat. The gladius ended up resting on his knees with the hilt hanging over his left leg.

  He began to comb his beard.

  “Alerio. You should just kill them,” the old man said. “Too much talking.”

  “You side with a Legionary against a fellow Greek?” Pholus shouted at the old man. “So, you will die as well.”

  “You, a Greek? Your city state hired mercenaries from the Republic,” the old Spartan replied. “When your king died, you sent the Sons of Mars away. They march on Messina. Where was your Greek pride when those thugs murdered all the men in the city? Leaving the Greek women widows and at the mercies of the Sons of Mars? You’re not a Greek. You are a stupid, weak, cowardly piece of Syracuse merda.”

  Sergeant Pholus was a cunning leader, and a brave warrior. He was also a vain, and prideful man. The tip of his blade came up and he ran across the pavilion screaming a war cry. The roar filled the tent and the hairs on Alerio’s neck stood up. Most men would freeze from the animal sound; others might, at least, rise to meet the threat. Helicaon sat combing his beard with his right hand while his left hand rested on the hilt of the gladius.

  Pholus let his wounded ego take control. Wanting to make an example of the rude old man, he drew his blade to the side. It swung back with the intention of separating the weathered face and groomed head from the wrinkled old neck.

  As the blade chopped back, Helicaon’s bones turned to liquid. At least that’s how it appeared to Alerio. From sitting stiffly on the stool, the Spartan’s entire body collapsed like a silk scarf. While sliding off the stool, his left hand slapped the hilt of the gladius. The weapon arched up and when Helicaon grabbed it with his right hand, the gladius’ tip was pointed upward.

  The gladius rose and twisted as it penetrated Pholus’ sword arm. Yelling in pain, the Syracuse Sergeant stepped back to inspect the wound. It shouldn’t have been too bad. The gladius tip had barely touched him before he pulled away. Yet, there was so much blood. It bubbled around the wound and spurted from the jagged center.

  Holding the injured arm, the Sergeant turned and ran for the tent flap. Four steps from the exit, the blade of a gladius was thrust between his legs and he toppled to the floor.

  “Going somewhere, Sergeant Pholus?” Alerio asked.

  Pholus looked over his shoulder ignoring the Legionary. The old man had resumed his seat on the stool and sat combing his hair.

  “Who are you?” Pholus asked weakly.

  Blood continued to pump from the wound, but it no longer came out in squirts.

  “Helicaon, the Spartan,” the old man stated with no inflection or emotion. “Goodbye, Sergeant.”

  Chapter 57 – Make Sport Of

  “So, it’s you two against me,” Martinus Cetea bragged. “I’ve faced worst odds and still came out alive. I can’t say the same for my attackers.”

  “Don’t look at me,” the Spartan said. “I’ve talked too much. I’m becoming a regular orator.”

  “It’s just you and me, Cetea,” Alerio assured the Illyrian.

  “At least you’re honorable, Spartan,” Martinus Cetea said. Then to the Legionary, asked. “What is your name?”

  “Lance Corpo
ral Alerio Sisera of the Third Century, Southern Legion,” Alerio stated.

  “Lance Corporal…Ah, the farmers at the inlet. Now I remember you,” Cetea said. “You killed members of my crew. Butchered them really. While they were defenseless. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Alerio realized the Navarch was stalling for time. Despite the knowledge that reinforcements could arrive at any moment, Alerio couldn’t resist.

  “You murdered old men, old women, and children,” Alerio stated. “They were mothers, fathers and people’s children. You killed them and threw their bodies in with their families. For that, I can’t allow you to live.”

  “Wait. All this, the arrows and snakes while my crews were sleeping,” Cetea said. “The night attack by the Legionaries and you charging into my tent. All this for a few farmers.”

  “Revenge is a better motivation then chasing a chest full of coin,” responded Alerio.

  Martinus Cetea laughed so hard the tent sides flexed.

  “You believe I’d bring four warships, their crews, and soldiers for a box of coin?” Cetea asked between chuckles. “Lad, you have no idea. The Egyptian coin is for my crews. Me, I’m working a bigger contract. Syracuse wants to expand on Sicilia. But, so does the Empire. They made an agreement. Syracuse gets Bovesia and the port and the farmland. That leaves Sicilia for the Qart Hadasht Empire to settle. Whether the Empire helps Syracuse defend against the Republic, when you come to take it back, I don’t care. Illyria has our homeland and the sea. As long as shipping continues, we’ll continue to take what we want.”

  Alerio realized the value of the information for Tribune Velius. It caused him to hesitate. Suddenly, one side of the tent snapped as three arrows pierced the fabric. The arrows meant the Legion archers were leaving. Leaving because pirates were returning from Bovesia.

  “My father is a farmer,” Alerio said as he walked toward Martinus Cetea. “I have a mother.”

  “Well, good for you,” Cetea said as he dropped into a fighter’s stance. “Most of us do.”