Following the runner, the Century’s Tesserarius sprinted to the mound with another squad and three runners. If it was an attack, two runners would wake the rest of the defenses while the third went to warn their Centurion.
“You, in the dark, identify yourself,” called out the Corporal.
“Velites, Second Century. Sergeant Griffinus,” the man replied. “I need to speak to your Centurion, right away.”
“Give me a covered light,” ordered the Corporal. “Come forward so I can get a look at you.”
In a sheltered hollow behind the mound, a Legionary struck flint and ignited a fish oil lamp. The skirmisher Sergeant and his man came through the defenses and huddled with the Corporal. Moments later, the three of them sprinted for the Centurion’s campsite further behind the defensive line.
***
Maris Eutropius rolled out of his rack with a smile on his face and joy in his heart. After pulling on a tunic with the Tribune insignia, buckling up his gladius belt and strapping on sandals, he quietly climbed down the ladder.
“All is quiet, Senior Tribune,” reported the Centurion at the duty desk.
“Fine, fine,” Maris Eutropius replied as he searched the chest beside the duty officer. He located the whip with the interwoven seashells and lifted it out. “I’m going to review the guard positions.”
“Yes, sir,” the infantry officer acknowledged. Inside, he shuddered and thought about sending a runner to warn someone that the sadistic Tribune was on the prowl. But he didn’t know Eutropius’ route and, short of an all-out alert, he was helpless.
Maris strutted through the doorway of the Citadel and searched the moonlit night. Two men with cloth masks covering their faces left the deep shadows and approached.
“Good evening, Senior Tribune Eutropius,” one greeted him.
“Did you locate his quarter’s, Private?” inquired Maris.
“Yes, sir. We spread some coins around and a couple of street urchins identified them,” the Legionary reported. “He’s spending a lot of his time there. His roommates are out most nights at a pub called the Pirate’s Pride.”
“Good. Take me to the rooming house,” Maris commanded.
The sentries watched as two of the Headquarters Century Legionaries and the Tribune marched down the hill and vanished into Messina. None of them wore their armor and, as usual, the Privates had their faces covered. No one wanted to be identified later by the squadmates of those summarily disciplined by the Senior Tribune.
Maris Eutropius inhaled deeply, and his stomach quivered in anticipation. If he couldn’t have the delight of watching the Syracusan, Macario Hicetus, on the cross, he’d have the pleasure of delivering justice too long delayed.
They trekked through the city until one of his bodyguards held up a hand.
“Wait here, sir,” the Legionary said. Then, he slipped into a dark alleyway. Moments later, he came back. “The urchin said he is inside alone. The rest are out at the pub.”
“Excellent. You two wait here,” instructed Eutropius as he let the whip uncoil. “He’s owed eight more lashes to satisfy the General’s sentence. I will deliver the punishment and return.”
“Yes sir,” the two bodyguards replied.
Maris approached the door and, as he reached for the latch, he noted his hand trembling in anticipation. His one regret was not bringing a wineskin of good vino. It would be nice to quench his thirst between delivering the lashes. With that sad thought in mind, he shoved opened the door and stepped into the dark interior.
The door closed on its own, a hand clamped over his mouth and powerful men on each side grabbed his arms and lifted him off the floorboards.
“Senior Tribune Eutropius. So nice of you to join us this evening,” a voice spoke cordially as if greeting a guest. “Tie him and take the staff officer to the basement.”
Maris’ hands were bound, and a piece of cotton cloth thrust between his lips. Then, he was lifted and dropped. He fell expecting to hit the floor. But the drop lasted until he passed the boards and crashed into the hard dirt far below. Other hands lifted him off the basement floor. A light flared to life and Maris saw the bottom of a trap door above his head close.
“I don’t suppose you remember me, Senior Tribune,” a man standing out of the light ventured. “Let’s get reacquainted. I’m Captain Milon Frigian.”
“You’re the pirate from the harbor barricade,” replied Maris as Milon stepped into the light. “Now you’ve committed a capital offense. I’ll see you and your scum crucified by tomorrow afternoon.”
“You might want to rethink your position before you go insulting my fine crew,” warned Milon. “Get the Tribune dressed and subdue his bodyguards.”
In the alleyway, the street lad received a signal. He crept to the end of the alley and hissed for the Legionary’s attention.
“What?” asked one of the bodyguards as he crossed the street and stepped into the dark.
A club came from overhead and the Legionary crumbled to the ground. Across the street, the other bodyguard watched as his companion fell. Before he could pull his gladius or call out, another club drove him to his knees. A second swing laid him out. Both men were dragged into the alleyway.
***
A cavalry unit galloped from the southern gates, leaped the trench and raced towards the Syracusan lines
“If your claim is verified, Griffinus, tomorrow is going to be an easy day,” the Centurion stated.
“I thought the only easy day in the heavy infantry was yesterday?” questioned the Velites’ Sergeant.
“Some are easier than others,” the line officer suggested.
They sat, leaned against the wall and waited. The moon moved against the sky and the Legionaries shifted uncomfortably and shivered in the cool night air. None of them were able to sleep.
They leaped to their feet when the sounds of hooves, dangerously pounding the ground in the dark, reached them. Fast moving horses burst through the gates and pulled up.
“It’s confirmed,” the cavalry Centurion said breathing hard from the ride. “Clear a mount for the Sergeant.”
One of the Legion horsemen jumped to the ground and handed the reigns to Sergeant Griffinus. Once the skirmisher NCO was seated, the cavalry officer put heels to his horse and led the unit towards the Citadel.
The duty Centurion heard the horses as they galloped up Citadel Hill. A moment later, they snorted and stomped the ground outside the door. Before he could go and investigate, a cavalry Centurion and a Sergeant raced through the doorway.
“Wake the duty Colonel,” ordered the Centurion.
“Why?” requested the duty officer.
“It’s an important field report and I would rather not repeat it and waste time,” the cavalry officer replied.
The Centurion ran into a side office. He and Colonel Requiem emerged almost immediately.
“Report!” ordered Requiem as he buckled on his gladius.
“The Syracusans have withdrawn, sir,” the cavalry officer announced. “Sergeant Griffinus was making a night reconnaissance and crept closer when he heard noises. He assumed they were preparing to attack our lines. But, when he got close, he saw wagons being loaded. I took a detachment and rode to check. And, Colonel Requiem, their camp is empty. All I could find was a long line of wagon lights stretching across the River Longanus heading towards the mountains.”
“Take four Centuries of cavalry and check every approach to confirm they haven’t left forces behind,” instructed the Colonel. “Good work both of you.”
As the cavalry officer and the Velites’ Sergeant marched out, the Colonel turned to the duty Centurion.
“Wake Senior Tribunes Claudius and Eutropius. And fetch Senior Centurion Valerian,” ordered Requiem. “Have servants bring food to the conference room.”
“What about the General, sir?” inquired the Centurion. “Should I wake him?”
“Not yet. I want to see if we have an opportunity here first,” Requiem replied as he
walked towards the large room. “And get me a Centurion of the signal corps and runners. Lots of runners.”
“Yes, sir,” the Centurion assured him. After the Colonel was out of sight, he pointed to one of his runners. “Go into Messina, find Senior Tribune Eutropius, and inform him he is needed at the Citadel.”
“Where in the city, sir?” asked the Legionary.
“Start at the punishment post,” suggested the officer remembering the Tribune had taken the whip. “If he’s not there, just keep searching.”
After the one runner was gone, the duty officer began issuing orders to the other runners. Once they were off, he marched towards the ladder leading to the second floor and Senior Tribune Claudius’ quarters.
***
Centurion Faustinus of the Headquarters Century and his Optio came into the room and stood off to the side. Gaius Claudius and Pericles Requiem were leaning over the map pointing out features north of Messina. As they talked, the battle commander made notes based on the Tribune’s recent visit to the Qart Hadasht lines. They didn’t notice Senior Centurion Valerian and Centurion Sanctus Carnifex march in and take seats. Also unacknowledged were pairs of junior Tribunes wandering in and taking seats.
“Where is Senior Tribune Eutropius?” Requiem inquired looking up from the map.
“He went into town,” Claudius informed him. “The duty officer sent a runner to find him.”
“This is only a ‘what if’ meeting,” declared the Colonel. “If the Syracusans have left the field, I want ideas from everyone. Tribune Eutropius’ absence isn’t critical but it is annoying. Someone instruct the duty Centurion to send out more runners. Now let’s talk about the situation.”
Colonel Requiem rested his hands on the tabletop and glanced at the junior Tribunes.
“Someone give me a thought,” he requested. “Don’t get fancy, that’s my job.”
“Attack at dawn, sir,” mumbled a young nobleman. “We can flood the battlefield with all of our Centuries and crush the Qart Hadasht forces before they know what hit them.”
“That’s an interesting idea, Tribune Castor Ireneus,” commented Requiem before he looked across the table at Valerian. “Senior Centurion, how many fresh Centuries do we have?”
“Twenty-one Centuries of heavy infantry, Colonel. They were on the defenses or in Messina and didn’t participate,” Valerian reported. “Unfortunately, all of our cavalry and our Velites were bloodied.”
“Alright Tribune Ireneus. You have sixteen hundred eighty fresh infantrymen without the support of Legion horses or skirmishers,” Requiem explained to the junior Tribune. “They are going to surprise six thousand entrenched mercenaries. What tactic do you employ?”
“Ah, Colonel, I’m not sure,” young Castor stammered.
“Well, Senior Tribune Claudius has firsthand knowledge of the enemy positions,” instructed Requiem. “And Senior Centurion Valerian and Centurion Carnifex have spent the evening evaluating the rest of our infantry. What do you do?”
“Ask them questions,” Castor replied looking from the Senior Centurion to the Senior Tribune.
“And that’s the lesson for you staff officers,” explained Colonel Requiem. “Gather intelligence about your enemy and his position before fixating on a plan of attack. Know your resources and the state of your men. Tired men die and lose ground. Fresh Legionaries kill and take ground. You started this, ask questions.”
Young Castor Ireneus swallowed and focused on Gaius.
“Tribune Claudius. What defenses will we face?” he asked.
“They have a reinforced farm wall across their front,” related Gaius. “It cuts across a narrow finger of land between the Messina Strait and marshland. It’s a gooseneck that will force a collapse of our attack line.”
“Prospect of using cavalry?” inquired Requiem.
“Flanking can be handled with several Velites’ Centuries next to the swamp,” Claudius suggested. “There is no open ground for our Legion cavalry or for their horsemen.”
“Valerian. This is going to be an infantry confrontation,” ventured Requiem. “What is the state of our Legionaries?”
“The third maniple as you can guess was hurt badly,” stated the Senior Centurion. “The second and first fared better. Overall, we can field fifty-one Centuries. But, we’ll need to rotate them more than is customary.”
“I agree. Four thousand eighty Legionaries against six thousand mercenaries it is,” exclaimed the Colonel. “I’d prefer a few days rest and an open battlefield. But, in light of King Hiero’s actions, we need to take advantage of the situation.”
A commotion in the outer room drew everyone’s attention to the doorway. Four cavalry officers marched into the conference. All four were smiling.
“Colonel. We’ve searched all the approaches and likely staging areas,” one reported. “It is the considered opinion of your mounted Centuries that the Syracusans have withdrawn. The southern defensive line is unopposed.”
“Gentlemen, now we plan for war,” announced Colonel Requiem. “First Centurion Faustinus. Wake the General and request his presence here. Then, take two squads, locate Senior Tribune Eutropius and bring him back here.”
“Yes, sir,” the officer replied.
As he marched out of the room, Colonel Requiem gave a bring-it-on hand sign to the table. First Centurion Faustinus left the room as voices requested more information from Tribune Claudius and Senior Centurion Valerian.
***
First Centurion Faustinus did as the Colonel suggested to the young Tribunes. He gathered information before setting off to find the Senior Tribune. Based on a conversation with his Tesserarius, he discovered that Tribune Eutropius had tasked two of his Privates with locating the quarters of Lance Corporal Sisera. Then from the duty Centurion, he learned Maris Eutropius had taken the lethal whip. Putting those facts together, along with his knowledge of the Senior Tribune’s propensity for inflicting pain on others, gave him a starting point.
His two squads marched to the rooming house and he sent two half squads to search the surrounding streets. He and two Legionaries went directly to the front door and opened it. The main room was dark and empty. After a search of the rooms, Faustinus realized the entire house was deserted. With no other leads, except for something concerning the Lance Corporal, he marched his squads to the area where the detached Southern Legion Centuries were camped.
The twenty squad tents, neatly spaced, occupied sections around two large command tents. Each tent had an on-duty guard with two additional men walking around the command tents. Legionaries, not away on Legion sentry duty, were sleeping.
“Lance Corporal Sisera. Front and center,” Faustinus bellowed as his squads approached the sleeping encampment.
“Something the Southern Legion can do for you, Centurion?” the guard at the closest squad tent inquired.
“Get Lance Corporal Sisera out here, now,” the First Centurion ordered.
Turning to face the camp, the sentry shouted, “Get Lance Corporal Sisera over here.”
“Can’t do that,” a guard on the other side of Southern Legion’s area called back.
The guard turned to face the First Centurion, raised his arms as he shrugged and announced, “Can’t do that, sir.”
“Was I not clear?” Faustinus blustered. “Get Sisera over here now.”
A youthful Centurion and an older Sergeant pushed aside a flap on one of the command tents. They marched to where the First Centurion stood in front of his squads.
“What can Southern Legion do for you?” asked the line officer with a yawn.
‘What kind of an outfit are you running here, Centurion?” demanded Faustinus.
“One that was on the shield wall all day,” responded the Southern Legion Centurion. “My Legionaries have earned a night’s rest. If you had any manners, you would have asked for me before disturbing my people. Now, I asked you again. What can the Southern Legion do for you?”
“Senior Tribune Eutropius is missin
g and I’ve been tasked with locating him,” replied the First Centurion.
“Optio. Have you seen the Tribune?” the officer asked his Sergeant.
“No, sir,” the NCO replied.
“Sorry, Faustinus. We haven’t seen him,” the Centurion reported. “And so, it’s not my problem. But you rousing my Legionaries is a problem. So good night.”
“I demand to speak with Lance Corporal Sisera,” Faustinus threatened. “Which squad is he in? I’ll have my men drag him out of the tent.”
The rattle of armor and the snap of javelins settling in on top of shields came from deep in the camp. Then, two squads in battle formation marched from between the tents.
“What’s this? Are you looking for a fight?” asked the First Centurion.
“Stand down,” the line officer instructed the two Southern Legion squads. “First Centurion. Lance Corporal Sisera is not here. If you had asked me to start with, I would have told you he is at the Medical tent.”
“Malingering, no doubt,” offered Faustinus. “I witnessed his assault on the staff officer. Out of uniform and hiding from his duty, he was probably drunk as well.”
“Be careful of your words, First Centurion,” cautioned the young Centurion.
“My words?” stammered Faustinus. “I’ll say what I want when I want, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“It’s not me, First Centurion,” replied the Southern Legion line officer. “Just a word of advice. Don’t threaten Death Caller.”
“Who?” questioned Faustinus but he didn’t wait for an answer. “Squads left face forward.”
As the Headquarters squads marched away, the Sergeant glanced at his Centurion.
“Why didn’t you tell him, sir?” asked the NCO.
“He wouldn’t have listened,” the line officer replied. “Let’s check our sentries and try to get some sleep.”
Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2 Page 56
