Tribune's Oath (Clay Warrior Stories Book 17)

by J. Clifton Slater

  “We have them on their knees and I will not pass up this opportunity,” Regulus asserted. “Colonel Sisera, your Legion has been assigned the valley route. Set your maniples and pursue the enemy.”

  “As you wish, General,” Alerio replied.

  Outside the command tent, he leaped onto Phobos’ back and kneed the stallion, heading it towards his Legion.

  At Legion North, cavalrymen rubbed down their mounts on the right flank and skirmishers on the left sat on the ground sharpening their spears. Massed in the center were rows of heavy infantrymen fixing straps and honing gladii. But, no element of the Legion unpacked utensils or took off their war gear. The small tasks occupied their time while waiting for General Regulus’ decision and Battle Commander Sisera’s orders.

  Chapter 2 – A Space for Victory

  The Legionaries assigned to rear security, had yet to reach the entrance to the valley. In front of them, the baggage train for North Legion had entered the basin and formed a long procession. Four hundred and ten mules with an equal number of servants, forty wagons of supplies and grain, sixty spare cavalry mounts, and craftsmen and their carts filed into the narrow valley. On each side of the route, Velites climbed the hills searching for Empire warriors waiting in ambush. Although the Legionaries who went first had already checked for possible ambush sites, the light infantrymen made sure no soldiers slipped over the rolling hills or around the mountain during the Legion’s transit.

  Just ahead of the baggage train and only two miles into the valley, Centuries of the third maniple walked four abreast. In front of the veterans, Colonel Sisera and his command staff rode their mounts.

  “I don’t like it, sir,” Griffinus Agoston grumbled.

  “What’s the matter Senior Centurion?” Alerio inquired. “Too quiet for you?”

  The Legion’s senior combat officer gazed up at the top of Mount Boukornine on one side, shifted to the other side, and peered at the foothills. Then he spit as if disgusted.

  “Colonel, if I wanted to slow us down,” Agoston replied. “I’d place archers on those hills with two Centuries of heavy infantrymen and dare you to leave that threat in your wake.”

  “I take it you have a point,” Alerio questioned.

  “Only a quandary, Battle Commander,” the top combat officer stated. “Why does the Empire want up to move so fast?”

  “Because they’re running,” Tribune Invisum submitted.

  While the head of planning and strategies provided Alerio information such as the location of the Legion and data from scouting reports, the staff officer lacked combat experience.

  “Run to where? Qart Hadasht is twenty-five miles ahead and their army is the only thing standing between us and the city’s defensive walls,” Alerio pointed out. He thought for a moment before asking. “In a bore hunt, you chase the beast to your hunters. What’s the last thing you want?”

  “For the bore to realize it’s being rushed into a kill zone,” Agoston offered.

  Colonel Sisera kicked Phobos and yelled over his shoulder.

  “Come on Griffinus,” he invited the Senior Centurion. “Let’s go see what kill zone we’re being driven into.”

  Alerio and Griffinus Agoston raced around the twelve Centuries of the first maniple. A half mile later, the Battle Commander, the Legion’s top combat officer, and a detachment from First Century rode alongside the second maniple.

  “Who has the lead?” Agoston questioned a Centurion.

  “Centurion Keoki is upfront with his skirmishers,” the combat officer replied.

  “As I’d expect from my light infantry commander,” Senior Centurion Agoston responded. Then louder, he exclaimed. “He’s leading from the front, as I’d expect from every combat officer of Legion North.”

  The Senior Centurion had expressed an expectation for his officers. His Centurions and Legionaries heard and Alerio approved of the overt messaging.

  ***

  The cluster of horses trotted ahead of the heavy infantrymen. Across a short break in the ranks, they caught up with units of skirmishers.

  “Where’s Centurion Keoki?” Agoston asked.

  Two squads of Velites pointed farther up the valley. Sweating and breathing hard, the skirmishers were too exhausted to speak. The reason, on the hills to either side, other light infantrymen took their turn combing the landscape. Rough terrain made searching for hidden soldiers and possible ambush sites hard duty.

  A short while later, the staff riders caught up with Grear Keoki near the front of his skirmishers’ formation.

  “Anything of interest?” Alerio inquired.

  “Nothing is the interesting thing, Battle Commander,” Keoki remarked. “Nothing. Not a scrap of discarded gear, nor old campfires litter this valley. It’s as spotless as a Temple of Hygieia.”

  “Marching Legionaries always leave gear or other signs of their passing,” Alerio commented. “Especially if they’re in a forced retreat. What does a clean valley suggest?”

  “The Empire troops weren’t panicked when they came back through here,” Agoston remarked. “I don’t like the idea of a preplanned retreat, sir.”

  “Neither do I, Senior Centurion,” Alerio confirmed. “Let’s get ahead of our point element and see what the Empire has planned for us.”

  “Sir, Centurion Palle won’t like you going out front,” an NCO from First Century stated.

  “I don’t plan on a one-man charge into the ranks of the enemy,” Alerio told him. “But if it’ll keep you in good graces with the Rabbit, give me two men who can climb and one to hold our horses.”

  Alerio, Griffinus Agoston, Grear Keoki, and three members of First Century galloped forward. They passed the scouts for the light infantrymen and pulled up when they could see the end of the valley.

  ***

  Alerio and the pair of combat officers scrambled up the backside of the slope, reached the top, and poked their heads above the crest.

  “Gentlemen, I believe we have our answer,” Alerio commented while looking at the flatland beyond the valley.

  “Apollo bless me,” Grear Keoki prayed. His call to the God of Flocks, Herds, and Boxing wasn’t lost on Alerio or the Senior Centurion.

  “When we engage at the mouth of the valley,” Agoston projected, “our Legionaries will take casualties. We’ll kill hundreds and not move one foot. The dead well need to be removed before we can fight our way forward.”

  Beyond the last hill, thousands of Empire warriors waited. To reach them, North Legion needed to squeeze through a narrow gap of five hundred feet before forming their assault lines.

  “Two hundred shields across,” Agoston growled about the pass at the valley. “Not even room for a half maniple.”

  “And if the Legionaries manage to advance, the warriors will flood the ends of our lines,” Alerio noted. “We’ll lose the two hundred. Then what, I waste another two, then another, hoping the Empire gets tired of killing our men?”

  “It’s worse than I thought,” Grear Keoki uttered.

  “What could be worse than that?” Agoston questioned.

  “Their front elements are tribal warriors,” the Centurion of Light Infantry described. “Look deeper in the hoard and to either side. They have Companies of soldiers hidden in the crowd.”

  “When we advance against the warriors, and there’s no doubt we can,” Senior Centurion Agoston picked up the narrative. “The infantry will close in. Our forward squads will be slaughtered in the pincer movement.”

  “So, the Empire Commander’s plan is a trap, camouflaged in a trap,” Alerio summarized. “Forget the impediment to our progress for now. What is our immediate goal?”

  “To get the Legion out of the valley,” Keoki responded.

  “Find room to form the maniples into battle lines,” Agoston stated another goal.

  “Both are worthy objectives,” Alerio agreed.

  He squinted at the Qart Hadasht army trying to think of a way to fulfill both goals. No idea came to Battle Commander Sis
era.

  “Sir, if I might,” an infantryman from the First Century offered. “Our first goal is to push them back. Until we uncap the valley, we can’t do anything.”

  Alerio rolled over on his back, stared at the sky, and smiled.

  “I once knew a Senior Centurion who refused to wear an undergarment,” Alerio reminisced. “When I lay on my back during stressful situations, I hope to see him standing over my head giving me a nasty view of his manhood, and a hard time for laying down on the job.”

  “Sir, what does that have to do with this?” Keoki asked.

  “I was in command of the Messina Militia when we faced off against the Syracuse army,” Alerio said. “After a morning of defending against their phalanx formations, I was exhausted, and my pirates turned infantrymen were beaten. After a duel with some Hoplites, I fell on my back expecting the next one I met to send me to the Goddess Nenia.”

  “What happened, Colonel?” Agoston inquired.

  “The Legion arrived, set their battle lines, and saved the day,” Alerio said. “But facing phalanxes let me know the power of a concentrated force.”

  “Sir, we don’t drill for the phalanx,” Agoston reminded Alerio. “Not since the Samnite wars and that was years ago.”

  “Senior Centurion, we don’t, but we do practice the tortoise,” Alerio asserted. “And although we aren’t approaching a fortified position, the men are accustomed to the Testudo. I think they can handle using it as an assault formation.”

  “You want the Centuries to form the tortoise shell and push into the warriors,” Agoston guessed.

  “Yes and no,” Alerio proposed. He sat up, located a stick, and began drawing in the dirt. “This is what we’re going to do.”

  ***

  Corporal Philetus pulled two squads from the side of the trail.

  “Form a box, five men to a side,” he directed. After some shuffling, the Legionaries stood in a square measuring thirteen feet by thirteen feet. “Shields up. Interlock them.”

  From a loose collection of men and shields, at the command, the box formed by the twenty Legionaries shrunk to a solid ten by ten with an empty center. Philetus walked around, stopping to throw a shoulder into each of the shields. Once satisfied with the formation’s integrity, he shouted to the light infantry area. “Give me fourteen Skirmishers.”

  From an empty husk, the square of Legionaries filled with bodies. After setting up the modified Testudo, Philetus raised an arm.

  “Ready, sir,” he shouted to the Centurion of the Sixth Century.

  Aeneas waited for the last of his four mini-Testudos to get ready before calling to Agoston.

  “Senior Centurion, the Merchants of Mayhem are ready,” Aeneas declared. His description brought shouts of ‘Rah’ from the men of the Sixth Century. “Let’s get this war over with.”

  More cheering rose from the four small formations. Picking up on the bravado, the other forty-four squares added their voices.

  “Sir, the first maniple is prepared,” Agoston reported.

  “Are my snapping tortoises ready?” Alerio questioned.

  A unified ‘Rah’ came from the men clustered in the squares.

  “Remember, don’t stop to fight, just push and push hard,” Alerio shouted. “May the Goddess Bia, Jupiter’s winged enforcer, lend you bodily strength and the will to succeed. First maniple, forward.”

  Six abreast, the small tortoise formations fast walked from the staging area. As they rounded the final hills of the valley, they slowed for better footing, and split, stacking three testudos to a side. The following formations left the valley and marched straight forward. As if splayed fingers sinking into bread dough, the forty-eight squares shoved into the mass of Empire warriors.

  ***

  “Step, step, push, push, hold it together,” Philetus called out in a loud but calm voice. “How many steps to Qart Hadasht?”

  “Too many,” a Legionary responded.

  “How many steps to Qart Hadasht?” the Corporal insisted.

  “Nothing the first maniple can’t handle,” another answered.

  “What is the road paved with?” Philetus inquired.

  “The souls and hides of our foes,” his group of Legionaries replied.

  “Push, push, step together,” Philetus instructed. “How many steps to Qart Hadasht?”

  “Not too many, Corporal,” the formation roared back as the forward shields met a wall of spears, armor, flesh, and muscles.

  Far behind them, Battle Commander Sisera addressed the second maniple.

  “You are my experienced Legionaries. I call on you to save your little brothers who have gone into harm’s way to open space for your assault line,” he shouted. “Unlike Bia’s blessing, I pray to her brother, the God Kratos, to grant you might and the power to rule the day. Centuries of the second maniple, forward.”

  Without the need to hold a tight formation, the Centurions called the beat for a Legion jog.

  “Left, stomp, left, stomp,” the combat officers bellowed. “Left, stomp…”

  They learned in training to show pride and the familiar cadence brought up the Legionaries heads. By the time they reached the narrow exit from the valley, their right feet slammed down with authority and their hearts pumped with vigor.

  “Second maniple, draw,” the most senior combat officer ordered as they threaded through the narrow gap.

  “Rah!” came back to him in a roar.

  “Centurions, form the maniple,” he instructed.

  From columns jogging along the trail from the valley, the Legionaries dispersed. The Twenty-First Century snapped into the far-left position and shuffled into a three-line formation. Next, the Twenty-Second joined them, and then the Twenty-Third bolted into place. Quickly the rest fell in until the Twenty-Sixth Century anchored the end on the far right.

  The eight hundred feet of shields, steel, and muscles paused for a beat. They understood the extra three hundred feet beyond the mouth of the valley, a space for victory, was carved by the sacrifices of the first maniple. The Legionaries gritted their teeth and adjusted their hands to secure grips for the work ahead.

  “Second maniple, forward.”

  As if an armored centipede, the nine hundred and sixty Legionaries moved to engage the warriors of the Empire.

  ***

  The square formed by first and second squads, Sixth Century, distorted when they came up against the warriors.

  “Lock your shields and push,” Philetus instructed. “Maintain your shape and push.”

  “How many steps to Qart Hadasht, Tesserarius?” a panting Legionary asked.

  “Not too far,” Philetus answered. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

  The squads mashed into the bodies of warriors who slashed and bashed at the big shields. As the Legionaries had learned while training, the heavy infantry scutum could be used as a weapon, or as a personal barrier. But when locked together and held by men with heart, they formed an impenetrable wall of wood.

  Squeezing into the massed warriors, the squares created holes. Then, the displaced fighters flowed back into place, surrounding the first maniple formations. Because they were excited for the battle, the Empire warriors bashed at all sides of the squares. While striking the big shields, the warriors left their front line to pursue the enemy close at hand.

  All the commotion in the crowded hoard drew their attention away from the mouth of the valley. In the confusion, most of the Empire warriors missed the arrival of the combat lines.

  “Second maniple, standby,” Senior Tribunes Emerens and Cancellus barked. “Advance, advance, advance.”

  Three hundred and twenty scuta, as if shot from slings, slammed into the off balanced warriors. Before they could recover, the shields retreated, and an equal number of steel blades jabbed out. The line stepped into the gap and the infantry shields punched again.

  For the wounded mercenaries on the ground, their last sight was the bottom of a falling hobnailed boot.

  “Left, stomp,
left, stomp…”

  ***

  Between the valley and the plain were a pair of hills with steep sides. Inclined just enough, they allowed Rapti Galba to scrape through on his mount. Seeing their Tribune attempting a solo cavalry charge, the Legion horsemen kicked their mounts into motion. After following him through the gap, Legion North’s cavalry emerged on the plain and joined the battle.

  By the third set of advances from the second maniple, the Legion cavalry began carving on the sides of the Empire’s forces. With horses as the signal, the surviving men of first maniple began fighting their way out of the hoard.

  Lost in the battle was a cry far to the rear of the Qart Hadasht army.

  “How did the Legion get so deep into your formation, Major?” General Hamilcar bellowed. “We had them pinned in the valley. Now, they’ve broken out. Sound the retreat before I lose my infantry Companies.”

  “Yes, General,” the Major confirmed.

  Inside, the infantry officer bristled against the cautious decision. The soldiers of the infantry, the Qart Hadasht General wanted to save, were the troops needed in the fight to defeat the Legion.

  But the Punic nobleman had given an order and the Major complied. Because, he didn’t fancy dying on a cross.

  Chapter 3 – The Threshing Board

  “Hold this and don’t let off the pressure,” Hektor Nicanor instructed. He placed an infantryman’s hands on a soaked bandage and pressed down. Under the weight, the wounded man moaned and attempted to push the hands and the bandage away. During the struggle, the youthful medic added. “No matter how much he begs, don’t let go. I’ll be back.”

  The harsh reality was Hektor needed to wait before treating the man. No matter the depth of the wounds, unless the blade cut something major, survival depended on the will of the injured man. As Doctor Allocco taught, ‘you can only save patients with the will to live.’ The youth grabbed his medic’s bag and dashed to another injured Legionary. After lifting several rags, Hektor examined the wounds, replaced the bandages, and unpacked a needle and thread. This man had the blessing of Zelos, the God of Zeal, and had lived long enough to demonstrate his willingness to fight for his life.