Brutal Diplomacy

by J. Clifton Slater

  My journey however is but outbound

  Alerio spun away from the cart shaft bringing the back of his elbow around. It crashed into the side of the Lieutenant’s helmet.

  Never again her blaze to meet

  The officer, dazed and stumbling, crossed his legs trying to move laterally. Alerio hooked a leg behind the officer’s ankles and pushed. The Lieutenant crashed onto the road.

  Let all who grieve, chant the Sons of Mars Elegy

  Alerio brought his elbow down and smashed it into the officer’s face.

  An empty bench, an idle oar, our brother’s passed, he’ll row no more

  “Put him in the cart,” Frigian ordered two of the oarsmen.

  As they moved the wrapped bodies to make a hole, they continued to chant.

  Launch my ship one final time

  Let me taste the salty brine

  Once the Lieutenant was buried under the bodies, the procession moved down the block.

  Let me feel the power strokes

  Sing to me the rowing notes

  The cart reached the third street and tuned east towards the Empire lines.

  Row me out with lusty rhymes

  ***

  “What’s this?” demanded a Qart Hadasht Sergeant. His voice, seasoned from years of issuing commands in the heat of battle, carried over the chant.

  Let all who grieve, chant the Sons of Mars Elegy

  An empty bench, an idle oar, our brother’s passed, he’ll row no more

  “Giving our dead a final stroll through town,” replied Frigian. “Then to the dock and a burial at sea.”

  Walk me through Messina dears

  A final view of the town I fear

  After years of war, the Empire Sergeant had developed immunity to death, the cries of the wounded, the plight of his enemy, the stink of unwashed bodies, and the paralysis of fear. While those issues didn’t bother him, others he found revolting. His sensitives included eggs prepared in any fashion, sweet fruit with small seeds and the smell of rotting bodies.

  Of the beautiful harbor at sunrise

  And the high Citadel at sunset

  “Move along,” the Sergeant ordered as he moved far out of the campfire light and spit on the street. Death hovered and rot emitted from the cart and he wanted it gone.

  As I recall good days of cheer

  The cart and robed chanters moved down the street. With the raised voices echoing off the compound walls, the Legionaries further down assembled and waited.

  Let all who grieve, chant the Sons of Mars Elegy

  An empty bench, an idle oar, our brother’s passed, he’ll row no more

  ***

  “Halt!” ordered the Legion Corporal. “We will search your wagon.”

  Frigian guided the cart northward on the street before stopping. Once around the corner and out of view from any sharp eyes at the Qart Hadasht barricade, Alerio brushed back the Phrygian and pulled down the cotton mask.

  “I am Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera of the Southern Legion. And yes Corporal, you will check the cart,” Alerio stated. “As a matter of fact, you’ll unload the cart and send a runner for Senior Centurion Valerian.”

  “And why would I do that?” demanded the Corporal.

  “Because, we have the Tribune’s bargaining tokens,” reported Alerio. “They’re in the cart.”

  Chapter -36 The Reality of Brutal Negotiations

  Tribune Claudius’ first orders included bathing and finding clean tunics for the Admiral and the Lieutenant. Then, he sent the Lieutenant off with Legionaries and had Hanno escorted up the hill to the Legion command tent.

  “Seeing as I couldn’t get you to speak with me during our meal,” Claudius said as a Sergeant bound the Admiral’s hands and ankles before settling the Qart Hadasht commander in a chair. “I thought this environment would be more favorable to a conversation.”

  “You have me at a disadvantage,” Hanno replied holding up his hands. “I am unable to kill you with my hands tied.”

  “Or I could kill you,” Claudius shot back resting his hand on his gladius. “But when my Legionaries were shipwrecked on your shoreline, you spared them. It’s one of the reasons you’re still alive.”

  “What is the other reason?” inquired Hanno.

  “I don’t want to start a war with the Qart Hadasht Empire,” responded Claudius. “By murdering one of their Admirals.”

  Hanno burst out laughing.

  “That Tribune Claudius is ironic,” Hanno said when he stopped. “When I spared your Legionaries and the Greek sailors, I did it because I didn’t want to be responsible for starting a war with the Republic.”

  “And yet, here we are looking at war over Messina,” Claudius summed up. “In the final analysis, it won’t be you or me who decides on war. It’ll be our rulers.”

  “What is to become of me?” questions Hanno. “Will you ship me, by night, back to your Capital to display a captured Qart Hadasht Admiral for your people? Or complete the task and murder me?”

  “I was hoping you’d order your men to leave Messina and row away with them,” suggested Claudius. “That would take the decision out of my hands.”

  “I am Hanno, an Admiral of the Qart Hadasht Empire,” he stated with pride. “Kill me, torture me, but I will never surrender Messina.”

  “Right now, I believe we should breakfast,” the Tribune ventured as he watched the first rays of sunlight stream into the command tent. “Sergeant. Bring rations for the Admiral and me.”

  Claudius paced and thought as they waited for the food. Hanno settled on glaring at the Tribune. When the Sergeant brought in two bowls of cooked oats sweetened with honey, a camp stool was placed in front of Hanno.

  “If you don’t eat, you’ll be hungry and weak,” offered Claudius when he saw the Admiral turn his nose up at the bowl. Lifting a small ladle, the tribune took a mouthful. “Delicious. It’s a shame you’re missing out.”

  “Suffering your presence is torture enough,” Hanno complained. “Ingesting your common soldier’s fare is insufferable.”

  “Explain something to me, Admiral,” inquired Claudius as he took another mouthful. “Your officers. Are they all nobility from royal houses of Qart Hadasht?”

  “There are no kings or queens in Qart Hadasht. Only aristocrats from the finest families are allowed to serve as officers of the navy and army,” bragged Hanno.

  “What about your sub-commanders, Gisco and Barca?” Claudius asked. “How important are their families?”

  “Both are directly related to the current Suffetes,” Hanno informed the Tribune. “In a few years Barca would have become a great general of the Empire. Had you not killed him.”

  “I didn’t kill him. You sent him on a night time suicide mission against my Legionaries,” explained Claudius. “But you didn’t tell me about sub-commander Gisco.”

  “Gisco will become one of the Judges and be a fine administrator for the Empire,” Hanno stated. “He’s only here for some military experience. Much to my detriment.”

  There was a rustling at the tent flap and Senior Centurion Valerian entered. He slammed a fist into his chest. Both Hanno and Claudius turned to look at him.

  “Tribune Claudius. All is in readiness,” Valerian announced.

  “Bring them up and have the Sergeant escort the Admiral,” Claudius instructed. Then ignoring the puzzled look on Hanno’s face, the Tribune walked out with his Senior Centurion.

  ***

  “They’re going to come against us soon,” guessed Valerian. “Once they figure out their Admiral isn’t in the western half of the town. Do you think sub-commander Gisco would be agreeable surrendering?”

  Below them, they could see squads of Qart Hadasht soldiers racing up and down streets and in and out of Villas and craftsmen’s compounds.

  “From what I’ve learned, Gisco is an administrator,” replied Claudius. “He’d rather wait in the Citadel until all his troops are dead before discussing the terms of his surrender.”

>   Far off on the other side of the city, Claudius noticed movement. Lines of unidentifiable men marched. After watching for a time, he decided the men were marching towards Messina.

  “Sub-commander Gisco must have pulled soldiers off the defensive line. Probably to aid in the search. He’s left big holes in his lines as an invitation,” suggested the Tribune. “And the Syracusan commander has taken him up on the offer.”

  “We could always wait and let Syracuse remove the Qart Hadasht soldiers,” advised Valerian.

  “They’d begin crucifying Sons and we’d have to advance to protect the citizens of Messina,” responded the Tribune. “If there’s going to be woodwork, I’d rather it be me deciding who gets stretched. Not the Syracusans.”

  They strolled around to the back of the temple. Behind them came a hobbled Admiral Hanno with just enough rope between his ankles to shuffle.

  ***

  “Admiral, I’m glad you could join us,” Claudius said pleasantly as if Hanno had a choice.

  In front of them, Legionaries were digging in waist deep holes. Behind the lip of the excavation, large stones were stacked. It wasn’t the men, the holes or the rocks that caused the Admiral to flinch. Laying in front of each hole were heavy beams, notched and lashed together to form crosses.

  “Five? Are you putting me up with some of your Legionary criminals?” Hanno asked. “I am not afraid.”

  But it was a weak attempt at bravado as his lips quivered.

  “Of course not, my dear Admiral,” Claudius assured him. Then the Tribune pointed at the steps. “Here come the attendees to your sunset viewing party.”

  On the steps leading to the top of Temple hill were four men in new tunics. Two displayed clean bandages on their wounds and their pace and posture told the tale of recent injuries. The other two climbed with stiff backs as if they were in charge rather than being prisoners. Four Legionaries walked behind with the points of their javelins inches from the captured Empire officers’ backs.

  “I’m sure you know these men,” advised Claudius as the four reached the top and were herded towards the back of the Temple. “Sub-commander Barca, I’m sure. Hopefully you recognize the others as three of your Empire Lieutenants.”

  Hanno’s empty stomach sickened and bile rose in his throat. The four represented four powerful houses of the Qart Hadasht Empire. Two were eldest sons and two were second sons. All had bright futures ahead or short painful deaths. It was up to him and he didn’t like the options.

  “I thought you didn’t want to start a war with the Empire, Tribune,” said Hanno.

  The Tribune motioned for the Legionaries in the post holes to stop digging.

  “I don’t. But with your soldiers deserting the south wall and Syracuse troops closing in, it seems I don’t have a choice,” replied Claudius. “Your soldiers will be trapped between two forces and they will die anyway. Why not march out with your officers and men? It’s not as if you’re leaving me a pacified town.”

  Hanno glared at the Tribune before shifting to Barca. His sub-commander, although slumped from an injury, stared back at his Admiral with trusting eyes.

  “I have two Triremes and rowers,” Hanno said softly as if embarrassed by his words. “But not enough ships for my soldiers and officers.”

  “The Sons of Mars have transports in the harbor,” pointed out Claudius. “We’ll work something out, however…”

  Tribune Claudius let his sentence end unfinished. As a commander he didn’t want to put words in the mouth of another commander making a hard decision.

  “No!” shouted one of the healthy Lieutenants. “We are Qart Hadasht Empire. We do not surrender to dirt farmers.”

  Everyone froze. Standing silently, Claudius, Barca, and the two other Lieutenants seem as statues, no one wanting to move or even breathe hard.

  Then Valerian with his arms hanging at his side, lifted a finger and pointed it at the Legionaries in the holes. Unseen by the officers, the Senior Centurion jerked his finger up and down as a signal to dig.

  The first shovel burrowed into the clay, sand and pebbles. As the iron scraped into the gritty soil, it created a screech. As if a mythical night creature had escaped into the daylight, the hairs on the backs the officers’ necks bristled.

  Hanno glanced down at the shovels of dirt thrown from the hole and up at the Lieutenant who spoke out.

  “Lieutenant Bomilcar. You are young and arrogant. Perhaps someday, you’ll understand,” Hanno whispered. Then to Claudius, in a loud commanding voice, he announced, “Tribune Gaius Claudius. As commander of the Qart Hadasht forces in Messina, I propose an end to hostilities. My only condition is that you allow the unmolested passage of my officers and soldiers to the dock. From there we will row away and leave the Sons of Mars and the Syracusan situation in your hands. Do you agree?”

  “Admiral Hanno. By the authority invested in me by the Senate of the Republic and as a staff office of the Legion, and commander of Codex Legion detachment in Messina. I accept your surrender,” replied Claudius. “Sergeant, kindly untie the Admiral.”

  Act 7

  Chapter – 37 The Inherent Dangers During Rotation

  “Captain Frigian. I’m of two minds,” confessed Claudius. “One is to disarm the Sons of Mars until just before you row out and need weapons and armor to protect your trade.”

  “That’s a better deal than we had with Qart Hadasht,” pointed out Frigian. “What’s the other thought?”

  The Tribune raised an arm and indicated the south side of Messina.

  “Admiral Hanno is pulling his troops from the south wall and marshalling them for a march to the dock,” Claudius explained. “I need all of my Legionaries to watch for treachery. Once they are stretched from the dock to our lines, they could easily turn on us.”

  “Like a wounded wolf,” ventured Frigian. “Even if you beat it off, it might turn on you at the last moment. Or it might trot off into the woods.”

  “Yes, like a wounded wolf. I don’t want Admiral Hanno turning on my Legionaries when he is behind my lines,” agreed Claudius. “I need the Sons to man the south wall defenses until I can free up Legionaries.”

  “And what’s in it for the Sons?” asked Frigian.

  “You know, it’s a bad idea,” commented Claudius. “Maybe I’ll let Syracuse have the western half. I only need the dock and beach for General Codex and the rest of the Legion.”

  “Hold on, hold on Tribune,” Frigian begged. He knew if Syracuse troops made it into Messina they would begin killing Sons. “We can hold them off until your Legionaries arrive. But I need one thing from you.”

  “And what is that?” inquired Claudius.

  “I need Lieutenant Sisera,” Frigian replied. “Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera to command my heavy infantry.”

  “The Sons of Mars have heavy infantry?” Claudius asked while squinting and crunching up his face. “Did you say Sisera commands your heavy infantry?”

  “In truth Tribune, according to Lieutenant Sisera, the Sons heavy infantry is like gold leafing on a Tribune’s armor,” Frigian explained. “It’s safe and looks good because it’s not made for real combat. It just looks pretty on the battlefield.”

  “Senior Centurion Valerian. Find Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera and tell him he is assigned to Captain Frigian until released,” ordered Claudius.

  ***

  Three hundred Legionaries lined the wide road. From behind their shields they watched five hundred Qart Hadasht soldiers and their officers march by. In the western sectors starting with the Citadel, pairs of Legion skirmishers searched the town. They were looking for soldiers. Hidden units that could attack from the rear as the Legionaries collapsed to follow the last column of soldiers out of Messina.

  Two pairs of the Velites came out of compounds on the opposite sides of a street and stopped. From the north marched columns of heavy infantry. Big shields, shoulder rigs, breast plates, javelins, spears, helmets and the infantrymen marched mostly in step. The skirmishers started to ru
n and raise the alarm when they noticed something odd. All the equipment was from different city states. Egyptian, Legion, Greek, Macedonia, Qart Hadasht, and some that was so obscure in style and markings, they couldn’t identify the origins.

  A man riding a big horse and outfitted in shiny Greek armor, rode beside the columns.

  “Left, stomp, left stomp,” the Greek commander called out the cadence.

  As the infantrymen passed, the Greek turned on his horse and did a cross chest salute. Not knowing what else to do, the Legion Velites returned the salute.

  ***

  “What’s the hold up now?” demanded a frustrated Tribune Claudius.

  “The soldiers wanted to stop for a meal before boarding,” Senior Centurion Valerian replied. “Short of reigniting hostilities, our Legionaries are stuck with standing and watching.”

  Admiral Hanno had a tent on the beach where he could observe the loading of his soldiers. Other than a few runners, he sat in a chair doing nothing to hasten the departure. With only about a hundred soldiers loaded on transports, there was a real likelihood the Qart Hadasht could reengage.

  “The wolf is delaying for one of two reasons, or both,” reflected Claudius. “He wants to the Syracusans to come in and make us fight for the town again. Or he’s changed his mind. With four hundred soldiers, he could hold the dock and warehouses until we are worn down. Then retake Messina.”

  “Do you think he’d go back on his word, sir?” asked Valerian

  “I don’t know. What’s an aristocrats word to a dirt farmer worth?” pondered Claudius.

  ***

  South of the wall and across the field, Syracusan units mustered. In the center were Hoplites with big shields and long spears. Squads of soldiers flanked the elite fighters. Farther out, on each side of the ranks of foot soldiers, cavalry mounts pawed and stomped the sod.

  A rutted road stretched through the Syracusan troops, traveled across the grassy field and threaded between Messina’s defensive line. It ended at the main gate to the port town. South of the wall, on either side of the road, Qart Hadasht soldiers had dug wide, shallow pits and piled the dirt behind the dips to create hills. Two rows of misaligned pits composed the defensive line.