“The satchel beside my trunk,” Hadrian replied. “Bring it to me.”
Alerio limped to the leather pouch. He almost screamed when he stooped to lift it, but after biting his lip, he walked it back to Hadrian.
“What’s in it?” questioned Alerio. “Another relic with a storied history?”
“No, Lance Corporal Sisera. It’s medicine to kill the pain,” the merchantman replied as he fished around inside the satchel. He pulled out a small glass container with a waxed seal. “We keep it on board for when one of the crew is injured. In most of our ports-of-call, there are no doctors or spare crewmen. So, I kill the pain with this. Put your finger over the mouth, wet your finger with the potion, and place it on your tongue.”
Alerio peeled off the wax, placed a finger over the lip and turned the bottle over.
“What’s in it?” he asked as he lifted the finger to his mouth.
“Honey mixed with oils from the plant of joy,” Hadrian explained. “It’s Egyptian as is the glass. Take another three doses.”
There were conflicting tastes in Alerio’s mouth. The sweet honey swirled around while a thick bitter substance coated spots on his tongue. Focused on the flavors, he forgot his pain. It wasn’t gone, but the sharp debilitating feelings had receded to a level where he could function. Except for the muscle in his thigh, which had damage that limited movement.
“What do I owe you?” Alerio asked as he straightened his back for the first time since the arrow penetrated his side.
“You saved the ship and my life. I would call that a fair trade,” Hadrian stated, then asked. “What are the pirates after? Killing two squads of Legionaries isn’t profitable. Not even if they sold you as slaves.”
They both looked over the Legion shields at the pirate’s bireme. It had stopped advancing and sat bobbing in the swells. A group of Illyrians stood mid-ship studying the merchant vessel and the Legionaries lining the rail.
“Whatever they wanted, it didn’t include two healthy squads of Legionaries,” offered Alerio.
Then he remembered a lesson from his formative years. The veteran Centurion and Optio had explained that it wasn’t always necessary to defeat your enemy’s entire force to take an objective. Sometimes it was more useful to simply lure troops away so they were unavailable to join the fight.
The Second and Third Squads had been lured into deep water and even though they survived the ambush, they were stuck and unavailable. But, unavailable for what?
After tossing off a salute to the merchant captain, Alerio hobbled to the ladder. Moments later, he had both squad leaders huddled around him.
“We’re not the primary object of this exercise,” he ventured. “The Illyrians just wanted us out of the fight.”
“What fight?” Third’s squad leader demanded. “As far as I can see, we’re the only fight around.”
“The gladius instructor is correct,” Second Squad’s Decanus countered. “Look at them sitting there like an eagle playing with a hare in an open field. If we break the shield wall and start rowing, they’ll come swooping in and attack. If we stand firm, I have a feeling they’ll just sit there until…”
“Until what?” insisted Third Squad’s Lance Corporal.
Although far off and barely audible, the notes from a trumpet reached across the water from the observation stand at Bovesia garrison.
“Was that three notes or two?” inquired Alerio.
For some reason, he was having a hard time focusing on the faint sounds. The Lance Corporals were fine, even the pirate ship came in clearly, it just seemed to be too much trouble to concentrate on things far away.
“Silence,” both squad leaders ordered.
The soft notes drifted across the water again.
“Two sets of three,” Third’s Decanus announced. “Definitely two sets of three.”
“Hence, while we drift here with over a hundred and twenty Illyrians waiting to cut our throats and feed us to the sharks,” Second’s Lance Corporal reported. “Two more warships are heading for Bovesia.”
“They’ve reduced the enemy by luring us away from the garrison,” Alerio summarized. “What can we do?”
Chapter 28 – Invitation to a Massacre
“Let’s invite them to come over and play,” the squad leader for the Second suggested.
“On that warship, there are one hundred and twenty oarsmen, and the gods only know how many Illyrians soldiers and, of course, archers,” the other Lance Corporal reminded him.
“Maybe. But we aren’t the main target,” replied the squad leader from the Second. “I think that ship is here to pick up their men after the ambush.”
“Therefore, they are shorthanded and may be out of archers,” Alerio suggested. “Let’s test the premise.”
Before either squad leader could object, Alerio had pushed between the shields of Private Lupus and another Legionary.
“Need a favor Lupus, and a hand,” Alerio said.
***
The Illyrians watched as a bandaged Legionary was shoved up on the rail of the merchant vessel. From his perch, he made rude gestures with his fingers, hands, and arms. A grumbling ran through the oarsmen on the warship.
Illyrians prided themselves on being brave and they depended on the public’s perception of them being vicious and fearless fighters. When the Legionary lifted his tunic and ground his hips at them, the entire crew was ready to mutiny. A couple of well-place arrows would stop the insults but their best bowmen had been on the merchant ship. Now the Illyrian Captain had to decide; attack, or follow orders, and make sure the Legionaries didn’t reach the beach.
The Legionary on the rail extended both arms as if hugging the Illyrian crew. Then, he looked to the sky and laughed before his body leaned back and he toppled out of sight below the rail. Although an enemy and an irritation, the Illyrian crew gasped.
Alerio looked back and forth at the two kneeling Legionaries who cradled his body.
“How did I look?” he asked. “Were they mad?”
“Gladius instructor. The next time you give a class on taunting the enemy I’m going to ask for double latrine duty,” Lupus said.
Once the Legionaries let Alerio all the way down to the cargo boards, he crawled behind the line of shields.
“They don’t have archers,” reported Alerio. “And from their reactions, I’d say the crew is really angry.”
Second Squad’s Lance Corporal looked off in the distance before snapping his head back and glaring at Third Squad’s Lance Corporal.
“I say we move the line to the other rail and invite the Illyrians to the party,” he snarled between clinched teeth. “We sit here and our brothers at Bovesia die. I’d rather fight. Besides, do you think they’ll leave without setting fire to this oversize wine vat on their way out? I vote, we fight.”
“Third Squad, step back to the starboard rail,” their squad leader ordered. “Let’s see if any Illyrians have the cōleī to come over and fight.”
“Second Squad, step back,” the other Lance Corporal instructed. “Up on the platform, maintain your position.”
Both squad leaders threaded between the moving shields and marched forward to the now empty rail.
“Lance Corporal Sisera. Join us,” they said in unison.
Alerio followed and soon the three junior noncommissioned officers were standing at attention with their right arms across their chests in a salute. Then slowly, they straightened their arms, keeping them parallel to the deck, until the three fists were pointing at the Illyrians.
A roar went up from the pirate ship and a few oars splashed in the water. Illyrian oarsmen jumped up and yelled at the NCOs. Yet, the Legionaries stood as still as granite statues.
The Illyrian Captain stalked the center line of his ship. As he prowled, he called out threats on a leather tube that was narrow on one end and wide on the other. Despite the verbal thunder, the only promise of lightning was from the three Lance Corporals standing defiantly, and unyielding, on the d
eck of the small merchant vessel.
“I think we look foolish,” Third Squad’s Lance Corporal said out of the side of his mouth.
“They don’t think so,” the leader of Second Squad whispered. “I’d say they’ve just about reached a boiling point.”
“How long are we going to stand here? Until a sea gull drops merda on us?” Third Squad’s Lance Corporal asked. “And what’s to prevent them from ramming us with that huge copper mentula?”
“The merchant ship is double hulled,” Alerio offered relaying information he’d gleamed from Hadrian. “The warship can ram us but he might get hung up. If that happens, we’ll run for the beach in the patrol boat.”
“Well aren’t you a wealth of information, gladius instructor,” teased Second’s Lance Corporal.
As if a centipede suddenly awakened, the one hundred and twenty oars on the bireme lifted in a flurry before dipping into the water.
“Gentlemen. I believe our challenge has been accepted,” the squad leader from Second Squad announced. Then loudly, so everyone on the merchant ship could hear. “Stand by.”
Twenty-one hobnailed boots stomped the heavy cover boards making them rumble, and twenty-one voices replied, “Standing by Lance Corporal.”
“Draw,” he ordered and as twenty-four gladii were pulled from their sheaths, he added. “I’ll command the aft section. Sisera, you’ve got the center and...”
“I’ve got the bow,” Third’s squad leader stated. “Good luck, Decani.”
The Illyrian ship had drifted too close to come broadside so it first rowed away. However, after swiftly circling, the warship came at the merchant vessel.
***
Alerio stepped in front of the six Legionaries standing in the center of the cargo deck. They looked dejected and afraid while watching the warship bare down on them.
“We’re going to die out here, aren’t we?” asked one of the infantrymen.
“Illyrians are known to be tough fighters and there are over a hundred of them,” another reasoned. “We’re perfututum, for sure.”
The Legionaries were thinking about the entire battlefield and mentally casting themselves into the morass of a defeat. They should be concentrating on the unit’s area of responsibility, instead of potentially being massacred.
“Stretch your arms out to the sides,” ordered Alerio. After the six men complied, he continued. “That is the width of your kill zone. In front of you are fifteen feet of deck, that’s the depth of your kill zone. Just like a fight in an open field with a full Legion, you are only responsible for the Illyrians entering your kill zone. Now here’s the best part…”
The six bent forwards hoping to hear some good news about this bad situation.
“The rail height of this merchant ship is nine feet above the water. She’s empty and riding high,” explained Alerio. “The bireme tops out at seven feet. So, just like an enemy crossing a trench, they’ll stumble when they enter your kill zone. Here’s another thing. I can guarantee you, they won’t have cavalry.”
“Unless they can ride seahorses,” one of the infantrymen joked.
The six men laughed and some of the tension faded. Alerio marched to the last man in line. He locked eyes with the man before hamming a fist down onto the Legionary’s right shoulder. Without a word, he continued to strike each of them while looking into their eyes. Sometimes the bracing effect of a leader comes from a steady presence rather than pretty words.
***
Grappling hooks flew across the open space and Illyrians sailors pulled hard on the lines. The warship and the merchant vessel drew together until they were joined as one platform on the open sea.
“Steady. Hold position,” Alerio warned from behind the line of his unit.
While the bireme was a little over a hundred feet long, the merchant ship was only sixty. This funneled the Illyrian fighters, limiting the number who could cross over.
“Forward,” Alerio ordered calmly as if it were a parade maneuver and not a march towards screaming pirates. “Advance. Advance. Advance.”
The shields plunged forward followed by the stabbing of gladii. Once, and twice, then again, before Alerio ordered. “Four paces back.”
The directions confused the six Legionaries. They had the enemy stopped at the rail and couldn’t figure out why the Lance Corporal ordered a retreat. Two looked back.
“Do I look like an Illyrian sailor?” shouted Alerio. “Four paces back, now.”
The fury in his voice overcame the confusion and the six stepped away from the line of bleeding and dead pirates.
“Mind your front. Steady,” Alerio stated with a measured tone. More Illyrians jumped up on the rail, paused, and then stepped to the cargo boards. “Forward, advance. Advance. Advance. Advance.”
Once the wave of attackers was chopped down, or injured and reeling from the Legionaries’ assault, Alerio ordered. “Four paces back.”
This time the six infantrymen followed directions. Peering over their shields, they immediately noted the reason for the withdrawal orders.
The first group of Illyrians had easily jumped the two feet up to the merchant ship. As more crowded forward, eager to get into the fight, they pushed those ahead, making them trip over the two feet difference. Now, as they fell over the rail, they had to scramble over the stacked bodies of their fellow pirates before facing the Legion shields and gladii.
“Forward. Advance. Advance. Advance,” called out Alerio. His unit met and hacked into the newly arrived pirates. “Step back four paces.”
A horn blared from the Illyrian warship and Alerio watched as heads disappeared below the rail. Shortly after, shields appeared over the grappling hooks and when the shields withdrew, the hooks were gone. The warship drifted far enough for their oars to dip, and the ship rowed away.
“Not so tough, are they?” Alerio asked of his unit.
Two infantrymen dropped to their knees from injuries, but as they collapsed, he heard them say. “Not so tough, Lance Corporal.”
On the cargo boards of the merchant vessel, Legionaries bent to render aid to their wounded. Others bent to dispatch living Illyrians while another team tossed the bodies over the side.
Alerio stood tall and looked up and down the merchant vessel. Hadrian still manned the oar and all four of the Legionaries on the raised platform were uninjured. On the aft cargo boards, Second Squad’s Lance Corporal was directing the clearing of the deck. Towards the bow, Third’s squad leader was doing the same. Overall, the Legionaries had done well, Alerio thought. Then, his legs weakened, his mind went blank, and he tumbled to the deck.
Chapter 29 - The Battle at Bovesia
“Is he dead?” a Legionary questioned.
“No, the insane gladius instructor is resting,” Private Lupus answered.
Alerio opened his eyes and peered up at the two infantrymen.
“I just needed a nap,” Alerio lied. With his mouth dry and his lips so stiff he felt they would crack, he requested. “Water?”
An arm slid behind his back and lifted him to a sitting position. Alerio expected intense agony, but his wounds were numb and only throbbed with deep aches. A clay mug of water touched his lower lip and he grasped it with his hands and sucked down the contents. After two more mugs of water, Alerio took time to inspect his wounds.
Spots of red dotted the bandages on his thigh and side. It seemed, he had cracked the cauterized skin and blood was leaking through from the wounds.
“Want me to heat up the iron poker?” asked Lupus with a little too much enthusiasm. He pointed at the wet spots.
“No. No, but thank you,” Alerio replied quickly. “They’re just leaking. What did I miss? Did the Illyrians come back?”
“They’re just sitting there licking their wounds like a mountain ram after a fight with a wolf pack,” Lupus informed him. “And deciding if they want to come back for another kick in the cūlus from our lads. Oh, and those warships arrived.”
Alerio followed the direction in
dicated by the outstretched arm. At Bova Beach, two more Illyrian biremes approached the shoreline.
As the warships neared the beach, a stream of citizens from the lower levels of Bovesia scurried up the stairs with boxes, amphorae, and bundles of their most valued possessions. On the second tier, Legionaries were stacked three-deep on the narrow stairs. Corporal Cephas had beefed up the choke point but had to break the line to allow the civilians to pass.
“Can they hold?” asked Alerio.
“For a while, maybe. But there are over two hundred fifty Illyrians about to come knocking on their door,” Lupus replied.
“Reminds me of Thermopylae,” Alerio said remembering lessons from when he was younger. “If we could get there…”
“We’d all die, gladius instructor,” replied Lupus. “There’s no way anything less than three full Centuries could face those pirates.”
***
The oarsmen on the biremes stroked steadily as they approached the beach. Just before reaching the shore, they pivoted the warship, back stroked, and ran the aft hard aground. Ramps dropped from the rear sections. Then, nothing happened. No Illyrians came down the ramps, or left their rowing stations; no one moved around as if preparing for an attack.
From one of the ships, a body was thrown. It sailed through the air and landed like a sack of grain. There it lay; a solid unmoving lump. The body seemed to be a signal. Soon after, pirates began pouring down the ramps.
About half carried shields, armor, and swords while the other half came down bare-chested and armed with the wicked sicas and spears. Those would be the oarsmen. Once on the beach, the Illyrians from both warships gathered below the aft of one of the ships.
A man strutted to the steering deck and raised his arms. His mouth moved but Alerio being too far away couldn’t hear the words. He noticed a dramatic lean forward by the assembled Illyrians when the man indicated the body.
Two pirates appeared dragging a third man up behind the speaker. The speaker pulled a long knife and stabbed downward into the prisoner’s chest. A roar from the crowd reached Alerio and faded when the stabbed man was tossed off the vessel. He landed half on the beach with his hips and legs in the surf.
Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1 Page 56
