Clay Legionary (Clay Warrior Stories Book 1)

by J. Clifton Slater

  Clay Legionary

  Clay Warrior Stories

  J. Clifton Slater

  Books by J. Clifton Slater

  Clay Warrior Stories

  Clay Legionary

  Spilled Blood

  Bloody Water (Fall 2017)

  Galactic Council Realm

  On Station

  On Duty

  On Guard

  This is a work of fiction. While some characters are historical figures, the majority are fictional. Any resemblance to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

  Clay Legionary takes place in 271 - 268 B.C. when Rome was a Republic and before the Imperial Roman Empire conquered the world. While I have attempted to stay true to the era, I am not an historian. If you are a true aficionado of the times, I apologize in advance.

  I’d like to thank my editor Hollis Jones for her work in correcting my rambling sentences and overly flowery prose. Also, I am grateful to Denise Scherschel for her help in structuring the book. Her amazing illustrated book Zippy McZoomerman Gears Up is a must read for children with disabilities.

  Forget your car, your television, your computer and smart phone; journey back to when making clay bricks and steel were the height of technology.

  J. Clifton Slater

  E-Mail: GalacticCouncilRealm@gmail.com

  Twitter: @GalacticCRealm

  FB: facebook.com/Galactic Council Realm

  Clay Legionary

  Prodigy

  Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines Prodigy as a young person who is unusually gifted with special talent. These advanced talents, no matter how extreme, tends to be beneficial for those associated with the prodigy.

  A prodigy can come from many different fields: musical prodigy; mathematical prodigy; engineering prodigy; literary prodigy; or artistic prodigy.

  Usually, the talented child poses no threat to strangers who encounter the youth. However, dig a little deeper into the Latin origin of the word and you’ll uncover a threatening dark side.

  The Etymology of prodigy is prodigium. Prodigium means omen or monster – Thus the gifted can then become the feared. Now, imagine the gifted youth as a Swordsman Prodigy.

  Chapter 1 - Cooperative Village

  Alerio Sisera broke from the corner of the school house and sprinted away with one thought in mind - escape. The path lay across the yard and threaded between two grain storage buildings. With arms pumping and knees raising and falling, he raced towards the trail leading to his home and safety. The buildings grew closer and his escape seemed assured.

  For the last year, three older boys had terrorized him and the younger students in his small class. The bullying began with pushing and verbal harassment. But recently the levels of aggression had sunk to a new low. Physical punishment and petty theft were now part of their itinerary of pain and suffering.

  Unfortunately for Alerio, he became a primary target when the older boys discovered his father had been a Sergeant in the Legion. Each of the three boys’ fathers had served short stints in the Republic’s army. Their fathers carried resentment for NCOs when they were discharged. They passed on the negative emotions to their boys.

  He reached the alley between the grain buildings with a vision of open fields in sight. Relief washed over Alerio and he slowed. Suddenly his attempted escape was abruptly cut off.

  “Going somewhere Sisera?” One of the boys asked as the three stepped into his path.

  One circled around behind Alerio. The one who had spoken shoved his face in close as if to dare the younger boy to take a swing. The third boy moved close to Alerio’s side.

  “What, no time to say hello?” he whispered in Alerio’s ear, “Got to get home to your stolen land and that pretty mother of yours.”

  Alerio’s hands clinched into fists, his face reddened at the mention of his mother, and he started to punch the boy. But, the boy on his side had placed a foot between his legs and when the boy behind him pushed, Alerio found himself face first on the ground.

  A kick to his ribs rolled him over and he lay looking up at three sneering faces.

  “What do you have for us today?” One asked as he reached down and plucked the pouch from Alerio’s belt. “Your payment for stealing our best land,” he explained as he spilled the content of the pouch into his hand.

  He distributed the five copper coins to his companions. The iron spinning top he kept for himself. A dried root shaped like a dragon was tossed to the ground beside Alerio. As the young boy watched, a heal pulverized the dragon into shredded mulch.

  “Do better tomorrow; I’d like a new knife,” Another of the boys said as he bent down. He ended the instructions with a hard punch to the center of his victim’s chest.

  It was then Alerio cried out in frustration. The physical pain was temporary while the mental anguish burned deeply into his mind. Plus, he knew tomorrow would bring more abuse from the older boys.

  Chapter 2 - The Sisera’s Farm

  He left the small village behind and raced down the path towards his home. The trees surrounding the small villa came into view and the dread faded. Faded until he entered the kitchen and met his mother.

  In a panic, she asked, “What happened to your face?”

  A cloth was dipped in a bowl of water and applied to his check. It came away stained with dirt and blood. His mother studied the bruise.

  “Was it those boys again?” She asked as she dabbed at his cheek. Then she added, “I’ll have your father speak to their fathers.”

  “No! Ah, no, I fell,” he lied.

  The thought of his father being involved in the dispute was unbearable. Alerio imagined the assaults would be worse and he’d rather face the boys alone than have his father interfere.

  Over the last year, his father had tried to teach him self-defense. But, his tendons were too immature to apply wrestling holds. His arms too thin and under sized for boxing so, after those attempts, his father gave up on teaching him to fight.

  The afternoon was filled with chores and Alerio had already put the fight behind him. At dinner, he avoided the eyes of his parents and his two older sisters. They ate and his father talked about planting and the need to rotate fields. Alerio had stopped listening when his sisters interrupted to comment on the scrapes and scabs on his face. His father didn’t comment. He simply looked long and hard at the injuries. For the remainder of the meal, Alerio feared that his father would become involvement.

  After dinner, retired Sergeant Sisera motioned for Alerio to follow. He guided the boy through the courtyard, around the grain separation racks, and into a storage shed. Three walls of the shed held farming tools. On the fourth hung weapons.

  Large heavy infantry shields and small teacup shields used by skirmishers occupied the center and lower part of the wall. Shelves above and beside the shields were filled with javelins, bows and swords. The senior Sisera reached under the shields and moved a barrel filled with arrows. From the recess, he pulled out a wooden sword. He swung it effortlessly a few times before carrying it outside. Alerio followed.

  They walked around to the rear of the shed, and Alerio’s chest swelled with pride at the farm. What once had been a rocky, barren track was now a field of grain. Stalks swayed in the evening breeze and appeared golden in the light of the setting sun. Between the rock wall at the edge of the field and the shed, a tree trunk had been planted. It stood taller than the boy and was twice his thickness. Stripped of its bark, the post appeared to glow golden in the fading light.

  Alerio watched as the retired Sergeant laid the wooden sword against the shed, struck flint and lit a lantern. He hung the lantern from the roof overhang before picking up
the sword.

  “This is a recruit training gladius,” his father stated as he walked to the tree trunk gripping the sword in one hand. “You strike the post from the side twice before swinging the sword to the opposite side and striking it backhandedly. Twice and once then repeat.”

  He demonstrated the two slashes and one backhanded strike before handing the sword to Alerio. The tip of the wooden sword drooped towards the ground.

  Alerio had played with his father’s gladius when he was younger. It had taken two hands to hold the short sword yet, he had been able to lift it. The wooden sword was almost twice the weight of the metal weapon.

  “It’s heavy so when you transition to a real gladius, you’ll be stronger and better able to handle the drills,” his father explained, “Practice until you get tired. Then come in and clean up.”

  His father disappeared around the shed and Alerio concentrated on lifting the sword tip from the dirt. He managed three repetitions before his right arm gave out.

  In frustration, he switched to his left hand and managed only two repetitions. With the sword back in his right hand, he struck twice, but, as he shifted the gladius to the opposite side of the post for the backhand strike, the wooden sword slipped from his hand. It landed in the dirt.

  Chapter 3 - The Sisera’s Villa

  In the weeks that followed, Alerio managed to evade the older boys. When they did catch him, he noticed their punches weren’t as devastating. Compared to the burning and soreness from the sword practice, their attempts seemed weak.

  One day he returned home to find his father entertaining company. Two big men sat on the patio talking with his father. They were laughing and each held a clay mug of vino.

  “Alerio come here,” his father said calling him over. Dropping an arm over his shoulders, he stated proudly to the men, “This is my boy. Alerio this is Centurion Efrem and Sergeant Egidius. We served together in the Legion.”

  Alerio was taken by surprise. His father wasn’t expressive with his emotions. He worked hard, treated his family and slaves fairly, but he was stingy with his praise.

  “I can see much of you in him,” Centurion Efrem observed. “Back when you were a scrawny, raw recruit who didn’t know the difference between a shovel and a gladius.”

  “I know the difference, sir,” Alerio boasted.

  “Oh you do, do you?” Centurion Efrem asked. He stood, pulled his sword, and spoke to the other man. “Sergeant Egidius, give the boy your gladius.”

  The Sergeant slid his weapon free and handed it to Alerio hilt first. Compared to the heavy wooden sword, it seemed light.

  “Let’s see what you know,” the Centurion demanded holding out his weapon.

  Alerio wasn’t sure what to do. So he swung twice at the other man’s blade before swinging to the other side and backhanding the opposite side. Efrem’s sword rocked from the blows.

  “Impressive,” the man said. “Now, strike harder and I’ll provide resistance.”

  This time Alerio’s blade didn’t rock his opponent’s blade. It was as if he were striking the unmoving post. On the backhand move, the Centurion’s blade struck back. Alerio’s sword stopped cold, jarring him from hand to shoulder. His fingers went numb and the tip of the sword touched the ground. Even in that state, he didn’t drop the sword.

  “That wasn’t fair to the lad, Centurion,” Sergeant Egidius scolded.

  “Better he learned defeat now than think himself an expert and die from ignorance,” the Officer said. “Had enough boy?”

  Retired Sergeant Sisera hadn’t said a word during the drill. He did have an odd look on his face.

  “No, sir,” Alerio replied as he switched the gladius to his left hand. He brought the blade up to guard position and waited.

  Centurion Efrem smiled and glanced over at the former Sergeant. “Sisera. Did you teach him to be ambidextrous?”

  “Not me Centurion,” Alerio’s father replied. “I was never that good a swordsman.”

  “Alright young Alerio,” Efrem said bringing his blade up to touch blades with the boy, “Begin.”

  This time Alerio was ready for the counterstrike. While it stung, it wasn’t disabling and he managed to fend off the Centurion for a flurry before the older man’s strength won the drill.

  “Sergeant. If it’s alright with you,” Centurion Efrem offered, “I’d like to train the boy while we’re here. He has promise.”

  Alerio hadn’t thought about being ambidextrous. He’d been switching hands because he could only swing at the post with the training sword for so long with one hand. In order to prolong the training, he had switched from right to left and left to right.

  Centurion Efrem and Sergeant Egidius were on fall furlough from the western Legion. Both men grew up in the Capital and neither wanted to go from the orderly life of a Legionary to the chaos of a city. So, they’d accepted former Sergeant Sisera’s offer of home cooked meals, wine, conversation, and a soft bed in exchange for working the harvest. They’d leave well fed with a few Republic gold coins in their pouches before returning to their duty post.

  During the four weeks before harvesting began, Centurion Efrem drilled and taught Alerio. By the time the sickles, shovels and baskets were distributed, Alerio knew all of the Legionary drills. While not proficient at them all, he knew enough to practice each drill daily.

  Chapter 4 - The Harvest

  Two years ago for the harvest, Alerio had been assigned to the separating screens. Along with others, he scooped up handfuls of stalks and thrashed them until all the grain fell from the husks. He hadn’t been that helpful but he tried.

  Last year, he graduated to shovel duty. As the grain filled the space under the screens, he and others shoveled the grain from under the trashing racks and into bags. He got more on the ground than in the bags. But, he didn’t get in anybody’s way.

  He was standing along with all the able bodied personnel on the farm, waiting for his father to handout assignments. Alerio eyed the thrashing racks and screens, shovels and bags. If given a choice he’d rather not be there. Because of the collective nature of thrashing, the people assigned there made small talk and bad jokes from sunup to sundown.

  His other option was on the collecting crew. They followed the harvesters picking up armloads of hacked down stalks and placing them in wagons. When a wagon was full, the mule was led to the thrashing area. The work was hard on the back muscles but the collectors rotated walking the mule and wagon to the thrashing racks. They’d get a little rest while the wagon was unloaded. Alerio figured he could do the work, but it was up to his father. So, he waited.

  A big hand landed on his shoulder. He turned around to see who owned it.

  “You ready, little man?” Sergeant Egidius asked.

  “Ready for what Sergeant?” Alerio replied.

  Egidius placed a sickle in the boy’s hand.

  “You’re with me on harvesting duty,” the Legion NCO advised him. “I explained to you father that I needed someone who could keep up with me. He asked me who and I said you. Are you ready?”

  The harvesters were the first line attackers. They operated out front cutting stalks as fast as the slowest cutter allowed. Cut too fast and your work went to waste as your stalks lay on the ground absorbing moisture. Cut too slow and you held up the entire operation as the advancing line waited for you to catch up.

  “Cut low and keep up,” Egidius advised. “But, most of all remember - When hard work has to be done, do it with good humor and a song. Defending a shield wall, breaching a barbarian hoard, digging a ditch or harvesting grain, it’s all the same. Hard work.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Alerio replied.

  Chapter 5 - The Grain Field

  The next morning a line of tall men and one boy stood at the edge of the field. As the sun broke over the horizon, a whistle sounded, sickles swung and tall stalks of grain fell to the ground. The harvest had begun.

  Alerio’s was sweating and his right arm cramped. He switched the sickle to h
is left hand and kept chopping at the stalks. While not thick, the grain plants were plentiful and each cut dropped a bunch. At one point he staggered from exhaustion but Egidius reached out and steadied him.

  “This is hard work boy,” the Sergeant advised him. “What do we do?”

  “Thank the Goddess Ceres for the opportunity to sweat in her name,” Alerio replied.

  “I think she’ll take that offering,” Egidius said. Then he began to chant:

  “Up each day to the rising sun,

  work all day til the work is done,

  sound off, one-two, one-two, three, four.”

  “Sickle in hand and a field ahead,

  going to chop all day til I’m dead,

  sound off, one-two, one-two, three, four.”

  “I’m a mighty man and can’t be beat

  mounds of stalks laying around my feet

  sound off, one-two, one-two, three, four.”

  On the second round of the chant, Alerio added his voice. By the fourth rendition, men on the line were chanting along with the Sergeant. When the sun reached overhead, food was delivered. They walked off the line and collected thick sandwiches.

  “Hard work,” Sergeant Egidius stated.

  “Time for jokes and singing,” Alerio replied.

  His face was covered in pollen and dirt. Sweat had long ago dried them in a pattern of streaks. Yet, the most pronounced feature was the smile on his young face.

  Former Sergeant Sisera arrived and began walking the cut. From time to time he stopped and called a cutter over. After pointing out stalks chopped off too high, he moved over to inspect another row. High cuts were a waste as the stalks, after thrashing, were used as animal feed. A stalk cut too high meant less feed per row. Sisera barely looked in Alerio’s direction.

  “Is something wrong?” the boy asked Egidius. “Father didn’t come over.”