Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Pyrrhus pulled back his army and sent an emissary forward,” the Spartan boasted. “He explained that seeing as how our ranks were decimated, and Sparta’s defenders couldn’t possibly hold out against another attack, we should surrender. He demanded that Sparta herself lay down her shield in defeat. I sometimes wonder why Kings and war chiefs don’t bother to learn history. We sent the emissary back with the roar of every citizen in his ears, daring Pyrrhus to come, and try to take our city.”

  The Spartan put away his comb and stretched his back. It cracked and he lowered his head. In almost a whisper, he continued.

  “Early the next morning, I staggered, sore and weary, to my place at the ramp. Our lines were slim and the boys on the rim could barely stand let alone hold their shields. Across the trench, Pyrrhus and his army gathered in ranks. I could see the confidence in their swagger and in the casual way they stood around,” Helicaon explained before raising his head. He faced flushed and his shoulders straightened. “Then a horn sounded. From the river, at first, a flash of scarlet, then another, and suddenly, two thousand Spartans, in perfect ranks marched towards the city. Units, disciplined and experienced, divided up the defensive sectors. Our brave, but outmatched youths were replaced by hardened veterans.”

  “I located my mess and fell in the ranks,” Helicaon explained. “They’d rowed all night from Crete and, although tired, they were ready for a fight. Pyrrhus obliged. Unlike the last two days, when his troops attacked and our defenders simply fought to hold on, they met two thousand angry Spartan veterans. Men who don’t just hold positions. They faced men who killed and took ground. It was only the twenty-thousand-man army that saved Pyrrhus. By the afternoon, the King was moving his army away from Sparta. Even as they retreated, Spartan soldiers killed his rearguard and marched after him.”

  During the tale, Helicaon had jumped to his feet. He jabbed at the air with his spear almost as if he were still with his messmates defending Sparta.

  “That’s a good story,” Alerio complimented. “But it doesn’t explain why you left all that to become a hermit.”

  Helicaon sat down on the bench and smiled.

  “Well, remember the women from the trench,” Helicaon said. “It seemed they liked being near a veteran who saved their lives and homes. Unfortunately for me, I was inexperienced and indiscriminate. I liked being near them, a lot of them, and some of them were married and all had fathers. So, I retired with beautiful memories, and fled Sparta.”

  Alerio studied the old Spartan. After visualizing him thicker with muscle and seven years younger, he accepted the explanation. To change the subject the Legionary looked around the compound for something else to talk about. His eyes settled on the sand and poles of the training pit.

  “The sand, I understand. It’s good for the legs,” Alerio commented. “But the horizontal logs, their different heights and lengths, I can’t see the benefit.”

  Chapter 42 – Secrets of Spartan Warfare

  “How would you train against the logs?” asked Helicaon.

  Alerio walked to the pit and stood in front of the butt ends of the logs. At first, he attempted to strike the logs with his hands. But the distance between the targets defeated his attempt at hand-to-hand combat.

  Spying what he needed at the cooking area, Alerio strolled there and selected two thick sticks. Back at the training pit, he swung both striking the logs in turn. Soon he had a rough rhythm going as his sticks rapped against the logs.

  “They are a little far apart for gladius training,” Alerio said as he lowered the sticks.

  “Do you know why the Spartans are such feared fighters?” asked Helicaon.

  “Because you train your whole life to be warriors,” replied Alerio.

  “There is that, but being warriors is a requirement for our survival,” explained Helicaon. “You see, our slaves outnumber my people. In order to maintain control, we have to be feared. It’s also why Spartans don’t surrender. Where would we go if we are fighting on our own land.”

  “It makes sense,” Alerio confirmed. “And Spartans certainly have a history of holding a line and turning a battle.”

  “Yes. Military discipline starts at seven years old,” Helicaon stated. “But our reputation comes from more than Spartan training. We study war and we study our enemies. And most of all, we study our enemies’ weapons and tactics.”

  Helicaon disappeared into his hut and emerged with a long pole.

  “Your Legion javelins are about this long,” he said placing a hand on a short section of the pole. Then he shifted his hand to the end of the pole and added. “The Athenians use a longer spear. Like this.”

  After sliding his hands to a length somewhere between the javelin and the long spear, Helicaon began twirling the pole overhead as he stepped into the training pit.

  “Each Legionary carries three javelins. Wastefully, you throw one or two before engaging in a skirmish,” Helicaon said as he slid his hands choking up on the pole. He began poking at the logs. As if he held a short javelin, the Spartan demonstrated the straight forward thrusts used by the Legions. Rapidly, he worked back and forth striking each of the logs several times.

  Then, he slid his hands to the rear of the pole and began efficiently poking at the log ends. “The Athenians and others, like the Syracusan, use long spears. Very effective for keeping the enemy off the shields of their phalanx.”

  Even while holding the long, unwieldy spear, Helicaon managed to rapidly tap each of the logs. He had effectively demonstrated skill with both the Legion javelin and the Athenian spear.

  Abruptly, he stopped and moved his hand to a section between the long spear and the shorter javelin. Now, he moved the pole as if it were a long sword. Helicaon smashed the pole’s tip between the logs so fast that the end of the pole blurred.

  “How do you think King Leonidas and his three hundred Spartans fought off thousands of Persians?” asked Helicaon. “By poking at them with long spears? Or throwing away javelins and jabbing at them with the remaining ones? No, Legionary. Spartans fight smart with no wasted movement.”

  While Helicaon talked, his pole’s tip swung rhythmically between the log targets. If the Spartan were standing in a battle line, he would effectively be striking multiple members of an opposing force. Alerio visualized a line of Spartans with bronze-bladed spears slicing and killing many times their number.

  “We study our enemy and we train so, in fact, one Spartan is equal to seven other warriors,” Helicaon bragged as he pulled the pole back and rested the butt end on the sand. “We know how our enemies move. We practice countering their maneuvers and drill against their weapons. It’s why Spartans are the best fighters in the world.”

  “You haven’t faced a Legion,” advised Alerio.

  “Not yet. Then again, you haven’t expanded off your shores,” pointed out Helicaon. “Your Legions have been too busy consolidating the Republic’s territory. But you realize by now, Spartans are watching and studying your tactics.”

  “Speaking of watching. I witnessed an Athenian phalanx chew through a hoard of Illyrian pirates last week,” mentioned Alerio. “How do Spartans defeat a phalanx?”

  “We match them shield for shield in our own phalanx,” replied Helicaon. “Unless there is a narrower battlefield nearby. Then, we lure them into tighter quarters. Hills and uneven ground are best. Barring that, we open a hole in our battle line and let them in. Then when the phalanx turns to attack one side of our broken line, we attack their rear. The problem is if they have elements behind the phalanx, you’ve opened a gap in your line for them.”

  “So, you’d need reserve units to reestablish the line,” questioned Alerio.

  “Now you’re thinking like a Spartan,” Helicaon said. “I believe you need to rest. I noticed you favoring your leg when you were showing off with the two sword demonstration.”

  “One thing the Spartans may not realize, yet,” Alerio informed him. “Legionaries don’t rest until their blades are sharp and their e
quipment is serviceable. I’m going to clean and sharpen my gladii before I rest.”

  “If I were in Sparta, I’d pass that bit of knowledge along to my messmates,” proclaimed Helicaon. “But I’m not. They’ll have to learn it on their own. But, it’s a good idea, I’ll get out my sword and oil it as well.”

  “Now you’re thinking like a Legionary,” said Alerio as he walked towards where he left his pack and harness.

  Chapter 43 – Mission Focused

  Alerio rolled over and tossed back the hood of his cloak. A fire crackled softly in the cooking area. On the far side of the flames, Helicaon sat combing his hair and beard. The old man looked so relaxed and uncaring, it was easy to forget the spear and sword propped up on the logs beside him.

  Last night, the Legionary and the Spartan had compared their respective armies. Both militaries demanded tough training and cleanliness. However, where the Legion depended on a show of ordered shields to awe an enemy, the Spartans went the opposite direction. In the dawn before a battle, the enemy would first see the Spartans sitting around grooming themselves. To the enemy warriors, who strutted around trying to shore up their courage before attacking, the sight of Spartans silently combing their hair, trimming their toenails, or calmly brushing their scarlet cloaks, was confusing and intimidating.

  Alerio commented that he should have marched into the Syracusan Raider camp and announced himself while combing his hair. They both laughed because Alerio’s hair was cropped closely to his scalp and he was cleanly shaven. And, because intimidation required more than just showing up, and posturing in an enemy’s camp.

  “Bread?” asked the Spartan as he tore off a chunk and held it out.

  Alerio shook the dew off his cloak and spread it out on a rock before reaching out and taking the bread. Above, stars were visible in the narrow patch of sky above the Spartan’s valley.

  “You didn’t make this here,” ventured Alerio as he sat on a bench.

  “No, I go to Passomasseria or Bovesia a couple of times a month,” Helicaon replied. “Although Bovesia is my favorite. Before buying my supplies, I stop at the Columnae Herculis for a meal. Hyllus’ lamb is the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  “I’ve grown fond of Hyllus and Marija,” Alerio admitted. “And of Pholus’ beer.”

  “Who is Pholus?” Helicaon asked.

  “The beverage merchant on the first level,” explained Alerio. “In the small shop on the first plaza to the right of the stairs.”

  “I was in Bovesia two weeks ago and that shop was empty,” Helicaon said. “He must be new.”

  Alerio thought as he chewed. If the shop was empty fourteen days ago, when and where did Pholus brew his beer? It takes four weeks or so for the mixture to ferment. He’d have to ask Pholus when he got back to Bovesia.

  Before Alerio could say anything else, Helicaon’s goat came from around the animal pen chewing on a short branch.

  “The water is receding,” exclaimed Helicaon.

  The Spartan hadn’t moved. And from the cook site, neither man could see the river or the valley below the ledge.

  “How do you know?” Alerio inquired.

  “She’s chewing a sprig of mint,” explained Helicaon while pointing to the goat. “It grows in the valley so the water level must be dropping.”

  “Does that mean I can get to Passomasseria?” Alerio inquired.

  “Why is it you are so set on getting to Passomasseria?” replied the Spartan.

  “I’ve got a Tribune who wants to know if the citizens are loyal to the Republic,” explained Alerio. “Or, if they’ve seen any strangers in the area.”

  “I was in Passomasseria last week. I needed a pouch of salt. The goat found my old one and chewed the leather and ate the salt,” Helicaon said as he reached out and patted the goat’s side. “So, I hiked up and spent the night. If there was any treason or disloyalty to the Republic, it would have come up in conversation. As for newcomers you, Lance Corporal Sisera, are the only one to have seen three squads of Syracusan Raiders in the vicinity. That sounds like strangers to me.”

  Alerio stopped chewing and let the bread hang suspended between his fingers. Reporting the squads to Bovesia’s Centurion was far more important than checking on the citizens at Passomasseria. He had been focused on his mission and missed the ramifications of an enemy force behind the Legion Garrison. The Legionaries were capable of defeating the Raiders unless…

  “Helicaon. I’ve got to get to Bovesia and notify the garrison,” Alerio exclaimed.

  “We can’t go anywhere until the sun comes up and we get a look at the river,” Helicaon replied. “Finish your bread and at sunrise, we’ll go and see.”

  Chapter 44 – The Raging River

  Alerio could tell why the Spartan wanted to wait for daylight. The path down to the valley was more fit for a goat than two humans. Even Helicaon, who was familiar with the trail, turned and walked backwards down a few of the steep and twisting sections.

  At the bottom of the granite wall, they stood on top of a hill. Deeper in, the valley rose gently on either side of a rushing stream. Unlike the hill where they stood, the ground was green with grass and dotted with olive and lemon trees.

  “On the other side of the trees is my garden,” explained Helicaon. “The flood waters never get much higher than this mound.”

  Without another word, he led Alerio down to a path between their hill and another. As they walked, the roar of the river reached them. Alerio noted the fresh gravel, sand, and dirt under their feet.

  “Yesterday, this was under water,” explained Helicaon. “You wouldn’t want to have been here.”

  “Or, out there,” Alerio said as the river came into view. A shiver ran through his body as he recalled his struggles in the flood waters.

  The river was flowing along the high banks, leaving a strip of land between the river and the curve of the cliff where it left the valley. Helicaon marched along the damp ground until they came to a crop of trees nestled in a crevasse.

  Suspended behind the tree trunks, and up under the branches, was a small boat. Its leather sides crinkled from being in the river and drying afterward. Alerio could see the leather hull was coated with oil to preserve the exterior of the skin.

  “What kind of oil?” asked Alerio as he and the Spartan approached the boat.

  “Fish oil,” Helicaon replied. He reached overhead and slapped the taut leather. “It’s plentiful and a side benefit from catching my own food. Press out the oil and eat the rest, just like you do with olives.”

  Alerio studied the lines above the boat. He could see how one man could pull the boat out of the river, up the bank, and around the trees before pulling it out of sight and above the flood waters.

  “Can it carry two and my pack?” asked Alerio.

  “She can but not until the waters calm,” Helicaon informed him. “It’ll be tomorrow before we can paddle to Bovesia.”

  “What do we do in the meanwhile?” Alerio questioned.

  “Help me harvest food from my garden,” Helicaon replied. “After a heavy rain...”

  Alerio interrupted, “A lot of the crops will be beat down. If we don’t pick the vegetables, they’ll rot in the mud. My family owns a farm. My father taught me farming.”

  “Excellent. Maybe you can show me a few farming techniques,” suggested Helicaon. “Because my family also owned a farm. But, my father didn’t teach me about farming. He instructed me in the use of a shield and a spear.”

  Act 7

  Chapter 45 – Bovesia Garrison

  Tesserarius Cephas stretched his arms over his head in the predawn. It was quiet and he relished the stillness. The rain, from the day before yesterday, had passed and the sky was cleared. For a moment, he enjoyed the stars in the night sky. Over the last three weeks, he’d been busy standing in as Officer of the Guard, writing reports, replying to one of the many requests from Southern Legion, setting the Legionaries daily assignments, and making sure the Centurion was satisfied with his wor
k.

  A blush of pink appeared over the eastern mountain.

  “Second Century. Lance Corporals, get them on the road,” he called out. The peace of the morning was broken. “You are wasting my day. And you know what I hate?”

  From the seven tents, voices called back, “Waste.”

  Cephas smiled at the reply.

  The ground had mostly dried, so he’d keep the physical training simple. For his own good, the Corporal ran with the infantrymen. After enough laps to equal ten miles, he called the squads to a halt.

  “The rain held up the transports so today is going to be busy,” he warned. “I want those on patrol to look lively. If you’re on a post, stand straight. If you have no assignment, we have garrison repairs. I want every citizen who sees a Legionary to know that if the pirates return, they are going to get chewed up and spit back into the ocean. Decani, on me. Century dismissed.”

  The Legionaries broke ranks and headed in different directions. Only six Lance Corporals converged on their NCO. The seventh and last squad leader was walking the guard posts as Sergeant of the Guard.

  “I’m not jesting. The citizens need to know their Legion will protect them,” Cephas informed his squad leaders. “We were attacked and the town is wondering if Bovesia is safe. They are wondering if we are capable of repelling another attack. Well, when they see a Legionary, I want them to be awed by the man’s military bearing and his confidence. If I am not awed by every one of your infantrymen, I will replace their squad leader and the punishment will put the slacker in medical. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Corporal,” the six squad leaders replied.

  Second Century’s Centurion strolled out from the command building. As he approached the group, all of the NCOs turned to face their officer.