Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2

by J. Clifton Slater

  Ferox Creon and Gallus Silenus angled to reach the tent’s entrance flaps before Admiral Hanno and his contingent. Across the lot, Milon Frigian and Alerio Sisera moved diagonally to intercept Tribune Claudius and the Senior Centurion.

  “Admiral Hanno, my I present my Lieutenant Gallus Silenus,” Creon said as he held the flap back so Hanno and Maharbaal could pass to the interior.

  “Tribune Claudius, may I present my Lieutenant, Alerio Sisera,” Frigian said with a knowing smile. As Claudius and Valerian entered the tent, the Senior Centurion twisted his head when he was inside to stare back at the Lance Corporal.

  A large table sat in the center of the space with two chairs on either side and one chair on each end. Small tables with covered dishes took up the four corners of the tent.

  “Gentlemen, the food will come from all the dishes and be served by our Lieutenants,” explained Creon. “The wine on the table is also communal. Please sit.”

  Hanno and Claudius took chairs and sat glaring at each other. A bruised Maharbaal settled across from Valerian but refused to look at him. Frigian and Creon selected chairs at the ends of the table. They also didn’t look at one another. Mistrust, prejudice, and hate permeated the atmosphere in the tent.

  Alerio and Gallus picked up plates. They went to each food station and placed slices of lamb, a pile of olives, pieces of goat cheese, a dollop of honey, and chunks of bread on the plates. After setting the dishes in front of the officers of the Republic and the officers of the Empire, Gallus filled three mugs with wine before handing the pitcher to Alerio. He filled three mugs and the two honorary Lieutenants stepped away from the table.

  Tribune Claudius reached out, ripped off a piece of bread, dipped it in the honey and bit off the dripping edge. A satisfied smile creased the Tribune’s face as he chewed. Maharbaal’s hand lifted towards his bread but a sharp turn of Hanno’s head froze the young nobleman.

  “I am here to talk. Not to dine with my enemy,” Hanno stated shifting his eyes back to Claudius.

  “Is there anything preventing us from doing both?” inquired the Tribune as he plucked an olive and a piece of cheese from his plate. With the food held just in front of his mouth, he commented, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve missed meals and haven’t had a good night’s sleep in days.”

  “I sleep as if I were a baby in the arms of my nurse,” Hanno bragged. “It’s your disrespect to the Empire that troubles your sleep.”

  “Actually, it’s the attacks led by your brave officers, like your young Lieutenant there, that keeps me up,” admitted Claudius. “They are quite persistent.”

  Maharbaal dipped his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. Again, Hanno jerked his head to the side, silently chastising his Lieutenant.

  “I command the forces of the Empire,” Hanno said defensively. “And I will drive you from Messina.”

  Senior Centurion Valerian selected a slice of lamb and took a bite.

  “That’s wonderful,” he gushed. “What spice is that I taste?”

  No one replied for long moments. Then, Maharbaal mumbled, “Cinnamon from Egypt.”

  “Cinnamon? I’ve never had this cinnamon before,” the Senior Centurion exclaimed.

  “And, you never will again,” Hanno observed. “It’s rare and expensive. Fit only for Kings and Emperors. The Empire is widespread. We trade with many lands. And the navy and soldiers of the Empire protect the trade routes. Just as we protect Messina.”

  “Not to be too indelicate, but your forces only control half of the city,” pointed out Claudius. The Tribune took a bite of lamb and nodded appreciatively.

  “I will drive you back across the Strait,” declared Hanno. “And perhaps, I’ll bring in the fleet. Then, I’ll sweep the coast on the other side free of the blight of your Republic.”

  Claudius had been pleasant trying to open a dialogue with the Qart Hadasht Admiral. But his patience wore out. He let the slice of lamb slip from between his fingers and the spicy meat slapped onto the plate. Squaring his shoulders, Claudius stared into Hanno’s eyes.

  “You might push us from the streets of Messina. It will cost you greatly,” the Tribune acknowledged with his teeth clinched in anger. “And on the beach, beneath the flames and smoke of your burning Triremes, we will drain the blood of your soldiers. And not until my last Legionary is surrounded by dead Qart Hadasht noblemen, will the gladius fall from his hand. But, know this, you will never push us back across the strait.”

  Admiral Hanno’s big hand slammed onto the tabletop and he jumped to his feet. Lieutenant Maharbaal rushed to catch up as the Admiral vanished through the tent’s flap. Ferox Creon and Gallus Silenus hurried after them.

  “You didn’t mention sub-commander Barca, sir,” questioned Senior Centurion Valerian.

  “You don’t display your best bargaining token unless you are negotiating,” replied Claudius. “The Admiral never opened the table for ideas. Nor did he eat.”

  The Tribune picked up the piece of savory lamb and took a bite.

  “Captain Frigian. And Sisera, whatever title you have today. There are two untouched plates of excellent food going to waste,” Claudius noted. “Sit, eat, and keep up your energy. You’ll need it. You’re going to have a busy night.”

  “A busy night, sir?” inquired Alerio as he sat across from Valerian.

  “Yes. You’re going to cut the head off the snake, so to speak,” replied the Tribune. After taking a sip from his mug, he declared, “This wine is excellent.”

  Chapter 35 - Bargaining Tokens

  Nine Legionaries shuffled into position at the intersection. By feel, they settled into a line and their squad leader whispered, “Draw!” Ten gladii slid free and he commanded, “Forward.” They started across the intersection. If it was daylight, other squads would have laughed as they lifted their feet and, as quietly as hobnailed boots would allow, moved out. High steps replaced the Legion stomp and soon, the squad filled the street between the compound walls. Behind the squad, five men in Empire armor also walked softly as they followed.

  Whether it was the soft clap of boots on pavers, the jingling of armor, or simply shapes closing in from the dark, the Empire soldier on watch spotted the squad. Shouting a warning, he grabbed his shield, pulled his sword, and positioned himself in the center of his intersection. Standing alone, as an ancient hero in the tales of lore, he waited for the rush and the blades to cut him down. The charge never came.

  The alert removed the need for stealth and the ripple of ten boots stomping loudly echoed off the walls. “Shields,” the Legion squad leader shouted. But he didn’t call for an advance or order a quick march. Instead, the squad moved forward at a pace giving time for Qart Hadasht troops to join the lone brave soldier.

  In the campfire light that only illuminated the center of the opposing squads, the Legionaries and the Empire soldiers clashed together.

  “Lateral left,” ordered the squad’s Lance Corporal. “Keep your end contained.”

  As the Legionaries’ line wheeled left pushing the soldiers back and to the side, a gap opened. The five men in Empire armor slipped through the opening on the Legionaries right. Once beyond the skirmish line, they circled around behind the soldiers. They added their voices to the shouting, encouraging the soldiers and calling for reinforcements. And although their blades were clear of the scabbards, the only thing their five blades cut was the air over their heads.

  “Wheel back, step back,” the squad leader ordered. “Stay tight. Step back.”

  The big Legion shields protected the Legionaries but in the dark, a blade could sneak in and do damage. Two squad members stumbled. Fortunately, the embers of the scattered campfire provided enough light to see the injured men falter.

  “Form two ranks,” ordered the squad leader as he reached out and pulled one of the wounded to the rear. “Step back. Step back.”

  The other hurt Legionary was shoved to the rear by a squad mate. In a tight two rank formation, the squad hacked and chopped
in a fighting withdrawal. Shadows in both intersections announced the arrival of additional fighters from both sides. Once the squad had moved a quarter of the way down the street, they were joined by more Legionaries. With the dark street full of invaders, the Qart Hadasht soldiers opted for setting a defensive line rather than pursuing the Legionaries.

  As the distance between the warring factions grew, the tension lifted and the soldiers relaxed. With more Empire troops rushing to the intersection, the five men in the Qart Hadasht armor drifted against the flow and edged their way up the street and away from the intersection.

  ***

  “That went better than I expected,” commented Milon Frigian as he guided the other four through a gate and into a walled courtyard.

  “But will he come?” Alerio asked while pulling off the high, conical helmet.

  “You have Barca. And my sources tell me Gisco is with the soldiers defending the south wall,” replied Frigian. “The Admiral, by his own admission, is in charge of the Empire forces. How could he refuse the invitation issued by your Legionaries?”

  “In the Legion, the commander would send a Centurion to investigate the skirmish,” mused Alerio.

  “Your Legion has a command structure that stretches down to the squad level,” Frigian pointed out. “The Empire depends on mercenary troops. Don’t get me wrong, the soldiers are loyal to the Empire. And they follow the orders of their Lieutenants. But command and control are from the top. Admiral Hanno will come to investigate the hostility. There’s no one else with the authority to respond.”

  “I don’t understand Captain Ferox Creon and Capitan Gallus Silenus being at the negotiations,” questions Alerio. “Have they sided with the Empire?”

  “Lieutenant Sisera, we are the Sons of Mars,” Frigian said with a laugh. “We are on the side that wins. This is Captain Creon’s courtyard.”

  “His courtyard?” asked Alerio looking around the black space as if he could see something. “What does he have to say about our mission?”

  “If we pull this off and get away, he’ll curse us,” advised Frigian. “If we fail, he’ll turn you over to the Qart Hadasht to be crucified.”

  “And that’s why you volunteered you, and your men, for the mission?” inquired Alerio although he already knew the answer.

  “Don’t worry Lieutenant. The Sons owe you and we’ll do our best to get you back to the Tribune unstretched on the wood,” Frigian assured him. Then, to the side, he talked to the three huge rowers that accompanied them. “Someone, climb on a box and watch over the wall. The rest of you get some sleep.”

  Alerio leaned his back against the wall and sank to the ground. He wanted to rest, but the new cost of failure kept him awake. It would have been a short nap anyway. Boots running on the street carried over the wall and he tried to get a feel for the size of the force.

  A voice from near the top of the wall spoke from the dark, “The Admiral has graced us with his presence.”

  Moments later a door opened, a light flashed as someone stepped quickly through. The door shut and darkness returned to the courtyard. Alerio jumped to his feet and pulled a sword. Frigian must have heard him draw the blade.

  “Relax, Lieutenant. He’s one of my crew,” Frigian advised. “Are we ready?”

  “Yes Captain,” a new voice replied. “Are you ready to launch?”

  “We are and good luck to you,” Frigian assured the man. Then the door opened, light splashed out and the door closed. “It won’t be long now. That’s if the Admiral doesn’t order an all-out attack.”

  “And if he does?” inquired Alerio.

  “We wait until dawn to see which side we’re on,” Frigian admitted.

  ***

  “Admiral Hanno. A moment of your time,” a voice spoke from over the wall.

  “Stand aside, Son of Mars,” a gruff voice ordered.

  “Admiral, Captain Creon has important news for you,” pleaded the man. “It has to do with the plans of the invaders.”

  “Let him through,” Hanno told his bodyguard. “What’s this news your Captain has?”

  “He has yet to return with the details,” the man explained. “He bid you wait in his Villa. He should return shortly.”

  “What news?” Alerio whispered.

  “Why, the details of your mission, of course,” Frigian stated as of it was obvious.

  “And where is Captain Creon?” asked Alerio.

  “He’s several blocks from here with ten or fifteen of his rowers,” Frigian reported. “Waiting for my runner to alert him to the Admiral’s distress.”

  “Have Captain Creon come to the Citadel,” Hanno’s voice carried to the courtyard.

  “The Captain said the news is urgent, Admiral,” the man advised. “His Villa is right here. And the Captain has provided refreshments for you while you wait.”

  Alerio listened but no one over the wall spoke for long moments. All the Legionary could hear was his heart beating in his chest. Finally, Hanno spoke.

  “I’ll avail myself of one mug of wine,” he explained. “If Magistrate Creon fails to appear, he’ll need to come to the Citadel with his report.”

  “Very good, sir,” the man replied. “This way, if you please.”

  Boots and sandals crunched gravel as the unseen group moved off the street and onto the path leading to the front of the Villa.

  “Hide in the shadows on either side of the doorway,” ordered Frigian.

  Alerio and two of the large oarsmen put their backs against the wall of the Villa. Frigian and the third crewman moved to the other side. As they waited together, Alerio became acutely aware of the rowers’ size. If the Sons’ Captain decided it was in his best interest to turn on the Republic, Alerio wouldn’t stand much of a chance. With no other option, he waited.

  “What’s out here?” demanded a gruff voice of one of Hanno’s bodyguards. The door opened and light spilled onto the courtyard.

  “The cook shed, a storage building and Captain Creon’s lemon trees. He’s partial to lemon on his greens and fish and…”

  “I got it, he likes the taste of lemon,” the bodyguard said trying to shut the man up.

  Alerio leaned away from the wall. A short man stood in the doorway. Towering over him hovered a big man who easily looked over the shorter man’s head.

  “Oh, it’s more than taste,” the short man babbled on. “Come with me. Let me show you the medicinal uses for the lemon juice and the peels. Most of…”

  “No,” the bodyguard said sharply. Then turning his head, he announced to someone in the Villa, “There’s no one in the courtyard.”

  “Stand guard by the door,” came a response from a different voice.

  “I’ve got to go to the cook shed for the Admiral’s ham,’’ explained the short man.

  There was a scuffling of feet before the little man stepped into the courtyard. He carried a large candle in a holder with a curved back plate behind the flame. The plate reflected and amplified the candlelight. He walked to a shed in the pool of light and vanished inside. Moments later, he reappeared holding the candle above his head.

  As the petite man neared the doorway, one of the rowers beside Alerio peeled away from the wall. His shadow circled around, and he came up behind the man with the ham. The candle holder passed to the big oarsman and the little man tripped.

  “Oh Gods, I almost dropped the Admiral’s ham,” he cursed. Then he called to the guard in the doorway. “Come here and take this candle from me. Come on, you don’t want me to serve the Admiral dirty ham.”

  With the candle held over the short man’s head, the light shown directly into the bodyguard’s eyes. Blindly, he stepped into the courtyard. The giant rower holding the candle brought his fist from below the flickering candle and plowed it into the bodyguard’s chin. As the soldier fell back, another of Frigian’s large oarsmen stepped up, caught the unconscious man, and clubbed him again.

  “Should I put the ham back in the shed, Captain?” asked the man.


  “No coxswain, keep it as a reward for a job well done. Send a man and tell Captain Creon there’s trouble at his Villa,” Frigian answered. Then to the oarsmen, he ordered, “Lieutenant Sisera will take one bodyguard, we’ll take the other one and Admiral Hanno. Go!”

  The order of attack came so fast Alerio hesitated trying to figure out why he was assigned to take out a bodyguard. But he didn’t have time to question Frigian. A big oarsman shoved him in the back and he stumbled towards the doorway.

  ***

  Alerio caught a glimpse of shelves and bins along the walls of a small room. Then he raced down a hallway passing doorways before he burst into the Villa’s great room.

  “Protect the Admiral,” growled a big soldier as he drew his sword.

  Alerio brought his blade to a high guard and lunged at the soldier. Before the blades crossed, someone kicked him in the side of his hip and he tumbled over a couch. He hit hard landing between the overturned couch and a wall. The tip of a sword snaked around the overturned piece of furniture seeking the Legionary.

  Sprawled on the decorative tiles and stunned, Alerio, through half closed eyes, saw the tip, a foot, then the forward leg of another bodyguard. Reaching out, he placed his hands on the side of the couch. Then he kicked back against the wall with his left foot and shoved the heavy couch. It clipped the rear leg of the bodyguard and the man paused to catch his balance.

  Alerio glanced around for his sword. Not seeing it, he pushed off the tiles with his arms, lifted and placed his right leg on the edge of the couch, and launched himself at the bodyguard. In midair, he got two hands on the man’s shield. Once his feet touched the floor, he applied torque and twisted the shield. Bending his upper body and rolling his torso, Alerio flipped in a complete circle.

  The bodyguard attempted to shake off the turning of the arms by stepping back. But the hands held firm and the rotating body spun his shield as if they were spinning a wheel. With his arm strapped in and his hand holding the cross strut of the shield, the bodyguard had no choice but to bend in that direction to prevent a dislocated shoulder. When he reached the limit of his shoulder, the bodyguard lost his footing and flipped onto his back.