Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2

by J. Clifton Slater

  From a warehouse, two infantrymen dragged a driver out of a building and across the yard.

  “We found him hiding under the grain,” one of the Legionaries said. Then he slapped the driver across the top of his head. “Nasty piece of merda, putting your dirty cūlus in our grain.”

  “That’s Caratcus, sir,” the Corporal said identifying the wagon driver.

  “Take him to the First Sergeant,” Carnifex ordered the two Legionaries holding the driver. Then he yelled. “Squad leaders, form up on the road and report to your Century.”

  From the tents, buildings, and warehouses, the other squad assigned to Centurion Carnifex emerged. They fell into columns next to the squad in the transportation yard. Together they marched away with the Legion’s weapons instructor marching behind them.

  ***

  “Sergeant. Is this the Private who brought you the message and the sack of coins?” demanded Carnifex as he shoved Caratcus into the house.

  “Yes, Centurion,” he replied.

  First Sergeant Brictius pulled out his gladius and held the weapon at his side. It hung motionless but the punishment Sergeant and the wagon driver both cringed at the unspoken threat of the naked blade.

  Turning to the Private, Carnifex inquired, “Who brought you the message?”

  “I don’t know his name, sir,” pleaded the Private. “But I recognized him. He’s on the squad protecting Tribune Eutropius.”

  “Now look here, sir,” the Sergeant blustered. “Enough of this game. Your questions are dangerously close to accusing a Senior Staff Officer of committing a violation. But we all know you’ll do nothing, except get all of us a session on the punishment post. Maybe not you, Centurion, but First Sergeant Brictius, Private Caratcus and me. We’re the ones who will be up on charges.”

  “You aren’t wrong, Sergeant,” replied Carnifex. “That’s why this is a secret inquiry. Private Caratcus. Describe the Legionary who brought you the message.”

  “He is average height, stands with his back real straight and he didn’t look me in the eyes,” Caratcus related. “Plus, he’s not very smart. When I asked why the orders to hurt the Lance Corporal, he got confused before telling me. Oh, and he’s missing an ear on the left side.”

  “That’s Private Hippolytus,” announced Carnifex. “Sergeant. Take your man back to the transportation Century. I don’t want to hear any gossip about the message or what we discussed in this room. And if you ever get another bribe to hurt a Legionary, I want to hear about it.”

  The Sergeant nodded his understanding, put a hand on Caratcus’s back and shoved the Private out of the door. Before leaving, he locked eyes with First Sergeant Brictius.

  “Don’t get over your station, First Sergeant,” he warned before following Caratcus out of the house.

  Brictius sheathed his gladius and cocked his head in a questioning manner.

  “What now, Centurion?” he inquired.

  “You go tell Tribune Claudius what we discovered,” directed Carnifex. “I’m going to speak with Private Hippolytus.”

  Chapter 8 – Bees’ Wax

  The infantry tents were neatly arranged in Legion squares. In the center of the camp, the line officer’s large tent anchored the Century’s area. While the First Century, Headquarters guarded the General and access to the Citadel, patrolling the structure, fell to infantry squads of rotating Centuries. The duty would end when the Legion went into combat.

  Legionaries sat in front of tents repairing or cleaning their equipment. Sanctus Carnifex located the tent he wanted and marched to it.

  “Centurion Carnifex. What can I do for you, sir?” the Lance Corporal asked as he looked up from where he was sharpening his gladius.

  “I need to speak with Private Hippolytus,” Sanctus stated.

  “Sir. I’m aware of Hippolytus’ actions,” the squad leader admitted. “I’m waiting for my Centurion and Sergeant to get back from inspecting the northern defensives. I’m sure they’ll administer the appropriate punishment.”

  “And you had nothing to do with it?” inquired Carnifex.

  “No, sir. I’m studying my numbers and letters,” replied the Lance Corporal. “Someday, I’d like to be a Tesserarius. Permitting my men to get blind drunk while on duty would hurt my chances of being selected.”

  “Drunk on duty?” asked a confused Carnifex.

  “I promise you, sir. I inspected the guards before they were posted,” reported the squad leader. “Hippolytus was sober. I didn’t even smell vino on his breath. You can imagine my surprise when I was informed one of my Legionaries was passed out behind the Citadel. That’s why you wanted to speak with him. Isn’t it, sir?”

  “Where’s Hippolytus now?” demanded the Centurion.

  “In the tent sleeping it off,” the Lance Corporal said pointing behind him at the squad’s tent.

  Sanctus rushed to the tent, tossed back the flap and stepped into the muted interior. One bedroll was occupied. The Centurion knelt down and felt Hippolytus’ forehead. It was wet and cold. After placing a hand on the Private’s neck and finding a weak pulse, he shouted.

  “Get this man to medical,” Carnifex ordered.

  ***

  “And we know a Private Hippolytus from Tribune Eutropius’ protection detail delivered the coins and the message,” related First Sergeant Brictius. As he talked, Senior Tribune Claudius paced outside the surgery tent forcing Brictius to turn his head back and forth as he reported. “And that’s as far as I dare take the investigation, sir.”

  “I want to speak with Private Hippolytus, later,” Gaius Claudius informed the First Sergeant. “For now, I need Lance Corporal Sisera.”

  They both looked up the street to see Centurion Carnifex and four Legionaries carrying a man on a shield.

  “Medic!” one of the porters called. A tent flap opened and the men and the stretcher vanished through the opening. Moments later, the Centurion emerged and marched to Gaius Claudius.

  “Who was that, Centurion?” Gaius inquired.

  “Private Hippolytus, sir. I’ve seen food poisoning from spoiled grain and meat and illness from bad water and vino,” Carnifex offered. “But I’ve never seen any of those put a man down as hard as whatever the Private drank.”

  “You think he was intentionally poisoned?” asked the Senior Tribune.

  “I wouldn’t know about poisons, sir,” Carnifex replied. “That’s a weapon only wealthy people can afford to wield.”

  Gaius Claudius’ forehead creased and his lips pressed together hard. Before he could say what was on his mind, a doctor, wiping his bloody hands with a rag came from the surgery tent.

  “Your Legionary is stitched up and bound,” the doctor announced. “He’ll need a few days of rest. The lashes didn’t rip the muscles, just scratched them. But his flesh was jagged and I had to stretch it to sew the stitches.”

  “I need him on his feet,” demanded the Gaius.

  “If he moves around too much, he’ll break the linen stitches,” advised the doctor. “And if the wound isn’t flushed with vinegar twice a day, it’ll get the rot. He could die.”

  “If he isn’t on his feet, we may all die,” Gaius informed the Doctor. “What can you do to get him back on duty?”

  “I could apply a compress of honey and olive oil and seal it with bees’ wax,” replied the Doctor. “That should keep the flesh around the stitches supple. And a tight binding will hold it together. But, he wouldn’t be able to hold a shield or swing a gladius.”

  “I’m not putting him in a shield wall,” explained the Senior Tribune. “I just need his eyes and his voice.”

  “Let me prepare the balm and dressing,” the Doctor informed Gaius. “But this goes against my recommendations.”

  “Noted. Now get Lance Corporal Sisera patched up,” ordered the Senior Tribune. Then to the First Sergeant. “I’m going to clean up and get on my armor. As soon as Sisera is released, bring him to Citadel Hill.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Brictius. “Ho
w should we transport him?”

  “As fast and as comfortably as possible, First Sergeant,” Gaius suggested as he swung onto the horse’s back. “Try not to open the wound. It wouldn’t do him or us any good if he bleeds out before finishing the mission.”

  The Senior Tribune trotted west through the city and Centurion Carnifex glanced at the First Sergeant.

  “Any ideas?” he asked.

  “Maybe, but I need a messenger,” Brictius said. Glancing around he saw a young man squatting beside the medical tent. “Legionary. Come here.”

  “Yes, First Sergeant. What can I do for you?” asked the medic in training.

  “I need you to find Captain Frigian from the Sons of Mars,” Brictius instructed as he pulled coins from a pouch. “Gives these to him and ask him…”

  ***

  Senior Tribune Gaius Claudius, General Caudex, and Senior Tribune Maris Eutropius stood on the crest of Citadel Hill gazing to the south. Only Gaius was actually watching anything. To the General and Eutropius, the Syracusan troops appeared as discoloration on the grass in the distance.

  “King Hiero is running commanders through his tent as if they were a festival parade,” described Claudius. “It must be in preparation for an attack.”

  Messengers and Junior Tribunes sprinted from the Citadel building and raced down the hill. The messengers continued to run and the young Tribunes leaped on horses and galloped away. After the surge of pounding legs and cranking elbows, Palaemon Nicephrus and Pericles Requiem calmly strolled from the Citadel building.

  As the Colonels drew closer, General Caudex turned from the vista and focused on his Division commanders.

  “Can we hold Messina?” he asked.

  “Against the Syracusan troops, yes,” Nicephrus replied.

  “Against the Qart Hadasht mercenaries, positively,” Requiem added.

  “What about their combined forces?” questioned Caudex.

  “It’ll be an epic battle,” Nicephrus commented.

  “One for the annals of the Republic,” Requiem assured the General.

  “Colonels. Those are not answers,” Caudex observed.

  “Because, General, there are no answers,” explained Nicephrus.

  “We need additional Legionaries in the south to handle the phalanxes and cavalry to counter the Syracusan horsemen,” Requiem said analyzing the requirements. “In the north, we’ll need additional ranks to fight through the pinch point between the marsh and the Strait.”

  “Neither campaign is insurmountable,” Nicephrus exclaimed. “It’s just we don’t have the Centuries to do both at the same time.”

  “Senior Tribune Claudius. Besides your voyeur preoccupation with King Hiero,” inquired the General. “Do you have anything to add?”

  “My plan is to prevent them from coordinating their attacks,” Gaius stated.

  “I don’t see any movement on that front,” commented Maris Eutropius.

  Gaius snapped his head around and glared at the other Senior Tribune. General Caudex caught the tension between the two and pointed a finger in their direction.

  “Gentlemen, we have troubles enough,” scolded the General. “Maris, do you have any ideas you would like to share?”

  “We send advanced units to the north to keep the Qart Hadasht occupied,” Maris Eutropius proclaimed. “Then we march on the Syracusans. Drive them across the river and return to finish the mercenaries.”

  “A bold plan. Colonels, your thoughts on Senior Tribune Eutropius’ battle strategy?” Caudex asked.

  “Six thousand Qart Hadasht troops and a narrow strip of land,” Requiem pondered. “The Spartans did it at Thermopylae. Would you like to lead the three hundred at Messina, Tribune Eutropius?”

  “Before you answer, remember the Spartans died,” Nicephrus reminded the Senior Tribune. “And the width is a lot wider than a seaside mountain pass.”

  “I like the plan where we don’t fight on two fronts,” suggested Colonel Requiem.

  “Is that an option?” Caudex inquired.

  Then, Colonel Nicephrus pointed to a street beyond the toe of Citadel Hill.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “When I was a young man, I traveled to Egypt on family business,” General Caudex explained. “What you see approaching is a Lectica. Although most are public transportation and, except for nobility, don’t have extra porters, an elaborately carved car, and gaudy cloth. This one seems to have silk or fine Egyptian linen curtains.”

  Multilayers of cloth blew around a box of dark wood. Four large men, two in front and two behind carried the box on poles. Marching beside the litter, First Sergeant Brictius gave a cross chest salute to the command staff on the hill. Only Tribune Gaius Claudius returned the salute and he did so with a smile.

  “I believe, Lance Corporal Sisera has arrived,” exclaimed Gaius.

  “Where?” asked Eutropius. When Gaius pointed to the royal box, Eutropius demanded. “Have the Lance Corporal climb out of his royal Lectica, come up here and present himself properly.”

  Tribune Claudius snapped his fingers and a messenger came running up with a pouch. Gaius reached in and pulled out a coiled length of leather. Then he let it unspool to the ground before he flicked his wrist. The whip snapped a few hands width in front of Maris’ face. Yelling in shock and surprise, the Senior Tribune jumped back.

  “Notice the seashells woven into the leather weaves,” explained Gaius as he snapped the whip again. “Lance Corporal Sisera took lashes from this whip this morning. The surgeon, who sewed him up, said he’s lucky to be alive. I disagreed with the doctor. It is us, the Legions, who are lucky he’s alive.”

  “That’s the man who can identify the royal messenger?” questioned General Caudex. “And how do you propose a man wounded by such a whip can get around and find the messenger.”

  “Because General, we will bring the messenger to the Lance Corporal,” announced Tribune Claudius. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a conversation with my emissary catcher.”

  ***

  Senior Tribune Claudius approached the litter which the porters had rested on the ground.

  “What have you got?” Gaius asked as he stopped in front of the First Sergeant.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera as fast, portable and comfortable as we can make him,” announced Brictius.

  Gaius leaned over and parted the billowing curtains. He stared at Alerio’s back for a moment before realizing the Lance Corporal was sitting backward in the chair. Moving around to the rear, he again parted the curtains.

  “Senior Tribune Claudius. My apologiges for not greeting you properly,” Alerio said. He sat with the chair back under his arms to support his upper body. “I don’t seem to be at my best, sir.”

  “Can you recognize Macario Hicetus from in there?” inquired Gaius.

  “Yes sir, as long as I’m facing in the right direction,” Alerio assured the Tribune. “What’s the plan, sir?”

  “Still working on it. Stand by,” Gaius said as he dropped the curtains.

  From inside the litter, he heard, “Standing by, Tribune.”

  “We plan to use tax collection and census as a ploy to search for the messenger, sir,” Brictius announced. “I’m sending two Centuries to the western foothills. They’ll herd anyone passing through to a survey point. Lance Corporal Sisera will be off to the side in his chariot watching as the Tesserarius collect a fee and take names.”

  “Which Centuries?” asked Gaius.

  “One from second maniple and one from Claudius Detachment to watch Alerio’s back,” replied the First Sergeant. “And I placed four archery squads on the arm at Messina harbor. In case they try rowing the messenger by us.”

  “Be sure the Centurions know to treat the civilians with respect,” warned Gaius. “If we start being heavy-handed, the messenger might wait for nightfall to attempt crossing our lines. I want him to feel safe when he lies about his name.”

  “Gentle it is, sir,” Brictius assured him.

/>   Chapter 9 – Hunting Stand

  Fourth Century, Second Maniple, marched through the western gate. While they rapidly marched up the first of the nodes creating the foothills, the litter transporting Lance Corporal Sisera moved more slowly. Although the powerful Sons of Mars oarsmen could easily handle the weight, the Medic warned against jarring the wounded Legionary. They held to a restricted gait. Third Century, Claudius Detachment, sauntered along behind, enjoying the easy pace.

  Three ridges from the wall of Messina, a farmer and herder trail provided a flat ribbon wandering along the ravine. The Fourth crossed the rough road and began dropping squads out of their columns. Where the foothills ended and a mountain cliff prevented further travel, they dropped the last squad. With a picket line established, their Centurion and Tesserarius doubled back to the road.

  While the Fourth of the Third established the high positions, the Third of Claudius dropped squads on the lower foothills and sent half-squad patrols to the north and south. The Centurions and Tesserarii from both Centuries set up tents and desks on either side of the path. In front of one tent, the litter was placed facing northward.

  “How are you feeling, Sisera?” asked the medic assigned to the mission.

  He leaned against the Lectica and spoke through the curtains.

  “I’ve been better and more comfortable,” Alerio replied. “But I have a good view of the southern trail.”

  “Let me know if you feel dizzy or need to nap,” the Medic requested. “I’ll have the Corporals delay passing people through until your rested.”

  Alerio shifted and sharp pains rippled from the center of his back up to his shoulder blades and down to his hips.

  “Unless I pass out, I don’t think sleep is in my future,” Alerio replied as he shifted trying to ease the tightness in his back.

  ***

  Shortly after the checkpoint was established, a cart approached from the south.

  “Name and cargo?” asked the Corporal. “We’re taking a census and collecting a travel tax.”

  “I’m a simple farmer with five little ones and a wife to feed,” complained the man as he dragged an old mule to a stop. “Taxes. For what?”