Tribune's Oath (Clay Warrior Stories Book 17)

by J. Clifton Slater

  ***

  “Centurion Albin, take your light infantrymen through the gap,” Alerio told the tool maker. “Once through, secure their escape route.”

  “Sir, I don’t see any gaps,” Albin protested.

  “Get them moving to our right side,” Alerio instructed. “The gap will be there momentarily.”

  He had watched the Macedonian’s eyes shift under the Greek helmet. When they locked right, Alerio made the call.

  “Centurion Remus. When the enemy formation shifts left,” Alerio said, “I need your Century to fill the gap and collapse the side of the phalanx.”

  Like Albin, Remus studied the fighting and couldn’t identify an opening. But he heard Alerio’s promise of a gap and acknowledged.

  “Yes, sir,” the Master of Clay stated.

  ***

  “Let’s teach those Republic dogs to fear Thracian bears,” the Macedonian Tail-Leader instructed. “Execute the diagonal march.”

  As if a great beast quaking before a fight, the shields of the phalanx rippled to the right. And the corner facing the Legion’s left side stepped forward.

  Lost to the men in the cocoon of Thracian shields, Optio Celso’s voice across the combat line bellowed, “About time. Legionaries, form your assault line and brace.”

  The Macedonian expected his formation to surge forward as a single entity. When his two right files shuffled ahead of the other columns, not once but twice, he knew something was wrong. It was. Four Hoplites in the right corner had fallen to Optio Celso and his Legionaries.

  But the dust blocked the Tail-Leader’s vision. He reconsidered shifting to a combat line to cover a wider front. Before he could issue the order, the right flank of the formation caved in followed closely by the center of the phalanx collapsing.

  One disadvantage of a phalanx concerned retreating. Because the front fought way ahead of the commander, the order to withdraw took long heartbeats to reach the combatants. And for an emergency evacuation, those moments proved deadly.

  “Retreat,” the Macedonian ordered.

  Even while passing on the instructions, his File-Leaders backed away from their columns. And the men engaged in the fighting at the front didn’t hear until the men behind them yelled the order to withdraw before they ran. Between the fighting in the center of the phalanx and the abandonment at the front, a dozen Thracian Hoplites died on Legion blades. Eventually, the ones trapped near the front backed into a cluster while the rest of the phalanx ran.

  ***

  “Naevus take what riders you have and go support Centurion Albin,” Alerio instructed.

  The Centurion of Horse took six riders and galloped to the other side of the enemy formation. Remus noted the fighting and direction of the Legion horsemen. He sent two squads of heavy infantrymen to support the skirmishers and the cavalry.

  The battle ended when the Macedonian took off his helmet and waved it in Alerio’s direction.

  “Centurion Tullius, kindly go pull Optio Celso and his Legionaries off the poor Hoplites,” Alerio told the carpenter as he nudged his horse forward. “I believe, they’ve been punished enough.”

  Alerio trotted into the middle of the battle zone. Legionaries stopped in mid slash or stab. Taking the hint from their adversaries, the Hoplites also ceased fighting.

  “I am Battle Commanders Sisera. Lay down your arms and live,” Alerio shouted. “Or not. We don’t care which.”

  A roar of ‘Rah’ came from the Legionaries, letting the Empire mercenaries know the infantrymen agreed with their Colonel.

  The Macedonian lifted his xiphos over his head, then with a bow, he placed it on the ground.

  “You have won, Battle Commander Sisera,” the Tail-Leader announced. “What are your orders?”

  “Where did you come from?” Alerio questioned.

  “I am Macedonian, and these fighting men are Thracians,” the phalanx officer responded. “The Thracians are allies of Macedonia going back to King Alexander’s time.”

  “Thank you for the history lesson, Hektor would have enjoyed it,” Alerio stated. “But what I want to know is, how did you come to be in this mountain pass?”

  “We left Kelibia soon after the messenger from Qart Hadasht brought the news about your escape,” he replied. “We were delayed because I had to reorganize the siege lines. But we forced marched for a day and got here quickly.”

  Alerio peered in the direction of Tullius, then Remus, over at Naevus, Albin, and lastly, to where Optio Celso stood holding a blade covered in the blood of his enemies. A smile crossed the Battle Commander’s face. They would all make it to Fort Kelibia. And once the Republic Navy came, they would escape Punic Territory and return home.

  “Orders?” the Macedonian officer asked.

  “Strip naked, leave your armor and weapons on the ground,” Alerio instructed. “Then pick up your wounded and run northward. Don’t stop or come back this way. For this, I grant you and your Thracians life.”

  ***

  Two days later, cheers rose from the siege line which conflicted with jeers floating down the hill from Fort Kelibia. Both came in response to the approaching caravan.

  “You’re not very popular with the Legion, Battle Commander,” Celso commented.

  “The Thracians seem to approve,” Alerio protested. “You have to admit, I look like a Greek God in this Macedonian armor.”

  “Sir, that armor is pitted from wear and smoothed with rough grains of sand,” the NCO observed. “No self-respecting Greek hero would be caught dead in that armor.”

  “I guess the Macedonian and his phalanx weren’t very successful mercenaries,” Alerio guessed. He looked back at the men in Thracian armor. The fake guards shoved and thumped the Latian captives, crowding them into lines beside the seven supply wagons. Then, while waving his arm, he shouted. “Close the gaps. We want to make a good impression.”

  In response, the captives gathered behind the wagons and began pushing them. With less load, the mules obliged and picked up their pace. By the time they neared the barricade, the entire caravan traveled at the speed of a Legion jog.

  “So, you caught them,” an officer shouted from a barrier.

  Behind him, six soldiers manned a log blockade, obstructing the trail leading up to the fort.

  Alerio extended both arms and raised them, palms up, as if hoisting a log. The Thracian officer’s smile vanished when the Latian captives stepped away from the tailgates of the wagons with gladii and shields.

  “I believe Colonel, you are off his winter solstice gift list,” Celso informed Alerio.

  Ignoring the jest, Alerio asserted, “Everybody gets through.”

  Battle Commander Sisera kicked his horse, sending the animal racing ahead. The Thracian officer, who a heartbeat before had been gloating at the victory, jumped out of the way, and crashed to the ground. Even with the way clear, Alerio didn’t ride around the barrier and up the hill. He hopped off the horse, slapped its rump to keep the beast moving, and drew a xiphos.

  Optio Celso sprinted up and put his back to Alerio’s.

  “You could have waited until everyone was closer, sir,” the Legion NCO remarked as he slashed a spearman and blocked a shaft.

  “In two heartbeats, he would have seen I wasn’t the man he was expecting,” Alerio said defending his one-man assault. He ducked, stepped out, and stabbed a spearman in the ribs before saying. “It was now or wait until they flooded the barricade with reinforcements.”

  “It’s pretty crowded as it is,” Celso observed while smashing his scutum from side to side to keep the soldiers away.

  Thracians raced for the barricade, adding to the soldiers facing Alerio and Celso. The two Legionnaires assigned as Alerio’s bodyguards sprinted forward and waded into the melee. Blocking strikes, they battled to open a passage through to Alerio.

  “We thought you’d need this, Colonel,” one stated as he and his partner slammed their shields together.

  Behind the tiny shield wall, Alerio took the scutu
m from the infantryman and strapped it to his left arm.

  “One of you work with Celso,” he instructed while shoving between the two. “We need to keep the pathway open for the wagons.”

  Six more Legionaries plus Centurion Remus reached the blockade of logs.

  “Remus, form a corridor,” Alerio shouted.

  “Yes, sir,” the Master of Clay acknowledged.

  As more infantrymen, both those in Legion gear and those in Thracian armor joined the fighting, Remus directed them into two outboard facing lines. The cavalry trotted down the lane accompanied by light infantrymen running alongside the horses.

  “Remove the logs,” Albin instructed his skirmishers.

  By the time the first wagon reached the path leading up to the fort, the trail was open.

  The seven wagons rolled through, and Centurion Remus began collapsing the corridor. Soon, Alerio’s Centuries changed from a force maintaining an open lane, to a combat line. Spread in a wide formation, the Legionaries backed up the trail towards Fort Kelibia.

  “Have you noted something strange?” Alerio asked Albin.

  “That the Legion commander hasn’t sent down a Century to help us,” Albin responded. Seeing the wagons slow down on the hill, the tool maker directed his light infantrymen. “If we leave it up to the mules, it’ll take all day to reach the top. Get on the wagons and push.”

  Behind the tool maker and the Battle Commander, Centurions Tullius and Remus commanded a double line of heavy infantrymen. Their solid wall of scuta blocked the Thracians while the Legionaries retreated up the hill.

  ***

  Alerio’s cavalry, the wagons, and his light infantrymen reached the fort.

  “Open the gates,” Naevus shouted.

  Downhill, the Legionaries held back the soldiers. But as the Foundation Mole could make out, more moved through the trees. Soon they would be in positions to get around the ends of the Legion lines. If the fighting reached the wagons, a stationary fight spelled doom for Colonel Sisera’s outnumbered detachment.

  “Open the gates,” Naevus yelled again.

  A head appeared from one of the twin platforms that bracketed the entrance.

  “Do you think you could stage a play and I would open the gates for you?” a Legion NCO demanded. “Go away Thracian.”

  The cavalrymen wore Empire gear and the only armor on the men fighting was Thracian. All the other infantrymen had only a scutum and a gladius to identify them as Republic Legionaries.

  “I’m Legionary Naevus of the Twenty-Third Century, 2nd maniple, Legion East,” the Mole stated. “We’ve just escaped from Qart Hadasht. Now, open the gates.”

  “Colonel Balint said no one survived Tunis,” the Optio replied.

  “We were taken captive,” Naevus informed him. Behind the Mole, the battle drew closer. Shortly, it would engulf the wagons and carry the fighting to the gates of the fort. “We fought our way here. Don’t make us fight our way in.”

  “Even if I believed you, Colonel Balint said we don’t have enough food for strays,” the Sergeant revealed.

  Naevus nudged his horse to the first wagon. Bending down, he untied the goatskin tarp and tossed it back. Dried fish peeked out from between straw packing.

  “We bring food,” he called to the top of the wall. “Think of us as a resupply caravan.”

  Alerio trotted up, stopped beside Naevus, and addressed the Sergeant.

  “Open the gate, Optio,” he instructed. Taking off the Greek helmet, he added. “By order of Colonel Alerio Sisera, Battle Commander of Legion North.”

  Shortly after he spoke, the gates swung open, and a Century of infantrymen raced through. Spreading to either side, they set a shield barrier, defending the gate. Alerio stood beside the entrance while his detachment entered Fort Kelibia. Not until the Fort’s Century folded back did Alerio march in to find the Battle Commander for Legion West scowling at him.

  “Look here, Sisera,” Balint informed Alerio. “Fort Kelibia can only have one commander and that’s me.”

  Alerio studied the set of the man’s face trying to figure out what caused the hostility. With fifteen thousand men and their officers’ dead, he expected a welcome from the only other senior officer to survive. Then it came to him, Battle Commander Balint felt guilty for living and needed to justify his existence.

  “Yes, sir,” Alerio acknowledged with a salute. “I just want to get home.”

  Chapter 23 - Getting Home

  Marcus Regulus braced on the deck boards as the merchant vessel fought the current along the shoreline. Once out of the flow and into the calm waters of Messina Harbor, he relaxed.

  “Another week and we’ll be in Rome, sir,” Vitus noted.

  “We’ll be home in a matter of days,” Regulus corrected before explaining. “I plan to commandeer the next Republic warship to beach here.”

  “An excellent idea, sir,” Tutus chimed in. “What’s the first thing you’ll do when we get there, Proconsul?”

  The two aides expected Marcus to describe a glorious homecoming. Instead, he stared across the harbor at Messina Beach. Thinking it might be another bout of melancholy, they exchanged glances. One would need to talk first and try to lift Marcus Regulus out of his fog. But the words and topic had to be chosen carefully to prevent insulting the General.

  “Sir, how long will we be in Messina?” Vitus inquired.

  “What? Oh, until a warship arrives,” Marcus replied. But he answered without taking his eyes from the sand at the end of the harbor. Indicating a mount, he asked. “Do you recognize that horse?”

  Vitus and Tutus gawked at a big stallion on the beach. A youth sitting in the sand with his head hung between his knees held the reins. Both appeared to be abandoned.

  “No, sir,” his aides admitted. “Should we?”

  “After we dock, one of you go find out the boy’s name,” Regulus instructed. “If it’s Hektor, bring him to me. I’ll be at the Sicilia commander’s villa.”

  “If it’s Medic Nicanor, we’ll carry him to you,” the two Friends of Hektor responded.

  ***

  A short time later, Marcus Regulus sprawled on a patio sofa. For the first time since they were assigned to him, Vitus and Tutus noticed the tension leave the General’s body.

  “So, where is the boy and the stallion?” Marcus inquired.

  “Hektor wouldn’t leave the horse until it was brushed down and fed,” Tutus responded. “I realized why when the beast attacked the stablemen. They gladly turned the stable work over to the Medic.”

  Marcus took a sip of vino, raised his glass, and announced, “that’s Phobos, all right. To Alerio Sisera’s horse.”

  He took another sip and allowed a smile to touch his lips at the memory of Alerio Sisera. Footfalls from beyond the patio drew his attention and a few steps later Hektor Nicanor appeared from the garden. The Greek boy marched across the granite flooring.

  “General Regulus, it’s good to see you alive, sir,” Hektor greeted Marcus with a salute. “If I may, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Certainly, Medic Nicanor. What do you need?”

  “I was divested of my funds and my medical kit. Without the kit, I’m unable to earn passage for myself and Phobos. Can I impose on you for the funds necessary to transport us to the Sisera Villa?” Hektor requested. “I’m positive Colonel Sisera will repay you when he gets home.”

  The light heartedness that surrounded Marcus faded at the request. His face fell and the hint of a smile was replaced by a tight grimace. Seeing the General pale, Hektor and the aides assumed the request exceeded civility.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” Hektor begged as he walked backward.

  Vitus and Tutus grabbed the boy’s arms and pulled as if Hektor’s departure lacked urgency.

  “Hold,” Marcus ordered. “I am sorry to tell you, Hektor, but Colonel Sisera died at Tunis.”

  Hektor Nicanor’s fists shot down by his sides and he stiffened as if strapped to a board. Then tremors racked h
is body and his mouth quivered. Seeing the stress, Marcus stood, walked to the boy, and rested a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  “I understand. Alerio Sisera was a unique Legionary, a brave officer, and a good man,” Marcus commiserated. “I’m sure he and his Goddess had a nice long talk on his journey to Hades.”

  “No. No sir,” Hektor whispered.

  “No what?” Marcus requested. “He talked to Nenia the Goddess of Death often enough. You don’t think they conversed on the way to Hades?”

  “No, sir,” Hektor responded. “I don’t believe Colonel Sisera is dead, sir.”

  The statement challenged the General, and delusional or not, Tutus feared it would upset Regulus. He stepped forward to change the subject.

  “How did you lose your money?” the NCO inquired.

  “I’d rather not say, Optio,” Hektor pleaded.

  Marcus sat, picked up his glass, and used it to point at Hektor.

  “If you want my coins,” he stated, “you’ll explain yourself.”

  “Sir, there’s been enough bad blood,” Hektor warned. “I don’t want to add to the carnage.”

  “I don’t see how a few drops from you will make a difference,” Marcus said. “Tell me how you came to be stranded on the beach at Messina.”

  ***

  “Centurion Palle took the First Century to the Medjerda River. He made sure I crossed over with them,” Hektor related. “But, the farther from Colonel Sisera we got, the more unmanageable Phobos became. The stallion got so bad the Centurion sent me running ahead trying to exhaust the mount.”

  “I don’t know why but Sisera loved that horse,” Marcus stated.

  Hektor dropped his eyes as if in prayer before lifting them.

  “On the far side of the river, the Centurion set up set up a defensive position with his infantrymen and Cavalry from Legion North. He sent me off with a few wagons,” the boy described. “We had gone several miles when cavalrymen came from the direction of Tunis. I didn’t learn until I reached Fort Kelibia that the riders were your mounted messengers and cavalrymen from Legion West.”