Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1

by J. Clifton Slater

  In the office, a slightly built man sat behind a large desk. Scrolls and parchments were neatly stacked in front of him. Although his body was hidden under a bulky robe, he appeared slender. When the man extended his arm to indicate two chairs for his visitors, the sleeve of the robe rode up displaying a thick forearm. The slight movement of pointing caused the muscles to ripple under the taut skin.

  ‘Not the build of an ordinary merchant,’ thought Horus. ‘It would take hours of daily training to achieve those muscles.’

  “Legionaries. Welcome to our humble trading house,” the man said in the sing song accent of western Greece. “I am Bright Home or Hampus in your language. Call me whichever you favor. How may I be of service?”

  Horus pulled the Dulce Pugno scroll from a pouch and passed it across the desk.

  “What can you tell me about this?” he asked.

  Hampus weighed the scroll in his hand while he thought. Then without unrolling it, placed the scroll on the desk.

  “I am aware of the Dulce Pugno’s warning,” he admitted.

  Hampus and Horus stared at each other. The Legionary waited for more information. The merchant, with a blank look on his face, not giving any. As the standoff stretched into an uncomfortable length of time, the veins in the Optio’s neck began to bulge and his patience ran out.

  “Look, I’m not here to verbally duel with you,” Horus stated bluntly. “Before I gather a Legion and lay waste to the Golden Valley, I want answers. Give me an alternative or live with the consequences.”

  “I can assure you, we are a simple trading house,” Hampus replied defensively. “The Golden Valley is one of our clients. A very loyal client but still just a supplier. I know nothing about the intensions of the Dulce Pugno.”

  Horus, out of frustration, shoved back his chair and jumped to his feet. “If that’s the case, we’re done here,” he said taking a step towards the doorway. “I’ll take the Nocte Apibus to the valley myself and shove the four of them up a Dulce Pugno’s cūlus when I get there.”

  “Wait. You know about the Night Bees,” Hampus stated. It wasn’t a question. “Please return to your seat. I don’t know about the Sweet Fist’s plans. But possibly, I can give you some guidance as far as the Nocte Apibus are concerned.”

  Ceyx hesitated as his Sergeant sat back down. When Horus stood, the light infantryman had slipped from his chair and drifted back. His intention was to cover his Optio’s back as he moved to the door. Something about Hampus made him leery. He remained behind the Sergeant’s chair.

  Hampus shifted his eyes from the Optio to Ceyx. “Please countryman. We are simply talking,” the odd merchant said. Hampus held up his wrists while spreading his hands apart to show they were empty. “Sit and let’s discuss this issue,” he encouraged the light infantryman.

  The movement of both arms caused the sleeves to slide up the arms allowing full view of the merchant’s lower arms. Both were thickly muscled and crisscrossed with knife scars.

  Ceyx shuffled around Horus and retook his seat. He never took his eyes off of the merchant.

  “I apologize for the confusion,” Hampus stated before continuing. “I truly don’t know the intensions of the Dulce Pugno. If I were home in the Golden Valley, I would ask. But alas, I am here and cannot. What I can tell you is the Sweet Fist do not start blood feuds. Yes, they contract out assassins. That’s business. They protect the honey shipments. That’s also just business. People die. Those of the valley and those in the outlying world, that’s also business. However, when a Nocte Apis, or worse yet, four Nocte Apibus are misplaced, it becomes a matter of pride.”

  “That confirms our suspicions,” Sergeant Horus interjected. “The scroll mentioned retribution. We are prepared to return the Nocte Apibus. But we are concerned with the retribution comment. The Legion will not allow the murder of our people without taking vengeance of our own. So, do you have a suggestion as to how we avoid a bloody war?”

  “It is tradition for one possessing a Night Bee to return it to the Golden Valley. Or pay the cost in blood,” Hampus advised. “As for retribution, that would be for the Dulce Pugno to decide. I can tell you, most return. Say if the squad of Legionaries who killed the owners of the Night Bees returned them to the valley, they might also return.”

  “Why would I send men to their deaths?” challenged Horus. “Without a guarantee of safe passage?”

  “In this life Optio, there are no guarantees,” Hampus stated, “We are born, we do our duty, and we die. Nothing is promised. It is tradition that guides us along the way. As I said, traditionally, most return from the Golden Valley.”

  Horus and Ceyx stood and said their goodbyes. While Sergeant Horus marched out of the room, the Lance Corporal backed out never taking his eyes off the merchant. As he stepped into the hall and just before exiting the front door, Hampus jerked his arm. Suddenly, a gleaming knife appeared in his hand. The merchant pointed the blade at Ceyx and winked. The light infantryman didn’t rush, nor did he hesitate, he simply backed out of the house.

  They remained quiet while crossing the courtyard. Once through the gate, Horus glanced over at Ceyx, “They think a whole squad took down their assassins.”

  “You didn’t correct him,” Ceyx replied.

  “Never tell all you know when negotiating,” Horus advised, then asked. “How many men would you need to defend the villa?”

  Ceyx glanced around at the compound, the wide clean streets, and the low single-story warehouses boarding the trading house.

  “With a reinforced squad of light infantry on the walls and a squad of archers on the roof,” the Decanus stated. “I could hold this place against a Century of heavy infantrymen for a week.”

  “From your answer, I can tell you are a light infantryman,” laughed Horus. “But you’re close. The villa is nothing short of a strong hold in the center of a defensive area. The only thing missing are barricades between the warehouses. From the roof of the villa, archers can shoot over the surrounding buildings.”

  As they reached the corner of the villa’s perimeter wall, the wind rustled a pile of rags laying on the side of the street. In the warehouse district, packaging and wrappings were stacked for future use so, the pile went unnoticed.

  “This place might rate some watching,” suggested Ceyx.

  “You might be right,” Optio Horus said agreeing with the Veles squad leader.

  As the Legionaries crossed the street and turned on a boulevard heading back across the district, the rags shifted. From the pile, the lad who had greeted them at the front door rose up. He collected the loose, tattered cloth and ran back through the villa’s gates.

  Chapter 59 - For the Specialist, a Chit

  “We can send a squad to Golden Valley and probably get them killed,” Sergeant Horus reported. “Or, there is an off chance, they come back alive. I don’t like their odds.”

  “If I may?” asked Lance Corporal Eolus asked.

  “Speak up Eolus,” Stylianus commanded.

  The Centurion was sitting in a chair putting on a good show. Still, they could tell he was fighting exhaustion and struggling just to stay upright.

  “Private Sisera should go,” Ceyx stated. “It was his blade that slew the assassins. So rightfully, he owns the Night Bees. The Sweet Fist might honor his prowess when he returns the Nocte Apibus.”

  “I’m not happy with sending one Private into a den of assassins,” Horus stated. “I’d rather the Legion march in and pacify the whole nest of wasps.”

  “Bees, Optio, and it’s a hive,” Stylianus corrected. “As I suspected, and after some inquiries at the mess hall it’s confirmed, honey from the Golden Valley is, in fact, the Consuls’ favorite sweet treat. For political reasons, the General will never approve the assault.”

  “Consequently, we send an inexperienced Private to his death?” complained Horus. Then he remembered Wido’s comment. As it was shaping up, it was the least he could do for Private Sisera.

  He brought it to his Centuri
on’s attention, “Sisera needs a chit to draw two additional gladii from the Armory. You might have noticed the dual harness he was wearing during your rescue, sir.”

  “I don’t remember much except for Speckled Pheasant using me for a punching bag,” Stylianus admitted. “Drawing two additional gladii means the chit goes to a specialist. Has Private Sisera mastered a skill? Is he an expert at something?”

  Sergeant Horus rubbed his chin and pondered the question. A few months ago, Sisera was a farm boy. In his time in the Legion, he hadn’t been to any schools or apprenticed with a master of anything.

  “Weapon’s Instructor,” Ceyx blurted out. “He knows more about sword fighting than anyone I know. So, he is a specialist, a gladius instructor.”

  “Sisera. Get in here,” Horus shouted.

  Alerio pushed through the tent flap after a few words with the Infantrymen at the entrance. They had been aware of him as he conditioned the strange leather harness when they came on duty. Conversely, the guards hadn’t spoken to him and didn’t know him. It took a few heartbeats of convincing for the sentries to let the Private enter the tent.

  “Optio. Alerio Sisera reporting as ordered,” he said.

  Horus pulled his gladius and struck a guard pose.

  “What am I doing wrong?” the Sergeant asked.

  Alerio walked behind his Optio and studied the posture.

  “Your rear foot is twisted and you can’t push off with any power,” he explained while nudging the foot forward. “Stance is too wide.”

  Alerio adjusted the Sergeant’s posture, his grip, the set of his shoulders and finally, he tapped under Horus’ chin.

  “Hold your head that low and you can’t see through the helmet let alone over a shield,” Alerio directed.

  When he was finished, he stepped back. Optio Horus was posed in a perfect guard stance.

  “Sir, your judgement?” Horus asked as he sheathed his gladius.

  “He knows the stance,” Stylianus admitted. “What about the gladius drills?”

  “I can attest to his expertise,” Horus stated.

  “Well, here’s the final issue,” the Centurion said as he swayed trying to keep his balance. “A Private can’t be a gladius instructor. Is there anything he’d done to earn a promotion?’

  “Sir. I was going to put him in for a Legion medal,” Ceyx announced. “for his actions in the warehouse. I expect, he’d trade an award for a promotion.”

  The Centurion uncorked an ink vase and dipped a pen. He wrote a short note before offering the quill to Horus. The Sergeant jotted his name at the bottom of the document.

  “Optio. You handle the rest,” Stylianus slurred as he raised an arm. “It seems I’ve used up my stamina. Decanus Eolus. If you wouldn’t mind.”

  Ceyx dipped his shoulder under the outstretched arm and helped Stylianus stand. Together they shuffled to the Centurion’s bed. The officer was asleep before Ceyx finished pulling the blanket over him.

  “Sisera. I’ve got some good news and some bad news for you,” Horus announced. “Good news, you are now a certified weapon’s specialist. Bad news, you’re going to the Golden Valley to return the Nocte Apibus. More good news. Congratulations, Lance Corporal Sisera on your promotion.”

  Ceyx gripped Alerio’s wrist and congratulated the young Legionary. Meanwhile, Horus fretted. He had helped promote Sisera and was probably condemning him to his death on the same day.

  “Enough of this,” Horus ordered. “When do you want to leave, Lance Corporal Sisera?”

  “We leave at day break from the Raider Post,” asserted Ceyx. “And we’re taking Speckled Pheasant with us.”

  “Alright, I’ll bite,” Horus said as he screwed down his eye brows as if facing an unsolvable puzzle. “Why the rebel? Why you? Go.”

  “Speckled Pheasant contracted for the assassins. It was on his assignment where they lost their men and the Nocte Apibus,” Eolus replied. “Besides, he lied. It must have been his report to the Dulce Pugno that convinced them a squad of Legionaries killed the assassins. Seems to me, if the Dulce Pugno want retribution, it should be on Speckled Pheasant.”

  “Acceptable,” the Sergeant declared. “Go on.”

  “One man can’t watch a prisoner and guard the Nocte Apibus,” offered Ceyx. “Plus, I know the mountain trails. The last thing you want is for Decanus Sisera to become lost. Imagine the legend of the lost Raider wandering in the mountains for thirty years. It would reflect badly on the Legion.”

  “Can’t have that now can we,” Horus said. Then to Sisera, he asked, “Are you okay with all this? We could put you on a ship and spirit you away.”

  “Optio, I will not refuse my duty,” Alerio assured the NCO. “Besides, according to my instructors in recruit training, it only hurts until you die.”

  “Go. Do what you need to do,” the Sergeant ordered Lance Corporals Ceyx Eolus and Private Alerio Sisera. “You’ll sleep in here tonight, under guard, and near the Nocte Apibus. We sail at first light.”

  Chapter 60 - Raider Post

  The fishing boat drifted on the last dip of the oars and nudged against the rickety pier. Horus jump first and jogged up the narrow trail. Eolus and Sisera formed a human chain and guided Speckled Pheasant off the deck, precariously over the short span above the water, and onto the dock. By the time the out of shape revolutionary placed both feet on the weather worn wood, he was gasping for breath.

  “You expect me to climb that?” Speckled Pheasant asked while inhaling lungs full of air. He lifted one hand to his chest and pointed up the steep hill with the other.

  Ceyx pulled his long-curved knife, laid the blade against the rebel’s cheek, and explained, “You can climb. Or, you can feed the fish.”

  Reluctantly, Speckled Pheasant lifted a foot and carefully set it down on the first riser. He pushed on his knee with a hand and brought the trailing foot up beside the first. He stepped up again and repeated the motions.

  “Decanus Eolus. This is going to take all day,” commented Alerio. “And we have over a hundred and fifty miles to travel. How is he going to make it?”

  “First, call me Ceyx. Next, I’m not so worried about crossing the high plains,” Ceyx commented. “It’s the mountain trails where he’ll really slow us down.”

  “We could starve him and he’d lose weight,” Alerio suggested. “It works in recruit training.”

  “Over five months maybe,” Ceyx replied. “We only have a day. Starve a fat man and he’ll get weak before his body adjusts to the short rations. No. We’ll need to find a way to transport him.”

  At the top, a goodly portion of time later, the Legionaries stood watching as the rebel Captain sat down again to rest. High above, on the far side of the plateau, Corporal Manfredus also sat. Not because he was tired, because it was easier to watch Optio Horus pace from a fixed position.

  “What’s taking them so long?” demanded Horus.

  “Well, based on your reports from the last four times you went over and checked,” Manfredus replied. “I’d say Speckled Pheasant was the glitch in your perfectly planned agenda.”

  “We did learn something,” admitted Horus. “They’ll need a mule and a cart to haul the fat cūlus.”

  A long time later, the Nocte Apibus were stored in the command tent and Speckled Pheasant was in the care of Second Squad heavy infantry.

  “He’s rich and unethical,” Manfredus warned the squad leader. “He may try to bribe your men.”

  “After what he did to Centurion Stylianus, I’m not worried about the men helping him,” Lance Corporal Velius replied. “I’m worried about them murdering him.”

  “He’s got to be alive and fit to travel,” Manfredus said casually. “But there’s no reason he has to be comfortable.”

  Over the last few years, Raiders had been killed or injured by the rebel Captain’s men. So, he ended up naked and strapped to the tent’s center pole. Happily, according to the men of Second Squad, it was going to be a cold night.

  “How am
I supposed to sleep with that in our tent,” complained Private Pholus. “Just walking in, I was blinded by the pale, flabby flesh. I almost lost my dinner.”

  “He does resemble a toad,” observed Private Didacus. “We could hide him under a blanket.”

  “It’s too far to walk to the stables,” Pholus said. “Besides, the blanket will keep him warm. I’ll just pretend there’s a full moon out tonight.”

  Act 6

  Chapter 61 - A Small Caravan

  After nudging an exhausted Speckled Pheasant through the gullies and ravines, a squad of light infantrymen delivered him to the pass. Alerio and Ceyx stood beside a two wheeled cart and a mule. They enjoyed the show as the Captain of the revolutionaries complained, cursed, and offered enormous sums of Republic coin to anyone who returned him to the harbor town. Between the tirades, he yelped as sharp rocks poked the bottoms of his city shoes.

  “Should we have requisitioned him more appropriate footwear?” asked Alerio.

  “He’s riding, we’re walking,” Ceyx sneered. “His pretty, civilian slippers are fine.”

  The light infantry squad leader shoved the dissent at Ceyx.

  “The loud mouth’s all yours, Decanus Eolus,” he said in disgust.

  “Unfortunately, he is,” Ceyx admitted as he took a firm grip on the rebel’s arm. “Let me escort you to your coach, Princess.”

  “You’ll be spitting blood out of your throat when my comrades catch up to us,” threatened the Captain.

  “What no bribe offers?” asked Ceyx. “Alerio and I are disappointed.”

  “Would you take a bribe?” Speckled Pheasant asked hopefully.

  “Well, no. But it would have been a nice gesture,” Ceyx replied as if his feelings were hurt.

  Then, he shoved the fat rebel over the rear board of the cart. Speckled Pheasant ended up half in the low cart with his feet touching the ground.

  “Move it out, Alerio,” Ceyx shouted.

  Speckled Pheasant’s toes scraped and his feet kicked at the moving earth as he attempted to crawl fully into the cart. While the renegade clawed his way onto the Legionary gear, the food supplies and the amphorae of watered wine, the light infantry squad jogged ahead of the small caravan.