Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1

by J. Clifton Slater

  The Tesserarius he’d spoken with when he arrived strolled up. After watching as the farm lad scrubbed briskly at rust spots on the gladius, the NCO glanced at the rest of the Recruit’s equipment. Beside the farm boy, a well-used set of armor, covered in a thick layer of goat grease, lay soaking in the fading light.

  “You know, they’ll take that set from you at the docks,” advised the NCO. “There’s no reason to waste time on it.”

  “It’s good leather. Maybe the next man will appreciate having it in better condition,” Alerio said as he scooped up a handful of sand and drew the blade through the abrasive material. The steel gleamed except where the notches marred the cutting edges. As he inspected the weapon he added. “The gladius is made of good metal. It’d be a shame to let it rust away.”

  “Do you know how to use that?” asked the NCO looking at the thick arms and broad chest of the farm lad. An idea was forming and he wondered if the Recruit could be useful.

  “I’ve trained with a gladius,” admitted Alerio.

  “There’s a camp competition tomorrow,” Corporal Gratian said. “Winner gets five Republic silvers and a share of the gambling wages placed against him.”

  The Tesserarius wasn’t looking for a champion. He already had a favorite in the competition. But betting on the early rounds was chancy. If the big farm boy could win the first two elimination rounds, the NCO could make a nice profit before the better fighters entered the final matches.

  Alerio reached out and poked the armor’s chest piece. It compressed under his fingers and reformed swiftly when he released the leather. Then, he studied the gladius. He knew from his father a blade with notches was inefficient. In combat, it would catch on another blade at odd and unpredictable angles.

  “The leather and plates are as good as I can get them,” Alerio said. “But the blade needs grinding and I haven’t the coin to afford a metalworker’s fee.”

  Corporal Gratian was taken by surprise. Not only was the Recruit big enough to last several rounds, he seemed to know his equipment. After thinking for a moment, he made a decision.

  “I’ll front you the cost of grinding,” the NCO explained. There was a blacksmith who owed him a favor so there was no cost. He didn’t tell the farm lad. Instead, he added, “But I want twenty-five percent of your winnings.”

  Alerio stood up and gripped the hilt with his right hand. After a few slices with the blade, he spun the gladius into the air and over his head. He skillfully caught the spinning hilt with his left hand. After checking the balance by demonstrating sword drills with both hands, he lowered the weapon.

  “I’ll take you up on the offer Tesserarius Gratian,” he announced. “Where’s the metalworker?

  Chapter 17 - The Corral

  The Legion Post was a transfer station and didn’t have a proper arena. They had cleaned out a corral, spread a layer of sand, and stacked boxes and barrels around it for seating. Legionaries from nearby Posts, Stations, and units assigned to the Capital were flocking in for the entertainment. The camp’s normal compliment was more than quadrupled for the competition.

  Vendors set up tents and soon the air was filled with the aroma of roasting meats and baking bread. Voices bragging about the quality of their wines and ales competed with the noise of the crowd for attention.

  Alerio wandered through the throng looking at the elements of the festival. He’d never seen this much activity in one place before. As much as he hated to admit it, he was intimidated and distracted by the activity.

  In order to separate himself from the mayhem, Alerio sought out the Marshal of the competition.

  “Recruit Sisera. Is this where I sign up for the tournament?” he asked a Sergeant.

  The NCO was sitting at a table with pieces of parchment spread out in front of him. He studied the young man and after taking in the well-used but supple armor and the physique of the lad, he selected a page from the top of a short pile. “What’s your record?” asked the Marshal gruffly.

  “Record, Optio?” Alerio inquired.

  “Your number of wins or second place finishes in recent competitions,” the NCO explained in frustration. “I need to place you in a bracket. We don’t want top competitors wasting time on rookies. It’s not fair and the gamblers will have a fit if I put an experienced fighter against a nobody. So, record?”

  Alerio was at a loss. He’d seen a few sword competitions when he and his father had visited the collection town. There had only been a few competitors. He had no idea what a bracket was or where he should be placed in it.

  Corporal Gratian arrived and saved him.

  “Optio, Recruit Sisera is in transit to the Eastern Legion,” he explained. “He has no prior experience in competition. Put him in the first round.”

  “His gear looks well used. Plus, it’s in superb shape,” the Optio voiced, his meaning clear. “You better have not brought in a ringer, Gratian.”

  “He just arrived yesterday from the western region,” the Tesserarius explained. “The gear’s old and on loan from our quartermaster. He’s definitely a first rounder.”

  The Marshal of the competition moved his hand from the short stack to a taller stack of parchment.

  “What’s your name again?” he asked as he picked up a quill.

  Chapter 18 - The Tournament

  Recruit Sisera watched the first three fights. All the competitors used basic Legion fighting moves. The difference between the winners and losers were simply strength and endurance. When his name was called, he fitted the helmet on his head and drew his gladius.

  The man was short and thick through the shoulders. Although he delivered powerful strikes, he lacked foot work. Alerio shuffled in and out and from side to side. The powerful strikes soon became weak taps as the man wasted his energy in the first few flurries. Alerio parried the man’s blade and drove the point of his gladius into the man’s midsection. The armor prevented physical damage but didn’t stop the embarrassment of him being pushed down on his butt.

  The Marshal stepped in and declared Recruit Sisera the winner. Some of the crowd groaned while others cheered halfheartedly.

  At the entrance to the corral, Alerio was met by Corporal Gratian. To his surprise and delight, the NCO handed him a roasted goose leg and a pouch of coins.

  “Thought you’d like the money and you looked hungry,” came the explanation.

  “Who’s next?” asked Alerio as he ripped off a section of the bird with his teeth.

  “There are seven more matches in the first round,” the Tesserarius explained. “The Marshal will select the matches for the second-round from the winners.”

  “Where are the competitors for the top brackets,” Alerio inquired.

  “They won’t fight for another three rounds,” the NCO replied. “They’re over behind the supply tent.”

  “I’m going to take a look at them,” declared Alerio.

  He strolled away as the next fight started. Behind him, he recognized the rhythm of basic sword strikes. In his mind, he matched the clash of blades with the moves required to deliver them. It was all basic.

  On the far side of the supply tent, an expanse had been roped off. In the area, camps had been set up for the top swordsmen. Alerio walked to the rope and glanced from camp to camp. At one, two men were sparring. One left-handed battled against a right hander.

  They didn’t restrict their moves to basic sword strikes. They leaped and danced while fainting and parring in fluid motions. Their blades blurred and flashed so rapidly, Alerio couldn’t follow the path until the blade tip stopped on an opponent’s chest.

  He walked back towards the makeshift arena knowing his short career as a competitor was doomed to end. Though, a positive thought crept into the negative idea. He turned it over in his mind.

  His name was called and he faced off against a thin, quick man. While his footwork made Alerio’s seem as if he were dragging his feet in the sand, the man didn’t have enough strength to power through Alerio’s blocks. On the th
ird pass, Alerio hooked the man’s blade and sent it flying across the corral.

  The Marshal rushed out and declared Recruit Sisera the winner. Around them, the boos had more venom while the cheers grew in intensity.

  As he marched from the corral, Alerio took the purse and the meat pie from a grinning Corporal Gratian.

  “Make it through one more round, and you’ll walk away with a tidy profit,” the NCO informed him.

  “Suppose I make it to the fourth round?” Alerio asked. “And win?”

  “What makes you think you can win against an experienced swordsman,” the NCO asked puzzled by the farm lad’s confidence.

  “That depends on the Marshal’s selection,” Alerio explained. “If he matches me against the left-handed swordsman, I think I can win.”

  “You want to fight Daedalus?” the Tesserarius asked in horror. “He’s with the City Guard and, on occasion, he fights in competitions. Nobody wants to fight Daedalus.”

  “I do. If the Marshal sets it up,” Alerio said.

  He and Corporal Gratian wandered around looking at the items for sale while munching on baked goods. Finally, the NCO stopped and faced Alerio.

  “What makes you think you can beat Daedalus?” he asked looking to see if the teen was drunk or had a head injury.

  “He’s left-handed but practices against right-handed sparring partners,” Alerio said. “What he’s doing is reinforcing his advantage. Take that away, and he’s handicapped.”

  “And you can counter this, ah, his advantage?” inquired the NCO.

  “I believe I can,” Alerio confirmed. “If the Marshal gives me the opportunity.”

  “No one wants to fight him anyway. I can’t imagine the Marshal getting merda from the gamblers for setting up the match,” the Tesserarius said softly as if he were thinking out loud. He stared at the farm lad for a few intense seconds before speaking, “I’ll set it up. You win the next round and you’ll have your match.”

  Chapter 19 - The Arena

  Round three was easier than Alerio anticipated. His opponent possessed good skills with the gladius and adequate footwork. But he’d fought two long battles and he was exhausted. With no stamina, it wasn’t long before Alerio trapped the man’s blade. Once stationary, Alerio drove a knee into his chest. A backhand strike with the flat of his blade sent the man to the sand.

  The Marshal strolled out with his arms extended playing to the crowd. A hush fell over the spectators as the Optio turned from one fighter to the other.

  When a murmur of impatience ran through the audience, the Marshal shouted, “The winner of round three, Recruit Sisera!”

  This time the cheers drowned out the boos. Recruit Sisera had picked up a following. There were five winners who’d survived the first three rounds. These five amateurs would face off against five ranked fighters in round-four.

  To encourage betting, the competitors for the round four battles were paraded into the corral. Corporal Daedalus of the City Guard led the procession of ranked fighters and the Marshal placed Recruit Sisera at the head of the amateurs. No cheering greeted the procession; the spectators sat in weighted silence.

  Starting at the rear, the Marshal pulled the last man from each line. He guided them to the center of the arena and announced the contestants. The crowd cheered. As he continued to make his way up the line, pulling out men and calling out the match ups, the cheering grew louder.

  When the Marshal stood between the last two fighters, the audience knew the final matchup of round four.

  “Tesserarius Daedalus, of the City Guard, five wins and ten second places, plus six appearances in the city arena.” the Sergeant shouted over the screaming crowd. “versus Recruit Sisera, of the Eastern Legion, no record.”

  Most of the time round-four was a formality. The amateurs would lose rapidly and the ranked fighters would move on to face people more in their class. Even the gamblers knew the odds so, betting was usually light.

  Chapter 20 - The Betting

  Corporal Gratian wandered through the crowd trying to get a read on where the money flowed. People discussed the matches, mostly discounting the amateurs, yet, there were a few who seemed pro Recruit Sisera.

  He had coins from the first three rounds and was confident the Recruit would lose in round four. Yet, the more he heard and the more he thought about the lad’s confidence, the less sure he was about betting on Daedalus.

  The gamblers were sitting quietly having taken all the bets before the start of round-four. Despite the attractive odds, few had placed coins on any of the amateurs. Recruit Sisera was different and a few people had bet on him. But the bookies ignored the bets figuring his backers were simply caught up in the hype of three lucky wins.

  Tesserarius Gratian strolled casually up to the bookies.

  “This hurts,” he admitted. “but I’ve got to place a few coins on my guy. Support the home team, you know.”

  The six bookies understood a Legion Corporal tossing away coin to show backing for one of his men. His bet was more for morale than a chance to win. Five turned away while the sixth bookie held out his hand for the few coins he expected.

  Tesserarius Gratian swallowed hard, creased his brow and, hesitantly, pulled a full purse from his belt. The bookie’s eyes shot up when the heavy pouch landed in his hand.

  “Recruit Sisera for the win against Daedalus,” Gratian whispered so people in the passing crowd wouldn’t hear.

  A piece of parchment with the odds and the amount of the bet was passed to the Corporal. He walked away feeling like a fool for throwing away his money.

  Chapter 21 - The Conspiracy

  There had been little blood spilled during the first three rounds of fighting. When round four started, the ranked fighters needed to put on a show so they intentionally wounded the amateurs. The crowd loved it and the cheering reached a high pitch as each amateur fell to the more experienced swordsmen.

  After each bout, Medics escorted or carried the injured from the corral. Then, Legionaries rushed out to throw sand over the red spots and rake the arena smooth.

  “They’re being especially brutal,” Tesserarius Gratian explained. “Usually, the ranked fighters are satisfied with a display of swordsmanship. But this, this is butchery.”

  “What’s different?” Alerio asked.

  “I don’t know,” the Corporal admitted. “Let me go ask around.”

  He left Sisera at the corral and disappeared into the crowd.

  Gratian avoided the usual gambling circles and moved to the edges of the spectators. He spoke with a few of his Legionaries asking them to mingle to see why the fighters were drawing blood in every match. His men spread out and he waited at a central location for their reports.

  A short while later, two of his men returned and both looked troubled.

  “There’s a bounty on Sisera,” one reported.

  “Five Republic golds, dead or alive,” the other added. “The fighters are drawing blood so when Sisera falls, it’ll look like an accident during a rough tournament.”

  Tesserarius Gratian was troubled for two reasons. A Legionary was about to be executed legally. As a Corporal, he couldn’t abide losing a man. The other reason was the large bet he’d placed on a targeted fighter. Both thoughts turned his stomach, as neither outcome was satisfactory.

  He raced back to the makeshift arena and approached the Recruit.

  “Sisera. Don’t fight him,” the NCO ordered. “There’s a bounty on you and Daedalus plans on collecting it.”

  “Who did you bet on?” Alerio asked. The teen was running a grinding stone down the blade of his gladius.

  “As much as I hate to admit it, I bet on you,” Gratian informed him. “It’s only coin and not worth your life. Forfeit and we’ll get you out of here.”

  The big farm lad smiled and shook his head, “Can’t do that to you, Tesserarius. I’m going to fight him.”

  Just then the crowd erupted in cheers as an amateur gushed blood and fell to the sand. In the de
afening roar, Gratian motioned sharply for them to leave the arena. Sisera shook his head no and continued sharpening the blade.

  Chapter 22 - The Corral Fight

  Corporal Daedalus of the City Guard had thin legs, long arms, and the beginnings of a gut. With his left hand, he spun the gladius putting on a show for the audience. A few knee bends while the blade whirled brought applause and a few cheers. There was no doubt he was an expert swordsman and a crowd favorite. During the exhibition, he never looked at his opponent.

  He didn’t have to as he’d received reports on the lad’s fighting style. Better than average foot work, strong defense, but basic striking skills. And he was decidedly right-handed. Overall, Sisera shouldn’t have a chance against a left-handed attack.

  Daedalus had resisted when the gang member approached him. Still, he was City Guard and had to live with all elements of the Capital’s population. Not only would he receive the five Republic golds, the gang would owe him a favor. In a crowded city having friends in the underworld would prove useful. So, when the other fighters began to bleed the amateurs as cover, he agreed to kill the lad.

  Alerio watched the swordsman preen for the crowd. His response was a few swings of his gladius and a shrug of his shoulders.

  The Marshal walked to the center of the corral waving his arms to silence the spectators.

  “This is the final match of round four,” he announced. “Tesserarius Daedalus and Recruit Sisera will fight to see who moves on to round five. Gentlemen, are you ready?”

  Daedalus raised his gladius and bounced the hilt off his chest. Sisera copied the salute and the Marshal backed away while motioning for the fighters to begin.

  Alerio assumed a guard stance as Daedalus raised his blade and moved to the lad’s left. The movement was designed to entice a right-handed fighter into taking a swing at the blade.