Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1
Page 47
The three men remained silent. In the background, the sounds of hobnailed boots marching on pavers carried from the surrounding neighborhoods. Behind them, the penned animals chewed hay and lapped water. Finally, Lebbaeus blew out a breath through his mouth and inhaled deeply through his nose.
“Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera. You will not be troubled again. Not by my associates or agents acting on their behalf,” Lebbaeus promised. “Now, can you explain to the Praetor where the carts go?”
“Praetor. The cargo is simply a transfer between one storage unit owned by Master Lebbaeus to another,” explained Alerio. “He hired the Legionaries to move the carts to this location where another crew will take them to another warehouse.”
“Fine, that’s fine, but get them off the road,” Kellerian advised as he pulled himself onto his horse. “Now Lance Corporal. Move those carts, now.”
The Praetor and his mount moved out of the ring of Legionaries. As the shields closed, Alerio called out.
“Squad leader, if you please? Pull the carts to the side of the road and dismiss the unit,” ordered Alerio. He turned and saluted the Cruor Captain. “It was nice doing business with you Master Lebbaeus. Just so we’re clear. If another assassin comes after me, the next thing I take from the Cruor will be your heart.”
The masked Legionaries were joined by two patrols. While they marched away, the Legionaries shuffled positions and soon, no one could pick the assault squad from the others. Walking beside the combined unit, Alerio was the only one identifiable.
They were replaced at the carts by civilians. Among them was a bruised and bloody Spurius Kanut.
“I’ll make arrangements for you to have a talk with Alerio Sisera, in private,” pledged Kanut as he limped over to his boss.
“No. I was told he was a simple boy from the country that we could sacrifice as an example,” explained Lebbaeus. “It’s one thing to defend your honor; it’s another thing entirely different when the cost of defending your honor is many times higher than seven Republic golds. No, let the him go. The bounty is lifted.”
Chapter 83 – Vino to Celebrate
“When do you sail?” Thomasious Harricus asked.
“The merchant trader rows out tomorrow at first light,” Alerio replied. He looked across the table at Tomas Kellerian and added. “I believe it was the authority of the Praetor that tipped the scales with Lebbaeus and the Cruor bounty. Thank you.”
“Wouldn’t Lebbaeus be surprised if he discovered I’d already been relieved as Praetor when we spoke,” Kellerian speculated. “Harricus. Do not put that in a gossip scroll.”
“What? I divulge sensitive information for profit?” questioned Harricus as if shocked by the thought. “Here at the Chronicles Humanum Inn, we value the privacy of our customers.”
“I value the lives of my customers. At the Historia Fae, I back that up with steel and leather armor,” Kellerian said. “You duel with parchment and pen. I prefer a straight forward battle.”
“I don’t understand what became of Senator Ventus,” commented Alerio interrupting their philosophical discussion. “He left the city in his carriage with his house servants and a Legion escort.”
“There was no direct evidence of Ventus’ involvement in any crime,” explained Kellerian. “But there was enough circumstantial evidence for the Senate to shun him, strip him of his Senatorial privileges, and exile him from the Capital.”
“They should have nailed him up and stretched him on the wood,” Harricus sneered. “Instead, Ventus will live out his days at his villa in the mountains. It’s in the Central Legion’s area so Nigellus can keep an eye on his activities.”
“Look who’s going all blood and guts,” accused Kellerian. “What happened to subtle persuasion and the power of the written word?”
“For the good of the Republic, sometimes, you have to put down the quill and just crucify the cūlus,” exclaimed Harricus.
Alerio flagged down a servicing girl and ordered another pitcher of wine. When it arrived, he topped off everyone’s mug.
“To the Republic,” he said holding his mug over the center of the table.
Kellerian and Harricus clicked their mugs against Alerio’s and repeated, “To the Republic.”
The End
Spilled Blood
A note from J. Clifton Slater
Thank you for reading Spilled Blood. This series is now 9 books long with more planned. As history marches forward, Lance Corporal Sisera will find himself embroiled in the First Punic War. Although historical fiction, these books at their heart are adventure stories.
Alerio Sisera’s story continues in book #3 Bloody Water. Besieged at a harbor garrison with no reinforcement coming, Alerio will need to battle with his gladius while standing in bloody water.
J. Clifton Slater
E-Mail: GalacticCouncilRealm@gmail.com
FB: facebook.com/Galactic Council Realm & Clay Warrior Stories
Bloody Water
Clay Warrior Stories
Book #3
J. Clifton Slater
Bloody Water is a work of fiction. While some characters are historical figures, the majority are fictional. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
This story takes place in 265 B.C. when Rome was a Republic and before the Imperial Roman Empire conquered the world. While I have attempted to stay true to the era, I am not a historian. If you are a true aficionado of the times, I apologize in advance for my errors.
I’d like to thank my editor Hollis Jones for her work in correcting my rambling sentences and overly flowery prose. Also, I am grateful to Denise Scherschel for her help in structuring the editorial flow of the book. Her amazing illustrated book Zippy McZoomerman Gears Up is a must read for children with disabilities.
Now… Forget your car, your television, your computer and smart phone - it’s time to journey back to when making clay bricks and steel were the height of technology.
J. Clifton Slater
E-Mail: GalacticCouncilRealm@gmail.com
FB: facebook.com/Galactic Council Realm & Clay Warrior Stories
Bloody Water
Content
Bloody Water
Act 1
Chapter 1 – Warship Rowing
Chapter 2 – Oars, not Paddles
Chapter 3 – Barbarian Ax
Chapter 4 – Blisters
Chapter 5 – Attack Aftershock
Act 2
Chapter 6 - Moonless Rowing
Chapter 7 – Survivor
Chapter 8 - Grain Storage and Hostages
Chapter 9 - Fight on the Right Bank
Chapter 10 - Massacre at Occhio
Chapter 11 - Signal Fires
Chapter 12 – Beach Landing
Act 3
Chapter 13 - Well, Well Duty
Chapter 14 - It’s Greek to Me
Act 4
Chapter 15 – Rhegium Garrison Southern Legion
Chapter 16 - Southern Legion Planning and Strategies
Chapter 17 – Beware the Dark Arts
Chapter 18 - The Big Picture
Chapter 19 – Deception
Act 5
Chapter 20 – Mouth of the Kaikinos River
Chapter 21 - Bovesia Garrison
Chapter 22 – Beaching Fees
Chapter 23 – Divisive Politics and True Love
Chapter 24 – Bovesia, the Steep and Narrow Way
Chapter 25 – Conjecture or Conclusion
Chapter 26 – Over Confidence Kills
Chapter 27 – Win the Battle, Lose the War
Chapter 28 – Invitation to a Massacre
Chapter 29 - The Battle at Bovesia
Chapter 30 – Ninety-Six Greeks on Bova Beach
Chapter 31 – Wayward Assassin
Chapter 32 – Acolyte of Angitia
Chapter 33 – City State Politics
Chapter 34 – Reinforcements and Reports
Act 6
Chapter 35 - Rest an
d Reputation
Chapter 36 – A Proper Meal
Chapter 37 – The Healing Properties of Work
Chapter 38 – The Mists of Kaikinos
Chapter 39 – Strangers in the Rain
Chapter 40 – Hamlet on the Hill
Chapter 41 – The Spartan
Chapter 42 – Secrets of Spartan Warfare
Chapter 43 – Mission Focused
Chapter 44 – The Raging River
Act 7
Chapter 45 – Bovesia Garrison
Chapter 46 – Any Less Would Be Insulting
Chapter 47 – Defensive Lines
Chapter 48 – Under Water and Under Cover
Chapter 49 – False Assault
Chapter 50 – The Difference Between Mad and Daring
Chapter 51 - Angitia’s Beauties
Chapter 52 – Wine for Warmth and a Mission
Chapter 53 – Wolves in Hades
Chapter 54 – The Navarch Pavilion
Chapter 55 – Steps into Hades
Chapter 56 – Underestimate at Your Peril
Chapter 57 – Make Sport Of
Chapter 58 – Fleeing in the Dark
Chapter 59 – The Barricade to Bovesia
Chapter 60 – Dawn Assaults
Act 8
Chapter 61 – The Chain of Command
Chapter 62 - Columnae Herculis
Chapter 63 – Mars, God of War
Chapter 64 – Office of Planning and Strategies
Chapter 65 – Attack Rowing
A note from J. Clifton Slater
Books by J. Clifton Slater
Bloody Water
Act 1
Qart Hadasht means New City in Phoenician. Today it’s known as Carthage. In 265 BC, Qart Hadasht was a vast trading and military empire. The empire stretched across the northern coast of Africa with settlements around the Mediterranean and beyond. As with all empires, Qart Hadasht sought expansion and influence wherever possible.
Sicilia, or Sicily, at its closest point, was a bowshot across the Straits of Messina from Roman Republic soil. With the empire’s encroachment, the Roman Senate was forced to debate the threat on their southern coastline. In addition to Qart Hadasht seeking more of Sicilia, the Republic was challenged by mercenaries occupying the city of Messina, and the restless king of the City State of Syracuse.
In the ancient world, the tension between foreign states created anxiety for their neighbors. Athens, Macedonia, Egypt, Sparta, Qart Hadasht, and the rogues of Illyria struggled for power, dominance, wealth, and survival. International politics is not new. It’s as old as mankind and just as convoluted.
Chapter 1 – Warship Rowing
Over the past few days, transferees drifted in and reported to headquarters Southern Legion. The port town of Rhegium offered few diversions. And, the docks were dangerous because the Sons of Mars sometime attacked the piers in their travels up and down the strait. For these reasons, few men delayed in registering for their assignments which included a bed and food rations.
Due to the unrest in the area and the unique nature of the southern territory, the Legion put each new Legionary through additional training. Six men to a training unit and the First Optio saw to it that the units were assembled as each man reported in. This prevented a delay in bringing the Legionaries up to Southern Legion standards.
***
The newest team of men waited in the dark for their teacher. Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera stood with the others in the cool mist of predawn.
“Good morning, Legionaries,” a deep, raspy voice greeted them. He spoked from just beyond the lantern light that encircled the trainees. “My name is Sergeant Martius. Some in the Southern Legion call me Chief of Boats. Some have less savory terms to describe me. For you, right now, I am your rowing instructor.”
A few Legionaries groaned.
“I take it from your enthusiastic responses that some of you have boating experience,” Martius continued from the shadows. He was still an invisible, disembodied specter from the dark while the training unit stood between four bright lanterns. “But I’m not asking about fishing boats, merchant ships, nor rowing your lass around on a pond; I’m asking for attack rowing experience. Those of you trained in warship rowing raise your right hand.”
None of the Legionaries responded.
“Strip off your armor, gladius belts, and helmets. Place your gear on the ground behind you,” the rowing instructor ordered. “On the beach is a sixteen-oar river patrol boat. Shove it into the water, get in, and row to the south.”
Lance Corporal Sisera pulled off his helmet, unstrapped his gladius belt, the protective skirt, the shoulder pieces, and the back and front chest sections. After carefully stacking the equipment, he crept out of the light towards the dark beach.
The six-man training unit stumbled around until one Legionary shouted, “Boat. Over here.”
They converged on the voice and grabbed the gunwale. Except all six were standing on the same side of the boat. It took a while, but finally, they had three men to a side. Once evenly distributed, they heaved and shoved the vessel off the beach.
The water was cold. By the time the boat was fully floated, the Legionaries were waist deep and shivering. Quickly, they climbed into the vessel.
“Paddles? Where are the paddles?” one man in the training unit asked.
“I can’t find any,” another replied.
The six Legionaries felt around but none could locate an oar. Meanwhile, the river patrol boat had caught the current in the Messina Strait and started to drift north.
“Where are you taking my patrol boat?” Martius growled from the beach. “Bring my boat back. Right now, people.”
Alerio realized the only way to return the boat to the Optio was to swim it back.
“In the water,” he ordered. “Unless you want to beach it and carry the boat back to the Sergeant.”
Alerio was the first. Reluctantly, the other five slid over the sides and joined him in the cold water. After spinning the boat around, the first thing they noticed was the current pushing against the hull. As they kicked, the boat simply held its position.
Martius’ voice carried over the sounds of thrashing legs and churning water, “The vessel you are propelling is a river patrol boat. It is forty feet long and eight feet wide with oarlocks for sixteen rowers. It’s a single-bank meaning she’ll have eight oarsmen on each side.”
The rowing instructor’s raspy tone cut through the aquatic noises. Due to a person’s natural tendency to move toward a source of authority in times of stress, they angled the boat in the direction of the beach. As the bottom of the strait inclined upward, the swimmers on the beach side found footing on the rocks and sand. Soon they had the river patrol boat moving slowly southward.
Chapter 2 – Oars, not Paddles
Between pulling from the beach side and the kicking on the other, the patrol boat was returned to the initial site of its launch.
“Attack rowers know their equipment, their boat, and their position. In the Legion we store our oars, not paddles, on shore,” explained Martius. A lantern flashed into life and below it appeared a rack of oars sticking up above the glow. “Grab an oar, form a line, and hold the oar over your head.”
Once the six Legionaries were lined up, the rowing instructor walked behind them. He slowly moved from one to the next grabbing the center of each man’s oar before pulling it back to test the man’s strength.
“First and third men, take the forward rowing stations,” he ordered. “Second and sixth, the aft rowing stations. Fourth and fifth man take the center rowing section.”
Alerio was fourth in the line. He followed directions and carried his oar back to the patrol boat. As the training unit converged on the vessel, the first rays of sunlight began to peek over the mountains from the east.
“This is your machina locus, your engine. Always place your strongest rowers mid-ship,” Sergeant Martius advised as he pointed to the pair at the center rowing a
rea. Still a shadow, the instructor rapped on a u-shaped cutout in the boat’s railing and a feature on the oar. “This is your oarlock. You’ll find a leather sleeve on the oar. Place the sleeve in the oarlock with the collar inside the gunwale. The collar prevents your oar from going for a swim without you.”
Alerio listened as the instructor pointed and named boat parts. He also watched as the soft morning light revealed the frame of Sergeant Martius. Where previously he had been a gravelly voiced ghost cloaked in the shadows of the night, in daylight, he was revealed to be a scarred beast.
Chapter 3 – Barbarian Ax
The instructions continued on the beached river patrol boat. The six Legionaries followed directions and commands until their arms were exhausted from holding and rotating the oars. After each drill, they held the oar blades suspended off the sand and gravel of the beach.
“Port and starboard fall in,” commanded the Sergeant for the hundredth time. “Stroke, stroke, power ten in two.”
The left side rowers and those on the right side jumped into the patrol boat and pulled twice slowly. Then they began ten fast repetitions as directed.
“Port side, check it down,” he ordered.
The left side held their blades steady while the starboard side continued rowing. In theory, they turned the boat to the right.
“Let-her-run,” Martius stated and the blades were lifted. “Ship oars and fall out.”
The blades swung high overhead before the training unit rested them beside the hull and stepped out of the boat.
“Meal time,” the instructor said as he limped away from the vessel. Over his shoulder, he announced. “Afterwards, we’ll launch and see if you’ve learned anything.”
Alerio rested his oar on the sand beside the boat and marched up the beach with the others. Bread, meat, cheese, and wineskins filled with watered wine lay on a table just off the beach. While the rest of the training unit gathered together, Alerio carried his breakfast to where the instructor sat.