Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2

by J. Clifton Slater

  ***

  Late in the afternoon, the crew again rolled the sail and manned their oars. But instead of rowing towards the land, they rowed westward out to sea. For a time, the shoreline also rolled west then it rounded and retreated to the east. All the while, the transport continued to distance itself from land. Only when the coastline vanished below the horizon did the Captain track southward. Holding the southern course, the crew rowed in slow, controlled strokes.

  “Why are we out so far?” Alerio inquired. “I don’t see land anywhere.”

  He rowed along with the other crewmembers. The man in front of him looked back and smiled.

  “The Captain is sweeping around to enter the harbor from the east,” he explained. “It’s better to avoid crossing tracks with warships and faster transports.”

  They rowed until the Captain bent the rear facing oar to swing the transport towards starboard. As they rowed on the new track, land appeared. As well as a fast-moving Greek trireme. With one hundred and eighty oars propelling the warship, it cut the low waves leaving a trail of white water in its wake. The battering ram in front and just under the water split the waves and Alerio imagined the horror of the transport being smashed by the rapidly advancing triple banked ship of war.

  “Warship,” announced Alerio.

  “And rowing hard,” added another crewmember.

  ***

  The closer to a break in the land they got, the more vessels left the harbor. Most were low in the water transports like the Corbita.

  One cargo ship stood out. Rather than the almost flat profile with the wide deep belly, this ship was curved up and out of the water both fore and aft. It was easy to imagine the storage compartments in the bulging ends. Not only was the storage different, the number of oars and the huge sail meant the cargo ship was fast.

  “Single banked with twenty oars,” Alerio stated in admiration as the sail unrolled. The sail suspended high above the deck with the edges of the cloth extended far beyond the ship’s rails. “What is she?”

  “Egyptian transport sailing out of Alexandria,” replied the rower. “And yes, she is fast. But also, nimble enough to oar clear of us. Unlike the trireme which might sink us just for practice.”

  “Have they done that before?” Alerio asked in a panic.

  “I don’t know,” the rower replied. “Nobody has survived to tell the tale.”

  The rowers laughed and Alerio concentrated on the wide channel between the end of an island and the toe of a land mass bracketing the entrance to the harbor.

  Chapter – 29 The Harbor of Syracuse

  “The island of Malta, then on to Oea on the coast of Africa,” the Captain offered. “You’ll see sights that most people can’t even dream about.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Captain,” Alerio replied. “But I have business in Syracuse. Thank you for the ride, the work, and the pay.”

  Alerio jingled the silver coins in the palm of his hand. The offer of employment on the transport had caught him by surprise. He had to admit, it was flattering. Hoisting his pack and bedroll, Alerio adjusted the brim of his petasos and marched down the ramp and on to the docks of Syracuse.

  On the far side of the harbor, fishing boats were grounded on a narrow beach. On the other side of the sandy beach, tall grasses grew in marshy areas. Closer to where his transport was docked, larger ships lay tied to piers. Spanning from the commercial docks, the city’s defensive wall ran over a bridge to the island. Warships floated further along the island with barracks nearby. Behind the troop housing, the walls of Syracuse rose, signaling the border of the city.

  “Almost fourteen miles of wall,” a street urchin said.

  Alerio glanced down at the tow-headed youth.

  “I can give you a tour,” the lad offered. “All the best eating places, and the best lodging and, and the best shops, and the best…”

  “Stop. I’ll give you a silver to quit talking and to leave,” Alerio said. “If you can tell me where the army drills?”

  “Drills?” he asked.

  “You know, where soldiers practice with swords and shields,” described Alerio.

  “Oh, beyond the swamp outside the wall. Take the altar gate for the best view,” he replied holding out his hand. “Almost fourteen miles of wall…”

  Alerio dropped a silver into the small hand at the same time as a soldier called out.

  “You there, don’t give them a coin,” the armed man ordered as he marched up. “You! Get out of my patrol area. And you sailor, are you heading into the city?”

  “I am,” Alerio responded as he watched the lad scurry away and vanish around a pile of transport crates.

  “The gate is the other way, over the bridge,” the guard pointed out. “And don’t give the street urchins coin. It only makes them brazen.”

  “Thank you for the directions,” Alerio said before noticing the soldier had his hand out.

  So, running off the lads was more than securing the docks. They were cutting into his coin. Alerio dug out another silver and gave it to the guard.

  “Enjoy your stay,” the soldier said as he strutted away.

  ***

  The sun was getting low and Alerio decided he needed a bed for the night. Figuring he’d find an inn closer to where the military drilled, the Legionary set out to cross the city.

  Syracuse was old, far older than the Capital of the Republic. And it was built of mud smeared walls and stone more so than wood and clay bricks. A lot of the pitted black rock he’s seen during the sea trip had been incorporated into the buildings. For use as a façade material, it was smoothed and carved with figures. Greek symbols and Gods were chiseled into the rock. Although prominent, none of the buildings had been built of the ragged black rock.

  Alerio had traversed half the city when the urge to touch the strange black rock overwhelmed him. The street was empty, as most people had gone home to retire for the day. He stopped, set down his pack and the bedroll, and reached out a hand.

  ***

  A shout from an adjacent alleyway echoed down the street. Alerio had turned to face the alley when a man in a military tunic burst onto the street. He stumbled while making the turn and Alerio saw blood on his face. Four men in rough clothing were almost on him. Alerio reached back and drew the long dagger with the black and yellow striped hilt.

  The military man scrambled to his feet and unsteadily staggered by Alerio. Seven steps beyond the Legionary, the man collapsed. Behind him, the four men yelled with joy and raced towards their victim.

  Hooking a foot under the heavy bedroll, Alerio launched it into the path of two of them. It spun end-over-end and both men ran into the blanket, cover, and the two steel swords. The weighted bedroll slammed into their shins and their feet got tangled. They toppled to the paved street. The other two, seeing their fellows fall, stopped and refocused on Alerio.

  “Nice petasos,” one sneered at Alerio. “I’ve always fancied a fine lid like that.”

  “Just take the dēfutūta hat. Do the sailor lad, the soldier, and let’s get out of here,” the other man urged.

  The two on the street were on their knees and brushing off their hands. Both had dropped their knives which skipped and slid down the street.

  The hat fancier held his knife as did the other man. Alerio held his knife beside his leg.

  “Excuse me?” begged Alerio. “I’m new in town and I’m looking for an inn. Can you suggest a quality inn for the night?”

  He asked so innocently the two street thugs hesitated. Their mistake.

  Alerio sliced the air from beside his leg to the air above the robber’s head. Along its path, the blade parted the man’s wrist, his chin and lacerated one eye. As the man collapsed in agony, Alerio leaped over him.

  Twirling on his toes, Lance Corporal Sisera rotated with the dagger extended. Just as he completed the spin, the blade hung up for a fraction of a heartbeat on a tendon as it slit the second thug’s throat.

  Expecting the victim with the beav
er felt hat to die or run after tangling with their companions, the two on the ground stood and stomped towards the downed man in the military tunic. But Alerio wasn’t fleeing.

  He reached the two kneeling men and rammed a knee into the side of one’s skull. The man sprawled into the pavers as only a dead weight could, all loose and fluid. The second man caught the bottom of Alerio’s thick sandal in the nose. Blood burst in a spiral shape from under the end and sides of Alerio’s foot. The man with the crushed nose flew backward and when the back of his head knocked into the pavers, he no longer knew he was bleeding. He lay unconscious on the street.

  Alerio spun and saw the last thug reach out with his knife. As if probing, he attempted to place the tip in the military man’s eye. Unfortunately, the man fought off the blade with his hands and forearms. If the two kept up the poking and flesh blocking for much longer, the military man would bleed out before the blade could penetrate his eye and spike his brain.

  Flipping the dagger with the black and yellow handle, Alerio caught the blade. Drawing back his arm, he threw the knife. It flipped four and a half times before embedding its tip in the outlaw’s neck. The man reached over his shoulder attempting to dislodge the knife. Then he staggered before falling to his knees and sprawling on the street.

  Alerio walked over, pull the knife from his neck, bent down and cleaned the blade on the man’s shirt. While putting away the dagger, he went to the military man.

  “Can you stand?” he inquired.

  The man continued waving his hands in the air as if still fending off the blade.

  “Calm down,” ordered Alerio. “They’re all down and you’re safe. Is there somewhere I can take you?”

  The man pointed up the street and tried to stand. His wet palm slipped, and he landed back on the street. Alerio looked hard at his hands and forearms. Both were bleeding but none of the cuts pumped or dribbled rivers of blood. Assuming the man wasn’t about to bleed to death, he left him. After putting away the knife, Alerio collected his bedroll and pack.

  With an arm around the man’s back, Alerio helped him stand. Looking around the Legionary didn’t see any witnesses or more thugs. He was pleased as he didn’t want to call attention to himself. Unseen, he and the wounded military man made their way from the scene of the fight.

  However, Alerio was wrong. On a rooftop across the street, an impassionate observer watched as the military man ran onto the street. Her interest still didn’t peak when the four-armed men chasing him turned the corner. Even when the stranger tossed the bedroll, she smiled at the move but remained bored. The knife from behind the stranger’s back was rudimentary street fighting and she actually yawned. His hand-to-hand fighting skills were adequate. It was when he flipped the knife. The black and yellow hilt flashed in the fading light of early evening and her spine went cold and her body tensed. Before she could act, the stranger and the wounded man were out of danger and moving up the street.

  Chapter – 30 The Somewhat Honorable Macario Hicetus

  The soldier staggered and Alerio could smell vino on his breath. Unable to tell if the head wound or the drink caused the man to stumble, Alerio kept a firm grip as they made their way up the street. Eventually, the man lifted an arm and pointed out a pub.

  They entered and a man behind the counter looked up and, seeing the blood, indicated a rear doorway.

  “Courtyard. I don’t want him bleeding on the tile,” the proprietor instructed.

  “Two mugs of red, a cloth and a pitcher of vinegar,” Alerio replied as he guided the soldier towards the doorway.

  “This isn’t a medical center and I’m not a doctor,” the man warned. “If he’s going to die, take him back to the street.”

  “He’s not going to die, and I just want to clean him up,” Alerio assured the proprietor. “Red, cloth and vinegar.”

  In the courtyard, Alerio guided them to a rough-hewn bench and table. He eased the soldier down on one end of the bench. After shoving his petasos in the pack and placing his gear behind the bench, he slid in on the other end.

  “Let’s take a look at those cuts,” Alerio offered reaching out and taking the man’s arms.

  “They tried to rob me,” complained the man. He winced as Alerio probed the cuts. “Ouch, that hurts.”

  The proprietor arrived with a tray. He set two mugs and a pitcher on the table. When Alerio tilted his head back and stared, the man pulled a semi clean cloth from his apron.

  “Three silvers and two bronze coins,” he stated.

  When the soldier didn’t reach for a coin purse, Alerio dug into his and paid the man. After he left, Alerio lifted the pitcher and drizzled a splash over the man’s arms.

  “Algea bless me, that hurts,” the soldier exclaimed loudly.

  The pain seemed to have revived the man.

  “I’m Alerio Sisera,” he introduced himself while washing the blood from the man’s head wound. “And you are?”

  “Lieutenant Macario Hicetus of King Hiero the Second’s mounted Signal Corps,” he replied. “And that’s why I was banned from the parade.”

  “Because you are mounted or part of the Signal Corps?” asked Alerio as he moved to gently clean the Lieutenant’s hands and forearms.

  “No. Because I am the son of the Syracusan leader Hicetus,” Macario announced.

  “Leader, as in the King? You’re a Prince?” Alerio inquired.

  “No, no. My father was the Tyrant Hicetus. I was born the year he was driven from power and from the city,” the Lieutenant explained. “Today’s my twenty-third year and I wasn’t allowed in the parade.”

  Alerio’s head was spinning from the odd answers from Macario Hicetus, son of a disposed tyrant, mounted signalman, and birthday celebrator. None of which explained why the Lieutenant wasn’t allowed in the parade.

  “One simple question, Lieutenant Hicetus,” probed Alerio. “Why weren’t you allowed in the parade?”

  “Because King Heiro the Second was reviewing the troops,” Macario stated.

  “I gathered that, but why?” demanded Alerio.

  “I’m not allowed in the presence of the King,” Macario finally admitted. “King Heiro’s advisers are afraid I might assassinate him and lead an uprising and claim the throne.”

  “Would you?” inquired Alerio.

  “Good Hygieia no, may she prevent the illness of over ambition,” Macario pleaded. “I just want to go to war and reclaim my family’s honor. A few accommodations, a little blood spilled, and my mother will once again be accepted at Galas held by noblewomen.”

  Alerio wanted to ask about the Syracusan military plans but suddenly he had to relieve his bladder.

  “I’ll be right back,” he informed Macario. He stood and went through the doorway. The proprietor pointed out the necessary closet.

  ***

  While Alerio used the hole in the floor, he heard loud voices and the vino seller reply to a question. When he emerged, the voices were louder and coming from the courtyard. Moving cautiously, he approached the doorway and peered out.

  Five cavalrymen crowded around Macario Hicetus. They were talking over each other about what a grand parade it was and how it was a shame Lieutenant Hicetus had been ordered to stand down. Alerio wanted to join the conversation but one of the troopers grabbed Macario’s hands.

  “What happened to your arms and your head,” the man demanded. “Who did this to you?”

  “I don’t remember,” Macario mumbled. “After you trotted off, I went to have a drink and roll the dice. You know that always cheers me up.”

  “And makes you coinless and hungover,” another cavalryman teased.

  “The next thing I know, I’m sitting here cleaning my wounds,” he mumbled. Reaching out, Macario picked up the pitcher and sniffed the content. “With vinegar and this rag.”

  Alerio realized the injured and drunk Macario was confused. While he watched, the proprietor brushed by holding two pitchers and balancing five mugs. Deciding it was time to leave, Alerio follo
wed the man to the courtyard.

  “I was here earlier and left my pack,” Alerio explained while the men reached out to grab mugs.

  He went behind the bench and picked up the bedroll and the pack. Then Macario turned and studied him.

  Before Alerio could get to the doorway, Macario blurted out, “Hey, I know you. You were on the street.”

  “Is this one of the men who attacked you?” asked one of the cavalrymen.

  Alerio ran before the obvious answer came. As he reached the front door, he heard Macario shout, “Yes. He was one of them.”

  By then, the Legionary was out of the pub and racing up the street. The five cavalrymen ran from the establishment and gave chase.

  Alerio didn’t know the city or, which streets were dead ends. It wasn’t in his plan to get into a street fight with five soldiers. Spy on them, yes, but not do battle on their home ground. He passed a cross street and several alleyways. After glancing over his shoulder, he put on a burst of speed. The cavalrymen were gaining on him.

  Ahead, a small hooded figure waved and pointed at an alleyway. Not having any other options, he adjusted and ducked into the dark narrow space. The small figure followed. Ten paces in, Alerio slammed into a stone wall.

  The five cavalrymen bunched up at the mouth of the alley. With only a moment of hesitation, they charged into the dark. That’s when a stack of barrels along the wall came free and rolled into their legs. The five tripped and ended up sprawled on the pavers.

  Alerio swung his bedroll around and began to lift the leather flaps. As his fingers reached into the end of the bedroll, a small hand gripped his arm. It was a small hand but the fingers squeezed deeply and insistently into the arm muscle.

  “This way,” came a whisper and Alerio was guided to a rope ladder.

  He climbed and before he reached the roof top, he felt the rope sway as his small rescuer scrambled up after him. Once on the tiles of the roof, Alerio fell back and breathed heavily.

  The hooded figure swiftly pulled the ladder up. Then the hood turned to Alerio.