While the drama played out at the front, an Empire Sergeant marched to the first wagon.
“What are you hauling?” he demanded.
“They’re cleaning the building side,” Chigi responded. He indicated the men to the front and the men and wagons behind. “The work on the building is almost completed. We’re disposing of broke tiles.”
“What about the prisoners?” the NCO inquired.
From the front of the convoy, the walking guard yelled louder as he lashed the helpless prisoner.
“I said get up. Or I will leave you here broken and bleeding.”
Worried his men would have to care for an injured Latian, the Sergeant of the Guard left Chigi and marched to the front. He arrived to see three more prisoners drop to their knees. An equal number of guards rushed forward ready to begin beating them.
The NCO looked from the lifted arms and leather whips of the guards to the pitiful men collapsed on the ground. He visualized an afternoon of watching broken men moan and die. Instead of dealing with dead bodies, he decided to get rid of the caravan.
“Hold those whips. You’ll not leave your throwaways at my gate,” he stated. “Move this mess along.”
“Yes. Sergeant,” the mounted guard acknowledged. He waved the convoy forward and directed. “Some of you, help those men to their feet.”
Slowly, because they seemed to have as little energy as the man with the lash wounds, the Latians helped each other to their feet.
“Move along,” the Sergeant of the Guard insisted with a snap of his hand.
The wagons and groups of weak men struggling to walk moved through the gate.
“Sergeant. I thought that guard was going to kill the man,” one of the sentries said. “He was bleeding after the first lash. I wouldn’t beat an animal like that.”
“When you spend too much time guarding prisoners,” the NCO lectured, “you lose some of your humanity. And then you begin to see your charges as less than human.”
The sentries watched as the caravan left the city. They didn’t pity the prisoners. Those were enemies of the Empire. But they did feel for the guards and their loss of compassion.
***
The eleven wagons and seventy-five men moved through the second gateway without incident. Farther down the road, they left the third defensive wall behind, and the weary men straightened and began marching. After looking around to be sure the area was free of Empire troops, Chigi pulled his wagon to the side of the road. Behind him, the caravan stopped.
“How are you feeling, Naevus?” Didacus asked. He dismounted and put an arm around the man with the lash marks on his back.
“Once on a dig, I was buried under five feet of rock,” the Foundation Mole reported. “How do I feel? Undignified is one word.”
“I shouldn’t have hit you that hard,” a Legionary dressed as a guard apologized.
“You just did what needed to be done,” Naevus assured him. “You had the gate sentries so worried that they didn’t check any of the wagons.”
“Sure, but look what I did to you,” the Legionary noted.
“Tell you what,” Naevus moaned as Didacus poured water on the cuts and dabbed away blood, “when we get to Rome, you can buy me an amphora of vino.”
“And a beef dinner,” the guard promised.
“Whoa, there money bags. You can spend your coins later,” Naevus teased. He indicated the walls and the city they had just left. “First, we have to get the rest of our people out of Qart Hadasht.”
***
The sun cast long shadows over the courtyard and the Legionaries remaining in the city.
“We have rope,” a Latian assured Alerio while wrapping hemp line around his shoulder. “Our problem, sir, is the length of our ladders.”
Alerio peered across the courtyard at his carpenters. Groups of them huddled around stations pegging and tying rungs to rails. One man drew questions and gave answers as he dashed between areas.
“Centurion Tullius. How are we doing with the ladders?” Alerio called over to the Master Carpenter.
“Calling me Centurion is like building a temple to Virbius in a desert,” Tullius said. “It just doesn’t fit, sir.”
“Putting the God of Forest aside, I need officers to command the Centuries,” Alerio scolded. “You are one. Act like it. Now, report.”
“We can overlap and lash together two ladders,” Tullius clarified. He ran a hand down a rail and stopped a few feet from the end. “We lose some length on each, but we’ll have a stable ladder of twenty-two feet. When we tied three ladders together, the center sagged and broke.”
“How does that help us with a forty-foot wall?” Alerio asked.
“We’re going to hang the top ladders and match them to ones on the ground,” Tullius boasted. “That’ll give us forty-four feet of rungs for climbing down.”
“A solution worthy of a Senior Tribune,” Alerio remarked.
“Please sir, no more promotions,” Tullius requested. Around him, helpers called the Master Carpenter’s name, requesting his opinion. “I have as much as I can handle as a combat officer.”
From his experience, Alerio understood the man’s problems. As a Colonel his job centered around executing the plan, leaving the chore of clubbing the pieces together to his officers.
The Master of Clay walked up to Alerio and saluted.
“It’s time we showed our colors, Battle Commander,” Remus insisted. “Our five men on the gate won’t stand a chance if they get challenged. We need to be ready.”
Alerio glanced at the gateway. They would move at sunset and the long shadows were already blending into areas of solid darkness. The Master of Clay was right. To be discovered and ensnarled in a battle at this point, would be disastrous for the escape plan.
“How many Legionaries can we equip, Centurion?” Alerio asked.
“We have war gear here for ten,” Remus answered. “Centurion Albin says we can equip fifty more at the warehouse. That leaves us two hundred and forty men in tunics. Sir.”
The honorific came late as the Master of Clay still couldn’t get his mind around the fact that the draftsman was Battle Commander Sisera.
“Tunics are fine for a banquet,” Alerio commented. “Not good for a battle. Pick your ten and gear them up.”
***
There were two ways for the Legionaries to travel through the city and not get stopped. One involved sneaking groups from block to block while avoiding patrols all the way to the warehouse. And after a pause to be sure the area was open, shuffle the men down the street to the building next to the wall.
Or, they could be moved all at once, daring a patrol to question the movement.
“Move it, move it,” an irregular yelled at the lines of prisoners. “And don’t think about running off. If you try, I’ll personally chase you down and gut you.”
Four lines of sixty Legionaries dressed in tunics lumbered through the streets of Qart Hadasht. Pacing alongside the prisoners were a combination of light and heavy infantrymen providing security.
Three blocks from the courtyard, a five-man patrol came from a side street.
“What’s going on here?” the patrol leader inquired.
“Good. You’re finally here,” Remus greeted them. “Fall in.”
“What are you talking about?” the Empire NCO asked.
“Only fifteen of us were sent to move the Latian’s to the docks,” the Master of Clay answered. “The Lieutenant said the others would catch up. Come on, get into position.”
A universal truth across all militaries concerned getting caught up in extra duties beyond the assigned mission. Soldiers hated it. And getting stuck herding prisoners to the docks, in place of walking easy loops around the city, qualified.
“We’re a foot patrol not prison guards,” the NCO informed him. He studied the men plodding by and asked. “What are they carrying?”
“Ropes and ladders for work on the harbor wall,” Remus replied. “Aren’t you going to help
?”
“They look docile enough,” the NCO observed. “We already have a job.”
The Empire patrol turned west and marched away. From the dark behind the patrol, Colonel Sisera and two men materialized. They slipped daggers into sheaths as they approached Remus.
“Good call inviting them to help,” Alerio complimented the Master of Clay.
“Part of my life is standing around watching kilns bake clay,” Remus told him. “Officers always want to question the inactivity. I’ve found sir, if you ask them for help, they find an excuse to leave.”
The end of the files entered the east-west road. Alerio and his pair of scouts jogged back down the way they came. While the Legionaries moved eastward in the direction of the turn towards the warehouse and the building, Colonel Sisera and his killers stalked a parallel route looking for threats.
***
The street between the depository with the war gear and the building at the wall, lay in silence and darkness. Then the foot falls of three hundred men broke the peace. The first fifty entered the warehouse and the remainder of the prisoners continued to the building at the end of the street.
“Centurion Remus, report,” Alerio requested.
“We’ll soon have sixty-five men under arms, sir,” the Master of Clay stated. “If anyone attempts to interfere, they’ll be dead before they can sound the alarm.”
“I hope to be away before the Empire knows we’re gone. Search parties out looking for missing patrols might clash with that idea,” Alerio said. “But you do what’s necessary to hold the street. I’m going to the roof.”
“Yes, sir,” Remus acknowledged.
***
Ladders and long boards rested against the side of the three-story building. The collection resembled a giant trellis. At each object, a Legionary waited while Tullius paced back and forth in front of the ladders and boards.
“Why aren’t they on the roof?” Alerio asked.
“We’re waiting for the ropes to pull them to them up,” the Master Carpenter answered. “I don’t know what’s delaying my line handlers.”
Alerio marched to the building and realized the problem. He had to push aside the men queued in the doorway. Inside, the ground floor was packed, and the stairs jammed full.
“Clear the steps,” he ordered. “Move up or move down. I don’t care which way, just move.”
“Who says?” a Legionary scoffed.
“Colonel Sisera,” Alerio responded. “I don’t have the organization to enforce discipline. Or the time to explain everything we’re doing to get us out of Qart Hadasht. Let me say this. If I must sacrifice a few of you to get the rest of us out, I won’t lose sleep over the deaths of a few fools.”
“It’s the Battle Commander from Legion North,” someone announced. “Clear the steps.”
“And keep them open for the carpenters,” Alerio directed.
He climbed the risers to the second floor and the crowd parted. On the third floor, he repeated the speech and cleared the steep ladder. At the roof, he located men with the ropes.
“What’s the hold up?”
“Sir, we need space to loop the ropes and tie them together,” one of the men said. “And we’ve lost the men with the weighted sacks and the hooks.”
Alerio grabbed five men from those amassed on the roof deck.
“One of you go through the building and bring up the sacks and the hooks,” he instructed. “The rest of you, open a space for the rope handlers.”
While a void was being created for manipulating the hemp lines, Alerio pushed his way to the back of the roof. Between the building and the defensive wall, an impassible chasm lay before the Battle Commander.
***
Colonel Sisera stared at the obstacles to the escape for several beats. Three stories down meant injury or death for anyone falling from the building. Across the gap and on the far side of the earthen wall, according to the teamsters, the face fell forty feet to a ditch. Their one advantage was the building rested close to where the three defensive walls converged. They only had to descend one wall to reach open ground. But still, the task appeared impossible.
Seeking help, Alerio prayed to Hephaestus for guidance.
“God of Sculptures, Technology, Blacksmiths, and Artisans,” he intoned. “Grant us the means and talent to overcome this obstacle.”
As if the God answered boards clashed to the deck and ladders rattled as they were hauled up and dropped onto the roof.
“Make a space,” Tullius ordered.
Alerio turned to see the Master Carpenter and five men standing with lengths of rope dangling from their right hands and coiled rope clutched in their left. Heavy sacks of sand hung at the ends of the lines.
“I’ll go first,” Tullius informed a group of men standing behind him. When the coiled rope was handed to them, they held the line as if preparing for a tug-of-war. The Master Carpenters stated. “Colonel Sisera, you’d be advised to move aside.”
“May Hephaestus guide your throw,” Alerio responded. He moved out of the way, giving the carpenter space before saying. “Proceed.”
Tullius swung the sack forward and back. Each forward arc got higher as did the back swing. After several movements, the sack reached the top of an arch before completing a circle. Now with the bag zooming around and around, Tullius rocked and grunted from the effort. But the carpenter continued to spin the rope faster and faster. Finally with a shout, he released the line.
Freed from the constraints of the carpenter’s arm and hand, the sandbag sailed away, drawing the rope into the air with it. It reached a peak high in the night sky before falling in a steep dive. While the line of men allowed the rope to slip between their fingers, Tullius and Alerio held their breaths.
On the downward slant, the sandbag vanished over the far edge of the defensive wall. No one could see it due to the height of the barrier. But they knew the throw was successful because the rope, as if tied to a running stallion, began running through the men’s hands.
“Hold it,” Tullius barked. Still short of breath, he stepped out of the way and directed. “Tie that one off. Next thrower, up.”
A big Legionary mimicked the Master Carpenter and completed his throw. With two lines spanning the gap and held taut by the weight of the sandbags, Tullius reached for a pair of bound ladders.
“This is where slow and steady pays off, Colonel,” he said while shoving the ladders out onto the ropes.
The forward rung wobbled on the ropes, threatening to topple off. But as Tullius fed more ladder onto the lines, the rails stabilized. But even as the ladder balanced, the weight caused the lines to sag. When most of the conjoined ladders rested on the ropes and the first rung hung below the lip of the wall, the Master Carpenter ceased pushing.
“Stand by the lines,” he directed. “Raise your arms.”
Behind him, the men holding the ropes lifted the lines over their heads.
“And this, Colonel Sisera, is where it gets dicey,” Tullius said. Then he called out. “Stand by to snap the lines.”
“Standing by, Centurion,” the holders responded.
Tullius cringed at the officer’s title, collected himself, and ordered, “Snap the lines.”
The men dropped their arms creating slack in the ropes. When they jerked upward, the motion sent a wave along the lines. The oscillation traveled under the ladder, vaulting it off the ropes. Holding the last rung, Tullius shoved with all his might when the front rung lifted. The ladder hovered in the air. But the push from the carpenter sent the rails over the lip. When the front of the ladder dropped, it landed on the defensive barrier.
“Boards,” Tullius instructed. Pairs of long boards were slid along the rungs until the ladder became a wobbly bridge. Then the carpenter inquired. “Where is my eagle?”
A slightly built man with pouches of stakes and a hammer crawled onto the ladder. His weight caused the bridge to sag and the far end to slide towards the edge of the wall. Shaking in fear, the Legionary
appeared as undignified as a frightened lamb. But he kept his knees and hands moving despite the trembling of his limbs.
The God of Sculptures, Technology, Blacksmiths, and Artisans must have approved because the eagle reached the far side. After pounding in stakes to secure the ladder, men with lengths of coiled rope crossed to the wall. On the far side, they pounded in anchoring stakes for the ropes.
Picking a spot between teams of men hauling ladders, Alerio walked the bridge.
“Will you go down with the first wave, sir,” Tullius inquired.
“No, Centurion,” Alerio replied. “I’m staying here until the last of our Legionaries are out of Qart Hadasht.”
“I’m beginning to understand, Colonel,” Tullius commented.
“Understand what?” Alerio questioned.
“What being an officer is about,” Tullius told him. “It’s not about the power of a Centurion. It’s about caring for the Legionaries and being sure at the end of the day, they’re safe.”
Alerio glanced at the stars before remarking, “We have a long way to go before the end of the day.”
“And farther still before we’re safe,” the Master Carpenter added. “I’ll see you on the beach, sir.”
Alerio didn’t reply. He recrossed the ladder and went to check on the men securing the streets. They, and Battle Commander Sisera, would be the last Legionaries to leave the city.
Chapter 20 – Travel Routes
Alerio hadn’t realized the noise level that three hundred men made until the streets were mostly deserted. The quiet that settled over the area was a marked difference.
“Any problem from the neighbors?” Alerio questioned while hiking uphill to the Master of Clay.
“A few people came out to check on the disturbance,” Remus responded. The two fell in step and continued towards the warehouse. “I offered them an opportunity to help with the defensive drills to protect their city. But they declined and slinked back into their villas.”
Tribune's Oath (Clay Warrior Stories Book 17) Page 17