“Sir, you should be on horseback,” Optio Celso recommended. “No one will think less of a mounted Battle Commander.”
“Sergeant, putting me on a horse will short our detachment one mounted Legionary,” Alerio stated. “I’d rather have that one scout out watching for the Empire’s response than to have me resting in a saddle. Besides, I was an infantryman before the Republic made me an officer.”
“Yes, sir,” the Optio acknowledged. He glanced back at the line of eleven wagons and the teams of mules. “Colonel, we’re separating from the baggage train again.”
Alerio looked to his left and out over the Punic Gulf. Several merchant ships sailed across the water, but no ships-of-war were in view. In the other direction was the start of a mountain pass. Regulus’ couriers had used it to alert Alerio when the Legions were trapped on the coastal road.
If he possessed a few extra Centuries or cavalry troops, Alerio would seal off the mouth of the mountain pass and allow for the detachment to spread out along the line of march. Having neither, he called a halt.
“Get word to Centurion Tullius,” he directed the Legionary marching ahead of him. “Hold up short of the pass.”
The infantryman called to the man ahead and the men ahead of him passed on the information. Tullius commanded the head of the detachment because that was the least likely element to come under attack. Remus and his sixty infantrymen controlled the rear, where Alerio expected trouble.
“We could move faster if we unloaded the wagons, set the mules free, and had the men carry the goods,” Didacus suggested while strutting to Alerio. “The draft animals are holding us up. At this rate, it’ll take us four days to reach Fort Kelibia.”
The Foreman controlled the center of the detachment which included unarmed Legionaries and the wagon train. Alerio sensed that Didacus wasn’t happy dealing with wagon and mule issues.
“When we get into a fight, I don’t want our infantrymen to stop and drop food before engaging,” Alerio said, laying out his reasoning. “Besides, it’ll take us four days in either case.”
“Why four days?” Didacus protested. “It’s only forty miles to Kelibia.”
“We can’t reveal our location until we’re sure the Legion still holds the fort,” Alerio cautioned. “We’ll need to scout Kelibia before rushing into town.”
Before Didacus could say more about the plan, Naevus and two other scouts rode up.
“Colonel Sisera, there are Empire soldiers in the mountain pass,” the Centurion of Horse reported. “I sent these two up to scout the approach.”
“Did they see you?” Alerio questioned.
“I’m not sure, Battle Commander,” one horseman replied. “They don’t have skirmishers out front, and we left quickly. But we saw enough to think they’re trying to sneak up on us.”
The other scout nodded his agreement. Alerio faced the gulf and let his eyes rest on the far-off horizon.
“They didn’t have time to march from Qart Hadasht,” Alerio pondered. Then he added what was really bothering him. “Where did they come from?”
“Kelibia,” Didacus guessed. “What are you going to do, Battle Commander?”
Alerio raised his arms. With one he pointed at the mountain pass and with the other he indicated a direction to the northeast.
“Centurion Naevus. Pick four scouts and have them ride to Kelibia,” he directed. “If it’s in Legion hands, the survivors can make a run for it.”
“Survivors? Survivors of what?” Tullius asked while marching to Alerio and saluting. “We stopped short of the entrance as you instructed. But the scouts report the road ahead is clear. What’s the hold up, sir?”
“Mules, wagons, and the Goddess Nerio,” the Battle Commander replied.
“But we don’t have any spoils from battle to dedicate to the warrior Goddess,” Didacus proposed.
“But we do have an enemy force sent to murder us,” Alerio responded. “We can’t outrun them, go around, or hide. That means we fight which means survivors. Naevus get your scouts off to Kelibia then go back and bring Centurion Remus and his Century up.”
“Are you suggesting we’ll have battle loot to offer to the Goddess Nerio?” Tullius speculated.
“Either us or the Empire,” Alerio remarked. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a sacrifice.”
Alerio marched away from the command staff. After a hundred feet, he opened the cork on a wineskin and poured a healthy dose on the ground.
“Goddess Nenia accept this to sate your thirst before blood flows and men die,” Alerio prayed to his personal Goddess. “I want to ask nothing for me. My death after all these years of war is long overdue. However, I would like to see the face of my child before you carry my soul away from this body. If not, well, we’ll meet before sundown.”
Alerio poured another offering on the ground. Then he lifted the wineskin and his face to the sky and drank a toast to his wife and his child.
“Gabriella, forgive me,” he uttered before capping the wineskin and marching back to his detachment.
***
The wagon rattled, sending sounds up into the hills on both sides. Pans and pots hanging from the side boards clanged and one wheel wobbled. But the mules paid no mind to the disturbances as they pulled the wagon into the mountain pass.
“This is a bad idea, Colonel,” Celso whispered from the back of the wagon.
“Getting lonely back there?” Alerio asked. He snapped the reins, encouraging the mules to pull harder as the wagon encountered a slight incline. “You could be up here and a target for arrow practice.”
“I should be driving,” the Optio confirmed from under the tarp. “But the truth is, we should not be here in the first place. At least not without our scuta and a Century of heavy infantry.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Alerio asked.
“You call this fun, sir?” Celso questioned.
“Quiet back there. We have company,” Alerio alerted the Sergeant. Then he spoke to the four soldiers who stepped out from behind a mound. “Good day gentlemen. Pots, pans, or sundry other household goods. But wait. You’re military men. I have what you need. Wine?”
Alerio reach behind him and lifted three wineskins from the wagon. Resting two on the driver’s bench, he hoisted one and took a long stream into his mouth.
“Try this stuff. It’s excellent,” Alerio slurred. Selecting one of the wineskins from the bench, he tossed it at the Empire NCO. “That should be enough for you and your three comrades. Let’s call it a toll.”
After catching the full wineskin, the Sergeant inquired, “Where are you going?”
“To Cité Seltenne,” Alerio said slowly as if his lips were numb. He stood, took another drink, then toppled from the wagon.
The Sergeant and his unit bent and looked down at the drunken tradesman.
“Cité Seltenne is back the way you came,” the NCO informed the trader.
From his back, Alerio appeared to be confused. His eyes jerked from man to man, blinking as he tried to clear his vision.
“Back the other way? Stupid mules,” he cursed while waving his arms in frustration. Then Alerio rolled over, gathered his hands under his shoulders, and prepared to push off the ground. Turning his face, he asked the NCO. “Can I interest you in a pair of old mules? Not bright, but they pull hard.”
The soldiers laughed at the antics of the inebriated peddler. But movement from the wagon bed pulled their focus from Alerio. The goatskin tarp flew aside and Optio Celso came up in a crouch. Leveling their spears, the four Empire soldiers stood ready to defend themselves.
Alerio came up from under the shafts with two daggers. He slashed the Empire Sergeant with one blade. With the other, he stabbed the underarm of a spearman.
Short blades had a flaw in an uneven fight. Neither soldier was totally disabled. The two healthy spearmen swung their spear tips in Alerio’s direction, and the wounded men drew their own swords.
With the shafts swinging towards Colonel Sisera
, Celso leaped from the wagon. Hooking an arm around both men, he let his bodyweight press them to the ground.
From his knees, the Legion NCO asked, “Can we go now, sir?”
Alerio parried one sword while snaking his other blade around the Empire NCO’s wrist. When the Sergeant cursed and hopped back to nurse the deep cut, Alerio caught the sword with his small guard and kicked the soldier in the chest.
“Yes, definitely,” Alerio replied.
The two sprinted down the pass.
“You call this fun, sir?” Celso asked while they ran.
Alerio glanced at the bloody daggers and responded, “The most I’ve had in days.”
***
Alerio and Celso slowed when they passed two pair of scuta. Beyond the Legionaries positioned to stop any pursuit, they halted. Centurion Remus stepped from behind a tree.
“Was it worth it, Battle Commander?” his tone showed it wasn’t a question. There was more sarcasm, then inquiry in the statement.
“They have one hundred soldiers,” Alerio reported. “Fifty on each side of the pass.”
“How can you know that, Colonel?” Didacus asked.
“Infantrymen enjoy being entertained,” Alerio replied. “When the drunk fell from the wagon, every one of them stood up to watch. While on my back, I counted one hundred. Give or take a few.”
“They don’t have enough to attack us directly,” Tullus stated. “Why are they here?”
“We’re back to the question, where did they come from?” Alerio ventured. “Besides that, I’d guess they’re supposed to keep an eye on us and maybe do some damage, given an opportunity.”
“What are we going to do about them?” Remus inquired.
“We’re going to remove the threat,” Alerio remarked. “If the Empire is going to feed us bite sized pieces of their reaction force, who are we to turn down the meal.”
***
Later, the infantrymen scoffed their boots, talked, and grew agitated. The newly appointed Centurions stood with, but not looking at, their Battle Commander. They had for a period, but it became uncomfortable staring at him.
“We should attack now, Colonel,” Remus blustered. He looked at the early afternoon sun. “Waiting only allows them time to get organized.”
“Observe due measure, for right timing is in all things, the most important factor,” Alerio recited. “That’s from Hesiod, an ancient Greek poet.”
“I’m a simple carpenter,” Tullius argued. “Due measure to me means cutting the lumber to the right length.”
“And to me it means we wait,” Alerio responded.
A few moments later, Naevus rode in from the rear with a horse in tow. Shortly after the Centurion arrived, another scout came from the east. Both reported no enemy sightings for miles around.
“We have one hundred and fifteen heavy and forty light infantrymen,” Alerio said. “If we pour them all into the attack, we will win. However, our wagons and unarmored men will only have sticks and a few cavalrymen to defend them.”
“Defend them from what?” Remus asked. “There are no other Empire forces for miles around.”
“Exactly,” Alerio agreed. “And that, gentleman, is due measure. March your Centuries forward.”
Naevus extended the reins for an extra horse. Alerio took them, mounted, and moved the animal behind the Legionaries. A pair of infantrymen marched beside Alerio.
“Who are you two?” he inquired.
“We’re First Century,” one replied. “Assigned by Optio Celso.”
“And where is Optio Celso?”
“Sir, he is commanding Centurion Tullius’ left side,” the other bodyguard answered.
In front of Alerio, the Legionaries of Tullius Century formed two ranks of twenty-five. Close behind, marched fifteen infantrymen and then two lines of twenty-five from Remus Century. Following the heavy infantry, forty skirmishers shuffled forward in two rows under the direction of Albin, the tool maker. For an undersized, clubbed together detachment, Colonel Sisera was pleased with the ordered movement.
***
A mile into the pass, rows of Empire mercenaries blocked the way. Unlike the lines of Legion infantrymen, the Hoplites were grouped together.
“Think they’ll go phalanx, sir?” Albin asked.
“I don’t know the men, but I recognize their Captain as a Macedonian,” Alerio replied. “Those Tail-Leaders are harnessed to the phalanx. He will keep them bunched together and moving straight forward. Until he finds the weakness in our formation. Then he’ll shift the phalanx to take advantage of it.”
Albin scanned the double, straight rows of Legionaries.
“Sir, I don’t see any weakness in our ranks,” the tool maker noted.
“You’re right,” Alerio acknowledged. “I’ll have to do something about that.”
Putting heels to the beast’s flanks, Alerio rode through the ranks and approached Sergeant Celso. Bending down, he addressed the NCO.
“Optio, I need your side to give ground after the initial contact,” Alerio instructed. “I don’t mean bowed either, I want a collapse of the left side.”
“Sir, we can hold the barbarians while breaking up their formation,” Celso guaranteed the Battle Commander.
“I’m sure you can,” Alerio confirmed. “But we’ll take too many casualties against a phalanx. I need you to draw them out of the formation, and yes, suffer the humiliation. Afterward, and you’ll know when, you’ll need to collect your section of the maniple. And then, Optio, you can pay them back for their rudeness.”
“As you wish, sir,” Celso commented without enthusiasm.
At the center of the line, Alerio’s instructions to Centurion Tullius were the exact opposite.
“Stop the phalanx and hold them stationary,” Alerio ordered the carpenter. “No matter the cost, hold them.”
After orchestrating the first few moves of the battle, Alerio rode to the rear of the detachment.
He reined in next to Albin and remarked, “That’s settled.”
“What’s settled, Colonel?” Albin asked.
“What direction their formation will go,” Alerio said, “when the Macedonian spots our weakness.”
Act 8
Chapter 22 – Thracian Barricade
The Mercenaries stepped inward and linked shields. Using small steps to maintain order, the phalanx shuffled forward. Densely compacted, the shields covered a formation composed of ten hoplites across in columns ten deep.
“Brace, brace,” Tullius ordered.
Echoing his instructions, a Corporal on the right and Celso on the left notified the Legion lines.
“Brace,” the Sergeant repeated before adding. “Standby for a change of orders.”
“Standing by, Optio,” the twenty Legionaries in his double rank responded.
With a burst of blade strikes by the Legionaries, most of the long spears of the phalanx were shoved up or down. In the flurry, three Legionaries on the front line caught spearheads. Men from the second rank pulled them from harm’s way and others stepped up to fill the gaps. But the forward spears were not the primary weapon of a phalanx.
The Legionaries allowed three steps of give when the two sides smashed together. Then the Legion lines hardened as muscle and bone shoved back.
The phalanx stopped momentarily. Soil under the grass turned to dirt and after more grinding, the earth turned to dust. Finally, as designed, the Greek formation began pushing the Legionaries backwards.
“Step back,” Celso shouted. “Shields up, step back. Step back.”
And the Legion line curled and crested over as if it was a plowed row on a farm. Centurion Tullius and the Corporal held the center and the right, but the left side crumbled.
Dealing with an uneven front, a third of the phalanx faced no resistance. In theory the situation should have been optimal. Except, only part of the mercenary force had resistance to their drive forward. The rest slackened without adversity and had to stood still in order maintain the phalanx
formation.
The Macedonian Tail-Leader noticed the tension slip from his right side. As if a plague running rampant through a village, more and more of his best hoplites relaxed. Place on the right side to face an enemies weaker left, the quality soldiers should be crashing through the enemy’s lines, guiding the rest of the ten-hoplite front. But they weren’t.
Behind the Legion line, Naevus placed his fists on the saddle and hoisted himself on his arms.
“We’re lost, Colonel,” the Foundation Mole declared.
Remus jogged to Alerio.
“Sir, I can stop the hemorrhaging,” he submitted. “Let me take my Century forward.”
“Hold your Legionaries where they are, Centurion,” Alerio instructed. He didn’t look down at the Master of Clay. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the Macedonian Tail-Leader. From the side of his mouth, he called to the tool maker. “Albin, come closer.”
The commander of Alerio’s light infantry walked to the Battle Commander.
“Colonel Sisera, we can cover the retreat,” Albin assured him.
“Glad to hear it,” Alerio acknowledged. “But I’m afraid your skirmishers won’t be in a position to do that task.”
“We won’t?” Albin questioned. He looked at the broken assault line and the struggle going on at the center and on the right. Then he asked. “Where will we be, Battle Commander?”
***
The Macedonian shifted his eyes as rapidly as he changed his mind. His best languished on the right flank while his weaker hoplites fought to gain ground. In a battle of attrition, his phalanx would prove superior given a few days of fighting. But his Thracians would suffer casualties. Or, he could break the formation and set battle lines. By dark, the Legion commander would withdraw. Between the big shields on both sides, neither opponent would suffer many deaths.
After weighting his choices, he decided to take advantage of the weakness.
“Phalanx, prepare for a right diagonal march,” the Tail-Leader ordered.
File-Leaders repeated his command and the instructions filtered from the back to the men fighting at the front.
The diagonal move would get his right side back into the fight. Then they would punch through the disorganized sector of the Republic line. After chewing up the right side, he’d turn the phalanx and claw apart the main body of Legionaries.
Tribune's Oath (Clay Warrior Stories Book 17) Page 19