Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Captain Milon Frigian, commander of the docks,” Milton boasted. “Defender of the harbor, proud Son of Mars, and the key to the city of Messina.”

  “If you don’t lay down your arms and open the barriers,” threatened the voice. “I’m going to smash it down and put all of you up on the wood.”

  “That’s not a very enticing proposition. I don’t fancy my crew or me being crucified for doing our duty,” replied Milon. “So, I can inform my harbor captain, who should I say has come knocking at our door?”

  “I am Tribune Maris Eutropius of Caudex Legion,” the voice replied. “Now, surrender your arms and open the barricade in the name of Consul General Appease Clodus Caudex, the Senate and the citizens of the Republic.”

  “Why didn’t you say that in the first place,” Milon stated. “Hold your mentula while I have the lads untie the ropes.”

  “No more delays, move the wagons,” commanded Tribune Eutropius. “Pass the word. First ranks, forward. Remove the obstacles.”

  Heavy hemp ropes bound the wagons together and crewmen began to unknot the ends. The lines were valuable and there was no way the sailors would cut the hemp. Just as the Legion’s leading rank reached the wagons, the last knot came free.

  “Sons of Mars, back up and let the cūlus Tribune and his lads do the work,” directed Milon.

  The Legionaries shoved the wagons forward and once in the center of the boulevard, they angled them off to the sides. With a final shove, they flipped the wagons over. Alerio woke at the crash of sideboards smashing on the road. He was groggy but accustomed to the Sons’ noisy ways. Stretching his back, the Legionary remained in a half dream state until a voice shouted.

  “Frigian, show yourself. Hold that man.”

  Then the unmistakable sound of a gladius being drawn reached Alerio. When Milon Frigian cried out in pain, Lance Corporal Sisera went directly from sleep to battle mode. In one motion, he grabbed his gladius and vaulted the wagon. In the shadows of the moonlight and a few lanterns, everyone was a silhouette. But he could make out two men holding a sagging Milon Frigian.

  “Who is the fool now, pirate?” a tall man holding a gladius sneered.

  Alerio sprinted across the boulevard and slammed his shoulder into the tall man’s back. The man bent backward and the Legionary used him as a battering ram to shove aside one of the men holding Milon. Releasing the two men, he jumped across the sagging Sons’ Captain and kicked the other man off Frigian.

  “Get the Captain behind our lines,” Alerio shouted as he spun in an arc holding out the gladius to defend Milon. “Form ranks.”

  Five sailors ran to their captain and pulled him into the crowd of Sons. Alerio followed. The entire episode lasted five heartbeats and none of the newly arrived Legionaries had a chance to respond. Then the raggedly dressed and scruffy pirates snapped into ordered ranks, raised and locked shields. Every shield had a spear or javelin thrust over the top edge with the iron tip held solid and ready for an attack.

  Over half the Legion was composed of new recruits. Recruiters from Caudex Legion drew them from farms and small towns around the Republic. After a shortened version of training to test for strength, fitness, and special talents, they were issued equipment and weapons. On the long march from the Capital to the docks at Gioia Tauro, the experienced Legionaries drilled the new men in squad tactics and shield work. While they had improved, they were untested and unbloodied. The display by the Sons of Mars shocked the new and the experienced Legionaries.

  If the nine hundred sixty infantrymen of the first maniple had been at the boulevard, Alerio and the Sons probably would be corpses on the street. But the Centurions for the twelve most experienced Centuries, after seeing no resistance beyond the initial confusion, marched their Centuries into Messina. Most of the Centuries from the second and third maniples crossed at the other end of the boulevard and far away from the standoff.

  The only experienced unit in the area was the squad assigned to protect Tribune Maris Eutropius during the march and the sea voyage. Two of them had held Milon Frigian. The other eight had their backs to the Tribune making a half circle to keep the flow of arriving Legionaries back, giving the Tribune room to discipline the pirate. Out of position, they turned in time to see the staff officer they were assigned to protect launched into their squad leader. The man assaulting the Tribune and the wounded pirate disappeared behind a solid wall of shields.

  “Attack,” Eutropius screamed as he picked himself off the ground. “Attack. Show no mercy.”

  In a battle, there were many people shouting orders. The new Legionaries, through rough lessons, learned to respond only to their Centurion, NCOs, squad leaders and pivot men. Plus, the Legion was shuffling from the beach, between the warehouses and moving into the dark city. None of the Centuries’ Centurions, Optios, Tesserarii or squad leaders were paying attention as they passed. This left only one unit to respond to the order. Tribune Eutropius’ protection squad formed in two ranks, drew their gladii and waited for their squad leader’s directions.

  Ten heavy infantrymen facing off against a wall of twenty-five shields four ranks deep gave the squad leader pause. Luckily, it drew the attention of one passing NCO.

  The Tesserarius noticed the standoff and tapped the arm of his Sergeant.

  “Optio, should we be involved with another of Tribune Eutropius’ merda storms?” he asked.

  The NCO turned his head and eyed the ten Legionaries across from the shield wall.

  “I’m not sure, Corporal,” then the Century’s senior NCO called to his Centurion. “Sir, is that any of our business?”

  “It shouldn’t be,” the officer said in exasperation. “But I guess it is. Sergeant, form the Century.” Then the line officer glanced at the private walking beside him and ordered. “Roll out the colors.”

  As the officer and the private, who balanced a pole on his shoulder while reaching into a pouch, pushed through the lines of moving Legionaries, the Sergeant and the Corporal separated and began shouting.

  “Caudex Legion, Requiem Division, Second Maniple, Tenth Century,” they bellowed calling out the Century’s designation. “Form on the colors.”

  Repeating the call, the NCO’s pushed into the Legionaries coming from between the warehouses and crossing the boulevard. Soon, groups of Legionaries began assembling around their Centurion and the Century’s colors.

  “First Squad of the Tenth, set the assemble point facing the Sons of Mars,” the officer ordered then added. “I hate fighting in the dark.”

  “Sir, should we wait on your Century?” asked the squad leader from Maris Eutropius’ protection detail. “The Tribune wants us to go in now.”

  “Lance Corporal. Keep five of your squad on the Tribune for security,” instructed the Centurion. “Assemble the other five at the back of my Century. When we advance, pull them out and go watch his back.”

  “Centurion. I ordered an attack,” growled Tribune Eutropius as he stomped up to the line officer. “I expect results. Instant results.”

  “Nice stomp, Tribune,” the Centurion remarked. “But the Legion stomps only with their right foot. You might try working on that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Tell you what, Senior Tribune. You have my permission to lead Tenth Century in the advance,” the line officer offered. Then he turned to the protection squad leader. “I gave you orders. Follow them.”

  “Yes, sir and thank you,” the Lance Corporal said before going back to his formation.

  The Sergeant marched up with ten Legionaries in tow. They each carried two lanterns.

  “Where do you want the light, sir?” inquired the Sergeant.

  “Put the men with the lanterns at the head of our formation,” the officer directed.

  During the time the Centurion was orchestrating the elements, his eighty heavy infantrymen arrived, dropped their personal gear, pulled on helmets, removed leather covers from their shields and leaned javelins across their shoulders.
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  “Tesserarius, you have the First through Fourth squads on the left. Keep them tight,” ordered the Centurion. “Sergeant, Five and up on the right.”

  “What about the lanterns?” inquired the Sergeant.

  “The oil lamps?” asked the Centurion as if he had forgotten about them. “We’re going to throw them at the pirates. Let’s see how well they hold with the center of their formation burned out.”

  “Very good, Centurion. Tenth Century, standby,” shouted the Sergeant.

  Eighty hobnailed boots rose and thundered as they stomped the boulevard.

  “Standing by, Sergeant,” the Century replied.

  “Sir, Tenth Century, Second Maniple is assembled and ready,” the NCO stated.

  Before the order came for the Tenth to advance came, a voice called from between the warehouses.

  “Legion attention,” the deep voice ordered. “General Appease Clodus Caudex, sitting Consul of the Republic and worthy citizen approaches.”

  Then the leading rank of Headquarters, First Century marched onto the boulevard and Legionaries not fast enough to move, or those blocked by others who delayed their movement were shoved out of the way.

  In the center of a moving square strolled General Caudex. First Century was oversized with one hundred forty of the Legion’s most experienced infantrymen. Its Centurion, Optio, and Tesserarius roamed the square keeping it parade ground tight.

  “What is going on here, Tribune Eutropius?” demanded the General. When he stopped, First Century stopped as if it was a part of the Consul. “Have you located Tribune Claudius? Or have you been playing punishment Sergeant again?”

  “General. This herd of ruffians failed to open the barricade,” reported Maris Eutropius. “I was just about to teach them respect for you and the Legion.”

  Caudex ran his eyes over the Tenth Century and their officer.

  “Centurion. Do they need a lesson in respect?” the General inquired.

  “Sir. I wouldn’t know,” the officer replied. “But Tribune Eutropius ordered ten infantrymen to go against a formation of fixed shields and spears. I figured the squad could use some help.”

  A commotion at the center of the Sons of Mars’ line drew everyone’s attention. From between two shields, a man with a bloody bandage around his middle was helped into view by another man.

  “A nice way to treat your harbor defense,” Milon Frigian wheezed. “Next time, I’ll let the Qart Hadasht have Messina.”

  “Harbor defense?” question General Caudex. “Where are the Legionaries?”

  “North wall and south wall,” reported Milon. “What’s left of them. That is except for our harbor captain.”

  “And who is the harbor captain?” inquired the general.

  Before Milon replied Maris Eutropius bobbed up and down and pointed at Alerio.

  “That’s the brigand who attacked me,” Senior Tribune Eutropius blurted out while pointing at the man supporting Milon. “I want him whipped to death for assaulting me.”

  “Him?” asked Milon indicating Alerio with his hand. “That’s our harbor captain. And the only Legion representative at the harbor.”

  “And who are you?” the General asked.

  “Sir, Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera of the Southern Legion, Planning and Strategies section, Headquarters staff,” Alerio reported. “And Captain in charge of harbor defenses.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Maris Eutropius exploded. “No one would put a Lance Corporal in charge of anything. Imagine a common Legionary in charge of an important harbor like Messina. I propose that this man is a deserter and is hiding here shirking his responsibilities.”

  Tenth Century’s Centurion held out a hand behind his back and raised a finger. He pointed it at Eutropius’ security squad. They got the message and each put out a hand and steadied their squad leader. The Lance Corporal had jerked when Eutropius made the comment and the Centurion was afraid a fine young NCO would ruin his career by reminding the Tribune that a Lance Corporal was in charge of guarding the staff officer’s life.

  “Sir, I’ve worked with the Sons of Mars before. Tribune Claudius and Senior Centurion Valerian thought I should continue,” Alerio said in his defense.

  “Nevertheless, this man attacked me,” accused Eutropius. “And he is out of uniform and asleep at his post. For those infractions, despite his claims, he deserves at least twenty lashes.”

  General Caudex stepped towards the Tenth Century and the First Century stepped with him. As they came forward, the two Centuries almost collided.

  Getting ahead of the confirmation, the Centurion ordered, “Second Maniple, Tenth Century, left step five paces.”

  The Tenth moved away as an edge of the First took its place.

  “Centurion. Put two lanterns next to the Lance Corporal,” directed the General. When Alerio’s face was lit, Appease Caudex let out an evil chuckle. “You’re one of Spurius Maximus’ protégés. I was going to let your infractions go unpunished. But seeing as Senator Maximus, who I believe needs a good whipping, isn’t here, I’ll let you stand in for him. Ten lashes to be delivered when the sun tops the eastern mountain. Be sure every Legionary, not on duty, witnesses the punishment.”

  “I’ll see to it personally, General,” promised Maris Eutropius.

  “No, Senior Tribune. We have a punishment Sergeant for that,” the General informed him. “Come with me. We need to find Tribune Claudius and see what other insanity he’s allowed in Messina.”

  As the First Century and the General moved away, a Centurion of average height but with wide shoulders walked to Alerio.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera. You are to be held until sunrise at which point the punishment will be administered,” advised the Centurion. “Will you come along or, do things need to get bloody.”

  “I’ll come with you, sir,” Alerio replied. He handed Milon Frigian’s weight off to another of the Sons and requested. “Take care of my armor for me.”

  “I’ll take care of it for you, Captain Sisera,” the pirate assured him.

  The Tenth Century was dismissed as the Sons of Mars broke formation.

  “Who trained those pirates?” asked the Centurion as he and Alerio marched into Messina. “Their formation was excellent.”

  “And they can hold it against a phalanx,” bragged Alerio. “At least until they get overwhelmed by the Hoplites.”

  “Hoplites can do that to inexperienced warriors,” offered the officer. “Who trained them?”

  “I did, sir,” Alerio admitted.

  “You?” the Centurion asked. “What’s your name, again?”

  “Alerio Sisera,” the Lance Corporal replied. “And who are you, sir?”

  “Sanctus Carnifex. I’m the weapons training officer for Caudex Legion,” the Centurion answered.

  Act 2

  Chapter 4 – An Inauspicious Beginning

  Senior Centurion Valerian paced around the supply wagons at the command post. Sometime after moonrise, two medics arrived with a wounded Legionary, passed the man off to the doctor and reported contact along the northern defensive line. Then, they sprinted back to First Sergeant Brictius. Since the message, Valerian had no further updates so, he paced.

  From the east, a line of Legionaries marched up from the direction of the harbor. Valerian couldn’t tell the unit as no flag hung from the polished flagpole. Helmets bounced at their sides, packs hung from their shoulders and covers protected their shields.

  “Report,” called out the Senior Centurion.

  “Centurion Valerian. First Maniple, Requiem Division, Caudex Legion reporting in,” a Centurion responded. “What’s the situation?”

  “We’re in contact to the north,” Valerian explained, waving the leading rank to an open field. “Stage your personal gear and form up in columns.”

  The first maniple’s twelve Centurions smoothly directed the nine hundred sixty battle tested infantrymen into ranks on the field. After orders were passed, they dropped packs, leather bags, and cover
s fell to the ground in stacks. Then, the first maniple marched for the north wall.

  Valerian stood with his hands on his hips staring into the dark street. Even after the units’ standards vanished and the last rank disappeared in the black shadows, he maintained the pose. Relying on his years of experience, he strategized where to place the rest of the Legion as the units arrived. He no longer paced uselessly.

  ***

  First Sergeant Brictius raced from one end of his position to the other side. There, runners from the young Centurion reported contact coming from that side. Then he pounded ground to the other side and received the same report from the other inexperienced line officer.

  The Qart Hadasht’s probes, so far, had been on the flanks. The center, where the First Sergeant expected an attack to be focused, remained quiet. With squads spread out and Sons of Mars’ oarsmen filling in the gaps between the two hundred or so remaining Legionaries, he’d managed to cover the defensive line with two ranks. But two ranks could be breached in the night. His personal laps between placements were his attempt to find the breakthrough before it got out of control. As he ran back to the other side, he heard a familiar sound and stopped.

  The unmistakable stomp of hobnailed boots came from the northern gates. Soon, ranks of men appeared in the moonlight.

  “A Century to the left,” First Sergeant Brictius ordered. Once the last rank of the eighty Legionaries came through the gates, he shouted again. “Next Century to the right.”

  Brictius’ forces had just doubled with the arrival of the unknown Legion units. As more Centuries came through the gates, he realized his Centuries actually had been relieved.

  “What’s your unit?” he asked when a third Century came through the gates and a Centurion approached him.

  “First Maniple, Third Century,” the officer replied. “I hope you’ve left a few Qart Hadasht for the lads, First Sergeant.”

  “I’m going to pull my Centuries back,” offered Brictius realizing the new units were the most hardened veterans in the Legion. And the veterans didn’t play well with less experienced units. “My two Centurions are young and might not appreciate first maniple’s gentle manner.”