Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2

by J. Clifton Slater

  A strange thing happened before Valerian’s eyes. The Centuries at the ends of his maniples broke off from the attack line and joined the exposed units to meet the cavalry. Meanwhile, the remainder of his maniples folded the line in a u-shape. Glancing back, he watched as the Senior Tribune held his arms out as if carrying a large barrel. Slowly, the arms closed as if crushing the barrel. Looking back towards the fighting, he saw his Legion envelope the Qart Hadasht infantry.

  Far off, the Empire’s General spun his horse and, with his command staff following, he trotted away from his army and the Legion. Soon the cavalry broke off and galloped away as well. Then long lines of soldiers and mercenaries joined the flight away from the infantry shields and the thrusts of javelins and gladii.

  “I’m sorry about the delay,” Gaius Claudius said as he, his Tribunes and, his bodyguards moved up beside the Senior Centurion. “The ends of the Qart Hadasht infantry folded back. At first just a few, but there must have been confusion because whole companies came off the line and formed sides. Once we moved, I signaled for the envelope maneuver and two Centuries on each end to help with the cavalry.”

  “No need to apologize, battle commander,” admitted Valerian. “And congratulation on the victory. Orders, sir?”

  “This time there is no question about it,” Gaius stated. “Hunt them down and kill as many as we can. I want the Empire to think twice before challenging the Republic again.”

  “Century formations, we are pursuing,” Valerian instructed his runners. After listing the Centuries assigned to chase down the army, he looked to the rear where the Legion wagons were setting up the camp. “Senior Tribune. I believe the General would like you to join him and Colonel Requiem.”

  Gaius reined his horse around and trotted off to join the command staff. Valerian saluted before turning back to the two squads assigned to guarding the Senior Tribune during the battle.

  “Get back to your Century and get some blood on your blades,” he ordered.

  “Yes, Senior Centurion,” the squad leaders responded.

  ***

  Later, once the General’s tent had gone up, Colonel Requiem and Senior Tribune Claudius marched in together.

  “Gentlemen, have some refreshments,” Caudex offered. “We’re waiting for preliminary numbers.”

  In a corner of the tent, the three Greeks huddled around their scrolls. They had just returned from guiding their wagons through the battlefield collecting the recent body count.

  “Two days and two victories,” Caudex exclaimed while lifting a mug of wine. “And I did it with two months still in my tenure as a Co-Consul of the Republic. It will be good to get back to my Villa and the Capital.”

  “Congratulations, General,” Colonel Requiem said as he and Claudius raised their mugs.

  “General. We have a count for you,” one of the Greeks said. “These are rough but I believe the ratio will hold.”

  “Speak up, man,” urged General Caudex.

  “General. In two days of fighting, we estimate that your Legions killed six thousand enemy soldiers,” the Greek reported as he read off a scroll. “And lost only one thousand three hundred Legionaries.”

  “Considering we began by being outnumbered four to one,” Caudex boasted. “Those are fantastic numbers.”

  Pericles Requiem and Gaius Claudius knew the real numbers were closer to twelve thousand soldiers against their nine thousand heavy and light Legion infantrymen, but no one corrected the General. It wasn’t a good idea to challenge a powerful man’s memory or contest his assumed status as a great war leader.

  “Again, congratulations on your victories, General Caudex,” Requiem said while raising his mug. “It’s a pleasure serving under you, sir.”

  “I’ll gladly add my voice to the accolade,” chimed in Gaius Claudius as they toasted Appease Caudex.

  ***

  Centurion Sanctus Carnifex and his assault detachment took their time getting back to Messina. The sun shone midafternoon when they reached the Medical tent and dropped the stretchers.

  “These men are dead,” complained a Medic as he checked the first three. “They should have been taken to graves registration to await their Tesserarius.”

  He moved to the other stretchers. After a quick inspection of the wounded, he directed the blood splattered Legionaries.

  “Bring them inside for treatment,” he instructed. “And take those three away.”

  “Medic. These men and I have been surrounded by Qart Hadasht soldiers since before dawn,” Carnifex informed the Medic. “We’ll move them to any area you wish. But, we will not carry them five blocks to registration. Now, where do you want them?”

  “Take the deceased to the awning area in the back,” advised the Medic. “Graves can pick them up later.”

  “We can do that,” the Centurion assured him. “Let’s go people.”

  The stretchers were lifted and carried towards the rear of the Medical tent. As the exhausted Legionaries neared the back corner, a coarse voice chanting softly reached them.

  Reach out for my brother

  His light fades as do others

  Ease his struggle to survive

  As his strength wanes

  Pacing steadily to his demise

  Grip his hand in yours

  Take him from this plain

  Free his soul

  Cease his pain

  Goddess of Death

  Reach out for my brother

  Sanctus Carnifex led the way and, as he reached the awning, he saw a man in a dirty tunic kneeling beside a wounded Legionary. As he chanted, the priest, Sanctus guessed, washed an injured man’s face with gentle strokes.

  Nenia Dea

  You hover just out of sight

  But death is called

  To claim his life

  With gentle hands so light

  Take him with care

  As is a worthy man’s right

  Goddess of Death, Nenia Dea

  Hear our plight

  As you hover just out of sight

  After scanning the area and realizing there were no Medics or slaves in attendance, he pointed at the kneeling man.

  “Priest. Where do you want the dead?” he asked indicating the three stretchers.

  To the Centurion’s surprise, Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera glanced up from where he chanted and washed the pale face. Without breaking his rhythm, what little there was in his rough rendition of the death chant, Alerio pointed to an empty place at the edge of the awning.

  Allow him to pass bravely

  His comrades call his elegy

  We sing Memento Mori

  For this man’s end

  remembering we will all die

  Release this Legionary

  This son of man

  This best of friend

  Grant him an end

  Goddess of Death

  Allow him to pass bravely

  Centurion Sanctus Carnifex puzzled by the actions of the Lance Corporal, whom he knew to be a fine weapons instructor and not a saintly priest, pointed out the area to the stretcher bearers. They sat the dead down and stood with Carnifex staring at the kneeling man. Without looking at them, Alerio shifted the bucket of water. Pain showed on his face as he crawled on his hands and knees to the three dead. The rag dipped into the bucket and he began to wash the dirt and blood off the first corpse.

  “Sweet Butcher,” a voice whispered from behind Sanctus Carnifex. “Leave Death Caller alone. He’s been here two days singing and calling for the Goddess Nenia for our dying.”

  First Sergeant Gerontius of the Southern Legion detachment stood a respectful distance from the awning. He motioned for Carnifex and the stretcher bearers to come to him and away from the critically wounded and the dead.

  “Death Caller?” inquired Sanctus.

  “What else would you call a Legionary with a record of heroic fighting and killing enemies of the Republic, sir?” explained Gerontius. “Who, even though deeply wounded and in pain, ca
res for our men in their last moments. Everyone assumes he has the blessing of Nenia and a relationship with the Goddess of Death. For a young man, Sisera has certainly kept her busy.”

  “You are correct, First Sergeant,” Centurion Sanctus Carnifex agreed as he turned and walked away from the area reserved for the dying and the dead. Then a shiver ran through the tough, veteran Legion weapons instructor and, he mumbled. “Death Caller. It’s a fitting name.”

  Act 5

  Chapter 18 – Before the March

  Centurion Sanctus Carnifex searched for Alerio during the three-day festival ordered by General Caudex. The Lance Corporal failed to make an appearance at any of the sacrifices or the feasts that followed. Nor did he join the Southern Legion formation or attend any of the games. Sanctus was beginning to suspect Nenia had taken Sisera as punishment for the number of times he called out to the Goddess of Death.

  On day four, rain poured from the sky and most of the Legionaries hunkered down nursing hangovers or staying in their area repairing equipment. Tomorrow, the Legions would emerge and begin training again. Sanctus Carnifex, as Legion weapons instructor, would be at the forefront of the shield and gladii drills. In preparation, he rose in the dark, weathering the storm, and ran five miles through the deluge. He planned to end his run near the center of Messina where he had training posts set up. As he rounded the final corner and his hobnailed boots pounded and splashed, the faint sounds of practice gladii beating a rhythm on the posts reached him. Pleased at the initiative of a squad rising early to get in extra practice, he strained his eyes to see through the rain. Lightning flashed and he caught a glimpse of a single Legionary running drills with a pair of heavy, wooden practice swords.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera. I feared you dead,” Sanctus exclaimed as he slowed and walked the last few paces to the training posts.

  “The Sons of Mars put me in a steam room and placed seaweed on my wounds,” Alerio explained as his hands crossed and uncrossed to keep the hammering on the post at an equal measure. Rainwater ran down his face and off his shoulders causing the tunic to cling to his body. “I remember them waking me and forcing me to drink water tainted with salt. So much water that I never stopped sweating. And they changed the seaweed wrap four times a day. After two days, I threatened to cut the next person who brought me saltwater and, murder anyone who dared pour water on the hot stones.”

  “That accounts for two days. Where were you yesterday?” inquired Sanctus. “You missed the feasting and games.”

  “After a meal of meat and wine, I slept for a full day,” Alerio informed him. “I woke early and decided to get a workout in, Centurion.”

  “I’m a little surprised to find you here,” admitted Sanctus. “I thought the Legion lost you to the priesthood.”

  “Not in my nature, sir,” Alerio informed the Legion weapons instructor. He increased the pace of his strikes. Rainwater flew off the wooden swords as they blurred from the speed and the wet post vibrated from the heavy impacts. “But I learned something behind the Medical tent. Plus, I made two vows.”

  “What did you learn?” inquired Sanctus. “And what did you pledge, Lance Corporal Sisera?”

  “That the spirit is stronger than the body,” Alerio stated as he slowed his pace. “I will train my Legionaries harder than before to toughen their bodies and, do all I can to keep them from the Goddess Nenia.”

  “You said two vows?” Sanctus reminded him. “What’s the second?”

  “If I live, I will go to Nenia’s temple in the Capital and leave a hefty donation,” Alerio said as he stopped and rested the swords on his shoulders. “Aren’t you going to run drills, sir?”

  “Not yet, Death Caller,” Sanctus replied. “Put those away and let’s find a pub and breakfast. I have a few things I want to talk to you about.”

  “Death Caller, sir?” Alerio asked at the mention of the strange name.

  “It’s what the Legionaries have named you, Lance Corporal,” explained Sanctus. “Somewhere between your battles with the Syracusan Hoplites and your tender care for the dying, they decided you call to death. And if there aren’t enough around, you create dead for the Goddess. That’s a heady reputation, Death Caller.”

  “But sir, I’m a simple heavy infantry Lance Corporal,” protested Alerio.

  “That’s another thing I wanted to talk about,” Sanctus responded while pointing at the shed where the wooden swords were stored. “But first food. I’m starved.”

  ***

  The cookfire was cold and the innkeeper barely awake when Carnifex banged on the door.

  “Not open yet,” he protested. Outside the partially opened door, a broad-shouldered man stood in the rain and, behind him another whose features were lost in the sheets of rain. “We open at mid-morning.”

  “Just looking for a mug of wine and a dry place to talk,” the Centurion advised the innkeeper.

  “Sorry. We are closed,” the man insisted.

  Alerio stepped forward out of the rain and the proprietor recognized him.

  “Captain Sisera. I didn’t see you,” he exclaimed. “You and your guest come in out of the rain. I’ll light a fire but I’ve nothing hot to serve.”

  “Wine and yesterday’s bread will be fine,” Alerio assured the man as he and Sanctus crossed over the threshold. “But a fire’s warmth would be appreciated.”

  As the innkeeper stacked kindling in the hearth, Alerio and Sanctus took seats at a nearby table.

  “Captain Sisera?” inquired the Centurion.

  “It’s an honorary title from the Sons of Mars,” Alerio replied. “I had to have a title when I trained their crews before the Legion arrived. They fought and, most of the crew members survived contact with the Hoplites. The innkeeper has four lads on Sons of Mars’ ships. He feels that he owes me for their lives.”

  A fire blazed and the proprietor vanished into a back room. Warmth reached the two Legionaries and their tunics began to dry.

  “You trained oarsmen to fight against Greek Hoplites?” questioned Sanctus in disbelief. “A herd against trained soldiers. It should have been a massacre.”

  “It almost was. I armed the biggest rowers with long poles, and they kept the Greeks off our front rank,” described Alerio. “At least until the Qart Hadasht garrison rowed off and the Legionaries got free. Once they arrived, the fight was definitely ours.”

  The innkeeper returned to the table with two mugs of wine, a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese and a bowl of olives.

  “It’s poor fare for a Captain,” suggested the innkeeper.

  “It’s fine for our needs,” Alerio assured him.

  “Then you trained the Legionaries preparing to defend against King Hiero,” ventured the Centurion as the innkeeper walked away.

  “That training was to keep the Syracusans from guessing our real numbers,” explained Alerio. “The drills had to be convincing. I felt sorry for the Centuries before my time chanting for the death Goddess.”

  “And now?” inquired Sanctus as he cut a slice of cheese and ripped off a chunk of bread.

  “Now? I wish I’d trained them harder,” Alerio responded. “Too many joined me under the awning, suffering and waiting for Nenia.”

  “The Southern Legion detachment is staying in Messina when the Legions march south,” Sanctus advised him. “I assume you plan to stay with your Centuries. But I have an offer for you.”

  “An offer, Centurion?” questioned Alerio as he popped two olives in his mouth.

  “Stay with Caudex Legion, help me train the men and, serve as my Tesserarius,” Sanctus suggested.

  “But a Tesserarius is…” Alerio looked closely at the Legion weapons instructor.

  “Yes Alerio, it’s a Corporal’s position,” Sanctus said finishing Alerio’s sentence.

  The two drank and ate in silence as Alerio thought about the promotion. As a squad leader in the Southern Legion and an asset for the old spymaster, his future was assured. If he stayed with Caudex Legion, after the campaign
, he’d be an unassigned Legionary NCO with no command, no responsibilities, and no pay. Nothing, until a Legion was raised for another crisis and then, he’d need to be recruited.

  Alerio closed his eyes. A vision of critically wounded Legionaries spread out around him appeared. Their bodies cut to the bone and their faces caked with dirt and dried blood. A Goddess floated above the injured calling to them. Then, one by one their spirits broke free of the ruined flesh and, the Goddess turned her face towards Alerio. Her image began to fade and, as she became as transparent as smoke, she mouthed the words, Death Caller.

  “Sisera. Sisera?” Sanctus’ voice spoke his name from far away. “Are you alright?”

  Opening his eyes, Alerio felt the table top on his cheek and saw the side of the olive bowl. Raising up, he blinked and found Sanctus and the innkeeper hovering over him.

  “You closed your eyes for so long, I worried you’d fallen asleep sitting up,” explained Sanctus. “Suddenly, you fell forward onto the table.”

  “I must have overdone it this morning,” Alerio explained.

  “You do seem a little pale,” Sanctus observed. “We can continue this conversation when you’re feeling better.”

  “Sweet Butcher,” Alerio said using Centurion Carnifex’s nickname. “You’ve just hired yourself a Tesserarius.”

  ***

  The sun rose in a clear sky and the morning’s warmth dried the tents at the Legion campsites.

  “In both battles, this Century lagged behind the line,” explained Sanctus Carnifex. “If it hadn’t been for the first maniple, they might have broken and run.”

  “Fear in the third maniple spreads faster than a rumor,” offered Alerio. “Their inexperience can easily overcome their training.”

  They passed five squares of tents and stopped at a sixth.

  “If that was the case, I’d simply drill them until they were too tired to stand. And continue with the Century running shield drills on their knees,” responded Sanctus. Then, he faced the square of tents, lifted his chin and bellowed. “Caudex Legion, Requiem Division, Second Maniple, Sixth Century, on the road for inspection.”