Rome's Tribune (Clay Warrior Stories Book 14)

by J. Clifton Slater

  Instead of a swift assault, the Iberians were hampered by the narrowing of the river valley. And, they had gotten into a fight with light infantrymen who refused to give up. Rather than retreat, the accursed men of the Republic held their ground even as his infantry cut them to pieces.

  In a way, General Hamilcar was now grateful for the stubbornness of the skirmishers. Somehow, the Legion had scaled the cliff and brought infantrymen to attack his archers and slingers.

  “Pull the Iberians out of the valley,” Hamilcar instructed one of his Captains. “Send them up to clear the Republic forces from the top of the cliff.”

  ***

  The mercenaries above the trapped Legion consisted of light infantry and specialists. On open ground, they had no chance against the heavy infantry of the Legion.

  Wagons, filled with spears, sling rocks, and arrows were shoved in the way. To maintain the formation, Legionaries simply climbed up and over the obstacles. Dropping to the ground on the far side, they slew the Empire defenders before rushing to retake their place in the moving assault line. Even using those shortcuts, the rain of death on the Legion below the cliff continued.

  “Not fast enough,” Marcus advised the Centurion. “We need to clear the skies and let the Legion move.”

  “The only way to increase our pace is to break formation,” Iacōbus told the staff officer.

  “Send half of our detachment in a sweep around the wagons and have them come in from the far side,” Marcus instructed. “We’ll use a pincer movement and double our efficiency.”

  “I’ll take the far side,” Centurion Philetus offered.

  Shortly after the staff meeting, one hundred and fifty Legionaries separated from the assault line. In a fast-moving file, they jogged away from the cliff’s edge and took a parallel course to the opposite end of the geographical feature.

  The Empire forces had attempted to run or so it seemed. But once they had gathered a force of two hundred and fifty and outnumbered the Legionaries, they counter attacked.

  Their light infantry shouldn’t have been effective. However, the skirmishers received help from arrows coming in on flat trajectories, rocks streaking over the top edge of the shields, and spears dropping from the sky. In the mismatch of close quarter’s fighting, the Empire specialists aided in slowing the advance of Marcus and his element.

  Optio Feri danced around Marcus Flamma using the shield to protect the Tribune.

  “This isn’t working,” Marcus complained.

  “Sir, you are whittling them down from two directions,” Feri responded. “Beside a melee assault, there’s not much you can do.”

  “Explain melee and why would that be preferable to a solid formation?” Marcus demanded.

  “It is like-against-like, sir,” the Optio said trying to sort his thoughts while leaping in front of the Tribune to block an arrow. “We present a formation, and they collect enough bodies to clog our route and slow us down.”

  Marcus squatted, grabbed Feri’s armored skirt, and pulled the NCO down to his level. With both men stacked behind the infantry shield they were somewhat protected.

  “Defend your reasoning,” Marcus requested.

  A horrified look appeared on Feri’s face and under the helmet, the Optio’s face blushed.

  “Tribune. Sir, no offense was intended,” Feri pleaded. “I would never question your thinking.”

  It took a heartbeat before the staff officer realized an NCO might not understand the language of a philosophic discussion. To the Sergeant, defending yourself, meant to voice a defense against an accusation.

  “Tell me your reasons for suggesting a melee?” Marcus inquired slowly to take any edge off his voice.

  “Well, sir, we are Legionaries and one on one, our guys can smash any three of theirs,” Feri bragged. “Pair us up and we can run through them like merda through a sick goat.”

  “All of my training tells me to hold the formation,” Marcus admitted. “But your experience has solid logic behind it.”

  “I don’t know about logic, sir. But we train two-on-two drills several times a week,” Feri told him.

  “Two-on-two drills,” Marcus repeated as he stood. “Tribune Sisera would appreciate that.”

  “It is one of Tribune Sisera’s favorite exercises,” the Optio informed Marcus.

  “Really. Who does he team up with?” Marcus asked.

  “No one, sir,” Feri stated. “It’s usually him against pairs of us.”

  “Centurion Iacōbus,” Marcus shouted across the rear of the assault line. “We are employing a new tactic.”

  “Yes, sir,” the combat officer responded. “I was about to suggest a change.”

  “Why is that Centurion?” Marcus asked.

  Iacōbus lifted his gladius and pointed at the distant Legion element. Where they had been facing Marcus and closing the distance, Centurion Philetus had halted his froward progress and circled his detachment.

  On one side, Empire light infantry and archers assaulted the defensive circle and on the other, Iberian heavy infantry hammered at the Legion shields.

  “Should we form a wedge, sir?” the Centurion inquired. By his tone, it was obvious the combat officer expected agreement from the staff officer. “We can easily fight our way over and rescue Philetus and his Legionaries.”

  Tribune Marcus Flamma doubled over so quickly Feri stepped in front of him. Covering them both with the shield, he searched the Tribune for an arrow shaft or a rock bruise.

  But it wasn’t exterior wounds hurting Marcus. The churning bile in his gut resulted from indecision. The Legion below needed him on the clifftop removing archers, spearmen, and slingers. Now, half his volunteers were falling to Qart Hadasht forces and it was within his power to save them. At least temporarily, because the land at the top of the cliff for his Legionaries was a one-way gateway to Hades.

  Marcus Flamma heaved before the content of his stomach, plus more fluid, gushed from his mouth. Spewing and splashing onto the ground went the bile and his doubt. Lifting his head, he stood erect.

  “Centurion Iacōbus. Separate the men into pairs,” Marcus got out before he had to spit another mouthful of puke onto the rocks and dirt. “We will clear the clifftop of threats before engaging the Iberians.”

  “As you wish, sir,” Iacōbus said hiding his disappointment. “Squads, by twos, forward.”

  Without massed targets, the bowmen attempted to shoot pairs of infantrymen. But the big shields caught most and when the archers hesitated, they were trampled and stomped to death as roving pairs of Legionaries began clearing the clifftop.

  In the distance, the fighting continued. Centurion Philetus’ defensive circle contracted as Legionaries died and fell out of the formation. It would continue like that because reinforcements were not coming. The sacrifice of the few to save the many lay at the heart of the decision to abandoned them.

  Although condemned, they were not forgotten. The death of each of the one hundred and fifty Legionaries weighed heavily on Marcus Flamma’s heart. And the Tribune knew, shortly, he would meet them all on the Elysium Fields.

  Chapter 8 - Violent Extraction

  Alerio studied the rain of pain coming from the clifftop. A first nothing changed. Then an archer sailed over and splashed, still screaming, into the river. Following the dramatic announcement that Marcus Flamma had reached the top, the flights of arrows and rocks slowed and eventually stopped in the nearest sector.

  “Good enough for me,” Alerio announced. “Let’s see about unplugging the cork and freeing the Legion.”

  Empire mercenaries were banging and stabbing along the shield wall of Second Maniple. While the soldiers attacked at will, the Legionaries, under orders to hold, remained stationary.

  “Blatium, when we engage, feel free to advance on those fatherless urchins,” Alerio advised the Maniple’s senior combat officer.

  “Tribune Sisera, I would like to protest the insult to the worlds urchins, but I won’t,” the Centurion replied. “An
d you can be sure, once you make contact, we will be there.”

  “I’m counting on it,” Alerio told him.

  Then Alerio fast walked along the eighty Legionaries of his attack Century. As he passed, each man received a punch on his shoulder armor from the Tribune. And Alerio received words of encouragement back.

  “We are with you, sir.”

  “The same, Tribune.”

  “My blade is yours.”

  When Alerio reached the Centurion on the slope, his knuckles hurt. But there was no question, the infantrymen were alert and ready to go to work.

  “Sixteenth Century, Second Maniple,” Alerio called out. “You can stay here and suck on wineskins all afternoon. Or you can come with me to glory.”

  “With you Tribune,” the men shouted back.

  There was a vibration of anticipation coursing through the Century. Alerio waited for their nerves to stretch as tight as he dared.

  “Follow me if you can,” Alerio challenged, “you herd of one-legged donkeys.”

  The insult hung in the air as Alerio spun and raced up the hill. Seeing the Tribune out pacing them, the eighty men sprinted after him.

  When given the command to ‘go’ in a footrace, some men got off rabbit quick. Others, at the start, needed to test their legs before reaching speed. With the insult on their minds and their Tribune racing away, there was no time to think. All eighty men started together and hit the top of the slope at full stride.

  Alerio needed them sprinting in mass as they rounded the mound. On the far side they looked down on two distinct battles. Forming an ‘L’ shape, one clash pitted mercenaries against the end of the Legion line while the other conflict had Empire soldiers fighting along the Second Maniple’s defensive wall. The plan required a rapid assault between the mercenary elements to begin extracting the Legion.

  If Qart Hadasht commanders noticed Alerio’s maneuver, they could counter it. Soldiers from both fights plus reserve Companies would be directed to intercept the sixteenth Century. Being caught in a three-way confrontation was a sure way to get dead.

  To prevent the interception, Alerio needed his people to arrive at the fight before the Empire officers realized they left the defensive line. And the only way to do that was speed.

  At the bottom of the slope, the gap between fighting units was an empty field stretching to the river. Alerio paused for a couple of heartbeats to be sure his Legionaries had caught up. Then he sang as he dashed down the hill.

  “Tullia Major, Tullia Major

  Leave the mug be

  Open your eyes and see

  The vino is tainted

  By jealousy.”

  Legionaries preferred two things: good singing and controlled formations. The mercenaries were wrapped around the Legion like a dirty bandage on an injured hand. To peel back the layers and free the Legion, the sixteenth needed to conform to the enemy’s shape. The grind of a straight-line attack would take too long. Thus, they charged as a mob.

  The Tribune’s raw voice cut through the sounds of men screaming and calling out for mercy or vengeance. In addition, the awful rendition motivated the Legionaries to end the fight quickly and thus stop the singing.

  “Tullia Major, Tullia Major

  Beware your spouse

  He be an unfaithful louse

  Guard your position

  from abuse.”

  Alerio kicked a pair of legs out from under a soldier. The man fell away from the cluster at the Legion’s end. With the soldier on the ground, the backs of the next two mercenaries were exposed. Alerio stabbed one, bashed the other with his shield, and parried the blade of the third.

  On either side of Tribune Sisera, the sixteenth Century slammed into the knot of Qart Hadasht warriors. They began stabbing, hammering, and peeling the layers of mercenaries off the Legion.

  “Tullia via your birth order

  Your last sip brings death

  Your last kiss becomes your last breath

  All for naked ambition

  All to drive your sister’s ascension.”

  Alerio yanked a warrior back and found himself staring at a pair of Legion shields and the sharp ends of two gladii. Struck by the hollow and desperate look in the Legionaries’ eyes, he forgot the man dangling at the end of his arm.

  “Excuse me, sir,” one of the Legionaries said as he reached out and stabbed the man in Alerio’s hand.

  From behind, Alerio heard a beautiful sound.

  “Advance,” Centurions ordered.

  “Advance. Rah,” Second Maniple replied.

  Then again, but closer, the Maniple repeated the drill.

  “Advance,” Centurions ordered.

  “Advance. Rah,” Second Maniple replied.

  Alerio and the sixteenth Century turned and folded into the Legion ranks. They fought until the end of the Maniple linked with the start of the Legion. Then as if a tube inserted into a pipe, a safe pathway opened. Legionaries began carrying wounded from the tunnel of shields, through the Second, and into the open field beyond.

  “Tribune Flamma?” a voice asked. “Marcus, where are you?”

  Senior Tribune Iterum and General Calatinus walked by Alerio. Iterum didn’t ask for Tribune Sisera so Alerio didn’t volunteer himself.

  Without the arrows and rocks from the cliff, the Legion shifted to a three-rank formation. And shortly after they began rotating fresh arms and legs into the front rank, the Qart Hadasht forces withdrew from the fight.

  ***

  Gloom rolled over the battlefield and the Legion. Physically, it was the sunset. But mentally, the cause of the melancholy resulted from the loss of so many comrades.

  In the twilight, Alerio and Centurion Blatium studied the top of the cliff. Their hearts sank when Iberian infantry appeared along the crest. As quickly as they appeared, the infantrymen marched out of view.

  “That doesn’t bode well for Tribune Flamma,” the Centurion offered.

  “Or our Legionaries,” Alerio added. “We need to get up there and see what transpired.”

  “That could mean more dead Legionaries,” Blatium cautioned, “if the Iberians are still up there.”

  Before they could say more, a Junior Tribune rode up behind them.

  “Tribune Sisera, Colonel Digessi requests your presence at the General’s tent,” the young man informed him.

  His armor was rinsed but still splattered with faded pink stains and his young face showed lines of worry. The gore would wash off, but the young nobleman would carry the memories of the battle with him for life.

  “What do you think, Blatium,” Alerio asked his senior combat officer, “am I presentable.”

  “No sir. You are a mess,” the Centurion replied.

  “Good,” Alerio announced. “Set watches and get Second Maniple fed. I’ll be back, I think, or…”

  “Or what sir,” Blatium questioned.

  “Or you will be in charge until they send my replacement from the Capital,” Alerio told him.

  With those fateful words, Alerio jogged southward towards a cluster of distant campfires. The dots of light signified Centuries located outside the marching camp. Inside or out of the stockade didn’t matter this night. No one would get much sleep as the Legion remained on alert. Because, if General Barca Hamilcar wanted to cross blades again, General Aulus Calatinus and his Legion would be ready.

  ***

  All the officers in the command tent were dirty, exhausted, and on edge.

  Colonel Digessi pulled his head out of a bucket of water. With one hand he wiped the water from his face and with the other he reached for a drying cloth.

  “Marcus Flamma took three hundred of my infantrymen to the top of the cliff,” the Battle Commander said clarifying the news. “And where were you, Tribune Sisera?”

  Before Alerio could reply, a Tribune from Third Maniple stepped forward.

  “Tribune Sisera was cutting a hole in the Qart Hadasht mercenaries,” the staff officer declared. “His actions allowed us to j
oin with the Second Maniple.”

  Because the Colonel sounded as if he was preparing to discipline Sisera, another Maniple staff officer stepped up to flank Alerio. Then struggling with injuries, two more Maniple Tribunes joined them.

  “Is this a mutiny?” Digessi inquired.

  The Senior Tribunes all raised arms as if to deliver lectures. But the Colonel waved them down. He ran his eyes over the staff officers as he finished drying his neck.

  “I asked a question,” Digessi reminded the Tribunes.

  “No, sir, this is not a mutiny,” the other Tribune from the veteran Third Maniple answered. “We fought together today. We stood with you then and we stand, united, with you now.”

  The use of the word united did not escape the Battle Commander’s attention. After a near disaster, it would be easy to assign blame, point out failures, and find fault. But Digessi needed a functioning Legion not a divided one.

  “As I was going to ask, do we know the fate of Tribune Flamma and his detachment?” Digessi questioned.

  “No sir, I was ordered to organize the northern picket positions with the Second,” Alerio told the Colonel. “With your permission, I’d like to go up to the cliff tonight.”

  “I can’t justify sending Centuries off to search in the dark,” Digessi admitted. “If the Iberians are there, it could cost me more Legionaries. We should wait for the morning and go up in force.”

  Three of the Tribunes nodded their agreement. Tribune Sisera did not.

  “Sir. Let me go out tonight and perform reconnaissance,” Alerio requested. “I think…”

  Iterum, Second Maniple’s commander, snapped out both arms and pointed them at Alerio.

  “I believe you have done enough thinking for one day,” the Senior Tribune scolded. “Because of you…”

  “Iterum, that will be enough,” a voice ordered from a side flap. Consul/General Calatinus strolled into the room and gazed around at his staff officers. “Gentlemen, today we were tested. Beat on and bruised by a foe superior in numbers only. However, we did not break. Tomorrow, I want recommendations for accommodations. Lots of accommodations. And not, I repeat, not one request for punishment. Now what were you saying Tribune Carvilius Sisera?”