Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Come on Legionaries,” he shouted as the lines began to accordion. Those lower down were falling further behind the faster men. “Come on, run. Run hard.”

  The distance between the leading Raiders and the last of the Legionaries was growing closer. In another five steps, the gap would close and Alerio would lose two of the Commander’s Legionaries. He yelled in frustration, grabbed two javelins, and raced back down the hill.

  ***

  The Raider was targeting the back of a Legionary. Another step and a slash to his leg and the man would fall. Then the Syracuse soldier would kill him. For a fleeting moment, he noticed a Legionary hopping down the hill. He discounted the man as he was too far away to be a threat.

  Alerio skipped so every other move downward allowed him to set his feet. On the fifth, he drew back his left arm. When his feet landed solidly, he threw the javelin. Almost as if it were headed for the slow Legionary, the shaft slid by the man’s helmet. Behind him, the iron tip entered the Raider’s cheek and pierced his brain.

  The next closest Raider watched his squad mate tumble back down the hill. He raised his shield to defend himself from the Legionary hopping down the hill with the javelin. The move slowed his pace and the slow Legionaries were able to put distance between themselves and their pursuers.

  As the two Legionaries reached Alerio, he yelled, “Extra duty for you both. Now run. If I beat you to the top, I’ll kill you myself.”

  Arrows shot by the Legion archers rained down on the Raiders. Wisely, they fell back. When the last three Legionaries passed the four shields, the doorway fell back to the mouth of the alleyway. Soon, the cart bed and boxes were up and the barricade sealed.

  Alerio didn’t stop running until he was standing in front of Cephas.

  “Fifteen Syracusan Raiders dead or wounded,” Alerio blurted out as he huffed and puffed while trying to catch his breath.

  “We cut their force in half,” Cephas confirmed. Then he glanced at the medical area. “Looks like two minor arrow wounds and one with deep thorn scratches. I’d say the mission was a success.”

  “Yes, sir. I agree,” Alerio answered. “What’s happening on the beach?”

  A trumpet blared from far down on the lower plaza.

  “There’s your answer,” Cephas replied while spinning to the returning squads. They were milling around. “The day is not over yet, people. Squad leaders, get them into place.”

  Alerio looked up at the Legion bowmen on the rooftops facing the garrison. They seemed undisturbed. One looked back, smiled, and shook his head. Apparently, the Syracuse soldiers were taking some time to regroup.

  ***

  Down on the stairs, Second Squad braced as the Illyrian soldiers jogged up the stairs, and came on line four abreast. With shields held high, they charged across the plaza at the Legionaries. The front rank of Second Squad was hunched over with the bottom of their shields hanging over the short wall. The front line of Illyrians must have thought the Republic was recruiting little people.

  Just as they reached the Legion line, the Legionaries stood, lifting up their shields to reveal the short knee-high wall. Too late to alert those pushing from the rear, the front rank’s lower legs slammed into the logs. Pressure bent them over and they died from gladii chops. The second rank Illyrians, expecting to power the first men through the Legion shields stumbled. They died from javelin thrusts. By the time the third rank figured out their charge had stalled, half of them fell from thrown javelins.

  There was a jam up as the retreating Illyrian solders backed into a screaming hoard of pirates scrambling up the stairs.

  Cephas pointed to his acting Sergeant, “First Squad, arrows.”

  As the NCO passed the order forward to the squad leader, Cephas spun to face his acting Corporal. “Third Squad, arrows.”

  By the time Third Squad received the order, First Squad was putting arrowheads into Illyrian pirates. When Third Squad added to the flurry of arrows, panic broke out on the second level plaza. Illyrians, both solders, and pirates began fighting for access to the stairs in an attempt to escape the slaughter.

  Four trumpets sounded from the beach.

  A smile creased Cephas’ face and he slowly turned to his acting Sergeant. “First Squad stand down,” he said before shifting his feet so he faced in the opposite direction. “Corporal. Third Squad, stand down.”

  The orders were passed from the NCOs to the squad leaders and then to the Pivot Privates. Soon, the arrows stopped falling but not until another ten more Illyrian pirates fell to the pavers on the second level plaza.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera. A word?” Cephas called out. When Alerio approached, the Commander asked. “What do you suppose four trumpets mean?”

  “It sounds like a recall from each warship,” ventured Alerio.

  “Do you suppose they have enough rowers to get away?” Cephas asked.

  “Commander. You’re not thinking about going down and engaging them, are you?” Alerio inquired. “There are still almost four hundred left.”

  “Not them. Once the Illyrians are away, I want those Syracuse cūlus out of my garrison,” Cephas replied. “I’m putting Private Procopius and Third Squad in charge of the detail. What do you think?”

  “It depends,” Alerio stated.

  “Depends on what?” demanded Cephas.

  “On if you want prisoners,” advised Alerio. “Because I don’t think your wolves understand surrender.”

  “Then Third Squad should serve nicely. Now, go find a bath, Lance Corporal Sisera,” ordered Cephas. “Because, Legionary, you smell.”

  Act 8

  Chapter 61 – The Chain of Command

  The next morning a Legion trireme beached at Bova. First Sergeant Gerontius was the first to jump from the warship. Following closely behind came Senior Centurion Patroclus.

  They marched up the beach to where four Legionaries were laying in the sun. Behind them was a mound covered in goatskin.

  “Where’s Centurion Laurens?” demanded Gerontius.

  “He’s dead, First Sergeant,” one of them replied.

  “Then who is in charge?” demanded Gerontius.

  “Garrison Commander Cephas, sir,” another Legionary replied.

  The Senior Centurion and the First Sergeant exchanged glances.

  “And, what are you four doing?” Patroclus asked.

  “We’re on disposal detail, sir,” a third answered.

  “I don’t see you doing anything,” commented Gerontius.

  “We’re waiting, First Optio,” a Private replied.

  “You’re disposing and waiting?” asked Patroclus. “Seems to me you’re just laying around sunning yourselves.”

  “Commander Cephas said not to leave the beach until it’s clean,” the Private reported.

  “Clean of what?” Patroclus demanded. He was losing patience with this game of question and answer.

  The Private stood and walked over to the mound. Grabbing an edge of the goatskin cover, he tossed it back. Arms, heads, legs and other body parts stuck out from the pile of bodies. Once the cover was back, the smell of rotting flesh and merda rolled over the First Sergeant and the Senior Centurion.

  “Who are they?” demanded Patroclus.

  “Mostly Illyrians and I think this load has a few Syracusan solders, Centurion,” replied the Private.

  “This load?” inquired Gerontius. “How many loads were there?”

  “Can’t be sure,” the Private replied, “But Commander Cephas said we had about one hundred and seventy-five on the beach. Although we brought thirty down from the garrison.”

  “What are you doing with them?” inquired Gerontius.

  “Feeding them to the sharks,” the Private explained while pointing to the horizon. “The patrol boats are dumping them way out. Commander Cephas said we didn’t have time to bury them. We have to clean the beach and make our garrison combat ready.”

  “Where can we find Commander Cephas?” Patroclus asked.

 
“He’s either at the tower build. Or, maybe at the grave site,” the Private answered. “Or, at the Columnae Herculis questioning the Egyptians. Or, with the Spartan looking over our defenses. He moves around a lot. Or, he’s…”

  “I get it,” Gerontius said interrupting the infantryman. “Cover that; the bodies stink.”

  “That’s what we thought at first,” the Private assured his First Optio. “But after a while, you kind of get used to it.”

  Patroclus and Gerontius marched through the sand and mounted the steps to the first level plaza.

  “Pardon us, sir,” a pair of sweating Legionaries said as they jogged down the steps.

  By the time Patroclus and Gerontius crossed the first level plaza and started up to level two, the Legionaries passed them jogging up the stairs.

  “What are you two doing?” Gerontius queried.

  The infantrymen stopped and turned to face him.

  “Running from Raiders, First Sergeant.”

  “I don’t see any Raiders,” declared Patroclus.

  “No, sir. But if you do, we’ll be able to out run them next time,” the two said as they jogged away.

  “First Sergeant. What is going on here?” the Senior Centurion asked.

  “I believe, sir,” Gerontius said. “That it’s time Tesserarius Cephas was promoted to Optio.”

  “He’s already a Commander according to everyone at Bovesia Garrison,” the officer observed.

  “If Garrison Commander was a Legion rank, I’d put him in the slot,” offered Gerontius.

  “Why is that, First Optio?” asked Patroclus.

  “Because, our young Corporal took command after the death of his Centurion and fought a big battle here,” Gerontius explained.

  “And what do you base that on?” inquired the senior infantry officer.

  Gerontius pointed at the buildings around the second level plaza. Four Legionaries were pulling arrows and javelins from the joints in the stonework and adding them to a huge pile in the center of the plaza.

  “Legionaries. Why are you policing up the area?” Gerontius inquired.

  “Because Commander Cephas said it’s unsightly for citizens of the Republic to see the tools of war, First Sergeant,” the Legionary replied. “This is a place of commerce, and we welcome foreign ships to do business here. I think that’s what he said?”

  “Well, Senior Centurion, does that answer your question?” asked Gerontius.

  “It does. I look forward to reading Garrison Commander Cephas’ report,” the officer said as they continued across the plaza.

  Chapter 62 - Columnae Herculis

  “Steady there,” a voice yelled from the roof top. “We’ve got one chance to get this up.”

  “What’s the rush Lance Corporal?” a voice called out from the other end of the roof.

  “Private. Commander Cephas said it has to be up before First Sergeant Gerontius comes for an inspection,” the Lance Corporal replied.

  “Why would the First Sergeant care if it goes up today or tomorrow?” the Private asked.

  “Cephas explained that the First Sergeant likes to watch the sunset from the tower when he’s composing his poetry,” the Lance Corporal answered. “If the tower isn’t up, it’ll mess up his muse. Now, pull.”

  The Senior Centurion looked at the First Sergeant.

  “Epic, or love poems?” teased Patroclus.

  “I don’t write poetry,” growled Gerontius.

  When they looked up, the top of a watch tower appeared. It had been laying on its side. Lines pulled from one end of the roof while poles pushed, and the tower rose into the air.

  Gerontius glanced at Patroclus.

  “Nice to know I can watch an unobstructed sunset,” Gerontius uttered sarcastically.

  “Good morning, Senior Centurion,” a Lance Corporal said from the edge of the roof top. He was standing with his body squared to the tower, and his neck twisted so he could look down on Gerontius and Patroclus. “Don’t worry First Sergeant, your muse is safe with Third Squad. We’ll have the tower secured long before sunset. All right, people, we’re wasting daylight. Let’s get this tower leveled.”

  Patroclus started for the Columnae Herculis diner while motioning for the First Sergeant to follow.

  “I don’t write poetry. And, I don’t watch sunsets,” Gerontius grumbled.

  “Don’t tell them,” Patroclus whispered as he pointed to the roof. “I think part of their pride and motivation is preparing the evening perch for their favorite poet.”

  ***

  The Southern Legion’s infantry leaders walked across the porch and into a war zone. A clay mug flew across the dining room and shattered against the corner of a table.

  “I want them out of my diner,” Marija shouted. Her legs were set wide apart and slightly bent for balance. Her right hand rested threateningly on her short sword. “Get out. Three days of snooty, perfumed Egyptians is too much for anybody. Get out.”

  “Please love,” pleaded Hyllus. “Where would the Ambassador and his staff…”

  “Staff. He has four slaves and a scribe,” Marija pointed out. “There’s plenty of room on the porch or the plaza for them. My dining room is not an inn. If I wanted to hear men snore all night I could have stayed at my father’s home in Macedonia.”

  When Marija mentioned Macedonia, the tall Egyptian in the richly embroidered robe stepped back as if he’d been struck in the chest. Patroclus noticed it but didn’t say anything.

  “We may be able to help,” offered Gerontius.

  Marija swung to face the door as if confronting a second challenge. Hyllus, on the other hand, smiled and held out both arms.

  “First Sergeant, if you can help I’d be ever so grateful,” exclaimed the big Athenian.

  “We sailed here for a day inspection,” explained the First Sergeant. “We had planned to row back to Rhegium Garrison this afternoon. However, we didn’t know Bovesia had lost its Centurion and was attacked. Senior Centurion, your thoughts?”

  “I believe Tribune Velius would find it interesting to talk with the ambassador,” replied Patroclus as he crossed the room. “We’ll take the Egyptian with us.”

  “I must go to Athens,” insisted the Egyptian. “Any detour would further my transit time. This layover has already cost me three days.”

  “What’s your rush?” asked Patroclus. “Why is it so important that you get to Athens?”

  The ambassador’s eyes shifted to Marija. Then, just as swiftly, they returned to the officer.

  “I am an ambassador of the King of Egypt,” the man stated. “My business is that of my ruler and of no concern to a common soldier. I demand transportation to Athens as soon as it can be arranged.”

  Patroclus inhaled deeply and slowly let it out through his nostrils. Gerontius had seen his officer mad and recognized the pattern. He waited for the rage.

  “I am the Senior Centurion of the Southern Legion,” Patroclus said forcefully. “I command Legionaries and not one of them is a common soldier. You, sir, are on Republic soil and under the protection of my garrison commander, Cephas. You will speak to me with respect. Or, instead of transportation, I’ll have you and your staff drowned in the Ionian Sea. Do I make myself clear?”

  The Egyptian dropped his eyes and he deflated in the face of the Centurion’s fury.

  “Senior Centurion, my apologies. I spoke rashly,” the ambassador said. “It’s just this trip has been difficult and unpleasant.”

  “Unpleasant? That’s it!” Marija shouted. “Get your bloated, overdressed, arrogant, snide cūlus out of my cafe. You dare to call this unpleasant after eating half my winter stores and turning half my dining room into your personal bedroom? Get out!”

  “Ma’am, we will have the ambassador moved,” Patroclus promised. “Either to my ship or to the garrison. I beg for your patience until the First Sergeant and I finish our inspection.”

  “Fine Senior Centurion, I appreciate it,” Marija replied. Then her eyes softened and she adde
d. “The next time you must stay longer. Hyllus and I will fix you and the First Optio a feast. That camp stew your Legionaries eat can’t be good for the stomach.”

  “Thank you, Marija. We’ll be back for the Ambassador,” Patroclus promised. Then he turned to Gerontius. “First Sergeant, let’s go take a look at the garrison.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Gerontius as both men headed for the door.

  Chapter 63 – Mars, God of War

  They marched through the alleyway and stopped at the top of the hill. On either side of the path, Legionaries were digging out the bottom of the slope. Other men hauled stone. An old man stood on a course of rock laid at the foot of the dig.

  “Looks like Commander Cephas has ordered a construction project,” Patroclus exclaimed.

  They walked down the path and up to the old man.

  “What are you building?” asked Gerontius.

  “A wall. When the Syracusan Raiders set their listening post on the hills, they had us pinned,” the old man replied. “So, we’re cutting the hill and shoring it up with a stone wall. It’ll be too hard to scale once we’re done.”

  Patroclus tapped the First Sergeant on the shoulder. When Gerontius turned, the officer pointed out a hospital tent. Poles allowing air to flow held up the sides of two joined ten-man tents. Within the tents, wounded Legionaries were resting in neat rows. Two medics moved between the injured.

  It wasn’t the tent or the busy medics. It was the number of wounded men that struck them.

  ***

  “Good morning, Senior Centurion, First Sergeant,” the Senior Medic said as they approached. He finished tying a bandage around a Legionary’s leg before standing and walking over to them. “It’s been a busy three days. But everyone is treated. None critical. Most of these men will return to full duty in a few weeks.”

  “Do you need anything? Supplies? An extra medic?” inquired Gerontius.