“I’d like to have a look at your cook’s pantry,” said Cimon, the squad’s best cook. “Would that be possible?”
“Fine with me. Come inside Alerio and tell me about the Senators’ and Consuls’ reactions to the funeral games,” suggested Thomasious.
“Don’t you want to know who was victorious?” inquired Alerio as he mounted the steps. His pride was hurt as the Innkeeper didn’t seem curious about his part in the games.
“Blood on the sand, the winner of a horse race, or a powerful thespian performance of a play, is only one aspect of any public spectacle. But not the most important,” Thomasious explained as he guided the Legionary down the hallway towards the dining room. “The real contests are the financial and the political maneuvering taking place out of the public’s eye.”
***
There were a few customers in the dining room. Thomasious ushered Alerio to an isolated corner table.
“What maneuvering does a funeral game provide?” inquired Alerio as they sat.
“Senator Spurius Maximus, as the sponsor of your gladiators, gets the bragging rights if they win,” explained Thomasious. “For the next week, he will be the center of attention while extolling the virtue of his fighters. He needs that since his protégé, Marcus Flaccus is the most honored man of the year. The old General doesn’t like being overshadowed.”
“Then what did it mean when Consul Caudex received so much attention from the crowd at the end of the funeral games?” asked Alerio.
“Gamesmanship, pure and simple. He turned defeat into victory,” Thomasious replied. “Without the afterglow of winning, he took advantage of the gathering to sway the citizens to his cause. I imagine Maximus and Flaccus weren’t happy.”
“They walked off during Consul Caudex’s speech,” Alerio related. “But why did the city guard come after me? I’m not political.”
“Most likely the work of a Caudex solicitor, seeking to give the Consul an advantage,” Thomasious ventured. “It wouldn’t take many coins to convince the city guard, especially as one of their own was training the other three gladiators. Toss in some assurances to the bet takers and no one would worry about holding you in a cell for a few days. Or, putting you in the care of a physician until you healed.”
“A final question, Master Harricus. What advantage did Consul Caudex gain by riling up the crowd with talk of war in Sicilia?” asked Alerio. “He’s a Consul. Shouldn’t he be debating that in the Senate?”
“The citizens of our Republic are a powerful force,” explained Thomasious. “Not many Senators want to go against public opinion. If Caudex has won over the public, then there will be war in Sicilia. Now, let’s get you something to eat. And you can tell me about the matches.”
Pleased at last to be able to talk about a subject he knew, Alerio described each fight and the fighters. Later that afternoon, Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera marched Seventh squad to the Legion camp and reported to Centurion Seneca. In the morning, he joined a cavalry patrol headed south towards the Southern Legion.
Act 2
Chapter 13 - Port of Ostia
Four Republic Triremes rested on the beach along with Legion patrol boats. Against the piers were six Greek Corbita with five more of the merchant transports lashed to their seaward side. Since the first light of dawn, Legionaries had been passing supplies and equipment up to the boats. A Legion quartermaster strutted along the rails of the rafted together transports.
“Don’t overload that ship with supplies,” he roared. “Leave room for the troops. It won’t do anyone any good to assault Messina with a ship of supplies. Unless grain can crawl out of their sacks and swing a gladius, you want Legionaries on that boat. You over there! The Legionaries need supplies when they land. Take on more!”
He encouraged, directed and scolded as the sun rose. Soon the stacks of supplies on the docks dwindled as they were transferred to the eleven Corbita. Watching the loading were Tribune Gaius Claudius and Consul Appease Caudex.
“Take and hold Messina. I’ll be along with the Legion in a few weeks,” Caudex ordered. “And Tribune Claudius, don’t fail me. I need Messina as a base of operations.”
“Yes, General. Is it proper to call you General, yet?” asked Gaius.
Appease laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s not official until the Senate votes tomorrow,” Consul Caudex admitted while standing taller and pushing out his chest. “But, witnessing the advance units of my Legion about to depart, I’ll claim the title starting now.”
“Very good General Caudex. If you’ll excuse me, I want to speak with our warship Captains,” Tribune Claudius informed the Consul.
“Yes, yes of course. And I must return to the Capital to prop up my supporters,” announced Appease. “Maybe make a few public speeches to remind the Senate of my popularity.”
“By your leave, General?” asked Gaius.
“Dismissed, Tribune.”
Gaius saluted, turned and marched off the docks. While he moved towards the beach, four hundred heavy infantrymen, one hundred sixty Velites, and about fifty support personnel formed lines. The Legionaries at the head of the lines began walking up the ramps to the transports.
***
The four Trireme Captains stood watching the boarding.
“Tribune, good morning,” they said as Gaius approached.
“I want my Senior Centurion on the lead warship. My First Sergeant on the seaward flanking Trireme and me on the other,” instructed the Tribune without acknowledging their salutations. “When do we row out?”
“The transports are slow. We’ll let them get underway before we shove off,” a Captain replied. Then he added, “We’d like infantrymen on our ships. In case…”
“I know. In case we meet any Qart Hadasht warships,” Gaius interrupted the Captain. “How many?”
“Two squads on each Trireme,” answered the Captain. “If…”
But the Tribune had already walked away.
***
“First Centurion, give me eight squads on the beach for the warships,” Tribune Claudius ordered.
“Yes, sir. It’ll slow us down as we’ll need to pull them from the same Century,” commented Senior Centurion Georgius.
“I said eight squads on the beach. I didn’t say hold me up,” Gaius said between clinched teeth. “Eight on the beach from the back of the lines. There. Problem solved.”
“Yes, Tribune,” Georgius replied as he marched to the lines of waiting Legionaries.
“Sir, what do you need?” asked First Sergeant Brictius as the Senior Centurion approached.
“Peel off eight squads from the end of the lines and put them on the beach,” Georgius relayed the order. “And don’t tell me about unit integrity. Just get them out of line and on the beach.”
“Yes, Senior Centurion, right away,” Brictius replied. He spun and began talking as he walked. “Which squads are here from Fourth and Fifth Centuries?”
“Eighth of the Fifth,” a Lance Corporal answered. “Third of the Fourth,” another reported.
“You two, pull your squads out and collect three more from your Centuries,” Brictius ordered. He glanced in the Tribune’s direction and noticed the Staff officer was busy speaking with the Ostia Post commander. The Senior Centurion had his head in a scroll held by the quartermaster. Turning to the squad leaders, he said softly, “Find your line mates and pull them off the boats if necessary. But do it quietly and make it quick.”
“Yes, First Sergeant,” they said before rushing up ramps to locate the squads.
First Sergeant Brictius had spent most of his career in the north. In battles up there, Legionaries lived and died by knowing which squads fought beside them. A Century down to four squads was still a formidable force as long as the pivots recognized the man on the adjacent squad. He wasn’t about to break off squads from different Centuries because a Staff officer was in a hurry. Besides, the Centurions, Sergeants, and Corporals would trouble him no end as they searched
for their missing Legionaries.
***
With shouting from the Greek Captains and loud responses from their crews, the seaward Corbita untied and pushed off from their sister transports at the pier. Rowing slowly, they cruised headed south in a staggered line. Then the five at the dock shoved off and joined the line.
Once the transports were underway, rowers and infantrymen boarded the Triremes. After being pushed off the beach, the warships stroked until they surrounded the convoy. The Republics first campaign to fight an enemy outside the Italian peninsula had gotten underway.
Chapter 14 - Port Rhégion
A week later, the convoy rowed into the Messina Strait. The Triremes delayed beaching while the first five Corbita tied up at the pier. The final six staggered in, and one by one, they tied up on the Strait side of the docked transports.
The Republic warships rowed hard against the strong tide of the Messina Strait to maintain vigilance.
“Captain, I demand you land and let me get about my business,” Tribune Claudius insisted.
“Tribune. You have seven Centuries of Legionaries in slow moving tubs,” the Captain replied between shouting commands to his first oar. The warship had been taken too far south by the current. It came about and headed north. “If a Qart Hadasht Trireme decided to sink one, you’d drown a lot of good men. Let the Corbita get lashed together first.”
“You have three other warships,” observed the Tribune. “What difference would one more make. Plus, there isn’t an Empire warship in sight.”
The Legion Captain raised an arm and pointed across the blue and deceptively calm looking waters of the Messina Strait. North of them, portions of low walls, a few clay roof tops and a Citadel high on a hill were observable from the middle of the Strait. Then he indicated the tower on the Rhégion side.
“There are two of them almost within ballista range,” the Captain told the Tribune. “Riding on the tide at the mouth of Messina Harbor. I received the message from the signalman in the tower.”
“That’s two, you have four,” Tribune Claudius explained the math as if talking to a small child. “Put me on the beach and you’ll still have three, against their two! It’s simple. Would you like me to write it down for you?”
“No, sir. The reason they didn’t come out of their harbor is, we do have four,” the Captain said. “If we only had two Triremes as escorts, the Republic would be buying sunken Corbita, not leasing them from the Greeks.”
“On what assumptions do you base those insights?” demanded the Tribune.
“Experience, sir. The Qart Hadasht warships are better at handling and rowing,” the Captain admitted. “The Empire has ruled the seas since before my grandfather was born. If we don’t outnumber them, we normally row away. But we can’t row away while guarding Legionaries trapped in slow moving tubs.”
The Tribune stomped away. The only path open to him was down the three-foot-wide center boards running the length of the trireme. Mumbling to himself, he didn’t notice the twenty infantrymen who stepped on rower’s benches to clear the way. His eyes were on the Citadel at Messina.
The last Corbita rowed in and tossed out lines. Crewmen on the other transport caught and pulled the lines. When the two ships were rail to rail, the sailors tied the ships together. Legionaries climbed over the rails and, with relief, made their way from ship to ship until they stood on solid ground.
As the Legionaries crawled over and across the transports, the four Republic warships rowed to shore. Tribune Georgius stood at the bow shuffling his boots impatiently and glaring down at the pebbles and sand of Rhégion beach.
“Tribune, please move back to midship, sir,” requested a sailor.
“Do you know who I am?” Gaius asked as if everyone on the warship hadn’t spent a week with him.
“Yes sir, I do. But you’re standing on the ramp,” the rower explained. “We can’t lift it and lower it until you move back, sir.”
Chapter 15 - Southern Legion Planning and Stratagies
The old man knelt, knees deep in freshly excavated soil. A root ball clutched in one hand as he patted a flat place in the bottom of the hole. Carefully, he sat the roots on the flat place and began scooping and lightly packing soil around the stem of the plant.
“Tribune. You have a visitor,” Southern Legion’s First Sergeant called from the doorway.
“Just a few moments, Sergeant Gerontius,” Velius replied with his head bent forward.
“I want to speak with Tribune Velius,” Gaius Claudius announced as he brushed by the First Sergeant. Out back of the Southern Legion’s command building, he saw only a gardener on his knees digging in one of the mismatched squares of plants. Overhead a variety of vines crept around on trellises. “I demand to speak with Tribune Velius. Where in Hades is he?”
“It’s not Hades. It’s the Southern Legion. Of course, we have adherents of Tellus across the Strait,” the old man mumbled as he tamped down the soil around the stem. “At least they should be as often as they want to bury people in the Goddess’ earth. Or send them down to Neptune’s realm.”
“Nobody asked you old man,” sneered Gaius. “Keep your opinions to yourself. Now, where is the Tribune?”
“You insist on asking questions and not listening to the answers,” the old gardener commented as he pushed back to a kneeling position.
Gaius lifted a foot as if to stomp on the newly planted stem.
“I wouldn’t do that, Tribune,” warned Gerontius.
“You dare to threaten a staff officer, Sergeant?” Gaius shot back. “I’ll have you whipped at the punishment post.”
“Look down, sir,” suggested the First Sergeant.
Gaius glanced down to where his foot would have landed. The gardener held up a trident styled gardening tool. Each prong was needle sharp and pointed at the Tribune’s hovering foot.
“It’s the southern soil, you see,” the gardener explained as he pushed on his knees to stand. “Rocks and clumps of hard clay. Terrible for the plants.”
The old man walked to the doorway and dropped the tool into a bucket beside the entrance.
“First Sergeant. Bring our guest in,” the gardener said as he disappeared through the doorway.
“Yes, Tribune Velius,” Gerontius replied before turning to Gaius. “Sir, you’ll find the Tribune in his office.”
Gaius Claudius stomped through the door and didn’t see First Sergeant Gerontius’ salute.
“I’m here to clear the Qart Hadasht out of Messina,” announced Gaius Claudius. He paused by the large table occupying the center of the room. “I don’t have time for games.”
“What do you have time for?” inquired Velius.
“What? Look here Velius, I’m marching my Centuries into Messina tomorrow morning,” Gaius exclaimed. “Any information would be appreciated.”
First Sergeant Gerontius crossed the room. He almost reached the interior door when the old Tribune called to him.
“First Sergeant. Would you locate my favorite spy and have him report here immediately?” instructed Velius. “I don’t require parade ground spiffy, just his body here as soon as possible.”
“You might him to…,” began the First Optio.
Velius shook his head and waved off the suggestion.
“Right away, Tribune,” Gerontius promised as he vanished through the doorway and down the hall.
“Let me show you a few things,” Velius offered as he rolled the cover off the map table.
“Good map,” exclaimed Gaius Claudius. The Tribune walked around it before placing a finger on the harbor of Messina. “We’ll row into the harbor, secure the port. Then attack up the main road and take the Citadel. What kind of opposition, am I facing?”
“Excellent, a definitive question. I have hopes for you yet,” Velius mumbled under his breath. Then in his speaking voice replied, “Three hundred infantry, four hundred irregulars, and seven hundred rowers depending on how many Empire warships are in port.”
“I brought four hundred heavy infantrymen and one hundred sixty Velites,” boasted Claudius. “It should be more than enough to oust the Empire’s mercenaries.”
“Have you ever taken the field against Qart Hadasht forces?” inquired Velius.
“Not them specifically. But in the eastern region, I was on the General’s staff and we planned counterattacks against the rebels,” Claudius stated. “Close up in a defined area like Messina, it’ll be easier to bring them to the fight. Much better than chasing evasive rebel forces.”
Tribune Velius turned his head away and rolled his eyes. In his years with the Legion, he’d met a number of staff officers who assumed field commands. Some listened, learned and became fine commanders. Others got stuck in the glory of working on a General’s staff. They believed their experience in the rear with maps and symbols, representing Legion and enemy forces, gave them battlefield expertise.
Before Velius could begin questioning and picking apart Gaius Claudius’ plan, there was a rapping at the backdoor.
“Sir, Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera, reporting as ordered,” a Legionary, covered with pitch and bits of fiber, stood on the threshold.
“Come in Lance Corporal,” Velius invited. “They have you caulking patrol boats, do they?”
“Yes sir,” Alerio answered as he saluted the two Tribunes.
“Hold on! I recognize you,” Claudius said with a sneer. “You’re the weapon’s instructor who trained the barbarians. And strutted around the arena like a prized cock. What is he doing here?”
“Lance Corporal Sisera is my expert on the Sons of Mars and the Empire troops in Messina,” explained Velius. “He has…”
“I don’t care what he has, or hasn’t,” growled Claudius. “I’ll not take advice from a barbarian lover.”
Alerio bristled at the comment but held his tongue. Arguing with a staff officer would only get him a session on the discipline post. Thankfully, Tribune Velius came to his defense.
“Tribune Claudius. I am attempting to aid you in your attack on Messina,” Velius explained in a soft voice. Both Alerio and Gaius Claudius had to lean towards the old spy master to hear his words. “Lance Corporal Sisera has met Admiral Hanno. Plus, he has contacts in the Sons of Mars. Maybe we can use his knowledge.”
Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2 Page 28