Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2

by J. Clifton Slater

  The announcement shocked Alerio. The second maniple was composed of experienced Legionaries. Those too old for the first and aggressive men who moved up from the third were there to make the Second combat line a steady presence during a battle. To have a Century in the Second falter meant something was very wrong.

  “Sanctus. We aren’t scheduled for training,” a middle-aged Centurion exclaimed as he crossed between tents while strapping on his gladius. A big red-faced Sergeant and an old Corporal followed their officer.

  “Optio. Turn out your Century,” Carnifex ordered the Sergeant.

  “Requiem Division, Second Maniple, Sixth Century, on the road,” the Sergeant called out. As close to thunder as the human voice can get, his shook the tents and even rattled a few cooking pots and utensils.

  Sanctus glanced at Alerio with a quizzical look before turning to the line officer.

  “Centurion, bring your Optio and Tesserarius and come with me,” Carnifex instructed before announcing. “Weapons instructor, Corporal Sisera, the Century is yours.”

  “Yes, Centurion, the Century is mine,” Alerio responded. As the Centurions and NCOs marched away, the new Corporal scanned the eighty Legionaries standing in ranks. “Sixth Century, standby.”

  The stomp was more of a scuff on the dirt and the standing-by-Corporal almost mumbled. Ignoring the disrespect, Alerio marched them from the camp, out the south gate, past the defensive mounds and the trench to an open section of ground.

  “Century halt,” he ordered. Holding out his arms, Alerio indicated four positions that formed a semicircle. “Two squads to my right, two and two in the center and two on my left. Let’s be sure everyone can watch me embarrass myself.”

  This brought chuckles from the younger Legionaries and snickers from the older infantrymen. One group liked the idea of a friendly weapons instructor while the other held disdain for a weak instructor.

  “This Century held up the assault line,” Alerio said as he turned from the Century. A few paces away he removed his helmet, set it on the ground and leaned his shield against it. Still, with his back to the infantrymen, he unstrapped his armor. “We are here this fine morning so I can understand why.”

  Corporal Alerio turned back to face the Century.

  “Oh, merda, it’s Death Caller,” a few men in the ranks swore.

  “Who?” questioned a few others.

  “The blessed of Nenia,” those recognizing the Corporal replied. “Someone will die today.”

  Alerio heard but, dismissed the comments. It never hurt to have the attention of your students.

  “Who is your strongest shield?” Alerio asked.

  Heads turned to glance across the ranks until they settled on a man in the second rank. A stout man, he easily shoved aside the Legionaries in front of him and marched to the center of the half circle.

  Alerio studied the wide shoulders and noted the man held the shield up and to the front. Most men carried their shields a little off to the side allowing it to hang and take some of the stress off their arm.

  “You are going to attack me. Draw,” Alerio ordered. Once the man’s gladius was free. “Stand by. Advance.”

  It might have been the lack of armor. The weapons instructor wore only a red tunic, his armored skirt, and a gladius belt, or it might have been the surprise order to kill. In any case, the stout infantryman hesitated. When the shield finally moved, so did Corporal Sisera.

  During the thrust out, Alerio jumped behind the shield and into the crook of the Legionary’s arm. While driving with his legs, the weapons instructor reached out a hand and clamped onto the gladius arm. The stout Legionary attempted to dislodge the Corporal by backing up. Between his steps to the rear and the Corporal’s driving legs, the best shield in the Sixth Century tripped and fell hard onto his back.

  “Why did you pause?” Alerio questioned as he jumped up and away from any revenge strikes by the embarrassed man. “Was I not clear? Let me see, attack me, draw, standby, advance. Which of those did you miss?”

  The Legionary climbed to his feet and glared at the weapons instructor. Alerio ignored the silent threat and peered at the faces in the semicircle.

  “Is there anyone else in the Sixth who is deaf?” he inquired.

  A yell alerted Sisera as the Legionary charged at him. Shield to the side and his blade extended, the infantryman closed with the intention of murdering the weapons instructor. Alerio rolled away from the blade, grabbed the shield and felt the strength of the best shield in the Century. As if he’d taken hold of a stone wall, the shield was solid on the man’s arm. While a stone wall wasn’t mobile, a man was. Alerio dug in his heels and swung the Legionary around.

  Like the images of a hammer thrower in Greek frescoes depicting athletic games, the weapons instructor swung the Legionary by his own shield. Three times they spun before the infantryman stumbled, fell, and rolled over in the dirt.

  Alerio kicked him onto his back and sat on the man’s chest. He rested the palm of one hand on the edge of the helmet’s face opening and placed his thumb on the man’s eye. With the other hand, he pointed at the seventy-nine standing infantrymen.

  “Should I take the eye for his disrespect?” Alerio asked. He felt a shudder go through the downed Legionary. Maimed in battle was one thing, but the threat of losing an eye purposely while training was horrifying. “Well, I’m waiting for an answer.”

  “No,” a Legionary from the man’s squad stated.

  “What? Are you not Sixth Century, Second Maniple?” demanded Alerio. “Are you not a battle unit trained to move as one, instantly upon command?”

  “Yes,” a few replied.

  “What? Yes! I should take his eye for stupidity,” asked Alerio.

  “No!” roared back the entire Century.

  Alerio reached into the helmet and trapped the infantryman’s nose between his knuckles.

  “Am I going to have more trouble with you?” he inquired as he wiggled the man’s nose.

  “No. Weapons instructor,” the man promised. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

  As they stood and separated, the Legionary walked back to his rank and Alerio announced to the Century.

  “That Legionary is a powerful man and I would be honored to stand beside him in an assault line,” he stated. Men in the Legionary’s squad pounded the shield man’s shoulders as a sign of agreement at the compliment. “One shield is not a defensive line. If he had shields next to him the Gods themselves couldn’t move him or his squad. But hesitation and uneven shields will get you killed. Today we are...”

  “Nice trick, taking an unprepared man off his feet,” a voice from the right challenged. “I’d like to see you do that in a fair fight.”

  Half the Century groaned as if they were accustomed to the insolent tone and defiant words.

  Alerio acted as if he hadn’t heard the man. But he began unstrapping his gladius belt and armored skirt. After placing the gear beside his shield, he turned and held up his arms to show he was unarmed.

  “Step forward, son of Algea,” offered Alerio.

  A stinted laugh ran through the Century at the prospect of the defiant Legionary being related to the Goddess of pain. Unfortunately, a little truth lies in every joke and the man who stepped forward was more fighter than jester. He began to take off his armor. As each piece came free and was dropped to the ground, knife scars were revealed.

  Once the Legionary stood without his armor, he paused before pulling off his tunic. Then he flexed the lean, well-defined muscles of his chest and arms. Knife scars covered him from shoulder to shoulder, down his arms and across his chest. He flexed again making the scars seem to dance on his skin.

  “What’s your weapon of choice, daughter of Deimos?” inquired Alerio.

  This time none of the Legionaries could stifle their laughter. It was one thing to call a man a Goddess’ son while mocking him. But to call him a woman and the daughter of terror was too much to resist.

  “I choose my sica,” the Legi
onary said while reaching behind his back. Hidden in his cloth mentula supporter must have been a sheath. He pulled a knife and the almost foot long, curved blade reflected the sunlight along its razor-sharp edge. “What’s your weapon, Death Caller?”

  “I’m a Legionary. A proud heavy infantryman and my weapons are on the ground behind me,” Alerio commented while indicating his stacked equipment. The words touched the Century and they identified with the Corporal. A few of them started to step forward to defend the weapons instructor, but Alerio ordered. “Stay in your ranks.”

  “Then how can we have a fair fight,” the knife wieldier asked.

  “I guess, Honey Cakes, it’ll be these against your pretty dinner knife,” Alerio replied as he pulled off his tunic and held up his bare hands. “But first, let’s compare our trophies.”

  “Vindictam,” the Legionary corrected him.

  “My apologies, Honey Cakes Vindictam,” Alerio said with a grin.

  While the knife fighter’s skin displayed slashes from knife blades, the weapons instructor had a different category of scars. Puckered wounds from arrows, gladius scars, long cuts from close in fighting and a crescent-shaped scar on top of his head. Then, the Corporal turned around showing the still pink lines from the whip where they formed an X on his back. Also, a scar ran down the back of his left arm.

  “Honey Cakes, do you know the difference between war and street fighting?” Alerio asked as he walked towards the knife man.

  “It doesn’t matter, weapons instructor. People fight and someone dies,” sneered Vindictam as he moved one foot to the rear and dropped into a stance.

  “But there is Honey Cakes,” Alerio assured him as he strolled to within range of the sica.

  The blades slashed out at Alerio’s midsection. Rather than jumping back, the weapons instructor sucked in his stomach allowing the curved tip to flash by. Then, Alerio shuffled forward.

  A wicked smile graced Vindictam’s face as he brought the blade back across…But Alerio’s wrist touched the knife hand. The pressure from the wrist drove the blade up and it circled, passing harmlessly between the combatants. Vindictam drew back his left arm and shot a fist at the weapons instructor’s chin. It never reached the intended target. Alerio’s other wrist snapped up and guided the punch off to the side.

  “Ah, Honey Cakes. Is something wrong?” Alerio teased as Vindictam drew both arms down to his sides. The Corporal’s palm remained against the knife hand.

  “Shut up with the Honey Cakes. My name is Vindictam,” the knifeman screamed. “You will respect me or I will cut you.”

  “Hasn’t worked so far,” Alerio commented.

  Vindictam’s knife shot out in a straight line towards the weapons instructor’s chest. Again, the wrist shoved it off to the side. Honey Cakes rotated the sica out, down and up from below trying to bury it in Corporal Sisera’s solar plexus. But the wrist became the flat of a hand that shoved the knife’s hilt towards Vindictam’s chest while carrying it to the top of a circle. At the highest point, Alerio locked the knife arm in a painful hold. The elbow bent awkwardly placing the knife blade over Vindictam’s shoulder.

  Honey Cakes kicked out, trying to get Alerio off him. A swivel of the hips let the foot pass by and, instead of removing the weapons instructor, it created an opening for Alerio. Stepping in close, he twisted the bent knife arm further back over the shoulder. Human limbs don’t flex like that and Vindictam rotated in the direction trying to relieve the pressure. Taking advantage of the positioning, Alerio jerked his head back and smashed Vindictam’s nose with his forehead.

  As Vindictam crumpled, gushing blood from his nostrils, Alerio, still controlling the knife arm, stepped over his shoulder and wrenched the arm hard. The sica fell into the dirt.

  “Honey Cakes. You seem to have lost your weapon of choice,” Alerio said. He kicked the knife away and threw Vindictam to the ground.

  “Alright, I’ve learned my lesson,” Vindictam stated as he struggled to his feet while pinching his nose.

  “No, Honey Cakes. This is a lesson you personally requested,” Alerio informed him. Walking to Vindictam’s gear, he pulled the gladius and inspected it. “Private Honey Cakes, your Legion gladius is pitted and dirty. Let me see. There is no blood on it. Not a drop of Syracusan or Qart Hadasht blood. Why is it that in two days of fighting, you didn’t cut our enemies, not once?”

  Alerio picked up Vindictam’s shield and, tossed it and the gladius to the Private.

  “What’s this?” questioned Vindictam.

  “You asked about my choice of weapons,” Alerio replied as he strolled to his equipment. “I explained to you that I am an infantryman. These are my choice of weapons. Pick up yours.”

  As Alerio walked back to Vindictam, he fitted the shield to his arm and twirled the gladius.

  “Private Honey Cakes. I asked if you knew the difference between street and war fighting,” Alerio reminded him. When Vindictam didn’t say anything, he continued. “A street fighter can run because he is on his own. A Legionary is a professional warrior. He can’t run or his squad mates die.”

  The Century watched as the weapons instructor walked around Vindictam. All the while the gladius twirled faster and faster. When he returned to his original spot, a change came over Corporal Sisera. Where he had been relaxed and off-handed, now the veins in the Corporal’s neck throbbed and his eyes blazed with intensity.

  “Who is the squad leader for this sorry excuse of a Legionary?” demanded Alerio. A slender Lance Corporal stepped from the ranks. “And his Right and Left Pivots. All three of you stand with him.”

  The three Legionaries lined up and Vindictam, suddenly getting courage from the support, reached down and picked up his gladius and shield.

  “I am going to bleed Private Vindictam,” Alerio announced. The gladius stopped twirling and steadied with the blade pointing directly at the Private’s face. “Who are the last three men to be cut by him?”

  After some jostling and talk, three men were shoved out of ranks.

  “You three stand off to the side. At some point, I’ll ask you if he has bled enough,” Alerio instructed. Then he looked at the Pivots, squad leader, and Vindictam. “I am Death Caller. The Goddess speaks to me. And she wants death!”

  Alerio ran screaming at the four Legionaries. Just before reaching the line of heavy infantry shields, Private Vindictam backed out of line and ran. After a few paces, he realized the weapons instructor wasn’t chasing him.

  “Pivots. Bring Private Honey Cakes back here,” instructed Alerio. “Squad leader, get the rest of your squad.”

  Nine Legionaries stood facing Private Vindictam. His three victims were off to the side watching Corporal Sisera.

  “A coward who hides his true self behind a knife is useless to the Legion,” Alerio declared. “While the people he cut observe, the ones who would die because of him must drive him out or break and remake him. Decide.”

  The nine Legionaries of Vindictam’s squad huddled together. A short while later, the squad leader stepped away from the group.

  “Weapons instructor. Private Vindictam is one of us,” announced the Lance Corporal. “We believe we can salvage and motivate him.”

  “Then it’s up to the squad to show him the way,” Alerio offered. “If I walk over there, my anger will get the better of me and he will die.”

  The nine infantrymen rushed Vindictam knocking him to the ground and beating him with fists and feet. Alerio watched until the coward couldn’t defend himself against the blows and kicks. Looking over at the men Vindictam had cut, he waited. When all three nodded, Alerio called a halt to the punishment.

  “Enough. Pick up your gear and Private Honey Cakes. Get back into ranks,” Alerio instructed. “We will be running shield and gladius maneuvers. No one falls back, especially Private Vindictam. You wanted him, so keep him up and moving with the squad.”

  At midday, Centurion Carnifex, the line officer, and the Corporal marched across the field towards the Centur
y. Far behind, the Sergeant limped painfully after them.

  “Weapons instructor Sisera. Give me a report on the fitness of Sixth Century, Second Maniple,” ordered Carnifex. The Centurion looked over the dusty, sweaty and obviously exhausted squads. For a heartbeat, he paused when he noticed one Private wobbling in place and being held up by two Legionaries.

  “Legion weapons instructor Carnifex. Sixth Century, Second Maniple is trained and responsive,” Alerio announced. “Sir, they are Legionaries ready to take their place in the assault line.”

  The Sergeant finally arrived and Alerio could see bruises on his legs and swelling on his face. He also noticed a number of smiles on the faces of the infantrymen.

  “Centurion. The Century is your,” Carnifex informed the line officer. Then before turning away. “Corporal Sisera, on me.”

  “Yes sir,” Alerio responded.

  Once out of earshot of the Century, Carnifex looked at Alerio.

  “Want to explain the meat bag?” he inquired.

  “Private Honey Cakes is a renowned knife fighter, sir,” Alerio answered.

  “He must be the one the Optio was bragging about,” Carnifex suggested. “I’ll check in on them occasionally to be sure the lessons hold.”

  ***

  While the Legionaries trained, metal workers fired up their forge and smelting fires. The spoils, salvaged from the six thousand dead soldiers, was distributed and the iron, steel, copper, silver, and gold were reworked or melted into bars. Armor, good swords, and helmets were sorted. Merchants from Messina and traders from the Sons of Mars began paying coins for items they could resell at different ports.

  The Greek accountants kept track of the exchanges, meticulously counting and logging every transaction. One thing confused them, the Sons of Mars trade representatives outbid the professional merchants for the best weapons and bars of silver and copper.

  Late in the afternoon three days later, a messenger arrived at the Citadel with a parchment for Senior Tribune Gaius Claudius. After reading the message, he ordered the formation of a unit consisting of four Legionary guards, one Greek accountant, and a two-wheeled cart with a porter. The Tribune marched his small formation from the Citadel, down the hill and headed towards Messina harbor.