“Tribunes send runners to the fleet. Have the Legionaries fall back and defend the town,” Scipio ordered.
Combined with the First Century, the Legionaries from the ships gave the Consul a force of seven hundred and sixty infantrymen. Most were unbloodied with only a few months experience in the Legion. They were far from craftsmen of war, being more apprentices of appearance with their helmets, shields and armor.
***
The line of couriers dropped a messenger at the first campfire and the column moved onto the next warship camp.
“The Legionaries are to gather their gear and retreat to the town,” the courier gushed.
“What are we supposed to do,” an oarsman questioned.
“I don’t know,” the runner admitted. “Run for the hills, I guess.”
While the Legionaries from the first quinquereme shuffled through the sand heading for Lipari, the rowers collected their belongings and marched inland. Seeing the oarsman from the first heading for the hills, the rowers from the second Republic warship marched for the trees. Soon, six hundred and forty Legionaries plus, fifty-one deck officers humped through the sand heading for Lipari. In their wake, five thousand three hundred oarsmen and sailors deserted their ships and climbed from the shoreline.
“Why are the oarsman leaving?” Consul Scipio demanded.
“It could be they didn’t get orders otherwise,” a Tribune remarked. “Should we send the Legionaries back to the beach.”
From the window, Scipio saw the Empire ships-of-war cut half circles before backstroking. All twenty hit the beach, dropped a hundred rowers each, then powered away from shore. In moments, the seventeen Republic warships were launched and rowed away from the island.
“Sir. Should we send runners to call back the rowers?” a junior Tribune inquired.
“I believe it’s a little late for that,” a senior staff officer commented.
***
Lieutenant Boodes paced the foredeck of his warship. While he walked, he glared across the water at the city of Lipari.
“Congratulations, sir,” the Captain of the Empire ship-of-war complimented the Fleet Lieutenant. “You have seized seventeen enemy ships without any losses.”
“I have,” Boodes acknowledged. “but there is something missing from my victory.”
“You mean to drop mercenaries and fight the Republic on land?” the Captain asked.
“Do I look like General Hamilcar?” Boodes questioned. “No. We brought the Consul here by clandestine methods and took his ships. Let me try for the biggest prize.”
“How will you do that?” the Captain inquired.
“Send one of our ships to track back and forth along the coastline as if a sheep dog watching over a flock,” the Fleet Lieutenant instructed. “And beach us. I have a message for Consul Scipio.”
***
“Our Legionaries have sealed off all approaches to the town,” the First Centurion reported. “Orders, sir?”
“I guess now you assign me a bodyguard unit,” Gnaeus Scipio responded. He turned from the window and added. “It seems the Qart Hadasht commander is coming ashore to talk.”
By the time the Empire ship backed onto the beach, Scipio, his staff of Tribunes, three Legionaries, and the First Centurion were at the edge of the sand waiting.
A tall fit man in flowing robes strolled down a ramp. In front and behind him, warriors in tall conical helmets matched his stride.
“General Scipio?” the Qart Hadasht nobleman inquired.
“I am Gnaeus Cornelius Scipio, Consul of the Republic,” Scipio replied. “Are you Admiral Hannibal Gisco?”
“I am flattered at the compliment. But alas, I am simply Fleet Lieutenant Boodes,” the nobleman responded. He lifted an arm and pointed to a lone ship-of-war patrolling beyond the fleet of thirty-six ships. “My Admiral is out further, commanding the fleet.”
Scipio raised up on his toes and watched the isolated warship turn and begin another lap.
“Why doesn’t the Admiral come ashore and negotiate himself?” Scipio asked.
“You have Legionaries. No one in the Empire wants to waste lives by throwing them on your shields,” Boodes remarked. “However, the Admiral would like the pleasure of your company.”
“Do you expect me to simply walk onto your ship?” the Consul demanded. “That is not going to happen.”
“It’s a discussion,” Boodes pointed out. “You can of course bring bodyguards and your staff.”
“This is not good, sir,” the First Centurion warned. “Your options are limited once you’re out there.”
“We’re on an island without transportation. I don’t think we have any options except to talk,” Scipio informed the Centurion. “Fleet Lieutenant Boodes. I will speak to Gisco.”
“The Admiral awaits you,” Boodes said with a wave of his arm at the ramp. “Please, you and your staff board my ship.”
***
Ship’s Centurion Semibos stood behind the Legion line. On the beach, he watched Gnaeus Scipio take the ramp onto the Qart Hadasht ship-of-war. Following Consul Scipio were his staff officers, the First Centurion, and two Legionaries.
“What is he doing?” Semibos whispered.
“The Consul appears to be boarding the Empire ship,” an Optio replied. “Why would he do that, sir?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” the Centurion admitted.
The Qart Hadasht warship ran off the sand and the oarsmen on the beach scrambled up the sides. With one hundred and fifty rowers flooding the deck, Semibos lost sight of the Consul and his entourage. Then, from the clumps of oarsmen, he saw the two Legionaries fly off the ship-of-war. Closely behind, the First Centurion tumbled into the sea. The officer would have drowned if the Legionaries hadn’t waded out and pulled him to shallower water.
When the deck cleared, Centurion Semibos saw the Consul and the Tribunes. They were forced at spear points to sit on the upper deck. Then, the combined fleet of captured warships and Empire ships dipped oars and rowed away.
“What happened, Centurion?” a Legionary asked.
“The Republic has lost seventeen warships and a sitting Consul of Rome,” Semibos commented. “All without a fight or a single drop of blood being spilled.”
“I can’t imagine the Senate will be pleased,” the Legionary remarked.
Centurion Semibos dipped his head and added, “or Fleet Praetor Sudoris happy.”
Chapter 8 – Crippled Rabbit
Ostia naval station had grown. From an isolated area with a few trireme sheds, a short pier, barracks, and river defenses at the mouth of the Tiber, it had expanded. Troop tents and a shanty town covered the land on the upper bank. On the beach, large groups of men sat or stood in clusters.
“Those people need direction,” Optio Rutri Gurganus observed.
“They seem to be in classes,” Alerio pointed out to the NCO. Although weapons’ instructor Sisera had ideas as to what he was witnessing, he wanted the Optio’s opinion. “Explain it to me.”
“Not the men, Centurion, they’re only doing what they are told,” Rutri Gurganus replied. “I’m talking about the trainers.”
Alerio scanned the groups on the beach and their instructors. Posture revealed attitude and based on that premise, the teachers were bored, or unmotivated, or considered the task of informing the students beneath them.
“The men don’t seem to be doing anything, Optio,” Alerio suggested.
“Because the instructors aren’t challenging them, sir,” Rutri informed Alerio. “It’s the chase instinct. If half the groups were running, the other half would want to get up and chase them. As it is, I could run a crippled rabbit down that beach, and no one would notice.”
The transport swung around and nosed against the beach.
“That’s as close as I can get,” the merchant Captain announced. “Get off now. Or you can ride up the river and use the dock at the Capital.”
The letter from Consul Gaius Duilius requested that Alerio
proceed to the Capital. While it didn’t give a date, it had mentioned Centurion Sisera’s weapons’ instructor qualifications.
“I might as well get started,” Alerio stated, meaning he could get a firsthand look at the status of training before seeing the Consul.
“Get started on what, sir,” Rutri Gurganus asked.
Alerio had not shared the contents of the letter with the NCO. Mostly because, Centurion Sisera didn’t know what Gaius Duilius needed.
“I’m getting off,” Alerio stated.
The Centurion marched to the steering deck, untied his gear, and returned to the foredeck.
“Sir, if I could ask a favor,” Rutri requested.
“What do you need Optio?” Alerio asked.
“When I jump off, my knee may buckle,” the NCO explained. “If you would catch my gear and get it to shore, I would appreciate it.”
“How bad is your knee?” Alerio inquired.
“Somedays, I can run on it,” Rutri answered. “Other days, I can’t put weight on it at all.”
“I have your gear,” Centurion Sisera assured the NCO.
***
Alerio splashed down in thigh high water. He straightened his legs and looked up to the deck of the transport. Optio Gurganus leaped from the rail, fell, and hit the water. Where Alerio had landed easily, Rutri folded and went under.
“Packages,” a deckhand called down.
One at a time, the officer’s and NCO’s gear fell. Alerio caught and balanced the bundles on his shoulders. Then he looked to find the Optio standing but stooped over.
“Are you alright?” Alerio inquired.
“The knee has decided it’s a bad day for jumping.” Rutri informed him. “If you’ll get my gear to shore, I’ll take it from there, sir.”
The two waded to the beach where Rutri dropped down and began rubbing his knee.
“Rutri Gurganus. You, old war mule,” a voice called out from further down the shoreline. A man marched towards them. “Good afternoon, Optio.”
“Tesserarius Constans. What’s the word?” Rutri asked while pushing off the sand to regain his footing.
“Most of the quality NCOs have been sucked up by the new Legions,” the Corporal replied. “And the old NCOs are failing the physical for the Navy. Too beat up from years of campaigning.”
“How bad is it?” Rutri asked with emotion in his voice. “Can I fake it?”
The Tesserarius pointed at the Optio’s knee. It resembled a full wineskin. Puffed out and seeming as if it would burst at any time. Beyond the swelling, there were tiny scars covering the skin.
“That knee won’t pass a visual inspection let alone a hopping test,” the Corporal informed the NCO. “If you want my advice. I suggest you go home and leave the campaigning to men with two good knees.”
“And if I don’t take your advice?” Rutri inquired.
“See a public physician before you hobble into the Navy exam,” the Tesserarius suggested. “There’s one in the town. But you might want to go to the Capital and see a doctor at the Asclepius on Tiber Island.”
“Why? What’s wrong with the doctor here?” Rutri inquired. “Is he untrained?”
“The doctor is very knowledgeable, from what I’ve been told,” Corporal Constans informed him. “I just don’t know if the physician understands military injuries.”
“Most don’t anyway,” the Optio offered. “This is…”
Alerio placed a hand on Rutri’s arm to silence the NCO. With his officer’s helmet tucked away in a watertight package, Alerio could be anyone.
“Alerio Sisera. I’m just passing through on my way to the Legions,” Alerio lied.
Assuming the scarred warrior was a simple infantryman, the Corporal advised. “Stay out of trouble, Sisera. This place is unruly with too many transits and misfits. I’d hate to see a Legionary get caught up in the chaos.”
“Tesserarius Constans, I have no plans other than to take a look around,” Alerio assured him. “Then to move onto the Capital.”
“Nice meeting you, Sisera,” the Corporal acknowledged. “And seeing you again, Optio.”
“Who is in charge here?” Alerio inquired before the Corporal had walked far.
“Fleet Praetor Sudoris is the fleet commander,” Constans replied. “Under him is Senior Tribune Egidius Lubricum. But the training officer is our Senior Centurion. And Nutatus Typus is a stickler for rules and regulations.”
Alerio recognized the NCO code for an officer who doesn’t take chances and comes down hard on anyone in his command who draws attention to themselves. Usually those Centurions were placed in supply where they could oversee the wagons and not hamper the infantry.
“Thank you,” Alerio said to the Corporal. Then he picked up both bundles and instructed Optio Gurganus. “Come on. We need to find you that doctor.”
“Why didn’t you want Constans to know you are an officer, sir?” Rutri inquired.
“I’m not sure,” Alerio admitted. “Maybe, I don’t want to be invited to dine with a bunch of Centurions. Or, it was the best way to get an honest answer out of the Corporal.”
“And did you, sir?” Rutri asked.
“I did,” Alerio admitted.
Chapter 9 – Public Clinic
Alerio and Rutri wandered through the training camp. At a few lectures, they stopped and listened.
“If you’re lucky enough to get a ship,” one instructor stated. “You’ll need to qualify. So, listen up.”
Alerio tilted his head in the NCO’s direction and commented, “When does listening qualify you for anything except a philosopher’s position in a nobleman’s household?”
“If listening is all it takes,” Rutri replied. “Half of that sleepy group has already failed.”
After observing several sessions, the Legionaries climbed the embankment. In the shanty town, they walked for a bit before realizing there were no signs for businesses.
“Excuse me,” Alerio asked a young man who seemed oblivious to his surroundings. When he didn’t stop, the Centurion reached out and gripped the man’s arm. “I need directions to the doctor’s clinic.”
For a second, Alerio was afraid he had asked someone not quite right in the brain. But the young man shook his head as if erasing a slate board and smiled.
“Sorry. My mind was occupied,” he explained. “What do you need?”
“We’re looking for the medical clinic,” Alerio informed him.
“You mean Doctor Allocco’s hospital,” the man replied quickly. “Follow me and I’ll show you.”
The three were four steps going one way when the young man spun around and pointed in the opposite direction.
“Wrong way,” he announced. “The hospital is that way.”
Alerio and Rutri exchanged quick glances before silently agreeing to following him.
***
The clinic was two unpainted brick rooms, a covered porch, and a tented area. In a passing nod to civilization, the floors were bricks rather than dirt. However, compared to the rough structures they passed on the way; Doctor Allocco’s hospital was almost civilized.
“Ailment?” a thin man asked when Alerio and Rutri stepped inside.
“Are you Doctor Allocco?” the Optio inquired.
“No, Master. The Doctor is busy with a patient. I am an apprentice,” the man answered. He indicated a treatment table. “Please sir. Ailment?”
Rutri scooted onto the tabletop, lifted his leg, and pointed at his knee.
“Pain in the joint?” the apprentice questioned.
“It’s puffy like a loaf of bread, hard as a full wineskin, and hurts like Hades,” the Optio replied. “So, yes, knee pain.”
“I see,” the man commented. “Please wait.”
He walked away stiffly. Taking the door to the covered porch, he returned with five other men. Each paused to examine Rutri’s knee as they filed by.
“We should lance it,” one suggested.
“Perhaps put in a drain,” another added.
“But you can see where the patient has repeatedly lanced the skin,” another observed.
“It needs to be wrapped and the knee rested,” still another remarked.
“Hold on,” Rutri bellowed. “Which one of you is Doctor Allocco?”
“The Doctor is with a patient,” the five replied at the same time.
“That would make you all, physician’s apprentices?” the Legion NCO ventured
“No. I am Doctor Allocco’s herbalist understudy,” one replied.
Another volunteered, “And I am Doctor Allocco’s surgery intern.”
“I am Doctor Allocco’s physician student,” a fourth responded.
“And you last two?” Rutri questioned.
“We’re medic trainees,” they replied. “We hope to join the Legions when they march south.”
“I’m confused,” Alerio said inserting himself into the conversation. “I was led to understand that Doctor Allocco wasn’t knowledgeable about military injuries.”
“Is a Legionaries body any different from a farmer’s?” a female voice asked from the other doorway. She stood square in the frame, a slight woman with a pleasant but stern face. Then she insisted. “Well. I asked a question Legionary and I expect a response.”
“My father was an Optio. Now he’s a farmer,” Alerio reported. “I guess there is no difference.”
“There is one,” the woman said while crossing the room. At the exam table, the lady bent briefly and studied Rutri’s knee. Then she selected two waterskins from under the table. One was almost empty while the other was full. “The big difference is the farmer sets his own pace.”
She placed both waterskins on the table next to the Optio.
“Punch the full one,” she instructed.
Rutri Gurganus made a fist and smacked the one indicated. His arm rebounded from the water filled bladder.
“Now punch the other one just as hard,” the lady ordered.
Unjust Sacrifice Page 5
