Fortune Reigns

by J. Clifton Slater

  “They choose to enter the gates of Hades, courtesy of Seventh Squad, Sixty Century, third maniple,” the Optio declared. “And their true error was picking your position. When they get to the underworld, they’ll be asking who was the gatekeeper? Was it the God of War himself? No, Pluto will reply as he sorts them. The butcher on the Legion line was Private Eolus!”

  The Sergeant felt the tightening of the Private’s muscles and the straightening of his back as confidence flooded the inexperienced Legionary.

  “When I give the word, guide your section back. And Private Eolus,” the Optio directed. “Keep their shields tight and in line.”

  From the fear that racked the young Legionary, a new sense of confidence and duty took over. He was acting Pivot and as the barbed ends of the centipede closed, he worried more about his squad’s performance than the iron tips.

  Behind him, Sixth Century, third maniple’s Centurion shifted his attention between the reserve Centuries running towards him and the phalanx approaching his line. When both were close, he dropped his arms.

  “Open the gate!” the Centurion ordered.

  “Eolus. Pivot,” commanded the Sergeant.

  “Pivoting. Step back,” Eolus ordered as he paced off the line. Glancing to his right, he corrected the half squad moving with him. “Keep it tight. Straighten those shields. Step back. Step back.”

  As if a set of doors were opened inward, the Legion lines parted leaving a hole for the phalanx. Except the hole led to a corridor of Legionaries. While the three maniples parted, a section of first maniple rushed forward bowing out the Legion line and filling in the gap. They would hold the line against the Syracusan soldiers until the phalanx passed completely through.

  “Draw,” ordered the Sergeant and, Eolus and his squad pulled their gladii.

  As the shields of the phalanx passed by and the spears jabbed out and pulled back, the Legionaries forming the corridor parried the iron tips with their shields and hacked at the shafts with their blades.

  Eolus slammed a spear tip to the side while he hacked at another. Then a third iron tip traveled forward. With his shield out of place and his gladius off to the side, the spear was traveling straight for the young Legionary’s face. Eolus didn’t think about ducking or dodging. Instead, he shifted his shield to protect the Legionary beside him from another Hoplite spear. Figuring it was his duty and his fate, he waited for death.

  A big arm bumped his head and a gladius whirled with terrifying speed across his vision. The spear shaft was hacked almost in half. The shaft angled downward and the tip dug into the dirt.

  “What’s your name?” demanded a voice he didn’t recognize.

  “Eolus,” he answered as he fended off another spear and hacked at the shaft.

  Then the area in front of him cleared and he could see a line of bloody Legionaries standing on the other side of the corridor. Like him, they were breathing hard, bent over trying to catch their breath. Glancing at each side, he expected to see his squad mates. But something was wrong, he didn’t recognize any of the Legionaries from the third maniple.

  “Eolus? Which one of you is Eolus?” demanded a huge Sergeant.

  “Here, Optio,” he responded raising his gladius.

  “Is that the man?” the NCO inquired of two Legionaries flanking him.

  “That’s him,” one assured the Sergeant.

  “What’s your unit, Private Eolus?” the Optio asked.

  Before Eolus could respond, his Sergeant marched up.

  “He is Seventh Squad, Sixth Century, third maniple,” Eolus’s NCO answered. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “Optio. Two more engagements and I’m voting him into second maniple,” the Sergeant announced. “And if he stays true, I’ll draft him into my Century. The man is a warrior.”

  “I agree, Eolus is my gatekeeper to Hades,” responded his Sergeant.

  When the Legionaries went to rejoin their unit, Private Eolus gazed at his Sergeant in confusion.

  “What happened?” he inquired.

  “Most of third maniple was overwhelmed with the task of attacking the sides of the phalanx. Not really their fault being inexperienced. It was an ugly job,” related the Sergeant. “As they fell back, the second and first stepped up to fight the spears. Except for one Legionary. He stayed on his line and fought until the monster passed. During the fight, you saved two Legionaries from first maniple. Imagine the embarrassment of two veterans owing their lives to a third maniple Legionary.”

  “I did that?” questioned Eolus. He didn’t remember anything except the never-ending thrusts of spears. “Who was the Sergeant?”

  “Third Century, first maniple’s Optio,” replied his Sergeant. “Seems you have a patron. Now, hero, let’s get back in this fight.”

  Twelve paces away, soldiers and Legionaries clashed shield to shield. Bloody javelins and gladii created sparks as they raked against swords and spears. Above the din of battle, wounded and dying men cried out. Their pleas just slightly softer than the war cries of their brothers at arms. Private Eolus sheathed his gladius, snatched up a javelin and ran to the battle line. There, he shoved his way into the rank of third maniple and retook his place between his squad mates.

  ***

  The Centurion of Headquarters Century was screaming in anger and rage.

  “Fold your line back,” he ordered for the third time. His Sergeant and Corporal ran around the collapsing circle moving Legionaries to critical areas.

  Two phalanxes had broken formations and made a run for the Legion’s command staff. Two groups of one hundred twenty-eight Hoplites surged towards the General coming at his guards from two sides. The move by the Hoplites took them by surprise. Only the First HQ Century stood between their commander and Hiero’s Greeks. It was an attempt to cut the head off the Legion. As the reserve Centuries were still sprinting to cover the distance and had yet to form squad ranks, the First Centurion made a decision.

  “Optio. Pull four squads off the perimeter,” he ordered. “Turtle the General.”

  General Caudex sat pivoting his head. All around him, Legionaries and Hoplites hacked and chopped at each other. Further away, segments of the battle line appeared through the dust. Men pushed and hacked, and javelins and spear tips came over their shoulders stabbing down into both ranks. Then the dust rose again to veil the battle.

  “General. My apologies,” his First Optio said. Then the veteran NCO reached up and yanked Caudex from the horse’s back.

  From a height where he could scan the battlefield, the General’s view was reduced to hobnailed boots, legs, and the bottoms of armor skirts. Their shields clamped together and as if in a tent, the light became muted. Sitting in the dirt, General Caudex shook his head trying to make sense of the sudden change.

  Colonel Nicephrus had ridden to the far right to get an idea of the fighting in that sector. When he looked back at the center, he saw the General’s horse standing riderless. Then, he noted Tribune Eutropius pounding on a mound of shields. Finally, he took in the Hoplites pushing into the First Century’s protective circle.

  “Centurion. Give me half of your cavalry,” he shouted to a mounted officer.

  While the infantry line was locked in a deadly dance, on the ends, the mounted Legionaries fended off Syracusan cavalrymen and skirmishers. Without waiting for reinforcements, Nicephrus kicked his horse into motion. His Tribunes, caught by surprise, followed a moment later.

  The Colonel reined his horse to the side and pulled back. As the horse reared up, Nicephrus swung his gladius at the edge of the massed Hoplites. A spear grazed his thigh but he remained mounted, fighting from horseback. The Tribunes came in and attempted to defend their Colonel. Seeing a new threat and the gold on Nicephrus’ breastplate, the Greeks sent men to kill the Legion battle commander. The shift took a little pressure off the embattled First Century.

  Then, eight squads of heavy infantry marched into one side of the Greeks and that side went from attacking the General’s formation
to fighting for their lives. And still, Nicephrus leaned in and chopped ignoring the blood running down his leg.

  Seventy mounted men riding in a single file could be compared to a saw blade. Each rider, acting as a sharp tooth, rode by the Hoplites. By the time the Legion cavalrymen wheeled for a second pass, fifty Hoplites laid on the ground dead or wounded. The Greeks realized their numbers were diminishing and their officers shouted for a retreat.

  The seventy Hoplites, still mobile, ran for the end of the Legion line. Colonel Palaemon Nicephrus sat straight, raised his blade and pointed it at the running Greeks.

  “Cut their threads and send them to Hades,” he ordered the cavalrymen. “Non capimus!”

  The Colonel nudged his horse around wounded Legionaries to reach the mound of shields.

  “Uncover,” he ordered and, as the shields unlocked, a sputtering Appease Caudex rose up and looked around as if in a daze.

  “Mount your horse, sir,” directed Nicephrus.

  “Palaemon. Someone dragged me off my horse,” shouted the General. “I want him found and whipped.”

  “Maybe later, sir. Right now, I need you on your horse,” Nicephrus insisted. Then to a Legionary, he directed. “Select a Greek sword. No, not that one. Dig the one out of the body. Yes, that one. Give it to the General.”

  Without looking, Caudex took the sword then almost dropped it when he noticed it was coated in wet blood.

  “Nicephrus. This is filthy,” scolded the General.

  “Raise it above your head, sir,” ordered the Colonel. “Tribunes to me.”

  General Caudex sat on his horse with blood flowing down the sword and onto his hand and arm.

  “Really, Nicephrus. It’s disgusting and about to ruin my tunic,” Caudex warned.

  Ignoring the plight of the General, Nicephrus motioned the Tribunes in close.

  “I want this repeated to every Centurion personally. Word-for-word,” he directed. “King Hiero sent assassins to kill our wounded. General Caudex seeing the vile act, rallied a small force and led them against the assassins to protect the injured Legionaries. With great personal risk, General Caudex fought off King Hiero’s killers until reinforcements arrived. The General single-handedly slew ten Greeks today. He wants to know how many Syracusans have you have killed today?”

  After having the Tribunes repeat the story, he sent them to tell the line officers. There was little doubt the tale would spread rapidly throughout the Legion.

  “General. You are holding that sword as a display of your power,” Nicephrus explained. “Our men saw you off your horse. Fear is a strong force and if the Legionaries thought their General was dead, they would lose heart.”

  “But someone pulled me off my horse,” complained Caudex. “I want that man punished. Who dared?”

  Maris Eutropius, who had unsteadily climbed onto his horse’s back, lifted an arm and pointed at the Headquarters’ Sergeant.

  “He pulled the General off his horse,” accused the Senior Tribune with a sneer in his voice.

  “First Optio. Did you see the General off his horse?” Nicephrus demanded.

  “Yes, sir. I saw the General off his mount,” replied the First Sergeant of Headquarters Century.

  “And what was the General doing off his horse?” he inquired.

  “Sir, the General was leading us to intercept Syracusan assassins,” the Sergeant stated loudly. “It was an unselfish act of bravery. And, I might add Colonel, I am proud to serve under a man with that quality.”

  “General. With your permission, I would like to send a letter to the Capital boasting of your heroism,” ventured Nicephrus.

  “Well Colonel, if you insist,” Caudex replied.

  “But Appease, that Legionary…,” stated Eutropius but the General cut him off.

  “Of course, you may add your name to the letter, Senior Tribune,” Caudex explained. Then, he noticed the bleeding leg. “Medic. The Colonel requires a Medic.”

  Two Medics and a Doctor jumped at the announcement. As the Colonel’s leg was bandaged, there was a roar from the infantry line. Looking around, the commanders watched as the first maniple shoved the second aside and jerked the third off the battle line.

  “What just happened, Colonel?” asked Caudex.

  “Our veterans have accepted your challenge to kill at least ten Syracusans,” Nicephrus exclaimed. “Seems they want to win the admiration of a General who protects wounded Legionaries.”

  ***

  The Syracusan infantry gave ground to the first maniple but, a line only five hundred and sixty shields wide was no match for six thousand soldiers. The mass alone of the Syracuse army soon overcame the savagery and, the Legion stalled.

  “Signalman, flag the reserve cavalrymen,” ordered Nicephrus as he rode to the left of the battle line. “Let’s show King Hiero our numbers.”

  The Legionary, running beside the Colonel, jerked his flags in a preset series and a signalman at the center repeated the sequence. When the signal was seen from the gates of Messina, it brought relief to one man.

  Senior Centurion Valerian mumbled, “It’s about time.”

  Anger and frustration at helplessly watching the Hoplites attack his General almost caused him to ride back to the battlefield. But, duty and years of military experience held him at his post. When he saw the flags, he stretched his arms out to his sides and pointed at the Legionaries staged on either side of the gates.

  “Mount up,” he shouted. His arms extended, pointing to the left and right. As the two hundred and forty Legion cavalrymen jumped on their horses, he added. “Victory goes to the brave. Standby.”

  “Standing by, First Centurion,” the horsemen replied.

  Slapping his hands together in front of his chest, he indicated the gates and bellowed, “Forward!”

  ***

  The thirty Centurions from the reserve Centuries supervised the clean-up of the Hoplites. Unfortunately, the attack on their General changed the original plan. Instead of taking prisoners, who could be sold as slaves, the Legionaries took revenge on the wounded Greeks. While they watched the gladii stab and their Legionaries wander around in groups, the line officers also kept eyes on the gates. When the cavalry galloped through, they began organizing their infantrymen.

  Fortunately, the dust and haphazard distribution of the reserve Centuries prevented the Syracusans from getting an accurate count of the Legionaries in the back. They might recognize that a large number of Legionaries were milling around behind the fighting but none of King Hiero’s commanders knew or understood.

  “Rotate the first off the line,” Nicephrus instructed his signalman as he returned to the center near General Caudex. “Forward the second maniple.”

  Flags waved and shouts were passed through the Legion. On the shield wall, the Syracusan soldiers at the front got a face full of Legion shields followed by a pause in hostilities. Then, the veterans stepped back and were replaced by the unbloodied second maniple. With fresh Legionaries coming on the battle line, the fighting intensified.

  Strengthened by the extra mounted units, the Legion cavalry pushed forward. With shouts of glory, the Syracusan horsemen rushed to engage them. They clashed three horse lengths in front of the battle line. Thinking to use the cavalry fray to get around the ends of the Legion, King Hiero’s commanders sent their skirmishers and free units into the dusty gap between the horses and the ends of the Legion line.

  Bellowing their war cries, the Syracusan soldiers charged through the haze. Expecting to end around the Legion, the lead elements were in full stride. Their charge faltered when they splattered against Legion shields and had their guts split open by gladii. The line of Legionaries had expanded by four hundred shields. Then the now thirteen hundred and sixty men of the third maniple stepped behind the second and added their javelins to the fighting.

  Senior Centurion Valerian galloped towards the battle, reining in only a spear’s throw from the fighting. Sitting his horse and looking along the Legion lines, he resem
bled Aenaeus, one of the judges of Hades. In fact, the Senior Centurion was sterner than the trio of judges from the underworld. Runners and signalmen fell in around him.

  “Tell that Centurion if he can’t keep his shields straight, I will come down there and run a javelin up his cūlus to demonstrate straight,” he ordered a runner. To another, he instructed. “Tell that Centurion if he wants to be a bowman, join an archery unit. I do not want bowed lines in my infantry.”

  Weak points, sagging or arching sections in the Legion line soon disappeared and the Legionaries fought as if they were guided by a Groma surveying instrument. It wasn’t. The alignment came from the sharp eyes of the Senior Centurion. Once happy with his Legionaries, Valerian twisted around and saluted his Colonel.

  “Ten advances,” ordered Colonel Nicephrus after receiving the sign that the Legion was ordered and ready. “Let’s see what the Syracusans are made of.”

  Flags and shouts, messages sent and received, and along the line Centurions, Sergeants and Corporal counted down. By the count of four, every Legionary was either saying the numbers or, in the case of the second maniple, they thought the numbers saving their breath as they blocked and stabbed.

  “Three, two and Advance, advance, advance…!”

  The second maniple’s thirteen hundred plus shields powered forward, slamming into the soldiers. Then the shields drew back and the blades of thirteen hundred gladii struck like snakes. The line stepped forward into the gap created by the dead or wounded Syracusan soldiers. They repeated the synchronized assault and stepped forward again. The third maniple kept pace while stabbing with their javelins and stomping on soldiers, living or dead, who littered the ground.

  ***

  The Syracusan soldiers, stacked sixth from the front of the fighting, waited for their opportunity. Pressure from the back and from the front trapped them, preventing forward or rear movement. With nothing to do, they spoke with their rank mates, stopping occasionally to shout encouragement before returning to the conversation. Some of them talked with bravado and others whispered their fears. Most couldn’t see the Legion shields. On the fifth Advance, the rank in front was thrown back or vanished below the big red shields. Then, the Syracusan sixth rank was hammered and stabbed to the ground before hobnailed boots stomped them into the dirt.