Signals, unseen by the Legionaries, changed the trajectory of the Empire ships. Those near the coastline pivoted and joined the other column racing north. In moments, the water along Kelibia beach cleared of enemy ships.
“There’s the opportunity we’ve been waiting for,” the watchers announced.
Alerio glanced northward and wondered how the Republic Navy was fairing at Cape Bon. But it wasn’t his fight. He and Balint needed to get their men on the transports, and away from the Punic coast. If they moved fast enough, the outcome of the sea battle would have no effect on them. If they bogged down in a slug fest with the Thracians, a lost naval struggle would mean doom.
“God Mercury, lend swiftness to our feet,” Alerio prayed before instructing the lookouts. “Abandon the tower and find your Centuries. This detachment is leaving Kelibia, one way or another.”
He jumped on the ladder, placed his hobnailed boots on the outside of the rails, and slid to the ground. The dirt bellowed around his feet when he landed. But none of the dust had time to settle on his boots as Alerio sprinted for his Centuries.
***
Smoke rolled from the fort when the gates swung open. Empire commanders noted the smog on the hilltop, but the gray haze hid the reason for the movement of the gates. They were puzzled until rows of shields appeared at the edge of the smoke on the western crest.
“Finally, they come out to do battle,” an Empire Captain declared. “Bring reinforcements from the other positions.”
Soon Thracians gathered at the western base preparing to prevent a breakout. Pulled from around the siege lines, the clustering left half the campsites of the siege line with only a couple of soldiers.
“Naevus, uncork the bottle,” Alerio instructed.
The Foundation Mole kicked his horse and vanished into the fort. Moments later, a Century of heavy infantrymen with Colonel Balint in the center jogged through the gateway. Making a sharp turn towards the beach, the Legionaries left the smoke and descended the hill.
“Do you think it’ll work, Colonel?” Tullius asked Alerio.
“We got a nice size contingent waiting for us down there,” Alerio remarked. “Did we draw many from the east side? I don’t know. But we did pull them from the north and south of the siege line.”
Following Colonel Balint and the veterans, the rest of the two thousand who survived Tunis emerged from the fort and fled towards the beach.
“Ten steps forward,” Alerio ordered his detachment of five hundred. “Make it look good.”
“Are we going to attack the Thracians, sir?” a Legionary asked.
“No. We’re showing movement to hold them in place,” Alerio told him.
After Tullius, Remus, and Albin issued the order, Alerio called them over. Naevus walked his horse to the meeting and Didacus, who had been relieved of his wagon duties by Centurion Gratian, the fort’s supply officer, joined the group.
“We’re going to be the last ones off the beach,” Alerio informed them. As he talked, he unstrapped the armored skirt and let it drop to the ground. “Loosen the bindings on your shields and boots and lose your armor. In short, get as light as you can.”
“It sounds as if you intend to swim to the Capital,” Didacus challenged. Then he added. “The idea is absurd.”
Before Alerio had a chance to respond, Remus put his hands on his hips and stated, “A combat officer’s primary job is to kill the enemies of the Republic. Close behind it is the task of protecting his Legionaries. This much I learned even if you haven’t.”
Tullius nodded his head at the Master of Clay’s remarks before poking a finger at the foreman.
“There’s little opportunity for a Legionary craftsman to advance to Centurion,” the Master Carpenter explained. “For one, our skills are too valuable. And two, we know it and behave accordingly. But what we miss are the moments when infantrymen put their lives into the hands of their officers. In those situations, you feel the weight and the pride of the position. Or, as you’ve demonstrated, you don’t.”
“I believe, Legionary Didacus, that the officers of my detachment have dismissed you,” Alerio instructed. “You can fall in with the others.”
He waved in the direction of the men jogging from the fort.
“Pure insanity,” the foreman snarled. “You are Master Craftsmen, not combat officers. No matter what your Colonel says.”
Naevus used his horse to separate the foreman from the others.
“Move along,” the Foundation Mole directed. “This is a meeting for Centurions.”
Didacus spun on his heels and briskly walked to the lines streaming from the fort. He blended in and was soon lost to sight.
“Are we swimming off the beach?” Albin inquired.
“Unavoidably, yes,” Alerio responded.
***
The merchant vessels were almost uniformly mid-size traders. Sixty feet long with a fat belly that swelled to fifteen feet at mid-ship. And the most important measurement, they only required seven feet of draft at the keel, meaning the stern could reach chest deep water.
A wave of eleven merchantmen backed towards shore. Once their center beams touched the bottom, ramps were dropped into the surf, and fluttering oars held the vessels stationary.
Alerio observed the landings before turning back to the assault line.
“Hold the right,” he yelled. “Don’t let them come around you.”
Uphill, soldiers batted at the retreating shields with spears and hoplite swords. While the Legionaries fought back sporadically, mostly they stepped back towards Colonel Balint’s veterans. The rear ranks of the Thracians had long since given up on trying to inflict damage on the withdrawing shields.
At twenty feet from the beach, Alerio shouted, “Centuries, stand by to advance.”
The warning order filtered through his ranks in four breaths.
“Brace. Advance, advance,” he bellowed.
The retreating shields locked in place for a beat. Then a wall of flying scuta smashed the leading soldiers. They tumbled backwards into the relaxed ranks of their comrades. Tripped at the knees, none were ready when the plywood shields were pulled back and replaced by steel blades. While the first advance stopped the pursuit, the second killed an entire line of soldiers throwing the Thracians into disarray.
“Step back,” Alerio ordered. “Step back.”
The Legion assault line resumed its withdrawal. But this time, there was no pressure on their shields.
“Colonel Sisera, compliments from Colonel Balint,” a Centurion greeted Alerio. “We have the soldiers pushed off the beach. Orders, sir?”
Alerio studied the shore and the second wave of transports that were loading Legionaries.
“How many more to get off?” Alerio questioned.
“I have two Centuries and your group for the third wave,” the combat officer reported.
“We’ve got the beach,” Alerio assured him. “Get your people staged for extraction.”
The veteran Centurion cocked his head and paused. Then after a short period, he stated, “Thank you Colonel. I didn’t expect to be relieved.”
“I do need a favor,” Alerio told him. “After the last merchant ship leaves, I need a three-banker to make a pass along the shoreline.”
“Why’s that, Colonel?”
“To pick me up,” Alerio answered.
***
When the next rush of transports backed to the shallows, the veterans splashed to the ramps and climbed to the decks. On one, the Centurion spoke to the merchant Captain. Soon, flags flashed to a five-banker, playing sentry to the merchant vessels. The quinquereme passed the message to a trireme patrolling deep in the fleet of civilian boats.
“Why do they want us parading along the coast?” the ship’s First Principale protested. “We should be getting away from the Punic coast as fast as we can row.”
“Must be a final insult to the Empire by a Senior Tribune,” the three-banker’s Centurion said. Then a wicked expression crossed
his face. “He wants us along the shoreline. Then we’ll give him a show.”
“Sir, what do you have in mind?”
“I want the tips of our starboard oars stirring up sand,” the ship’s senior officer replied. “Command wants us to make a pass. We’ll make it the best triumphant display they’ve ever seen.”
The signalmen had directions and a location but lacked any way to transmit specific details. Therefore, the command staff of the three-banker didn’t know they were picking up and extracting a Colonel and his Centurions from the water.
***
On the beach, the Legion lines contracted as men streamed from the fighting to the waiting transports.
“Collapse your lines again, gentlemen,” Alerio told his officers. Stopping one of the squad leaders heading for the extraction ramp, Alerio instructed. “Tell the merchant Captain to keep one vessel in place for our last row of infantrymen. But once they load, get the boat out of here.”
“Sir, what about you?” the Lance Corporal asked.
“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself all morning,” Alerio admitted. “Go. Deliver the message.”
The last row of shields had started ankle deep in the tide. Now they battled in thigh high water.
“Tullius, Remus, Naevus, Albin, on me,” Alerio directed. Shifting to almost waist deep water, he guided the Master Craftsmen to a position in front of the last ramp. Then Colonel Sisera gave what might be his final order. “Legionaries, fall out and fall back to the transport.”
Fifteen heavy infantrymen splashed by the five officers. A few saluted as they rushed for the ramp and safety. Other couldn’t make eye contact with the Battle Commander and his Centurions.
In every engagement, breaking off while in contact proved to be the hardest maneuver of all. With the absence of three squads, the Thracians had no one to fight but they did have a target. A ramp filled with retreating Legionaries, defended by five shields held by unarmored men.
“This, sir, was a stupid idea,” Naevus growled.
He dodged a spear tip and parried a sword thrust. Beside him, Remus hammered his scutum into a bold soldier, driving the man off his feet and under water.
“Too late to complain now, Mole,” the Clay Master told him. “The transport is gone.”
The deeper water did prevent the Thracians from surrounding the Legion officers. But their bodily movements were restricted by the water and the lack of balance reduced the effectiveness of their strikes. The saving grace was the Thracians had the same problems.
“What say you, Colonel?” Albin questioned. “Should we go for a swim?”
“I’m not ready to give up my shield yet,” Remus answered. A spear thrown from shore where the soldier had good footing, jammed into the Master of Clay’s scutum. “They have missiles and we have nowhere to go.”
Noises of swish, splash, swish, splash came from Alerio’s right. Resembling a multi clawed monster smacking the surface of the water, the sound didn’t register. The four soldiers attempting to batter down his shield had the Battle Commander’s full attention.
“Oh, oh, dip me in Hades,” Tullius cursed. “Brace, Advance. And swim for your life.”
It started in Legion training. Instant adherence to commands saved recruits from punishment. Later in their careers as Legionaries, they learned obedience saved lives. All Legion infantrymen embraced the idea.
Without questioning the Carpenter, the five men braced then shot their shields forward, driving the Thracians back for a moment. In that instance, they used their gladii to slice the bindings on their scuta. Abandoning the shields and their swords, they turned and dove below the surf.
The weight of their helmets pulled them to the bottom just as the keel of a three-banker passed over their heads.
Act 9
Chapter 25 – Before Dawn
“Hold water,” the Third Principale yelled from the bow platform.
Below deck, the Second Principale picked up on the panic of the bow watch. Thinking it might be another ship or a submerged rock in their path, the trireme’s second deck officer roared, “Hold water.”
His one hundred and seventy oarsmen plunged their oar blades into the sea and held on against the strong current.
Moments before, the 3-banker flew along the coastline. On the foredeck, the third officer watched the features on shore zip by. The scene reminded him of a rope swing on his father’s farm. As he swung the world blurred, just as it did when he attempted to focus on the Punic coast. Then a hill with fortress walls rose from beyond the beach.
He took in the smoke wafting from the structure, and the men standing on the walls. At the base of the hill, mounted officers posed stately on their steeds while their soldiers spread from the land to the beach and into the water. Oddly enough, the soldiers in the water formed a wedge pointing at five Legion shields.
“Hold water,” he had bellowed.
One hundred and thirty feet of watertight oak, pine, and cedar simply did not stop immediately. The forward momentum buffeted the oarsmen as if their oars were thrust into a mountain stream. Even with all the oars in the water, the three-banker required two lengths of the warship to transition from full stroke to docking speed.
Running along the rails, the Third Principale searched the water for any sign of the five men with the Legion scuta. On the starboard side, a sailor performed the same task. Only he ducked spears and ran in a tucked position to avoid arrows.
“Third officer,” the ship’s Centurion challenged from behind a shield held by a Legion Marine. “You’ve exceeded your authority and stopped us within reach of Empire missiles. Can you explain yourself?”
“There are five Legionaries in the water, sir,” the Principale answered.
Almost as a response to the pronouncement, five heads bobbed to the surface.
One spit out seawater and shouted up, “Took your own sweet time getting here.”
“You can have that discussion later,” another scolded. “Trireme, how about a couple of lines?”
Sailor tossed ropes over the side and the five men grabbed on and began climbing the hull.
When the men reached the rail, the Third Principale instructed, “Musician, set a rapid pace. Second officer set a rapid stroke rate.”
From drifting within range of Qart Hadasht arrows and spears, the warship leaped forward.
***
Alerio walked his feet up the side boards while pulling hand over hand on the rope. Between the fight down the hill, the swim, and the climb, when he reached the rail, he fell to the deck exhausted, yet relieved. Lifting his head, he counted to be sure all his men made it out of the water.
“Centurion Remus, now you can chastise the ship’s officers for being tardy,” Alerio suggested.
“Colonel Sisera, I might kiss their feet in worship,” the Master of Clay responded. “Other than that, they’ll get nothing from me except my undying gratitude.”
A pair of expensive sandals appeared in Alerio’s peripheral vision.
“Who are you and why were you languishing in front of my ship?” a voice demanded.
Alerio pushed to his knees and wiped seawater from his hair before jumping to his feet.
“Colonel Alerio Sisera, Battle Commander for Legion North,” he rattled off. “What’s your name Centurion, and the name of your vessel?”
The ship’s senior officer swallowed and hesitated for a moment to adjust his attitude.
“Sir, Centurion Marianus, senior officer for Occasio’s Plight,” the officer replied. “Welcome aboard.”
“It seems appropriate that a ship named for the God of Luck would show up in my moment of need,” Alerio stated. “I’ll offer a sacrifice at the first opportunity. But right now, I’d like to watch the Punic coast fade into my past.”
“Come to the steering deck, Colonel,” Marianus invited. “I believe we can find dry clothing for you and your men.”
“And vino, sir?” Albin inquired.
“First Principale,
see to their needs,” Marianus instructed.
He and Alerio strolled to the steering platform. The ships’ officer consulted with his navigators while Alerio went to the rail between the steering oars. From the aft of Occasio’s Plight, he watched the Punic Coastline and Fort Kelibia sink below the horizon.
***
When Occasio’s Plight caught up to the transports, the warship began patrolling at the rear of the fleet.
“Were you part of the original expedition, sir?” Marianus asked.
A sailor held a bucket of fresh water, a rag, a clean tunic, and a pair of sandals.
“We were,” Alerio confirmed while rinsing the saltwater from his skin. In the breeze blowing across the deck, the water dried quickly, and he slipped on the garment. “At Tunis, thanks to the Goddess Clementia, we were taken captive.”
“How does the Goddess of Mercy harmonize with being taken prisoner?” Marianus questioned.
Alerio hung his head and took a few breaths to calm his nerves. Once his heart rate returned to normal, he replied.
“Thousands of Legionaries were not taken,” he informed the ship’s officer. “They were butchered by the Empire after General Regulus surrendered.”
“That explains the shifting expressions on your face as we rowed away,” Marianus reported. “You seemed to alternate between a state of grace to one of fierce determination. Do you plan on returning to Qart Hadasht for unfinished business?”
“I have one goal, Centurion,” Alerio stated. “And that is to get home to my wife and my child as quickly as possible.”
“Consul Paullus agrees with you, despite arguments to the contrary.”
“Who would argue against getting home as soon as possible?” Alerio asked.
“Our civilian transport Captains are worried about summer storms that blow off the Punic coast. They want a straight route to the beach at Agrigento,” Marianus reported. “But the Consul has ordered a faster and more direct route to southern Sicilia. It’ll force the fleet to sail overnight.”
“When will we depart Pantelleria Island?” Alerio inquired.
Tribune's Oath (Clay Warrior Stories Book 17) Page 22