Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Yes, sir,” Seneca replied as he strutted out of the tent.

  “What else do you need Lance Corporal?” Peregrinus asked.

  “I need to retrieve some items from my squad area,” Alerio responded. “Also, would it be out of line to ask for five apples?”

  “Whatever for?” inquired Silenus Eduardus.

  “For his squad, Lieutenant General,” Peregrinus answered. “Taking care of your Legionaries is a priority for Legion leaders.”

  “I see. In that case, take ten apples,” advised Silenus Eduardus.

  “Thank you, sirs,” Alerio said as he scooped apples from the bowl. “By your leave?”

  “Dismissed, Lance Corporal,” Eduardus ordered before turning to Peregrinus. “I could get accustomed to this military life if it wasn’t so dangerous.”

  ***

  “Private Drustanus. You’re acting squad leader,” Alerio announced as he passed out apples to the nine Legionaries. “I’ve been ordered to assist in getting our message to the Capital. If I don’t make it back, ship my helmet, armor, and gladius to Master Tomas Kellerian at the Historia Fae in the Capital.”

  “This is good, thanks Sisera,” Cimon said as he bit into the apple. Ignoring the negative idea of his squad leader getting killed, he asked. “Won’t you need the gladius?”

  Alerio set his half-eaten apple down and reached into his personal pack. Slowly, he drew out a dual sword rig of tooled leather with two gladii.

  “I’m taking my private gear,” he advised the squad. After slipping on the rig, he retrieved his apple and clasps wrists with each member of Seventh Squad. “Make me proud in the morning.”

  “Deliver the message,” Drustanus encouraged him.

  From down the road, Sergeant Meleager shouted.

  “Forty-five, Forty-six, Forty-seven, gear up and get on the road,” he called. “I’m waiting people. The snow’s not getting any lighter and there’s Insubri who need killing.”

  As squad leaders from twenty-four squads hustled their ten-man tents into action, three Corporals roamed the road in front of their Centuries’ tents. They repeated the Optio’s words and counted Legionaries as they emerged. Soon, three Centuries of heavy infantry were formed up and awaiting orders.

  ***

  There were three stacks of unsorted helmets, armor, and gladii. Not surprising, there were fewer shields on the piles. It was tough to run with a shield and the last Legionaries to make it back to camp had been running for their lives.

  Alerio didn’t need gladii or shields. He found two cloaks in relatively good shape and tugged them out of a pile. Then, he walked around the medical tent heading for the command tent.

  As Alerio approached, a Corporal stepped forward blocking his path.

  “And where do you think you are going?” the veteran NCO asked. “Name and unit?”

  “Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera, Seventh Squad, Forty-Seventh Century,” Alerio told him. “I have an appointment with Tribune Peregrinus.”

  “The Forty-Seventh has been called up. Where’s your armor?” the Corporal inquired. Then to one of the squad members behind him. “Private, check with the duty Centurion. See if Tribune Peregrinus is entertaining visitors.”

  “Right away, First Corporal,” a hard-looking Legionary replied.

  Alerio didn’t relax. The title of First Corporal referred to the NCO of the Legion’s First Century. All the Legionnaires were assigned to the first maniple and all were men who had earned their place through war and skill. They also had a reputation for bullying other Centuries.

  “I asked you a question,” the Corporal reminded Alerio. “And what’s that on your back and over your arm?”

  The hilts from the gladii protruded above his shoulders. It wasn’t regulation and the idea of carrying two gladii was foreign to the Legion.

  “My personal gear,” Alerio replied. “Like I said, I have an appointment with Tribune Peregrinus.”

  “You know what I think? I think you are either a coward here to beg the Tribune to relieve you of duty,” the Corporal said with a sneer. “Or you’re touched and want to kill the Tribune. Which is it?”

  “Neither. But since you’re being a mentula, I’ll tell you one thing,” Alerio said as he leaned in towards the NCO. “If I’m still here at daylight, I’m going to take you to the training area and teach you a few things with these gladii.”

  “Are you threatening me?” demanded the NCO.

  “No, Corporal, that’s a promise,” Alerio stated.

  Before the tension between the two Legionaries escalated to physical violence, a voice shouted from the command tent.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera. Get your cūlus in here,” Centurion Seneca bellowed.

  “You got lucky, Sisera,” growled the NCO.

  “Let’s just say your lesson has been delayed,” Alerio replied as he took a step to the side and strolled to the command tent.

  ***

  The map on the table had been replaced by layers of oiled goatskin.

  “How does this work?” inquired Peregrinus.

  “The cloaks are for our trip to the river,” Alerio stated while offering the Tribune one of the soiled cloaks.

  “This is nasty,” Peregrinus observed. He held the cloth between two fingers and away from his body.

  “The cloak is just covering until we reach the Tiber,” explained Alerio. “We’ll drop them on the riverbank.”

  “And what do we wear for our swim?” inquired Peregrinus still holding the cloak as far from his body as his arm would allow.

  “Nothing. Wet wool is heavy. Even holding onto the barrels, the wet cloth will drag you under,” Alerio answered. “Our gear and clothing will be wrapped in goatskin to keep it dry. Believe me, you’ll be grateful for the dry clothing once we’ve passed the foothills.”

  “I’d be happy for clean clothing before we go for the swim,” Peregrinus stated.

  The First Corporal stuck his head into the command tent.

  “They’re opening the gate, Centurion,” he announced before ducking out.

  ***

  “Lance Corporal Sisera, attend me,” Seneca ordered while walking to a corner of the command tent.

  Alerio followed the old Legion officer to the spot.

  “What do you need, Centurion?” he asked.

  “Take care of the Tribune’s pack. The Legion dispatches are in it,” Seneca instructed. “And do your best to keep Tribune Peregrinus alive.”

  It wasn’t lost on Alerio, the Centurion had emphasized the dispatches before the Tribune.

  “I’ll get the dispatches and the Tribune to the Capital,” Alerio assured him.

  “Yes, of course, you will,” Seneca stated. Then, he pulled a folded piece of parchment from his belt. “After you deliver them, take this to Senator Spurius Carvilius Maximus.”

  “Yes, sir. Shouldn’t it be with the Legion dispatches?” inquired Alerio.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera, if was a Legion dispatch, I would have added it to Peregrinus’ pack,” the Centurion advised. “The letter is for the Senator. Eight years ago, I was the First Centurion for Maximus Legion. The General lead us to victory against the Samnites and marched us through the Capital in a victory parade. It was a glorious day. Think of the letter as a personal note from an old Centurion to his General.”

  “I will deliver it, sir,” Alerio promised.

  A commotion at a side entrance drew their attention. Silenus Eduardus appeared from his quarters followed by two slaves. Each of the eastern tribesmen carried two wine casks bonded together with hemp line.

  “They look a little small,” observed Peregrinus.

  “We use them as floats to keep out hearts and lungs out of the cold water,” explained Alerio. “Kicking will keep us warm and low in the water. We don’t want to attract the attention of an Insubri patrol if they’re watching the river. Now Tribune Peregrinus, strip and wrap your pack, clothing, and weapons in goatskin. Then wrap your body up in the cloak and grab a pair of barrel
s, sir.”

  Chapter 12 – A Dip in the Tiber

  Torches and campfires behind the entrance lay cold and damp. When the gates parted, a roar from hundreds of Insubri warriors shattered the quiet of the night. Their view of the opening gates revealed dark rows of neatly spaced tents partially covered in snow. Realizing their raiders succeeded in launching a surprise attack, they rushed forward.

  Long swords flashed and fur covered bodies charged. So many attempted to be the first between the gate posts, it became a log jam. Expecting to enter a sleeping Legion camp, the first to break free sprinted forward. In praise of their victory, they screamed war cries. Then the view of neatly organized tents vanished behind moving shields. By the time the Legion shields tapped their edges together, the war cries became cries of agony.

  Those seeing the shields changed direction and charged to the sides. But they ran into more overlapping shields. After the first flourish, the Legionaries remained motionless. Except for a gladius stabbing out to injure a warrior who got shoved near a shield, the Centuries stood silent. With eyes limited to a space three fingers over the top of the shields, the infantrymen appeared to be clay figurines with helmets and slits for eyes. The three-sided shield wall bristled with gladii at waist level and javelin tips at shoulder height.

  Yet the warriors outside in the dark saw none of this. They continued to shove forward seeking fame and glory. Not wanting to be left out of the plunder and killing, they shoved harder and pushed those in front. Those trapped at the front of the horde died against the unmoving shields.

  Finally, the Insubri stopped. Realizing they were stuck in a motionless mass, the warriors fell silent. Then a deep voice called out shattering the silence.

  “Legion, stand by,” he sang out and two hundred forty right feet lifted and stomped the snow-covered ground.

  “Standing by,” the Legionaries thundered a reply.

  “Front rank,” he crooned. “Advance, advance, advance.”

  And the first row of Legionaries propelled their shields forward. As the shields drew back, they were replaced by gladii stabs. With each advance, the heavy infantry repeated the synchronized motions. And with each advance, Insubri warriors fell to the ground. Those just injured lay wounded until the line of Legionaries passed over them. None survived the Legion stomp.

  As the two rows moved forward, the Legionaries on the sides fell in behind. By the time they shoved and killed their way to the gate posts, the legionaries were stacked in rows twenty deep. Once beyond the gates, the legion line spread out.

  ***

  The Legion’s First Corporal waited for the stretcher bearers to haul away wounded Legionaries. When space was cleared, he turned to face the four squads behind him.

  “Tribune Peregrinus. On your order, sir,” he announced.

  Armenius Peregrinus and Alerio Sisera stood on one foot while massaging blood flow back into the other. Barefoot and naked under their cloaks, they both shivered.

  “Yes, Corporal, please,” Peregrinus responded. “Anything to get us moving.”

  “First Century, stand by,” the NCO called out.

  Forty feet lifted and stomped the ground.

  “Standing by, Corporal,” the squads answered.

  “First Century, by rows of four, forward march,” the First Corporal ordered.

  Hearing just four squads referred to as a Century spoke of a brutal reality. Gurges Legion’s First Century had lost seventy-five percent of their Legionaries, their Centurion, their Sergeant, in the retreat from Volsinii. Alerio picked up his wine casks and shuffled forward on the slush created by the Legionaries marching in front of him.

  ***

  The back rows of the attacking Centuries moved laterally right and left as they drove back the Insubri warriors. Blowing snow hid the Legionaries on the flanks but the overlapping shields created contact from one end of the battle line to the other.

  Behind the extended lines of advancing Legionaries, First Century marched out of the gate, performed a right flanked, and headed for the corner of the Legion camp.

  Another right turn and the squads marched on fresh snow along the outside of the stockade wall. His feet numbing from the icy snow, Peregrinus began to hobble.

  “Co-Co-Cold,” commented the young nobleman.

  “It’ll get worse before it gets better,” Alerio replied.

  “No talking in the ranks,” the First Corporal hissed.

  As the half Century neared the back corner of the Legion camp, the Corporal tapped two of his Legionaries. They jogged forward and disappeared in the blowing snow.

  Thumps of bodies and long swords colliding with infantry shields drifted to Alerio. Out of habit, he reached for his hip gladius. It wasn’t there. But the infantryman on his left shifted his shield to covered Alerio. Glancing towards Peregrinus, he saw the Legionary on that side of the formation also shift his to cover the Tribune.

  The squads moved forward. Out of the heavy flakes, the two infantrymen materialized. Sprawled on the ground in front of them were three Insubri warriors. One of the Legionaries turned his head.

  “Clear,” he announced, and the formation moved past the pair.

  ***

  The soil under Alerio’s feet changed to gravel as the ground sloped. They marched onto the riverbank and the gurgling of water overrode the crunch of hobnailed boots on gravel. The pebbles leading to the river pressed on the soles of his feet and snow clung to his ankles. Alerio wished he could pull on his boots. Promising to be more miserable than the rocks and snow, the icy water sent a shock up his spine.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Alerio caught Peregrinus stepping backwards.

  “It’s too, too cold, cold,” the Tribune stammered.

  He retreated three steps until stopped when his back hit a heavy infantry shield.

  “This is the hardest part,” urged Alerio while gripping Peregrinus’ upper arm. “When it’s over, you’ll have bragging rights around your family’s dinner table.”

  “My father will never believe it,” Peregrinus explained.

  “He will when you show him the missing toes from the frostbite,” Alerio suggested.

  “Missing toes?” Peregrinus inquired.

  The First Corporal stepped forward and explained, “If you stand here long enough your feet will rot from the cold. Medics remove the blackened toes to save the foot.”

  “How long until I catch the rot?” asked Peregrinus.

  “No problem, Tribune,” the First Corporal assured him. “You won’t be standing here long enough.”

  “How do you figure?” begged Peregrinus.

  “Because, sir, you are…,” and the Legion’s First Corporal grabbed the back of the cloak and shoved Peregrinus into the river. Holding up the cloak, the NCO glanced at Alerio. “Good luck with that one, Lance Corporal Sisera. And may Volturnus grant you safe passage.”

  “If it’s the will of the river God,” Alerio replied handing his cloak to the Corporal.

  ***

  Alerio’s cōleī tightened down to the size of raisins and his mind screamed for him to get out of the chilly river. Despite the goosebumps that rose like Mount Vesuvius, he plowed into the Tiber. Partially because it was his duty but mostly because of the panicking Tribune and, he had a mission to complete. And if he didn’t settle down Peregrinus, the kicking and thrashing would draw the attention of any nearby Insubri warriors.

  The worst case would be to suffer and survive the Tiber, only to be slaughtered by a band of barbarians when they crawled out of the water.

  Peregrinus’ wine casks were drifting downstream. The first thing Alerio did was stroke to the small barrels. Once in hand, he towed them to the floundering Tribune.

  “Put a hand on each end of the casks and pull your chest out of the water,” urged Alerio as he took one of Peregrinus’ hands and placed it. “Kick with your legs.”

  “I can’t, can’t feel my legs, legs,” Peregrinus pleaded between chattering teeth.

  “In
Legion training, they taught us to fake a motion when you are too tired or numb to feel,” Alerio explained. “Fake it until your body begins to respond. Now kick Tribune because your life depends on it.”

  “I am kicking. I think,” Peregrinus blurted out along with a mouthful of river water.

  “Keep going and say nothing,” Alerio ordered. “And don’t let your feet break the plain of the surface.”

  “More from Legionary training?” inquired Peregrinus through clenched teeth.

  “Splashing in enemy waters is an invitation for poets to sing your tragic tale,” Alerio informed the Tribune.

  “The only song I want is of a roaring hearth and strong wine,” Peregrinus stated.

  “Embrace that thought,” Alerio suggested. “And kick silently, we’re moving beyond the Legion camp.”

  ***

  Torchbearers guided units of Legionaries around the stockade walls. All Alerio and Peregrinus could see from the river were the lights bouncing as the holders walked. One torch’s flame headed south almost keeping pace with the floating wine casks.

  Another torch flared to life followed by three more. Coming on line, the flames identified a row of Legionaries moving steadily south.

  “How far are we going?” an infantryman asked.

  “Far enough for the Insubri on the riverbank to be more concerned with us than anything floating on the river,” the First Corporal replied. Then he shouted so the words carried, “Keep your lines straight!”

  ***

  Alerio kicked and watched the high ground as the flames were left behind. The torch lights dimmed until they winked out. In the darkness, the snow fell unseen. Only when several flakes stuck to his eyebrows did he know it was still coming down. Kicking with dead legs, he and the Tribune continued down the Tiber. His belly tightened trying to generate heat. But the warmth was swept away by the cold water before it spread to his numb limbs. Alerio’s eyebrows caked over and his nose tingled. He wanted to scratch the bridge of his nose and wipe the snow from his eyebrows, but his fingers refused to release the edges of the wine cask.