Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Left pivot. Advance,” weapons instructor Sisera ordered.

  After taking the hits, the left pivot’s line shoved with their shields and, while drawing them back, hammered at the opposing shields. It was payback to their squad mates for the heavy initial strikes.

  The horseman’s joy at the busted drill vanished as they witnessed the precision of the Legionaries’ field maneuvering.

  “Step back two paces,” Alerio called out. He marched between the lines of Legionaries and turned to face the third man on his left. “Do you owe him coins?”

  Alerio jerked his thumb over his shoulder indicating the man behind the weapons instructor.

  “No, Lance Corporal,” the Legionary replied.

  “Are you sweet on him?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you give him a love tap with your shield?” demanded Alerio.

  “This is theater for the Syracusans,” exclaimed the Legionary. “I didn’t think it would matter.”

  Lance Corporal Sisera turned around and took the big infantry shield from the man behind him.

  “Brace!” he ordered as he spun around to face the offending Legionary.

  Without pausing, the weapons instructor slammed the borrowed shield forward. Driving with his legs, Alerio forced the Legionary back until the man tripped and fell. The shield rose and pounded the downed Legionary’s shield three times. With each hit, the man’s shield bounced off his chest, driving air from his lungs while his back crushed into the dirt and rocks. Although protected by his armor, the emotion of hopelessness from the overwhelming violence, the inability to catch his breath and the claustrophobic feeling of being smothered by his own shield, caused the Legionary to panic. He raised his gladius.

  Alerio swiped the blade aside with the shield and delivered a fourth blow. This time, he tilted the shield so the reinforced metal band at the top cracked on the Legionary’s helmet. Dazed, the Legionary dropped his gladius and lay still.

  “You may be playing a part,” Alerio said standing and handing the shield back to its owner. “But going soft on the man in front of you cheats him out of realistic training. Do you think the seven thousand Syracusans camped by the river will go easy on him? Or gently tap his shield in battle? No, they will not. You train like you fight. Hard. Is that clear to everyone?”

  While the nine erect Legionaries and the prone one all nodded their understanding, over the Legion lines, the cavalrymen broke out in laughter. It wasn’t the sight of a Republic Legionary being treated cruelly and publicly debased causing the humorous response. It was relief at not being on the receiving end of the abuse.

  “Get him up and form two ranks,” Alerio instructed.

  Before the squad had fully formed up, a runner came through the city gates heading directly for them.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera. Tribune Gaius Claudius requests your presence post haste,” the messenger announced as he slid to a stop. “He’s at the Citadel.”

  “Orders received,” Alerio assured the runner before facing the Legionaries. “I thank you for allowing me to drill you today. Squad Leader, the training session is complete and the unit is yours. Nice job everyone.”

  “Squad, attention to orders,” the squad leader directed as he stepped from the ranks. The Legionaries stood in two rows facing him. “Right face. Forward march.”

  Alerio fell in behind the unit as it moved towards Messina. Once through the gate and out of sight of the Syracusan cavalrymen, the squad broke ranks and ran for the city’s wall. There, hidden behind the rock and clay structure, they rested for a moment around water buckets. After drinking, the Legionaries picked up javelins, reformed with different sized Legionaries at the front, and marched back through the gates.

  To the enemy horsemen, it appeared to be a different squad coming from the city of Messina. As the Legion detachment did during the day, they rotated squads off the defensive line for training or to rest in the city. It happened so often, the Syracusans couldn’t get an accurate count of the city’s defenders. As the Legionary had observed, the Goddess Tyche was indeed smiling on the outnumbered forces of the Republic.

  ***

  “Tribune Claudius. You wanted to see me, sir?” asked Alerio as he jogged to the crest of the hill. He removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm before rendering a cross chest salute with the other.

  The Tribune and commander of the small contingent of Legionaries stood with a rolled-up tube of leather held up to his eye gazing off to his right. Behind him, the Citadel blocked the view of the foothills north of Messina.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera. With all the training you’re doing and the number of times you train the same squads, I’ll soon have an exhausted weapons instructor on my hands. Or the best-trained units in all the Republic,” Gaius Claudius stated. He hadn’t taken the tube from his eye. “Over the last three days, I’ve observed an odd behavior.”

  Thinking the behavior was his, Alerio squared his shoulders.

  “Sir, if I am doing something unprofessional, please advise me,” he offered. “I’ll correct my behavior immediately.”

  Gaius Claudius lowered the tube and looked at the Lance Corporal. Although his face was lined from the stress of endless training and caked with dust and sweat, Alerio’s eyes sparkled. It was the young weapons instructor’s idea to add drills to the constant rotation of the same squads. So far, the ruse worked, it kept Hiero ignorant of the Republic’s strength and leery of sending his troops against Messina.

  “Have you done something unprofessional?” quizzed the Tribune.

  “Not that I’m aware of, sir,” replied Alerio.

  “Then don’t. Here. Take a look at the King’s tent. It’s the one with the streamers,” Gaius said as he handed the leather tube to the Lance Corporal.

  Everyone knew Tribune Claudius was beloved by the Goddess Theia and could see details in the distance. Alerio took the tube and looked at the enemy’s camp. It took several heartbeats before a blurry image of the King’s tent centered in the tube.

  “I see it but it’s fuzzy, sir,” reported Alerio.

  “To the left are five horses. Can you see them?” asked Gaius. “There’s an officer with the horses.”

  Alerio saw a blotch that possibly could be horses.

  “Sorry, sir. I can’t make them out,” he admitted. “Can I ask what’s so odd about horses at the King’s tent?”

  “They come and, troops go in. This one troop always leaves an officer with the horses,” explained the Tribune. “He never goes in the tent. Tribune Velius told me you were in Syracuse recently. I wondered if you had any idea what they’re doing.”

  “Does the officer slump against the horses as if he drank too much wine last night?” inquired Alerio as he thought back to his mission in Syracuse for the old spymaster.

  “You think they’re hiding a drunken officer from King Hiero?” Gaius offered. He took the tube and raised it to his eye. “It’s the same man and he is leaning against the flank of a horse. So, the King frowns on intoxicated officers. Interesting. I wonder if we could bribe him with wine and the others to make them desert?”

  “Not him, sir. He is a cavalry officer and a messenger for the Syracusan signal corps,” described Alerio.

  “Ah, the mounted troops are carrying the King’s orders,” Gaius said breaking in before the Lance Corporal could finish. “At least I know what they are. But you said him, although you can’t see the man or the horses. And you somehow recognized the signal corps. Explain yourself, Lance Corporal.”

  “It’s not the seeing, sir. It’s them leaving him outside the tent. The man is Macario Hicetus, a cavalry officer assigned to the signal corps. His father was a tyrant of Syracuse,” Alerio informed the Tribune. Claudius lowered the tube and focused on the Lance Corporal. “Even though he was born after his father was replaced by Hiero, the King’s advisers will not allow Macario in the King’s presence. They fear he would assassinate the King, call men loyal to his father to his side and claim
the title.”

  “Would he do that?” questioned Tribune Claudius. “Could he become the King of Syracuse?”

  “No, sir. All he wants is enough glory, so his mother is accepted in wealthy social circles,” explained Alerio. “Macario Hicetus prefers drinking and gambling to politics.”

  “Not an unheard-of trait for noble sons,” Gaius stated. “How is your militia doing on the docks?”

  “I believe I’ve convinced the Sons of Mars of the benefit of staying awake while on duty, sir,” reported Alerio.

  “I bet you have based on your training techniques,” Gaius said with a chuckle. “If you have nothing to add, you are dismissed Lance Corporal Sisera.”

  “Thank you, sir. I should have another squad pulled off the line for training,” Alerio replied. He saluted before turning and jogging down the hill.

  Tribune Claudius watched until Alerio vanished behind a building. Then he began to lift the leather tube and continue his surveillance of King Hiero’s encampment. But the rapid clip, clop of a horse coming around a building drew his attention to the streets below.

  One of the skirmishers who survived the fighting to capture Messina came into view. He reined in a sweat covered horse and jumped from the exhausted animal’s back. At an all-out sprint, he dashed up the hill.

  “Sir. To the north, we’ve sighted a force advancing on Messina,” the man blew out air before inhaling deeply. “Looks to be Qart Hadasht mercenaries.”

  “How far out?” demanded the Tribune.

  “Half a day’s march, sir,” the Legionary replied. “My Corporal figures they’ll camp on the other side of the ridges.”

  Gaius tapped the leather tube against his thigh and glanced at the clear sky.

  “Rest your animal, then get back to your unit,” instructed the Tribune. “Give my compliments to your Velites. Dismissed.”

  “Yes, sir,” the skirmisher replied. He saluted, turned about and trudged back down the hill.

  Gaius didn’t watch the man, the city or look to the west. He lifted his head and watched clouds move across the sky as he pondered the situation. With two armies flanking Messina, the Tribune was out of tricks. After a short battle, either army could take the city. If they attacked at the same time, it wouldn’t even be a battle, but more of a slaughter of his remaining five hundred heavy and light infantrymen. Defeat would result in the loss of the Republic’s tenuous foothold on Sicilia and the safe landing site for Consul Appease Clodus Caudex’s Legions.

  Taking Messina from the Qart Hadasht garrison had required street to street fighting. Holding it against the advance force from Syracuse, involved combat along flexing battle lines. Both engagements offered annihilation or thin victories. Thankfully, his detachment, with help from the Sons of Mars, proved victorious.

  When he finally lowered his head, he peered across the city to the harbor and beyond to the blue waters of the Messina Strait.

  “Where are you Consul Caudex?” he whispered to himself. “We’ve bled for this ugly piece of real estate but have little left to shed. Come claim your success. Or remember us in tales told during feasts at Villas around the Capital.”

  Shaking off the bleak thoughts, the Tribune twisted his torso and raised an arm towards the Citadel. Three fingers popped from his fist and in response, three Legionaries ran from the shade of the building.

  One was a quartermaster Lance Corporal, another a scribe, and the third a medic. All were initially assigned to Gaius’ headquarter staff but, due to the shortage of men, had been pressed into messenger duty.

  “I need Senior Centurion Valerian, First Sergeant Brictius, and First Sergeant Gerontius here, now,” Senior Tribune Gaius Claudius instructed the three runners. “I don’t care if they’re in the middle of the best merda of their life, I want them here. Go.”

  It came as a shock to hear the very proper Tribune swear like a common citizen. At the bottom of Citadel Hill, two charged into Messina while the third ran for the east wall. All three were chuckling at the language as they raced to find the command staff of the detachment.

  Chapter 2 - Preparing for the Slaughter

  Not surprising, Gaius Claudius’ command staff arrived by age. His First Sergeant Brictius appeared first followed by Senior Centurion Valerian. Last to climb the hill was the Southern Legion’s First Sergeant Gerontius. The tough old campaigner wasn’t even breathing hard although he hobbled a little after the jog up the incline.

  “We have a force of Qart Hadasht mercenaries coming from the west and from over there,” Gaius announced pointing to the Syracusan army to the east. “We’ll split our heavy infantry. First Optio Gerontius, coordinate with the Centurions at the eastern defensives. I believe you have two left alive. Are they going to be a problem or should I have Senior Centurion Valerian speak to them?”

  “They’re good line officers. Young and no longer inexperienced,” Gerontius replied. “I’ve been working with them and we get along fine, sir.”

  “First Sergeant Brictius. You’ll have the other two officers,” Gaius stated. “Any issues?”

  “No, sir. We may be down to four Centurions and six and a half Centuries but our Legionaries are tough, well trained, and the surviving officers are battle tested. We’ll hold the east and the west, sir.”

  “I’m going to ask Captain Creon for units of Sons to fill out our lines,” explained the Senior Tribune. “As we learned, they’re good in a melee but aren’t disciplined. Disperse them as you see fit.”

  The three men acknowledged the Tribune’s directions with salutes.

  “Our strategy from here on is violence at points of contact,” Gaius directed. “Those mounted troops to the east, I want them pushed back. Any probe must be dealt with by overwhelming force. I want both armies to suffer when they try to feel us out. It may only be a bloody nose, but it’ll make them think before committing. Preferably, any of their patrols will vanish.”

  The three smiled at the orders. Usually, they settled for chasing off enemy patrols, not being willing to weaken their defensive line by releasing squads to battle small enemy units.

  “What about me, sir?” inquired Valerian.

  “You, Senior Centurion, are moving our command post and the medical treatment area to the center of town,” Gaius informed him. “Being up here is useless. There are no reserves to direct and not enough Centuries to adjust.”

  “Sorry you’ll have to give up your observation post,” Valerian expressed the feelings of the three commanders. “I’ll have the staff move your field desk and bed to the new command post.”

  “Don’t bother, I won’t need them where I’ll be,” Gaius said.

  “Where will you be, sir?” the Senior Centurion inquired.

  “At dusk, I’m going to have a look at the Qart Hadasht force,” advised the Tribune. “You are in command while I’m gone.”

  “Let me assign you two heavy infantry squads,” offered Valerian.

  “No. We don’t have two spare squads to protect a foolhardy Tribune,” Gaius explained. “I’ll take two Legionaries as escorts. I may be crazy but I’m not stupid.”

  “I’d recommend Lance Corporal Sisera, sir,” suggested First Sergeant Gerontius.

  “No. I need him herding the Sons of Mars guarding the harbor,” replied the Tribune. “Two Legionaries should be enough. I’m thinking skirmishers. They are quieter than infantrymen.”

  “How close are you planning to get, sir?” questioned First Sergeant Brictius.

  “Close enough to smell the Qart Hadasht cookfires and count the fleas on the men assigned to sentry duty.”

  ***

  Gaius Claudius caught up to Ferox Creon as the leader of the Sons of Mars was preparing to board his bireme.

  “Captain. A word?” Gaius called out.

  “Senior Tribune. What brings you to the harbor?” inquired Ferox. He walked from the ramp, crossed the sand and joined Gaius on the wooden dock. “As you can see, I have business elsewhere.”

  “Pirate business,
I would guess,” Gaius stated.

  “Not today. I’m going to conference with some of the eastern leaders along the Republic’s coast.”

  “Looking for sanctuary?” the Tribune suggested. “Before you go. I need some of your Sons on our defensive lines.”

  “Sanctuary, yes. For the Sons of Mars if the situation gets any more challenging,” Ferox remarked. “So, again you need us to protect your Legionaries. What’s in it for the Sons.”

  “If I survive, a quarter of your weight in coins and precious metals,” promised Gaius.

  “And if you don’t survive the Qart Hadasht and the Syracuse armies?” question Ferox.

  “You bury your dead along with my body,” replied Gaius. “At least I won’t be asking for any more favors.”

  “That alone might be worth a few Sons,” Ferox teased. Then the pirate Captain waved another man over. Milon Frigian in his easy gait strolled from a group of Sons to his Captain. “Milon. Find Gallus Silenus and have him assign two boat crews to the northern defensives. Our protectors seem to need bodyguards.”

  Gaius jerked at the description but held his tongue.

  “I’ll take my crew to the east,” volunteered Milon. “I’d like another shot at King Hiero’s lads.”

  “No. I want you here guarding the docks and keeping them open,” explained Ferox as he gazed at Gaius. “If the Legion breaks, you’re to get as many Sons and their wives out as possible. I’m depending on you for that.”

  “I understand, Captain Creon,” Milon said before sauntering away.

  “Does that meet your requirements, Tribune?” Ferox inquired.

  “Yes, it does,” Gaius answered. “Have a safe voyage, Captain Creon.”

  “I know you don’t mean it, but thank you,” Ferox added. Then he smacked a hand to his forehead. “That reminds me. I need extra blocks of cheese.”