Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2

by J. Clifton Slater

  And the Legionaries shouted back, “Ita Vero! Ita Vero! Ita Vero!”

  “Legionaries of Caudex Legions, standby,” ordered the General.

  Seven thousand hobnailed boots stomped the streets of Messina and the Legions replied.

  “General. Caudex Legions, standing by,” they roared.

  Appease Clodus Caudex slammed his hand into his chest. After the salute, the General spun on his heels and marched away. Down Citadel Hill, Legionaries strutted back to their units, their chests bursting with confidence.

  “Nice speech,” commented Palaemon Nicephrus. “Bucked up the men.”

  “And made them unafraid of the armies flanking us,” replied Pericles Requiem. “I wish I had the same confidence.”

  “Why Colonel, did you not hear the words of our General?” inquired Nicephrus. “Are you not inspired?”

  “I’ll let you know Colonel when the emissaries return with the replies,” Requiem offered. “Until then, I’ll hold my enthusiasm in check.”

  They turned and followed the General into the Citadel.

  ***

  As the sun touched the western mountaintop and shadows grew long, a rider reined in at the foot of the hill. He slung a leg over the horse’s neck, jumped to the ground and ran up the slope. At the top, he sprinted for the Citadel.

  “Sir. A message from the Qart Hadasht General,” the Tribune announced as he handed Caudex a folded and sealed piece of parchment.

  “What did he have to say?” inquired the General as he took the reply.

  “He said nothing, sir,” responded the messenger. “He took your missive into his tent and returned directly with that piece of parchment.”

  General Caudex pulled his dagger, slit the seal and unfolded the message.

  “We have our answer from the Qart Hadasht forces,” he exclaimed while handing the paper to Colonel Requiem.

  Requiem glanced at the short message and passed it to Nicephrus. He read it and handed the parchment to Senior Tribune Claudius.

  “The General is a man of few words but elegant in his brevity,” Gaius stated as he slid the message to the other Senior Tribune.

  “Verminum Curre,” Maris Eutropius mouthed the two words on the reply. “Run vermin.”

  “We have one answer to my olive branch. Let’s see if the other is dashed to the dirt as well,” stated Caudex. “I believe it’s time to assemble a war council. Colonels, call in your experienced Centurions, your cavalry officers, and our First Sergeants.”

  “Yes General,” Nicephrus and Requiem said at the same time.

  They turned and waved runners to their sides. After issuing orders, the messengers ran for the door to collect the other leaders of Caudex Legions.

  As darkness fell, Senior Centurion Valerian, First Sergeant Brictius and, Southern Legion’s First Sergeant Gerontius marched into a full meeting room. They had just cleared the doorway when the second emissary appeared.

  “General. King Hiero sends his regards,” the messenger announced as he handed a scroll to Caudex.

  “That’s a promising start,” suggested the General as he unrolled the scroll. Then his face fell. He finished reading it and slammed the scroll onto the tabletop. “This is unacceptable.”

  Colonel Palaemon Nicephrus spun the document around and began reading.

  Consul Appease Clodus Caudex of the Republic,

  It lightens my heart to read you are weary of playing General. Not every man is destined to be a victorious war leader, such as myself. I understand the difficulty of your situation, although as a strategist, I’ve never felt the embarrassment of your hopelessness.

  In response to your plea for help, I grant you and your army of farmers, safe passage away from Messina. Once you have laid down your weapons and retreated from the city, I will march in and, after crucifying the Sons of Mars, proclaim the city as part of Syracuse. But you will not be forgotten.

  Bulls will be sacrificed in your honor and I will declare a yearly festival honoring you as a benefactor of Syracuse. Even as you have no choice, I await your humble reply.

  King Hiero the Second, Supreme Ruler of Syracuse, General of the People’s Army and Protector of Sicilia.

  “General. Do you have a reply?” questioned Colonel Pericles Requiem

  “Put the map on the table,” ordered the General. Once the thin leather was unrolled, displaying Messina and the surrounding countryside, Appease Caudex made a fist and hammered a location south of the city. “We attack here, first. Give me a plan for victory.”

  Chapter 11 – Horse, Infantry & Irregulars

  In the center of Messina, Colonel Pericles Requiem patted his horse’s neck. Behind him, runners stood waiting and his contingent of Tribunes sat beside him on their mounts. Two hundred and forty Legion cavalrymen trotted up from the lower reaches of the city and turned left. Once they reached the southern wall, the units split with half going left and the other half reining right.

  Then, twenty-one Centuries of heavy infantry marched from the upper areas, turned right and marched through the south gates. Following behind, seven Centuries of skirmishers made the turn and marched through the gates. Off to the side of the marching and cantering, Requiem and his staff watched without expression. Only when Colonel Palaemon Nicephrus and his staff appeared, did Requiem react. He waved and gave a nod to his fellow Legion battle commander.

  When General Caudex passed with Senior Tribunes Maris Eutropius and the rest of his staff, the Colonel saluted. Headquarters First Century jogged around the General as if the unit was already in contact with an enemy. Javelins leveled, the Centurion, Optio, and Tesserarius directed the unit to keep the General’s path clear and to make their Legionaries aware of perceived threats.

  “Watch those Qart Hadasht mercenaries,” shouted the General as he turned right and rode for the gates.

  “Absolutely, General,” Requiem called to Caudex’s back. He looked across the road at a Senior Centurion. “Bring up your reserves.”

  “Yes, sir,” the line officer replied.

  Soon, the streets on either side of the gates hid the remaining fifteen Centuries from Nicephrus’ Legion plus fifteen additional Centuries of heavy infantrymen from Requiem’s.

  “I want a continuous line of Tribunes and runners from here to our northern defenses,” Pericles Requiem instructed. “If the Qart Hadasht troops move, I want to know immediately.”

  “Yes Colonel,” his staff replied. They moved off and began taking up stations a block apart stretching from their commander, across Messina, to the northern wall.

  Colonel Requiem sat calmly on his horse dividing his attention between the open gates to the south and the line of his staff stretching out towards the north.

  “Do you think Hiero will come out and fight?” asked Senior Tribune Gaius Claudius.

  “Gaius, he better,” commented the Colonel. “If he waits for tomorrow, we’ll be ground meat for Legion stew. As it is, how can he refuse the sacrifice of twenty-two hundred Legionaries to his six thousand soldiers.”

  ***

  The twenty-one Centuries marched through the defensive positions, over the footfall trenches and out into no man’s land. At directions from their Centurions, the units to the rear changed their lines of march to diagonal paths. As they moved further from their defenses, a formation appeared - seven Centuries to the front spaced widely apart with the others stacked behind them.

  “Legion, halt in ten!” ordered Colonel Palaemon Nicephrus.

  The signalmen began waving flags while others shouted the command. Soon, every Centurion, Sergeant, and Corporal was repeating, “Legion halt in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two and halt.”

  As if a hand had descended to still each Legionary, the Centuries suddenly stopped. They stood motionless in the mid-morning sun.

  “Palaemon. It seems as if your maneuver has gotten the Syracusan’s attention,” remarked General Caudex. In the Syracusan camp, men scurried around pulling on armor and strapping on we
apons.

  “It has, General. Let’s show them how few we are and see if they’ll take the challenge,” Colonel Nicephrus suggested. “Legion, form maniples in ten.”

  The orders were flagged to the end Centuries while it was passed verbally from the center of the Legion. Again, the air rang with officers, Sergeants and Corporals counting down. At ten-and-form-maniples, the first column in each Century marched forward. The lead man turned ninety degrees and soon the column was a single file. In quick order, the blocks of Centuries were dissolved and replaced by three rows of five hundred and sixty Legionaries.

  When the maniples were formed, the cavalry trotted forward to flank and protect the infantrymen at each end.

  “Send out the Velites to keep their cavalry off our infantry,” instructed Nicephrus. “Execute!”

  Flags waved and the passing of his orders rolled over the three ranks. From behind the infantrymen, five hundred sixty skirmishers, their officers, and NCOs stepped through gaps in the first maniple, crossed the narrow space and marched through the second maniple. On the other side of the third maniple, the Velites spread out in squads. Behind them, the holes in the rows closed as fast as they had formed.

  The relatively short lines of Legionaries weren’t impressive or intimidating. Syracusan cavalry raced forward but changed direction when a hail of javelins from the skirmishers rained down on them. The mounted soldiers settled for racing up and down the Legion lines. But they stopped short of engaging the Velites or the Legion cavalrymen.

  “They seem to be giving our horsemen some respect,” commented General Caudex.

  “No, sir. I’ve seen the tactic used by the Gaels up north,” explained Nicephrus. “They hope to lure some of our horsemen out of formation. Once in the open, the enemy will turn and cut them down. My Centurions know to keep their men in ranks.”

  All the while, the skirmishers rotated their squads to face the enemy horsemen keeping them away from the relaxed infantrymen. The maniples would have work enough when the heavy infantry of the Hoplites arrived.

  ***

  King Hiero’s irregular soldiers came online and shuffled forward to face the maniples. Grass torn and uprooted by the cavalry, allowed the soldiers’ sandals to scrape dirt and raise dust. Haze blocked the view of what was amassed behind them.

  Suddenly, seven wide gaps appeared in the soldier’s ranks and, from the dust cloud, groups of iron tips appeared. Supporting the tips were long spears who’s ends vanished into a wall of shields. More long spears jutted from the sides and the shield covered formations moved relentlessly forward. King Hiero II had accepted the challenge and committed his phalanxes.

  “Centurions make the call,” ordered Colonel Nicephrus.

  Flags waved, voices shouted and the line officers glanced from side to side. Those with Legionaries in the paths of the phalanxes raised their hands.

  “So that’s a phalanx,” observed General Caudex as the tightly locked shields approached the third maniple. “Frightening display of power. How do you get past their shields and crack the egg?”

  “You don’t crack a phalanx, General,” responded Colonel Nicephrus.

  “You just gave authority to your line officers,” Caudex stated. “I assumed they would attack the Greek formations.”

  “A phalanx is like a carriage without horses rolling down a hill,” described Nicephrus. “Stand in front and it’ll run you over.”

  “Then what can we do against them?” inquired a panicked Caudex.

  “Watch, sir. This was Colonel Requiem’s tactic,” explained Nicephrus. Then to the Senior Centurion. “Valerian. Call them out.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Senior Centurion replied as he kneed his horse towards the gates.

  After jumping over the defensive line, his horse burst through the gates and he reined it in a tight circle.

  “Centurions. Seven phalanxes,” he shouted to one side then repeated the announcement to the other. “Four Centuries on each. The last two, go to the ends for containment. Forward!”

  From the left side of the gate, fifteen Centuries jogged into view. On the right side, another fifteen appeared. The Centurions of the first four Centuries through the gates shouted and their formations headed towards the Centurions holding up their arms. The same orders were given on the right.

  “I thought you were hiding the reserves to entice Hiero to go to battle against a weaker force,” offered General Caudex. “But you seem to have them ready to take on the unstoppable. How will they do what you said was impossible?”

  “I apologize for the incomplete analogy, sir,” expressed Nicephrus. “A wagon careening down a hill has one weakness. It can’t change course without turning over. When it turns over, the wagon breaks up. And so, the phalanxes will break formation when they turn.”

  “You’ll have three hundred twenty Legionaries for the Hoplites in each of their formations,” ventured the General. “And you’ve managed to slip your reserves on the battlefield in the process.”

  “We have sir. Now let’s offer a prayer to Tyche that our good fortune holds,” the Colonel suggested. “Because we still have to trim the barbs from the eggs.”

  ***

  Private Eolus of the Seventh Squad, Sixth Century, third maniple couldn’t see clearly. It might have been the sweat dripping into his eyes, or the helmet that kept shifting as he shuddered or maybe, it was the blinding fear that caused both of the above. In any case, his vision blurred as a line of Syracusan soldiers closed with his position. Sure, his squad mates stood to either side and, the more experienced second maniple stood behind him, but to the young Private, all the soldiers in front seemed to be coming directly towards him. Then the soldiers parted and a horror from his childhood came through the dust.

  A giant centipede with barbed legs squirming and reaching out for him approached. In his dreams as a child, he ran from the beast. Before he could bolt, a fist slammed into his shoulder.

  “Just like we practiced, correct, Private Eolus,” a voice from behind growled in his ear.

  “Yes, Optio,” he stammered in reply to his Sergeant’s statement.

  “Good. You are our Pivot man,” the Sergeant informed him.

  The Optio’s muscular and hairy arm pressed on his shoulder armor and the NCO’s forearm and fist appeared in front of the Private’s face. Uncurling his fingers, the Sergeant pointed at the centipede.

  “Those cowardly Hoplites have made a grave mistake,” the Sergeant said with his fingers pointing at the approaching phalanx.

  “Mistake, Optio?” inquired Eolus.

  “Absolutely. They picked the position of my most ferocious Legionaries,” the Sergeant replied. “Poor Hoplites, they are perfututum now.”

  “I don’t understand Sergeant, what mistake?”

  “They choose to enter the gates of Hades, courtesy of Seventh Squad, Sixty Century, third maniple,” the Optio declared. “And their true error was picking your position. When they get to the underworld, they’ll be asking who was the gatekeeper? Was it the God of War himself? No, Pluto will reply as he sorts them. The butcher on the Legion line was Private Eolus!”

  The Sergeant felt the tightening of the Private’s muscles and the straightening of his back as confidence flooded the inexperienced Legionary.

  “When I give the word, guide your section back. And Private Eolus,” the Optio directed. “Keep their shields tight and in line.”

  From the fear that racked the young Legionary, a new sense of confidence and duty took over. He was acting Pivot and as the barbed ends of the centipede closed, he worried more about his squad’s performance than the iron tips.

  Behind him, Sixth Century, third maniple’s Centurion shifted his attention between the reserve Centuries running towards him and the phalanx approaching his line. When both were close, he dropped his arms.

  “Open the gate!” the Centurion ordered.

  “Eolus. Pivot,” commanded the Sergeant.

  “Pivoting. Step back,” Eolus ordered as he p
aced off the line. Glancing to his right, he corrected the half squad moving with him. “Keep it tight. Straighten those shields. Step back. Step back.”

  As if a set of doors were opened inward, the Legion lines parted leaving a hole for the phalanx. Except the hole led to a corridor of Legionaries. While the three maniples parted, a section of first maniple rushed forward bowing out the Legion line and filling in the gap. They would hold the line against the Syracusan soldiers until the phalanx passed completely through.

  “Draw,” ordered the Sergeant and, Eolus and his squad pulled their gladii.

  As the shields of the phalanx passed by and the spears jabbed out and pulled back, the Legionaries forming the corridor parried the iron tips with their shields and hacked at the shafts with their blades.

  Eolus slammed a spear tip to the side while he hacked at another. Then a third iron tip traveled forward. With his shield out of place and his gladius off to the side, the spear was traveling straight for the young Legionary’s face. Eolus didn’t think about ducking or dodging. Instead, he shifted his shield to protect the Legionary beside him from another Hoplite spear. Figuring it was his duty and his fate, he waited for death.

  A big arm bumped his head and a gladius whirled with terrifying speed across his vision. The spear shaft was hacked almost in half. The shaft angled downward and the tip dug into the dirt.

  “What’s your name?” demanded a voice he didn’t recognize.

  “Eolus,” he answered as he fended off another spear and hacked at the shaft.

  Then the area in front of him cleared and he could see a line of bloody Legionaries standing on the other side of the corridor. Like him, they were breathing hard, bent over trying to catch their breath. Glancing at each side, he expected to see his squad mates. But something was wrong, he didn’t recognize any of the Legionaries from the third maniple.