Bloody Water (Clay Warrior Stories Book 3)

by J. Clifton Slater

  “I don’t write poetry. And, I don’t watch sunsets,” Gerontius grumbled.

  “Don’t tell them,” Patroclus whispered as he pointed to the roof. “I think part of their pride and motivation is preparing the evening perch for their favorite poet.”

  ***

  The Southern Legion’s leaders walked across the porch and into a war zone. A clay mug flew across the dining room and shattered against the corner of a table.

  “I want them out of my diner,” Marija shouted. Her legs were set wide apart and slightly bent for balance. Her right hand rested threateningly on her short sword. “Get out. Three days of snooty, perfumed Egyptians is too much for anybody. Get out.”

  “Please love,” pleaded Hyllus. “Where would the Ambassador and his staff…”

  “Staff. He has four slaves and a scribe,” Marija pointed out. “There’s plenty of room on the porch, or the plaza for them. My dining room is not an inn. If I wanted to hear men snore all night I could have stayed at my father’s home in Macedonia.”

  When Marija mentioned Macedonia, the tall Egyptian in the richly embroidered robe stepped back as if he’d been struck in the chest. Patroclus noticed it, but didn’t say anything.

  “We may be able to help,” offered Gerontius.

  Marija swung to face the door as if confronting a second challenge. Hyllus, on the other hand, smiled and held out both arms.

  “First Sergeant, if you can help I’d be every so grateful,” exclaimed the big Athenian.

  “We sailed here for a day inspection,” explained the First Sergeant. “We had planned to row back to Rhegium Garrison this afternoon. However, we didn’t know Bovesia had lost its Centurion and was attacked. Senior Centurion, your thoughts?”

  “I believe Tribune Velius would find it interesting to talk with the ambassador,” replied Patroclus as he crossed the room. “We’ll take the Egyptian with us.”

  “I must go to Athens,” insisted the Egyptian. “Any detour would further my transit time. This layover has already cost me three days.”

  “What’s your rush?” asked Patroclus. “Why is it so important that you get to Athens?”

  The ambassador’s eyes shifted to Marija. Then, just as swiftly, they returned to the officer.

  “I am an ambassador of the King of Egypt,” the man stated. “My business is that of my ruler and of no concern to a common soldier. I demand transportation to Athens as soon as it can be arranged.”

  Patroclus inhaled deeply and slowly let it out of his nostrils. Gerontius had seen his officer mad and recognized the pattern. He waited for the rage.

  “I am the Senior Centurion of the Southern Legion,” Patroclus said forcefully. “I command Legionaries and not one of them is a common soldier. You Sir, are on Republic soil and under the protection of my garrison commander, Cephas. You will speak to me with respect. Or, instead of transportation, I’ll have you and your staff drowned in the Ionian Sea. Do I make myself clear?”

  The Egyptian dropped his eyes and he deflated in the face of the Centurion’s fury.

  “Senior Centurion, my apologies. I spoke rashly,” the ambassador said. “It’s just this trip has been difficult and unpleasant.”

  “Unpleasant? That’s it,” Marija shouted. “Get your bloated, overdressed, arrogant, snide cūlus out of my diner. You call this unpleasant after eating half my winter stores and turning half my dining room into your personal bedroom? Get out!”

  “Ma’am, we will have the ambassador moved,” Patroclus promised. “Either to my ship or to the garrison. I beg for your patience until the First Sergeant and I finish our inspection.”

  “Fine Senior Centurion, I appreciate it,” Marija replied. Then her eyes softened and she added, “The next time you must stay longer. Hyllus and I will fix you and the First Sergeant a feast. That camp stew your Legionaries eat can’t be good for the stomach.”

  “Thank you Marija. We’ll be back for the Ambassador,” Patroclus said. Then he turned to Gerontius. “First Sergeant, let’s go take a look at the garrison.”

  “Yes, Sir,” replied Gerontius as both men headed for the door.

  Chapter 63 – Mars, God of War

  They marched through the alleyway and stopped at the top of the hill. On either side of the path Legionaries were digging out the bottom of the slope. Other men hauled stone. An old man stood on a course of stone laid at the foot of the dig.

  “Looks like Commander Cephas has ordered a construction project,” Patroclus exclaimed.

  They walked down the path and up to the old man.

  “What are you building?” asked Gerontius.

  “A wall. When the Syracusan Raiders set listening post on the hills, they had us pinned,” the old man replied. “So, we’re cutting the hill and shoring it up with a stone wall. It’ll be too hard to scale once we’re done.”

  Patroclus tapped the First Sergeant on the shoulder. When Gerontius turned, the officer pointed out a hospital tent. Poles allowing air to flow held up the sides of two joined ten-man tents. Within the tents, wounded Legionaries were resting in neat rows. Two Medics moved quickly between the injured.

  It wasn’t the tent or the busy Medics. It was the number of wounded men that struck them.

  ***

  “Good morning, Senior Centurion, First Sergeant,” the Senior Medic said as they approached. He finished tying a bandage around a Legionary’s leg before standing and walking over to them. “It’s been a busy three days. But everyone is treated. None critical. Most of these men will return to full duty in a few weeks.”

  “Do you need anything? Supplies? An extra Medic?” inquired Gerontius.

  “No. Commander Cephas traded with the town’s merchants for supplies,” the Medic reported. “The attacks could have been worse; a lot worse. But, between the Spartan and Lance Corporal Sisera’s actions, and Commander Cephas’ calm and steady control, we only lost twenty Legionaries.”

  “What did he trade?” Gerontius asked.

  “Armor and weapons from the Illyrians and the Syracuse soldiers,” the Medic stated.

  “What Spartan?” asked Patroclus.

  “That’s him,” the Medic said pointing to the old man standing and directing the placement of another load of stone. “Helicaon and the Commander were walking the area before first light. By daybreak, the word went out that Senior Centurion Patroclus trained as a stone mason before joining the Legion. It seems Sir, that you have great affection for stone elements. The men didn’t want to disappoint you, so they started right away on your wall.”

  After a few more words of conversation with the Medic, they crossed the garrison compound.

  “I never studied the stone mason’s trade,” declared Patroclus.

  “I didn’t think you had, Sir,” replied Gerontius. “But, I’m sure your will appreciate having a stone wall named after you.”

  ***

  They didn’t locate Cephas until they were beyond the thorn bush wall of the garrison. At the far slope overlooking the goat trail down to the flatland, they spied Corporal Cephas.

  Twenty sheep on twenty spits were being turned over twenty fires. In front of each fire was a fresh grave site. Cephas, naked and covered in sheep’s blood, stood at the end of the rows of graves.

  With his arms raised, he yelled, “Mars. God of War. These Legionaries, brave and fearless in battle, have passed from this realm. Each sheep, one for each warrior, I sacrificed in your name. We asked that you entreat Mercury to swiftly take these fine men to the Fields of Elysian.”

  Cephas walked to a grave, squatted down, and bowed his head. After a short time, he looked up at the Legionary turning the spit and said something. The spit turner laughed, and Cephas stood and moved to the next grave.

  “What is Cephas saying to the Legionaries turning the roasting sheep?” asked Patroclus.

  A smile drifted across the First Sergeant’s face, and he nodded his head in approval.

  “Words of encouragement for the living,” Gerontius replied.
“And a threat that if the Legionary falters in his duty of roasting the sheep evenly, the next animal to be sacrificed will be the Legionary.”

  “Then why do they laugh?” Patroclus asked. “It sounds pretty harsh to me.”

  “Because each man on a spit is a squad mate of a dead Legionary,” Gerontius explained. “They wouldn’t stop turning the sheep if Jupiter started throwing down thunderbolts. So, the threat is a way for the men to know someone is in charge. And everything will return to normal despite the squad’s loss.”

  “It appears our Corporal Cephas has leadership abilities,” offered Patroclus. Then he was silent for a while before adding, “Tribune Velius really needs to speak with that Egyptian. But, in light of the recent attacks, I’m not comfortable leaving a Corporal in charge of a garrison.”

  “What are you thinking, Sir?” inquired Gerontius.

  “Second Century will rotate out in two weeks,” explained Patroclus. “So, we’ll leave Sergeant Cephas in charge for that period. Now, let’s get him promoted, collect the Egyptian, and row back to Rhegium. “

  “What about Lance Corporal Sisera?” the First Sergeant asked. He was pointing down the steep slope at Alerio.

  The Lance Corporal was standing over a grave and seemed to be having a long conversation with the dead Legionary.

  “I suppose Velius will want his spy back,” Patroclus said.

  Cephas noticed the two men standing on the hill top. After throwing a cloak over his shoulders, he jogged up the hill. Half way up, he turned and slammed his fist into his chest. Twenty times he saluted the dead. Then he turned and continued to climb the hill.

  “Senior Centurion. First Sergeant,” Cephas said as he saluted. “I didn’t expect you for another day or two.”

  “I understand you’ve assumed the mantle of Garrison Commander,” stated Patroclus.

  “Yes, Sir. It seemed the best way to enforce discipline on Bovesia and the Garrison,” explained Cephas.

  “Perfectly good reasoning,” Patroclus said. “The First Sergeant and I agree that you did an excellent job holding the men together and fending off the attackers.”

  “We’re taking the ambassador back to Rhegium. And, Lance Corporal Sisera,” said Gerontius. “Do you need anything?”

  “A Centurion and a Sergeant, First Sergeant,” replied Cephas.

  “Your Century will be relieved in a couple of weeks, so you’ll not get an officer,” said Patroclus. “And you’ve been promoted to Sergeant. Now, go get cleaned up, put on a uniform, and walk us through the battle.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Sergeant Cephas said with a salute.

  As the newly promoted Sergeant marched away, Gerontius turned and faced down the slope.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera. Pack your gear,” the First Sergeant yelled. “You’re going to back to Rhegium.”

  Chapter 64 – Office of Planning and Strategies

  Alerio sat in the Legion offices. He had cleaned up before going to bed last night, and made use of the baths again this morning. And for all his preparations, his reward was to sit for half the day waiting on Tribune Velius.

  The Senior Centurion, and the First Sergeant had disappeared and returned several times from the Planning and Strategies section. Each time one of them came down the long hallway, Alerio prepared to stand. Every time, he was waved down.

  A Legion detail arrived earlier. They escorted the Egyptian and his staff out of headquarters. Other than a clerk, Alerio seemed to be the only person on this side of the building.

  Finally, Senior Centurion Patroclus marched down the hall, and made a come here sign with his hand.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera. We interviewed the Egyptian ambassador and his scribe. And we reviewed and went over Sergeant Cephas’ report,” the officer stated. “The Legion is satisfied, but Tribune Velius believes you can fill in some details. He’s waiting for you.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” Alerio replied with a salute.

  ***

  At the end of the hallway, Alerio pushed through the door. Despite all the talking, according to the Senior Centurion, and conversations with the Egyptian ambassador, the map table was still covered. The Tribune caught his puzzled look.

  “That’s right, we don’t let foreigners see all of our intelligence,” Velius said as he shuffled to a corner of the table. “Here, give me a hand.”

  Together, they peeled back the goatskin cover and exposed the map. Velius pulled his box of colored triangles off the shelf and placed them around the map.

  “What am I missing?” he demanded once all the triangles were positioned.

  Alerio walked to the area representing Bovesia and dropped one of the new black Illyrian triangles beside the hill. The Tribune leaned over to study it. But, Alerio held up his hand while he selected a blue Syracuse and a yellow Qart Hadasht marker. Both were laid beside the red Legion and the Illyrian.

  “Navarch Martinus Cetea was being paid by the Qart Hadasht Empire to capture Bovesia for Syracuse,” he explained. “Because the Empire wants...”

  He stopped talking and selected a yellow triangle. On another area of the map, he dropped the marker beside the city of Massina.

  “They want all of northern Sicilia,” Alerio concluded by pointing at the newly placed triangle.

  Tribune Velius scrunched up his wrinkled face and stared at the map. He circled the table, studying the markers from different angles. Finally, he looked up at the young man.

  “Bovesia was a diversion,” Velius whispered. “The Empire wants to tie-up our Legions with small battles. While the Republic is occupied taking back our territory, the Qart Hadasht will stage an attack on Messina. We’re strong on the west coast with the Capital City anchoring those regions. But on the east coast, our Legions are spread thin. And, it’s only been twenty years since we made peace with the eastern and mountain tribes. If the Empire can create distractions and uprisings, the Republic will be too busy to protest their movement on the Sicilia.”

  “What are you going to do?” Alerio asked.

  “We, Lance Corporal. What are we going to do? I’m going to write reports to the Senate,” Velius said. “And for you, there will be a new mission.”

  “One question, Tribune,” inquired Alerio. “The Egyptian coin chests. I couldn’t uncover what they were paying to have shipped?”

  “The King of Macedonia is demanding the King of Egypt recognize him as King of both Macedonia and Egypt. If Egypt doesn’t, Macedonia has threatened to attack,” Velius explained. “So, Egypt is secretly sending coin to Athens so the Athenians can rent transport ships to carry grain from Egypt.”

  “Why don’t they pay for the transportation when the Athenians buy the grain?” asked Alerio.

  “Because, they aren’t paying coin for the grain,” said Velius. “The Egyptians are giving the grain to Athens. To pay for the grain, the Athenians will attack Macedonia. With the King of Macedonia at war with Athens, he’ll be too busy to attack Egypt.”

  Alerio placed his fingers on the table and moved them until they were off the map. He pointed to a space where Egypt would be located and back to the location of Macedonia.

  “What’s my mission?” asked Alerio. “When do I leave?”

  “I need a response from the Senate before sending you out,” Velius said. “Until then, you have something to complete.”

  Chapter 65 – Attack Rowing

  Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera stood in the cool predawn with nine other Legionaries. Over the last few days, new graduates from Legion training had reported to headquarters Southern Legion. Once there were groups of ten men, the Legion’s First Sergeant formed training units. Ordered to report for the first day of rowing instructions, the squad waited in the dark for the instructor.

  “Good morning, Legionaries,” a deep, raspy voice greeted them from beyond the light of a lantern. “My name is Sergeant Martius. Some in the Southern Legion call me Chief of Boats. Some have less savory terms to describe me. For you, right now, I am your rowing instructor.”


  A few Legionaries moaned.

  “I take it from your enthusiastic responses that some of you have boating experience,” Martius continued from the shadows. He was still an invisible, disembodied specter from the dark while the training unit stood between four bright lanterns. “But I’m not asking about fishing boats, merchant ships, nor rowing your lass around on a pond; I’m asking for attack rowing experience. Those of you trained in warship rowing raise your right hand.”

  While the Chief of Boats talked, Alerio’s mind drifted, and he gazed across the dark waters of the strait. On the far shore, a few night lights of Messina glowed. The Sons of Mars occupied the city and harbor, only a bowshot from Republic soil.

  In the near future, Massina could fall under control of the Qart Hadasht Empire. Tribune Velius and the leadership of the Southern Legion wasn’t pleased with the prospect. What the Republic’s response would be, only the Senate could decide. Alerio would let the Tribune worry about the politics.

  Alerio returned to the present and prepared to run onto the dark beach with the training squad. There, they would launch an oar-less patrol boat and swim it back to the Chief of Boats. Legion training was simpler than the intrigue of independent city-state politics; colder too but, more straightforward. Something weapons instructor, Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera, preferred.

  The End

  Thank you for reading Bloody Water

  J. Clifton Slater

  If you enjoyed this book, please

  check out my other novels.

  Clay Warrior Stories

  Clay Legionary

  Spilled Blood

  Bloody Water

  Galactic Council Realm

  On Station

  On Duty

  On Guard

  On Point (Spring 2018)

  I like chatting with readers and I do read reviews on Amazon.com and Goodreads.com. If you have comments or want to reach me, I am available.

  Thank you,

  J. Clifton Slater