Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1

by J. Clifton Slater

  Alerio waited a short time before standing and continuing his march upward. His stomach grumbled, overriding his worries about the soldiers. Instead, he worried about not seeing rabbits on the far side.

  Thankfully, there were rabbits. After several well thrown rocks, Alerio had food. Unfortunately, all the kindling and potential firewood were soaked from last night’s rain. He cut down a sapling and stripped off the branches. With three fat hares hanging from the pole, Alerio crossed another valley and climbed the next slope.

  ***

  Heavy clouds rolled in and hung low hiding the sun and threatening more rain. Alerio’s direction was generally northward. But with all the climbing, traversing, and crossing low lands, he didn’t have a fix on his location. Somewhere off to his right, he was sure, the Kaikinos River ran fast and full. Behind, the Syracuse military unit and ahead lay the town of Passomasseria. He craned his neck to look up at the next steep grade. Glancing down at his feet, he put one in front of the other and struggled up the slope.

  He was sweating and his right thigh throbbed by the time he reached the top. It was the steepest climb yet. Across the flat, he reached the far crest. Alerio peered down on a cliff face. No boulders clung to the bare granite; only sharp outcrops broke the vertical surface. Except for a narrow ledge ten feet down and far to his right, there were no handholds or spots to place his feet.

  The smell of burning wood drifted on the midday breeze. Alerio set down his pack and the rabbits and got down on his knees. When he leaned his body out over the cliff, the odor grew stronger. Judging it to be coming from his right, he gathered the stick and pack and followed the edge in that direction.

  As he walked the line of the cliff, giving wide berth to several crevasses, the narrow ledge rose. Fifty feet later, it became reachable. Alerio stepped down on the narrow path.

  ***

  Some places required him to turn sideways and inch around outcrops. Then, the path would widen and he could face forward. At the outcrops, he noted chisel marks. They showed someone had carved the path in the granite at least in some places. Twice the path entered large crevasses where steps were carved in the stone. At these, he was forced to turn around and back down. Blind to the front, he felt with a toe before easing his foot to the next rough-cut step.

  The path, ever descending, led Alerio lower and lower along the cliff face. Below him, a green boxed in valley ended at a sheer wall. At multiple places, runoff flowed over the end of the canyon forming a rushing stream that cut through the center of this small sliver of fertile land. As he progressed, the smell of burning wood grew stronger.

  ***

  Alerio crept into another crevasse, turned, and began backing down. But these steps were steeper than the others. Also, they wrapped around the far side of the fissure’s edge. He descended the steps as they coiled around while facing the treads. The path and cliff face behind him were out of his sight.

  “It’ll be a quick death, falling into the valley,” a voice at Alerio’s back stated. “Or, you can go back the way you came.”

  Straining to look over his shoulder at the speaker, Alerio saw the deeply etched skin around the eyes of an old hermit. But his initial thought rang false. For one, the man’s beard and hair were trimmed and neatly combed. The beard had leather strips woven into the gray hairs. Also, his bare arms were corded with muscles, and although the flesh was loose as you’d expect on an older person, the muscles were those of a well-conditioned fighter.

  Alerio noticed the muscularity because the man stood erect and held a bronzed tipped spear in his hands. The shaft was polished and greased as if it had just come from an armory. And the tip’s buffed and sharp edges displayed no tarnish or marring.

  “It’s a long climb back,” Alerio commented. “I’ve rabbit to share.”

  “What makes you think I eat rabbit?” asked the man.

  “Everyone likes roasted rabbit,” suggested Alerio. “And to be truthful, I don’t think my leg can make the climb without a rest.”

  The old man leaned forward and squinted. After a pause to examine the bright pink scar on Alerio’s right leg, he straightened and inquired, “Where did you pick up the wound?”

  “An Illyrian pirate arrow,” Alerio replied. “While protecting a merchant ship.”

  “Name,” demanded the hermit.

  “Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera, Third Century, Eighth Squad,” Alerio reported. “Of the Republic’s Southern Legion.”

  “All right Lance Corporal Sisera, come down,” offered the old man. Then he warned. “Go for a weapon and I’ll run you through and throw you over the side.”

  “Not very trusting, are you?” Alerio observed as he took the last five steps to the path. Once on solid footing, he slowly turned around.

  The narrow path ended five feet behind the old man. There, it widened to a broad and deep ledge. Big enough to accommodate a walk-in hut with a thatched roof pinned to the cliff face. A porch extended the footprint of the hut. Neatly organized around the hut were a weaving stand, a cooking pit, a tool and work zone, and a small grazing area with three sheep and a goat.

  The oddest area was a sand pit with wood poles jutting from holes in the granite wall. Each pole was a different length and stuck out over the sand at various heights. Alerio had never seen the type, but he identified it as a weapon’s training pit.

  “You have a training area,” noted Alerio. “I don’t recognize the origin.”

  “And you have a good eye,” the old man said with pride in his voice. “It’s modified a bit but, basically, it’s the design we use in Sparta.”

  “So that would make you, what?” asked Alerio.

  “I’m Helicaon, the Spartan,” announced the old man.

  Chapter 41 – The Spartan

  While Alerio turned the skewed rabbits over a fire, he asked, “Helicaon. How far is it to Passomasseria?”

  “North of here but you can’t get there,” the old warrior said. He reached down and turned three yams that lay in the hot ash.

  “Can’t get there from here?” repeated Alerio.

  “If you climb back up, head west for a few days, then hike into the high hills; you can come at Passomasseria from the northern approach. You’ll reach it in a week,” instructed the old man. “Or you can wait for two days until the river goes down. Then you can walk to it in a day and a half using the river bank.”

  “So, it’s not far?” Alerio guessed.

  “Not most of the year,” the Spartan replied. “But in the fall and spring, the river swells, the creeks rise, and you can’t get places. It’s best to stay put.”

  They were sitting on wooden benches on opposite sides of the cookfire. The Spartan, with the butt end of his spear on the ground, nestled the shaft in the crook of his arm. Alerio knew the old man, although sitting relaxed, could bring the tip down in less than a heartbeat.

  “I’m going to pull my knife to test the rabbit,” Alerio alerted his host.

  “Of course, you are,” the Spartan remarked. “The yams should be ready, as well. I’ll get plates.”

  While the sheep remained in the small pen, the she-goat had wandered over and stood beside the old man. When he stood and walked into the hut, the goat tagged along.

  “She’s been with me since she was a kid,” the ancient Spartan commented as he reemerged from the hut and handed Alerio two clay plates. “We found this valley and built a home here. Away from people, civilization, slaves, and war.”

  “Sounds idyllic, if not a little lonely,” Alerio said as he laid slices of rabbit on a plate and handed it to the old man. “Don’t you miss conversation?”

  “Sometimes,” he admitted while placing a baked yam on Alerio’s plate. “but then I remember why I chose this life.”

  “Why did you?” inquire Alerio.

  “I’ve been in military training, or in a Spartan mess on active duty since I was seven years old,” the Spartan related between bites. “Five years ago, my fifteen brothers sailed with King Areus to
fight in Crete. At fifty-nine and seven months, I was nearing retirement. They elected me to stay in Sparta to supervise work on our barracks. And, to audition new recruits from those graduating from the Agoge.”

  The Spartan picked up the yam and bit off a chunk. He chewed hard as if the soft vegetable was tough. It wasn’t the food that was tough, it was his story.

  “Let me tell you, sleeping in a bed and eating regular meals maybe decadent, but after fifty-two years of living the life of a Spartan soldier, I couldn’t complain. One day, word reached Sparta that King Pyrrhus had landed on our coast,” he said. “The king had just returned from the kick in the cōleī your Legions handed him in the Republic. Still, he commanded a twenty-thousand-man army. Our emissaries met with the king. He assured them that his only intention was freeing a few cities west of Sparta.”

  The old man picked up a piece of rabbit, inspected it, then plopped it into his mouth. He shook his head and frowned.

  “When Pyrrhus’ scouts began marching towards Sparta, our emissaries went back to see him,” Helicaon explained. “Same merda. By then his vanguard was headed north up the Eurotas River directly at our city. He wouldn’t have tried it if our army had been there. With our forces fighting in Crete, and other units posted elsewhere, we weren’t prepared to defend Sparta.”

  “But you are Spartans,” Alerio stated. “I’ve been told one Spartan is equal to seven warriors. Well, maybe not Legionaries, but seven of anybody else’s soldiers.”

  The comment earned Alerio a sideways look from the Spartan. Before continuing, Helicaon pulled out a comb and began running it through his long gray hair.

  “Twenty-thousand warriors, plus Pyrrhus brought elephants,” explained Helicaon. “Big animals that can crush a phalanx, or break through a stockade barrier. One day, I’m feasting and watching teenage soldiers trying to impress me with their bravery. And the next, the peace of the city gets shattered. At first there was panic, however, our former queen Arachidamia called everyone to the city center. Spartan women will not flee, she declared. They would assist in the defense of the homes. Now, here’s the issue. The job of Spartan women is to stay fit and to birth new Spartan warriors. If Pyrrhus captured our city and sold our women into slavery, Sparta would cease to exist.”

  “Couldn’t you just stay put, and defend your city’s defensive walls?” Alerio suggested. “Why take the field against a larger force?”

  Helicaon nodded sadly as if addressing a young soldier who said something so inane, it had to be a misunderstanding.

  “Have you ever heard, Sparta doesn’t have walls?” Helicaon asked. “Because Spartan soldiers are her walls?”

  “No. But, oh I see,” said Alerio as the realization dawned on him. “Sparta doesn’t have defensive walls. What did you do?”

  “I had a choice. As a veteran, I could have taken command of a section. Surrounded myself with inexperienced, but eager young men, and orchestrated their deaths,” Helicaon explained. “Or, I could help dig the city’s defenses and leave myself free to fight where I was needed. Less glory, but what does an old man need with glory. A blanket on a cold night, a few scraps of food at midday, and the occasional mug of wine are all I require.”

  Alerio glanced around the neat and orderly compound. Helicaon was playing the stoic Spartan. Yet, his life as a hermit was as regimented as a Legion garrison.

  “I chose to help with the defenses. There I was, an experienced Spartan warrior with a shovel and a spade, surrounded not by blood thirsty barbarians, but by women and old men,” Helicaon said with a gleam in his eyes. “At first I didn’t know how to act. Women; I’ve never been around them. Soldiers, teenagers, boys sure, I know how to deal with them. But women?”

  “I kept to myself as I dug and I noticed the women maintained a distance from me,” Helicaon admitted. “But, some of them seemed to be in shock. Their homes and lives were threatened. A hoard of warriors was camped a bow’s shot from where we worked. We could hear the elephants snorting and calling out as the afternoon wore on. Suddenly, I got angry. In a Spartan unit, heroics were just as contagious as fear. And I had fifty-two years’ experience with motivating troops.”

  “You didn’t whip them, did you?” asked Alerio.

  “No Lance Corporal Sisera. That’s the Legion style of getting results, from what I’ve been told,” Helicaon replied. “No, I called the women together and told them Spartan women were now the walls. I challenged them to come home with their shovels or on them. I used every rousing speech I could think of and then I placed them on line.”

  “Isn’t it with your shield or on it?” asked Alerio. “A Centurion told me the women of Sparta say that to their men before the army marches off to war.”

  Helicaon smiled and shrugged but didn’t reply to the Legionary.

  “We started at the edge of our city. The front line dug a level and moved forward. Behind them, another line dug another level and you know what I found out?” asked Helicaon.

  “No, Spartan. What did you learn?”

  “Women are easier to motivate than men,” he said. “Not only that, they don’t have to be coached on how to work together. No matter, at what age you start boys, the toughest part is to get them to act as a single unit. Women understand strength in numbers and they dug all night in unison. By morning, we had a deep defensive trench in front of King Pyrrhus’ army.”

  “Soldiers can jump trenches,” ventured Alerio to Helicaon’s delight.

  The old Spartan held up a finger while gripping his side. His laughter was infectious and Alerio joined him in the mirth.

  “Did I say something funny,” asked Alerio when he managed to catch his breath.

  “The trench those women and old men dug ended up being eight hundred feet long. It was six feet deep and nine feet wide,” bragged the Spartan. “Not only couldn’t Pyrrhus’ army jump the trench. Neither could his elephants.”

  “But they could attack through or around it,” Alerio suggested.

  “It felt as if we had dug almost to Hades. For Pyrrhus’ troops, who went down into that trench and faced our young fighters on the rim of the other side, it was Hades. While we dug the trench, other veterans dug shallower trenches on the flanks and buried wagons,” reported Helicaon. “In one night, a city without walls sprouted defenses that halted an army.”

  “So, you stopped King Pyrrhus and his troops?” guessed Alerio.

  “Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy,” Helicaon informed the Legionary. “While the main body attempted to attack across the trench, a man on a big horse led two thousand warriors in a flank attack. They roped two wagons and managed to drag them out of the dirt. Then, they rushed through the breach and attacked the heart of Sparta. I belted on my sword, collected my shield and spear, and started for the center of the city. But a young veteran named Acrotatus stopped me. He had collected around three hundred Spartans. If you know history, three hundred is a rather special number to us.”

  “I’ve heard the story of Thermopylae,” stated Alerio. “Three hundred Spartans held off thousands of Persians at a narrow pass.”

  “Well, we didn’t have a narrow pass, but Acrotatus had a plan. Remember, I told you bravery and cowardice are contagious? Well, in most armies, the brave charge ahead while the fearful lag behind,” explained Helicaon. “Acrotatus led us down backstreets, through depressions, and we emerged behind the enemy force. We hit them in full throat with every fiber of our hearts, and every skill a Spartan can bring-to-bear. We hit their rear rank and true to form, the fear spread as we hacked and chopped into their weakness. Soon we were fighting for our lives as the enemy fought us while trying to escape the city.”

  “And the siege ended?” asked Alerio.

  “No. That was the first day. Once Pyrrhus called his army back to camp, we reset the wagons and prepared for day two,” Helicaon said. “On the morning of the second day, Pyrrhus ordered men to run forward and toss dirt into the trench. When our women proved to be experts with rocks, arrows, and spears,
he had to send units into the trench to attack. As they attacked, the dirt carriers ran forward; not only with earth but with the bodies of their dead. Soon part of the trench was a partially filled graveyard. I stood on the bank all morning chopping and yelling encouragement to the young men on either side of me.”

  “You didn’t come off the battle line at all?” questioned Alerio.

  “I stepped back to drink and eat, but once I was nourished, I returned to the fray,” the Spartan said. “You see, we veterans were few and most of our defensive line was made up of young men not old enough to join a mess. By the afternoon, Pyrrhus’ men had filled in a wide ramp and the fighting at that section became intense. It was off to my right in an area where our veterans had fallen.”

  “Suddenly, the enemy charged that part of our line. With the pressure lifted at my location, I stepped back to have a drink. Then Pyrrhus himself forced his horse through his own ranks,” the Spartan recalled. “I tossed down the wineskin, grabbed my spear, and ran towards the fighting. As I jostled through my countrymen, the king led his troops through the gap. He charged into Sparta trailing ranks of his fighters. It looked bad for us. Without experienced units, our defenders were rushing around without discipline, and I couldn’t push my way to the invaders. Out of frustration, I drew my arm back and launched my spear.”

  Helicaon’s mouth twisted to the side and, for a second, he seemed younger than his years. He shook his head in agreement with his unspoken thoughts and inhaled deeply.

  “The spear arched into the sky. At best, I hoped to hit one of the enemy soldiers,” Helicaon explained. “The shaft tilted and the bronze tip angled downward. It struck perfectly and sank deeply into the flank of Pyrrhus’ horse. The King toppled to the ground and his troops, seeing their leader fall, panicked. A group formed a protective wall around their king. Our archers and slingers, mostly women, rained rocks, arrows, and spears down on the King’s defenders. Many fell but they managed to fight their way through the gap taking their ranks and their King with them. We rallied and closed the gap.”