There was tension in the room and a few eyes drifted downward at Gaius Duilius’ statement.
“Sir, life is much simpler in an infantry Century,” Alerio advised. “You fight an enemy you can see. And, the fates give you three choices.”
“What choices, Centurion Sisera?” Duilius asked.
“Die, survive, or become crippled,” Alerio told him. “It most cases, all three involve bleeding and pain. But at least we know the direction the threat is coming from.”
Consul Gaius Duilius stared at Alerio until a smile crept across his face. Once the tight lines of stress had vanished, the General indicated a side exit.
“Take refreshments with me, Centurion,” Duilius offered.
The Consul linked arms with Alerio and guided him to his private quarters.
***
“Your sponsor, Senator Spurius Maximus, said you were smart and could be trusted.” the Consul warned. “What we discuss can’t go further than this room,”
“Sir, I understand,” Alerio promised. “Nothing you say will be repeated by me.”
A servant poured two mugs of vino.
“To your health, Consul,” Alerio offered, lifting his mug.
“To the health of our Republic,” Gaius countered.
They sipped and reclined in their chairs.
“I am the junior Consul,” Gaius explained. “Consul Gnaeus Scipio has taken the fleet, what there was of it, and rowed for Sicilia. That leaves me the administrative nightmare of raising two Legions and equipping the new fleet. When the ships arrive.”
“Not an enviable position, sir,” Alerio assumed.
“Certainly not duties that will win me glory,” Gaius admitted. “But I serve Rome. And my job is to build two Legions and a fleet. The Legions, I’m not worried about. Once the fields are harvested and the thrashing completed, I’ll have my six thousand Legionaries.”
“I don’t see a problem, sir,” Alerio remarked.
“You would if you had witnessed the selection process for the fleet,” Gaius advised. “The Optios and Centurions here are sending the marginal recruits to the Navy.”
“Making the Legion Marines weaker and less skilled,” Alerio guessed.
“I will be taking two Legions of infantry and sending a fleet to Sicilia in the spring,” Gaius stated. “The Legionaries assigned to the ships have to be able to defend their vessels and to carry the fight to enemy ships-of-war. Right now, because of the process, I don’t trust them to do either.”
“If I may stretch your hospitality, Consul?” Alerio asked. “When I passed through Ostia, I saw the training. For the Legionaries and for the oarsmen. Both were poor quality.”
“Those are part of my trials and tribulations,” Gaius Duilius expressed his frustrations. “My staff is partially composed of Tribunes from Consul Scipio staff and the rest from mine. For political reasons, I gave fleet admin to Senior Tribune Egidius Lubricum. And before you ask, he is General Scipio’s man.”
Alerio’s stomach knotted. He disliked politics and discussions of who was in control and who was clawing their way back to retake the power. It was a dangerous game where common citizens could easily get crushed. Despite his nerves, he leaned towards the consul.
“Then what can I do for you, sir?” Alerio questioned.
“For political reasons, I have to keep the fleet at arm’s length. But I control the Legions,” Gaius declared. “You are going to Ostia as my weapons’ instructor. Centurion Sisera, I want my Legion Marines to be killers and the oarsmen capable of defending their ship. The worst fear any Consul has is losing a warship or a Maniple line. Be sure I don’t lose a ship to an enemy boarding party.”
“Sir, how much authority do I have?” Alerio inquired.
“I can’t send you in as a Senior Centurion. I would have a fight on my hands for that title,” Gaius Duilius described. “You’ll have to make do with being the head instructor.”
“And if there is a problem, can I take it to Fleet Praetor Sudoris?” Alerio asked.
“Praetor Sudoris is spending most of his time in the Capital trying to pry a few more coins from the tight purses in the Senate,” Gaius Duilius commented. “It would be best if you handled any issues yourself.”
“I can do that, Consul Duilius,” Alerio replied. “By your leave, sir?”
“Dismissed, Centurion Sisera,” the ConsulGeneral responded. “See my secretary on the way out for your written orders.”
Chapter 11 – The Challenge
The sunlight had nearly faded when Alerio reached Ostia. Using the light of the torches on the promenades, he rode by the two-story buildings of the naval base. Although he located the Centurions’ quarters, he didn’t stop. Rather, the infantry officer rode directly to the Legionary bivouac.
“Tesserarius, take my horse to the stables,” he ordered.
The NCO had been walking down the street between tents. It surprised him when the man dropped off the horse and thrust the reins into his hands.
“I’m not a stock yardman,” the Corporal protested.
He dropped the reins and put his hands on his hips.
“I see the selection process went further than the recruits,” Alerio remarked. Then he looked around at the men lounging outside their tents. “Fine, don’t take care of my horse. Get me a contubernium.”
“What do you need with a squad?” the Tesserarius inquired.
“You’re right,” Alerio agreed. “Get me a Century,”
“A Century to secure a horse?” the NCO demanded.
“Again Tesserarius, you have cut to the core of the situation,” Alerio complimented. “Get the entire compliment of Legionary Marines on the street.”
“All of them?” the NCO demanded. He was beginning to worry that he faced either a madman or a staff officer.
“Every Private, Tesserarius, and Optio,” Alerio said. “The longer you delay, the longer we’ll be out.”
“Out? Out where?” the NCO questioned. Then he realized he had missed something. “Who are you?”
“Centurion Alerio Sisera, weapons’ instructor of the Marines,” Alerio replied. “As directed by General Gaius Duilius. Now call out the Optios and thank you.”
“Thank me for what, Centurion?” the NCO inquired.
“For volunteering to be my demonstration victim,” Alerio responded with a smile.
The smile sent a chill through the Corporal. No one wanted the pain and the humiliation of being made a fool by a weapons’ instructor. Grinding his teeth in anticipation of a rough night, the Tesserarius jogged to the tent of a veteran Optio. Hopefully, the old campaigner would know how to handle the demanding officer.
***
A few moments later, the Corporal remained behind the Sergeant almost as if using the Optio as a shield.
“Sir, I apologize for the delay,” the Sergeant stated. He hobbled towards the officer and his horse. Bent at the waist, the senior NCO finally secured the low portion of his knee brace. “What can I do…?”
“Optio Gurganus. Good to see you again” Alerio greeted him. “I am your weapons’ instructor. And I want the Centuries on the street.”
The Tesserarius assumed there would be a discussion about calling four hundred and eighty Legionaries to a formation.
“Is this a lecture, weapons’ instructor?” Rutri Gurganus asked. The Corporal felt some relief. The Sergeant was working the situation and trying to calm the officer. “Or would you like full kit, armor and weapons?”
“Leave the tents and cooking utensils but definitely armor and weapons,” Alerio instructed. “The evening grows long, Optio.”
“Yes, sir. We’re on it,” Rutri remarked. Then to the Corporal. “Get them up and on the street. Now!”
The Optio went one way and the Tesserarius the other. At each tent, they shouted orders before moving to the next tent. Behind them, men struggled into their armor. Soon, the well-organized contuberniums were standing on the road. The less efficient squads received a visit from a l
oud, impatient weapons’ instructor.
“Do I have all night to wait for you?” Alerio shouted at one tent. “Is the Empire going to delay while you get your rest?”
“Look here, Centurion,” a large man suggested. Although only a Private, the man, probably due to his size, was accustomed to offering his opinion and using his size to enforce his will. “Maybe you can put this sort of night maneuver on a schedule.”
By comparison, most of the Legionary Marines were slighter. As the General had told him, the selection process for the marching Legions weeded out troublemakers or marginal Legionaries, usually due to size. The mouthy man carried heavy muscle along with a thick attitude.
Alerio’s hand jammed into the soft tissue under the man’s jaw while sliding the other hand into the big man’s armpit. With two points of control, he power walked the brute to the center of the street.
Alerio snaked a leg behind the man’s ankle and pressed forward violently. The pressure added to the impact when the infantryman crashed onto the road. Air expelled from the big Legionary’s lungs.
“Who is this goat’s Decanus?” Alerio shouted.
A timid Lance Corporal stepped forward.
“I am Private Hircus’ squad leader,” the Decanus volunteered. “Lance Corporal Renunculi, sir.”
“Good. I want the fat off this cow,” Alerio described. To indicate what he meant, the Centurion put a hobnailed boot on the thick chest and tapped the muscles with the ball of his foot. “Every Marine in this fleet needs to be agile and quick. Fat bodies will not be tolerated. Starve him, run him or both. I don’t care. The next time I see him, I want to see lean.”
The big Legionary put his hands on Alerio’s leg. Before he could twist the limb, Weapons’ Instructor Sisera bent forward and punch the man in his throat.
“Now get this pack animal out of my sight,” Alerio ordered. “And Decanus Renunculi, I expect every man in your contubernium to aid in this Legionary’s struggle to fit in.”
“Yes, sir,” squad leader Renunculi agreed.
The other eight men from the contubernium rushed to the street and picked the large man off the ground. After carrying him back to their tent, they lifted him higher before dropping him. He bounced, expelling the air from his lungs. No one offered to help the bully to his feet as the squad strapped on their armor.
***
The moon rose and while the land and shanty town on the bank sat in darkness, the beach glowed from the illumination. Then grains of sand bounced. At first only a few on the surface. But as the chanting of almost five hundred men carried from down the shoreline, the sand pulsated as if an earthquake shook the beach.
Then the columns of pounding feet arrived at an area parallel with the town. The noise and ground shaking reached a crescendo before moving on. Soon, the sounds and vibrations faded.
Further down the beach, Centurion Sisera put on a burst of speed and ran up next to Rutri Gurganus.
“Optio Gurganus, gather the herd,” Alerio shouted.
“Yes, sir,” the NCO assured him. “Centuries, halt, pass it on.”
Along the line of jogging Legionaries, the order carried forward and back until the columns stopped.
“Fold it in,” Gurganus instructed.
The ends collapsed until a giant half circle faced the Optio. Then a shadowy figure climbed the embankment behind the Sergeant. Raising both arms above his head, the man stood in silhouette as still as a statue. After a few moments, muttering and chatter rolled through the ranks.
“Memento mori,” Alerio warned in a booming voice. It silenced the Legionaries. “My personal Goddess is Nenia. Some call me Death Caller. Others Centurion. For you, I am the head weapons’ instructor. You were selected from the marching Legions because you are quick. If you are, bless you. If you aren’t, you will be. You were selected because you are agile. If you are not, you will be. Or you will die far from shore on a Qart Hadasht spear.”
Gasps rose from the men. Some from the ready talk of death, and the mention of the Goddess of Death. Other from the harsh nickname of the instructor, and the assurance that they would magically appropriate physical skills.
“I am Centurion Alerio Sisera,” Alerio shouted. “By the order of Consul/General Gaius Duilius, I have been charged with training you. The Qart Hadasht Empire has better sailors and oarsmen. Better warships, and more experience. What they don’t have are Legionary Marines. Remember, you will eventually die. But before you do, you will take fists full of mercenaries with you. This I swear to you.”
In the dark of the evening far from their tents, the Centurion’s words rested heavily on the Legionary Marines. Most understood they didn’t have the mass or skills to join a marching Legion. Shoved off to the fleet, they expected to deal with pirates and the occasional naval boarding party. But this officer talked about taking the fight to the Qart Hadasht soldiers. It was unnerving.
“Optio Gurganus. Take them home and tuck them in,” Alerio ordered while climbing down the embankment. “Be sure they’re here at daybreak.”
“Yes, sir,” Rutri replied. “Optios. March them back.”
The long columns slogged through the sand leaving Centurion Sisera standing by himself on the beach. As they left, his confidence faded. It was great to talk about creating an elite force but, accomplishing the challenge was another thing all together.
Chapter 12 – Push Float
Rays of strong sunlight streaked over the mountains, crossed the plains, meandered between the structures of the shanty town and, finally, illuminated the Legionaries standing on the beach.
“Today, we will evaluate,” Alerio announced. Dressed in his armor, with the Centurion helmet, campaign medals, badges of expertise, and a red cape, Alerio Sisera presented an impressive figure. “You will run. You will jump. You will do one-on-one sword drills. Then tomorrow, you will begin training.”
Groans popped up throughout the ranks of the four hundred eighty men. Alerio ignored the griping. If they hadn’t offered some sign of complaining, it meant they weren’t paying attention.
“Optios, send them on a run and gather on me,” Alerio instructed.
Once the last of the Legionaries was kicking sand, the six NCOs crowded around Alerio.
“Our focus isn’t on land warfare,” Alerio described. “Our Legionaries need to be agile and quick, not solid ground pounders. When they get back, line them up and let’s see how far they can leap in full gear.”
“Are you really planning to teach boarding techniques, in the sand?” an Optio questioned.
“Would you trust them to hold a land-based battle line?” Alerio inquired.
“Not unless I put rocks in their pouches to give them some weight,” another Optio tossed out.
“The speed of reaching the enemy swiftly is essential to this mission,” Alerio explained. “Crossing a distance safely and quickly will give us an advantage. So yes. Boarding techniques start right here on the sand.”
A wagon pulled by a pair of mules rolled along the embankment. The teamster pulled them to a stop.
“Delivery for Centurion Sisera,” the driver announced.
“Shovels and lumber,” Alerio pointed out. “I want planks with ditches between them. Let’s test and identify our ravens.”
“Raven’s, sir?” Optio Rutri Gurganus questioned.
“A group of ravens is called an Unkindness,” Alerio replied. “The first Legionary Marines to cross to an enemy ship-of-war will be rude and certainly unkind. When they get back from the run, put them to work building the artificial decks.”
As the Legionaries returned, their NCOs separated them by Centuries. Soon, six separate sets of boards bracketed ditches were built along the beach. From one ditch just two feet wide to the final gap where the leap was an impossible looking fifteen feet.
During the construction, the upper tie on Rutri Gurganus’ knee brace snapped. He tried to keep pressure off the knee when the drills began.
Flying Legionaries easily jumped th
e first few ditches. As the gaps widened, the number of men crashing into the opposite side increased. The numbers clearing the fissure diminished until less than a handful cleared the fifteen-foot gap.
Rutri to his delight noticed Nicholas DeMarco on the bank. The young man stood watching the drills.
“Master DeMarco, can you fix my brace,” Rutri asked while limping up the embankment.
“The mass of air is pushing on the shape,” Nicholas exclaimed.
“I don’t understand,” Rutri admitted.
“A slight adjustment is all you need,” Nicholas declared.
“Are you talking about the brace or the Legionaries?” Rutri Gurganus questioned.
“Yes, Optio Gurganus, both,” Nicholas said. He dropped to a knee and examined the brace. “You require a heavier strap. I have them in my shop.”
Alerio spied the NCO and the craftsman. With the drills running smoothly, he hiked out of the sand and up the slope.
“Master Nicholas, can you fix it?” Alerio inquired as he approached the men.
“The mass of air is pushing on the equipment,” Nicholas repeated.
“Don’t ask me, sir,” Rutri remarked. “He’s been talking about mass since I got here.”
“Your gaps shouldn’t be a problem for most,” Nicholas commented while standing. “Come to my shop. Gabriella will explain.”
Alerio glanced at the men running, jumping, and coming down short to crash painfully on the boards. Then he thought about seeing the young woman, and said, “We should get your knee brace mended.”
“Absolutely,” Rutri agreed.
The NCO was thinking about his brace. While, the Legion officer was thinking about a girl with clear skin, curvy hips, a perfect nose, and a sly smile that moved the earth under his feet.
***
Rutri sat on a table while Nicholas threaded a thick strip of leather through the upper part of the brace. Alerio, a little disappointed, stood by the entrance. Then the room seemed to brighten as did the Legion officer’s attitude.
Unjust Sacrifice Page 7
