Tribune's Oath (Clay Warrior Stories Book 17)

by J. Clifton Slater

  Alerio noted Hektor racing down the hill with his medical bag flopping against his hip. While he watched, an aide brought Phobos from the corral.

  “Sir, will you be changing armor?” the Junior Tribune inquired.

  Alerio took the reins, looked down at his scratched and dented battle gear and replied, “I don’t think so. But I’ll need the Battle Commander’s helmet. And thank you for bringing my horse. Very thoughtful of you.”

  “Sir, I would like to take credit, but it was Master Nicanor’s idea.”

  Another aide ran from the hill fort with the Battle Commander’s helmet.

  “Let me guess,” Alerio remarked as the identifiable headgear was handed to him. “Hektor’s idea?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  ***

  Legion North rushed towards Tunis but stopped at the edge of the forest. There appeared to be no clear path to victory or even an identifiable destination beyond that point. The forest ended while the road continued to a dark and forbidding place.

  The landscape and the town of Tunis were obscured by thick smoke. The bulk of it coming from two burning Legion camps while a little drifted in from the charred remains of a third. Alerio studied the scene and a knot formed at the pit of his stomach.

  “The shadows in the smog are Empire warriors attacking the Legions,” Centurion Miklos of the Forty-Sixth Century reported. “Or else, they’re being hounded by the three-headed dog, Cerberus. If only the gates of Hades would open and swallow them.”

  The shapes he referred to were shadowy figures in the distance.

  “If anyone is at the gates to Hades, it’s our Legions,” Alerio submitted. To his left flank commander, he instructed. “Emerens, we aren’t going to rush out and join the Legions.”

  “If we aren’t fighting, sir, why are we here?”

  “I didn’t say we weren’t going to fight,” Alerio clarified. “I want double files of shields running from the trees to the Legion line. They’re surrounded and we’re going to provide a corridor for their retreat.”

  “I’ve collected another two hundred cavalrymen, sir,” Rapti Galba told Battle Commander Sisera. “We’ll keep their horsemen off our infantry as much as possible.”

  “Hektor, Centurion Lophos, Tribune Invisum, Centurion Gratian,” Alerio called to his support staff. “You four escort our Junior Tribunes to the river.”

  “Sir, I can’t leave you,” Hektor insisted. His breathing came hard either from the forced march or from emotion. “I swore an oath.”

  Alerio leaped off Phobos, handed the Battle Commander’s helmet to Agoston, and walked to the defiant boy.

  “I appreciate you wanting to keep your word to the Goddess Hera,” Alerio consoled Hektor. “But my parents, and Gabriella need to know what happened here.”

  “But your unborn child,” Hektor pleaded. “I promised he wouldn’t grow up without a father. Respectfully, sir, I’m staying with you.”

  Alerio lifted the necklace with the pendant of Heilos over his head and let it dangle between his fingers. The image of the Sun God swung back and forth.

  “Take this and Phobos home to Rome,” Alerio instructed. He wrapped an arm around Hektor and squeezed affectionately. Dropping the pendant over the boy’s head, he told him. “Know this, Hektor Nicanor, I will come back for all the things I love, including you.”

  With tears in his eyes, Hektor climbed onto the big stallion and nudged it into motion. He rode away with the rest of Legion North’s admin staff.

  “Senior Centurion, where do we stand?” Alerio inquired.

  “The Forty-sixth is taking the lead,” Agoston answered. He held the gaudy helmet up to Alerio. “We’ll follow with the Sixth Century and create the corridor with the remainder of Legion North.”

  “Why the Merchants of Mayhem?” Alerio questioned.

  “Sir, they want revenge for Corporal Philetus,” Agoston replied.

  “Retaliation or an oath. Both are good enough reasons to die,” Alerio stated. He pushed the Commander’s helmet back to Agoston. “You wear it Senior Centurion. It’ll draw too much attention to me.”

  “Colonel, I don’t understand,” Palle dared even though he had an idea. “What does draw too much attention mean?”

  “Rabbit, I’m going forward with the Sixth,” Alerio responded. He grabbed an infantryman’s helmet from a Legionary and placed it on his own head. “You’re now a stretcher-bearer and don’t need a helmet.”

  “Yes, sir,” the stunned infantryman acknowledged.

  “Forty-Sixth Light and Merchants of Mayhem,” Alerio boomed at the two lead units. “I am late for an appointment with General Regulus. Can you get me there?”

  “Rah,” the Veles and the heavy infantrymen responded.

  “But the way is full of peril,” Alerio challenged. “Empire blades, clawed monsters from the netherworld, and only the Gods know what else stands in my way.”

  The men howled their willingness to take the Battle Commander through the hazards.

  Centurion Miklos called to the Forty-Sixth, and Centurion Aeneas addressed his Sixth Century.

  “Century, attention,” they instructed.

  The Legionaries braced. Barely breathing, they waited for their Colonel.

  “Glory and the Qart Hadasht army await us,” Alerio announced. To Senior Tribune Emerens he remarked. “I’m going in. It would be pleasant to have an exit corridor in place to get out.”

  “Yes, sir, you’ll have a walkway,” the Senior Tribune assured him, “as nice as any pathway in a temple garden.”

  “I don’t seem to be any closer to the General,” Alerio informed the Centuries. “Forward.”

  The light infantry stepped from the woods and jogged into the smoke. Close behind Alerio with the Sixth Century followed in their wake. While they began running, Legion North shuffled out in two lines, forming a channel of shields. Agoston and Emerens trotted down the center. Rapti Galba’s cavalry split and began patrolling along the line of march.

  It was a good strategy for the extraction of the surviving Legions. A fine plan with an excellent chance of success. Except, the Spartan General was prepared for Legion North and their successful commander, Colonel Alerio Sisera.

  Chapter 11 – Too Much Territory

  Alerio ran with the Sixth Century. Glancing back, he noted the double line of infantrymen extending from the woods. Alongside the Legionaries creating the escape route, Rapti Galba’s cavalrymen kept Empire horsemen away. Unopposed, the walls of the passageway formed quickly.

  A sudden stop brought Alerio’s attention back to the front. The Centuries were approaching the backs of the warriors assaulting Legion East. A couple of mercenary NCOs saw the fresh Republic forces. Although they waved and yelled, their warnings were lost in the din of battle.

  Off to the side, a Spartan Captain observed the danger. But, seeing as the reserve Legion was forming a corridor and not attempting to reinforce the besieged Legions, he ignored the threat. It was worth a few hundred dead mercenaries to lure Legion North out of the forest.

  “Throw one javelin,” Centurion Miklos ordered his skirmishers, “and disburse.”

  From leading the way across the field, the Veles released javelins, divided, and created endcaps for the heavy infantry.

  “Form three ranks,” Centurion Aeneas instructed. “Cut them away from our boys.”

  Now bracketed by the skirmishers, the Sixth Century was able to deliver the concentrated power of their shields and gladii to the attackers.

  Bodies dropped by the javelins of the skirmishers defined a section. The Sixth Century stomped over the dying warriors as they hammered into the rest. As if a hand dropped and scraped away grains of wheat, the Legionaries scraped away soldiers exposing fifty-five feet of Legion defenders.

  “Where’s General Regulus?” Alerio demanded while pushing to the front of the Sixth Century.

  From blocking, stabbing, and fending off wave after wave of Qart Hadasht mercenaries, the men of Legion East found themsel
ves facing the shields of Legion North. They paused but kept their scuta interlocked.

  “Stand down,” Alerio shouted. “Make way.”

  But the tense and embattled infantrymen held their positions.

  “Allow me, sir,” Centurion Aeneas interjected. His helmet, unlike Alerio’s, had the distinctive horsehair comb. Recognizing him as an officer, the defenders responded to his instructions. “Make a hole for the Battle Commander.”

  Shields parted and Alerio walked through.

  “I should have kept my Colonel’s helmet and dressed the part,” he scolded himself. A projectile slammed into the side of his heavy armor. Alerio stretched to the side to give relief to the bruised spot. His heavy battle armor had stopped the lead pellet. In his flashy Battle Commander’s armor, on the other hand, he would have had a broken rib. Looking down, he located the squashed lead missile from the Empire slinger and stated. “Or not.”

  Spying a Tribune standing with a rear rank, Alerio jogged up and inquired, “Where’s General Regulus.”

  Before the staff officer answered, a horse charged through the Legion ranks. The rider, his face a mask of fear and terror, rode towards the corridor. Infantrymen had to jump out of the way as Tribune Ostentus Colonna galloped between exhausted infantrymen. Alerio spit in the direction of the horse and rider. They reached the opening, galloped through, and escaped.

  “Limp mentula,” Alerio cursed at the retreating noblemen.

  “You know Tribune Colonna?” the staff officer questioned.

  “Enough to know him as a coward,” Alerio remarked. “Where’s the General?”

  The Tribune indicated an area to the left of the command tents.

  ***

  From the edge of the forest, a Qart Hadasht soldier stepped into the clear. He waited to be sure the Republic troops leaving the woods were more than a patrol. Once sure the reserve Legion was committing, he pulled flags from his back and began snapping them through the air.

  Hidden by the flames and smoke from a burning stockade, a Captain, one of Xanthippus’ hoplites, waved a flag in reply.

  “Get them up,” the Spartan officer shouted to his Lieutenants. “Sisera’s Legion is on the march. They embarrassed you once. Now it’s time to return the favor.”

  Sprawled on the ground, his two thousand Iberian infantrymen stirred then jumped to their feet. Held out of the earlier attacks, they were assigned to take on Legion North.

  “Form ranks,” the Spartan Captain instructed. “Wedge formation. Forward.”

  In a broad sweeping movement, the soldiers circled from behind the burning structure. Once on a collision course into the side of the corridor formed by the Legionaries, the center elements stepped out front and the ones on their sides drifted back. Before the Iberian heavy infantry were ten steps towards the flank of Legion North, they formed an arrowhead designed to slice through the corridor.

  ***

  In a defensive square, one would expect to spot specific units. But the combined Legions of East and West created a massive perimeter. Ranks of Legionaries and officers waited for another trip to the front, medics worked on wounded, and water carriers raced to quench the thirst of men just rotating from fighting at the front. Between the smoke, dust, tents, and wagons, Alerio might have wasted precious time without directions.

  “Get back to your Century,” an NCO from First Century ordered.

  He and five veterans blocked access to Marcus Regulus and his staff with spear heads. Alerio unstrapped the infantry helmet, tossed it to the ground, and pointed to the crescent shaped scar on the crown of his head.

  “If you don’t recognize me as Battle Commander Sisera, I suggest you examining the mark. Most people gossip about it,” Alerio challenged. “But If you don’t know it’s me by the scar, I will have to murder you all, then go speak to the General.”

  “Stand down and let the Colonel through,” First Centurion Nugari instructed. “Battle Commander Sisera how are you here?”

  “We punched through your southern wall,” Alerio replied. “Pass the word. Get the wounded loaded and moving in that direction.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nugari told him. “The General is with Colonel Balint beside his tent.”

  Alerio pushed aside the spears and jogged to Marcus Regulus and Balint, the Battle Commander for Legion West.

  The General and the senior officer were bent over a map.

  “There is a gully here,” Balint pointed out. “If we form in blocks, we can get some Centuries out.”

  “You’ll have to leave your wounded, and you’ll lose more men than you’ll save,” Alerio stated while marching up and saluting. “General Regulus, good afternoon.”

  “Sisera? Come to gloat?” Balint growled. Then he challenged. “Think you could have done any better?”

  People under stress will sometimes revert to a time when they felt safe by acting out. Colonel Balint had reverted to when he had the luxury of being jealous.

  “I’ll gladly cross blades with you later, Colonel,” Alerio acknowledged. “But right now, we need to plan a withdrawal.”

  “And how do you propose to do that?” Balint demanded.

  Marcus Regulus hadn’t said a word. He just gawked at Alerio as if looking at a specter.

  “Legion North is holding open a corridor to the woods,” Alerio reported. He ignored the other Battle Commander and continued. “Centurion Nugari is moving your casualties. Which Centuries do you want to move next, General?”

  Marcus Regulus glanced down at the map, ran a finger to the signature of the cartographer, read the name, and smiled.

  “For an instant, I thought you really were a sorcerer,” Regulus informed Alerio. “Just being here is magic, but at least this isn’t one of your maps. That would have been too much of a coincidence.”

  “Who drew the map, sir?” Alerio asked.

  “Centurion Lophos made this one,” Marcus answered before addressing the other Battle Commander. “Colonel Balint, move our admin staff members out after the wounded. Then start with Legion West. I’ll leave the order of march up to you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Balint stated. He saluted and jogged away.

  “He and Colonel Ferenc have a problem with me,” Alerio remarked, “and I can’t figure out why.”

  “Ferenc and Triticeus are dead,” Marcus informed Alerio. “I know you and the Senior Tribune were close.”

  Alerio’s hand reached for the hilt of his gladius, and he felt a pressure on his back.

  ‘No Nenia. I’m a commander now, not an infantryman. My revenge will need another approach.’

  He wasn’t sure how long he stood in thought, but it must have been long enough for Marcus to worry.

  “Colonel Sisera, are you okay?” Regulus asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Alerio answered although he wasn’t steady on his feet. “Did Senior Tribune Triticeus go down in a charge? Did he at least have a glorious end?”

  “I don’t have details,” Marcus confessed. “But Triticeus was part of the negotiation’s team. He and Ferenc were murdered in the treaty tent.”

  A shiver ran through Alerio’s core, and he wanted to lash out. But he had a Legion to manage and Legionaries depending on him.

  “If you don’t need me, General,” Alerio said excusing himself, “I’ll go and oversee the retreat.”

  “Go. And Colonel Sisera,” Marcus Regulus offered, “thank you.”

  ***

  Alerio jogged around the defensive square alerting medics to pack up their wounded. Eventually, he arrived at a line of wagons, clerks, and exhausted infantrymen. They shuffled forward heading into the corridor.

  “How many have we gotten out so far?” he asked Centurion Miklos.

  The skirmisher officer rested a stick on his shoulder while consulting the ground. Lines, drawn by the stick, covered a good portion of the dirt around his feet.

  “About eleven hundred, Colonel,” Miklos replied. He used the stick to point at the sides of the passageway. “Aeneas and the Sixth are t
aking a beating. You might want to get some veterans over here.”

  “I know just where to get them,” Alerio stated.

  He ran back to the command area intending to send General Regulus through. Once the Proconsul made it to safety, Alerio could use Balint’s First Century to hold the opening against the encroaching soldiers.

  This time, the veterans recognized Alerio. They waved him through.

  “We have a steady flow going into the forest, sir,” Alerio reported to the Marcus Regulus. “I believe it’s your turn.”

  “Not while I have Legionaries in combat,” Marcus responded. “I can’t leave them behind.”

  “I’ll stay in command until the end,” Alerio volunteered. “But I need Balint’s First Century at the opening.”

  “Send Balint through and put his bodyguards on the passageway,” Marcus instructed an aide. Then to Alerio, he said. “I’ll stay with you until the last of us retreats.”

  “Not ideal, sir,” Alerio admitted. “But you are the General.”

  If the battle for Tunis had been fluid and the Legions able to maneuver, the General and Battle Commanders would be ordering adjustments. But as a static fight, the details fell to Senior Tribunes, maniple staff officers, and Centurions. That didn’t mean messages with reports from sectors didn’t come into the command area.

  “General, the west side is pulling back to reestablish their combat line,” a courier reported.

  “Good. Shrinking the formation will make it easier to consolidate our forces,” Marcus Regulus responded.

  “General, the northeast corner is pulling back,” another courier informed him.

  “Advise the rest of the east line to fall back with the corner,” Marcus instructed.

  Alerio listened, agreeing with the few orders the General issued. Mostly, Marcus Regulus took in the news and weighed it against other reports. His job required an overview of the battle with an eye to where trouble was developing. Alerio laughed.

  “Is something funny, Battle Commander Sisera?” Marcus inquired.

  “It’s the turn of a phrase I was thinking of, sir,” Alerio replied. “With an eye to where trouble is developing. Seeing as we have trouble on all sides, developing trouble is an overstatement.”