“Your greed has put you in a bad situation,” a Legionary to the right of the gate stated. He removed his helmet. “I believe you’re looking for me.”
Bagarok spun to face the speaker and charged, “Battle Commander, you are under arrest.”
Although some suspected Alerio, the rest of the men on the work site gasped. Alerio Lophos the draftsman was in fact Colonel Sisera, Commander of Legion North.
“Greed, overseer, was your undoing,” Alerio professed as he took three steps towards the irregulars. “If you had reported me to your superiors, they would have swooped in with a company of soldiers and a troop of cavalry. But they haven’t because you didn’t report me.”
“There are more men coming,” Bagarok stammered. “Lay down your arms.”
“The reward must be huge,” Alerio submitted. “But wait. They think I’m dead. There isn’t a standing reward. Aha, you planned to negotiate after capturing me. Bad choice, have your warriors lay down their arms.”
Philetus bolted for an exit. An infantryman violently blocked his escape, knocking the former NCO to the ground. As if an order had been issued, the action triggered the irregulars. They lifted their tribal shields and leveled their spears at the Legionaries.
In response, Celso, a recently appointed Legion squad leader, barked, “Step up. Form a wall.”
The infantrymen marched four steps and came abreast on Alerio’s left. On the far left, Master Carpenter Tullius anchored the far side of the formation. Making clicking noises, the seven scuta overlapped, shrinking the width of the Legion formation. Across the courtyard, the fifteen warriors straightened their shoulders. With the numbers in their favor and the Legionaries cowering behind their big shields, the irregulars felt confident.
“Cover,” squad leader Celso instructed.
Alerio and the six Legionaries went from peeking over the tops of their shields to ducking down behind them. An instant later, volleys of stones flew from the roof of the building.
While the irregulars were distracted dodging and attempting to block the barrage of rocks, the Legion squad leader shouted, “Forward.”
***
From the right side of the formation, a rough, out of tune voice sang.
I want to dream of home and hearth
To donate at the Temple of Vesta
Witness the eternal flame
See a Vestal Virgin
Be in Rome again
Alerio’s shield rocked from strikes by a pair of spear tips. Judging the location of the warriors, he angled outward. As he sang, he bent at the knees, and exploded off the combat line.
I’ve got seventy miles of hike
Just to reach the beach
Seventy miles of fight
Just to launch a ship
Hammered by the veteran infantry officer, the pair of warriors fell back. One spear got pushed downward while the other was moved upward by the shield. Charging behind his scutum, Alerio stomped the lower shaft, ripping it out of the warrior’s hands. He slammed the unarmed tribesman inward towards the assault line and leaped at the second.
On the far side of the Legion formation, Tullius also used his shield to hem in the irregulars, preventing them from circling behind the Legion assault line.
Pivoting his hips, Alerio ducked under the second shaft. In mid step, he felt the warrior resist as he set his feet, preparing to stab over the shield. Before Alerio had to start dodging a spear’s tip, he hacked the tribesman’s arm. Screaming in pain, the man dropped the shaft, sunk to his knees, and held the dangling portion of his severed arm.
Alerio stepped back, rejoined the Legion combat line, and crooned.
Eight hundred miles to sail
Just to see Ostia
Eight hundred miles of sea
Just to be free
Five warriors were wounded or dead. Three had run for an exit, rather than face the moving barrier of hardwood and sharp steel. The last seven circled Bagarok, defending the manager. Heavy infantrymen hated having to chase down the enemy. Which made the positioning of the irregulars perfect for an assault.
My destiny is of travel and trouble
The Goddess Hybris has the traits
Her blessings are my guide
Outrageous behavior
To Reckless pride
Alerio pushed the warrior in front of him, crowding the man backward. The tight rounded formation of irregulars allowed for no give, letting Alerio pin the man in place.
Any stationary target in a shield wall fight was vulnerable. Alerio stabbed and his gladius found flesh.
I’ve got seventy miles of hike
Just to reach the beach
Seventy miles of fight
Just to launch a ship
Somehow from the press of bodies, the overseer was ejected. He fell on his face, gathered his hands under his chest, pushed off the gravel of the courtyard, and managed one step. Then the hands of five unarmored Legionaries grabbed Bagarok and shuffled him off to the side.
Eight hundred miles to sail
Just to see Ostia
Eight hundred miles of sea
Just to be free
Realizing there was no room or need for his blade in the final push, Alerio stepped back. Scanning the courtyard, he located the overseer in the hands of a group of Latians.
“I need his robe,” Alerio informed them. “Don’t get blood on it.”
The robe came off as daggers and tools came up. Bagarok, the overseer, was stripped before being executed.
***
At one exit, three irregulars lay dead while at the other, Philetus moaned as he bled out.
“Put him down,” Alerio directed.
One of the guards stepped forward and ran his blade through the former NCO’s throat. There would be no punishment post for the traitor.
“Non capimus!” Alerio ordered when the fighting in the scrum slowed. “We can’t leave witnesses behind. Take no prisoners!”
The warriors attempted to fend off the blades and shields of the Legionaries. But light infantrymen were at a disadvantage against heavy infantry in close quarter’s fighting.
“You are blood thirsty, Colonel Sisera,” Didacus observed. “After this mess, we have no alternative. The Empire will want us all on crosses.”
“Did they ever want anything else?” Alerio inquired. He indicated the bodies. “We need their armor and uniforms. Oh, and Master Foreman, if you think this was extreme, remember, we’re just starting on the violent trail.”
Mere heartbeats later, the battle for the courtyard ended and the escape of the five hundred captives began.
***
Five irregulars marched in front of an empty wagon and five followed. Driving the mules were a pair of men in dirty tunics. Behind the teamsters, a manager in his robe of office strolled along with the wagon. At an intersection, the overseer waved his arm indicating a turn.
The detachment lost the view of Punic Bay when they left the east-west facing street. Moving south and downhill, they saw a three-story building at the bottom of the street and the city’s defensive wall behind it. Rather than go to the building, the manager scurried to the lead and called a halt at a warehouse.
“Force it open and make sure we’re alone,” Alerio directed. As the disguised Legionaries cut the hemp binding the door, Alerio walked to the teamsters. “Master Tool Maker, you only have until dusk to sort the gear.”
“Don’t you worry, Colonel,” Albin assured him. “I’ll have helmets with helmets, gladii with gladii, and shields with shields.”
Facing the other teamster, Alerio asked, “Can you find your way back to the compound?”
“As easily as if it was the foundation for Jupiter’s Temple,” Naevus assure him. “Aren’t you coming?”
“I’ll be along later. Right now, load this wagon and get the gear back to the courtyard,” Alerio told him. Legionaries appeared in the doorway and cut the air with their hands. At the all-clear signal, Alerio told them. “Give me five men. The
rest of you help load the wagon.”
Once he had his volunteers, Colonel Sisera marched downhill to the building adjacent to the defensive wall.
***
Alerio pushed open the unbarred door and marched into the building. The bottom floor held a couple of barrels and a trough for watering livestock. He took mud bricks steps to the second level. Crossing the floor, he located an inclined ladder and climbed to the third floor. From there, he moved to a hole in the ceiling and accessed the roof by a steep ladder.
The city’s defensive wall were seven feet higher than the building and ten feet away. At six feet across at the top, there was room for a double row of archers to fend off attacks. Of course, the Qart Hadasht wall was designed to keep an army out, not to prevent one from escaping.
“Can we do it, Colonel?” a Legionaries asked when he reached the top of the ladder.
“That depends on how much rope we have,” Alerio replied. “You and the men secure this property. I’m going to the warehouse to see if Albin has any there. Then I’m going to the courtyard to check on the welcoming committees.”
“Yes, sir,” the infantryman acknowledged. “The building will be yours, Colonel Sisera, when you return.”
“It best be ours, or we’ll be in a bind,” Alerio told him while placing a foot on the ladder. “Since this roof is the only way out of the city.”
In truth, the Battle Commander’s observation wasn’t totally accurate.
***
Legionary Chigi snapped the reins to keep the mules moving towards the checkpoint. He squinted at the defensive wall then, glancing back, he examined his wagon. Once sure his load remained level, he looked to the wagon following behind.
For months, the two men chosen from the work crew as teamsters, hauled blocks of clay to the city. At first, the men cutting the material from the quarry were envious. Then after several occasions where the drivers returned dirty, bruised, and bandaged, the diggers changed their opinion.
Isolated and without backup, the pair of infantrymen turned teamsters ran a gauntlet on every trip. Iberian soldiers who hated the Legion, might stop the wagons, pull the drivers down, and beat on them. A saving grace, if they could call it that, their mounted guard broke up the punching and kicking before the teamsters were unable to continue. Another problem had to do with the stacks of clay blocks. When the blocks shifted, the teamsters were forced to unload and reload the entire shipment to balance the loads. Often, the imbalance was caused by the Iberians. It left the bleeding and injured Legionaries alone to put the clay blocks back on the wagons. Thus, it wasn’t simple curiosity that caused Chigi to look both ways.
“You’re in luck, Latian,” the mounted guard observed. His words oozed sarcasm. “Your Iberian friends have been replaced by light infantry. Maybe the soldiers will be at the third barricade.”
“Missing the show, are you?” Chigi muttered so the horsemen couldn’t hear. Then louder, he questioned. “Would Qart Hadasht use warriors on the inner wall?”
The first wall in the city’s defense was a ditch with an earthen embankment. It gave defenders the high ground to fend off raiders. Chigi had never seen guards at the ramp running over the ditch. When the wagon rolled up and onto the higher level, he could see what the mounted guard saw.
“Those are Empire irregulars,” Chigi noted. “What happened to the Iberians?”
At the second wall, the ditch was deeper, and the wall was composed of a rock structure supporting higher ground behind it. From the heights, soldiers could hold back tribes of invaders. Irregulars stood at a raised barrier designed to drop and seal the wall after removing the ramp.
“If you miss the soldiers,” the cavalryman teased, “I could ask a few of the light infantrymen to thump on you.”
“No, thank you,” Chigi declined.
The clay caravan rolled up the ramp and through the gate. On the next level, the Legion driver noted the third wall. Constructed of a mountain of earth and fronted by slabs of stone, the city’s primary defense soared forty feet from the ditch. Chigi peered off to his right towards the waters of the Picnic Bay.
For all the sanctuary provided by the triple walls along the western side of the capital, near the bay the defenses differed. Figuring the water would limit any attack, the Empire allowed the three to meld into a single wall of stone. And Legionary Chigi wasn’t looking at the harbor’s defenses. He focused on where the three western walls joined. If there was a weakness in Qart Hadasht’s defenses, it lay in the area where the walls merged at the edge of the bay.
On the ramp of the first wall, the mules fought to climb to the level of Qart Hadasht. Once there, they wheeled through the thirty feet of wall before stopping at the gates.
“What are you hauling?” an irregular NCO asked.
“Clay for a building site,” Chigi replied. Then he jerked a thumb over his shoulder and added. “So is the wagon behind me.”
“Move along,” the guard instructed.
Before the wagon started forward, an officer of light infantry addressed the mounted guard.
“The Noricums and Iberians have been dismissed and we’re still getting around to scheduling new assignments. Watch your drivers and keep them under control. If they make trouble, you should kill them and save us the bother.”
“I’ll do just that, sir,” the cavalryman responded. “But I’ve ridden herd over these two for months. I don’t expect any trouble from them.”
“You’ve been warned,” the Empire Lieutenant stated. “Move them along.”
Chigi’s eyes narrowed, and he hunched his shoulders. Almost as if he planned to leap from the wagon and run off, the Legionary thought of escape. Without the Noricum’s threat to kill everyone if anyone escaped, maybe some of the five hundred could make it to Kelibia and catch a ship home to the Republic. With that in mind, he relaxed his shoulders, snapped the reigns, and guided the mules into the city.
***
Chigi counted five light infantrymen as he urged the mules up the street. Three stood at the gate waiting for the wagons while two more guarded side entrances. His idea of escaping, in the absence of Noricum soldiers, died in his heart. It seemed the Empire had not forgotten to assign light infantrymen to the compound.
“You go ahead, I want to be sure your comrade doesn’t run,” the mounted guard ordered. Then he added with a laugh. “I don’t think you can get away between here and them.”
He pointed at the two men opening the gate and the stern-faced NCO who was supervising. Chigi’s heart sank, and in his frustration, he viciously snapped the reins. The cavalryman laughed at the Legionary’s outburst.
Chigi brought the wagon of clay blocks into the courtyard and walked the mules around until the tailgate came to a stop at the Master of Clay. As always, Remus stood waiting to inspect the quality of the white clay. By the time Chigi settled the mules, the second wagon rolled into the courtyard.
In the open gateway, the mounted guard stopped and asked.
“Will you watch them?” he inquired. “I need a drink.”
“What did you say?” the NCO questioned. While marching to the cavalryman, he tapped the side of his helmet. “You’ll have to speak up. I caught an Etruscan ax on that side a few years ago. Ever since then, I can’t hear out of that ear.”
“You caught a what?” the cavalryman demanded.
“I said,” the NCO answered. He drew a dagger, reached up, and stabbed the horsemen in the ribs. As the mounted guard curled around the hand and hilt, the acting Optio pulled him off the horse and slammed him to the ground. “I said, “I can’t hear out of my left ear.”
Two Latians dressed in the uniforms of irregulars rushed up and grabbed the guard’s heels.
“Just a moment,” the NCO ordered. He reached down and pushed the blade deeper into the wound. Then he twisted the dagger before jerking it from the guard’s ribs. “Now you can take him.”
While the fatally injured cavalryman was pulled away, two other men raced up and closed th
e gate. Chigi sat with his mouth open.
“Close your trap, Legionary,” Remus directed, “and help us unload the clay.”
“Why the rush?” Chigi inquired.
“Because we need these two loaded before any of the other material wagons arrive,” the Master of Clay told him.
“Loaded with what?” Chigi questioned. “I usually roll back empty.”
“Not this time,” Remus assure him. “For your last trip, you’ll have a bottom layer of helmets, armor, and gladii. Then a layer of scuta covered with a goatskin tarp. And to hide the war gear, a healthy layer of broken tiles.”
“That’s only quartermaster stuff,” Chigi protested. “What about the men?”
“We’re working on that,” Alerio Sisera informed the Legionary. “For now, get the clay off and the equipment loaded. And before you ask. Yes, we are going to Kelibia.”
“And from there to home?”
“That is the plan.”
Act 7
Chapter 19 – Disguised and Undignified
Late in the afternoon, eleven supply wagons rolled from the compound. Each piled high with broken tiles and accompanied by groups of captives. They were dirty and shuffled as if they didn’t have the energy to walk. And every wagon had a light infantryman to help the cavalryman guard the Latian prisoners.
The caravan weaved through the streets of Qart Hadasht then left the urban district. As the first group of walking captures approached the gate in the defensive wall, one of the five mounted guards turned on his saddle.
“We’ve a long way to go,” he instructed the guards walking with the wagons. “If any dither on the trail, you have my permission to whip him into motion.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” an irregular responded.
Just as the convoy reached the gate, a captive fell to his knees. The soldiers on sentry duty laughed as they had just heard the NCO tell the guards not to let any of the prisoners fall behind. But the wagons and men were halted for inspection, so the beating was entertainment.
“Get up, you filthy Latian,” the infantryman ordered. Which, to the soldiers, was doubly hilarious as the guard was a Latian mercenary. The guard whacked a length of leather across the captive’s back. “I said get up. Or I’ll beat you and leave you here bleeding on the ground.”
Tribune's Oath (Clay Warrior Stories Book 17) Page 16