Clay Legionary (Clay Warrior Stories Book 1)

by J. Clifton Slater

  As a symbolic end, Alerio pulled the original owner of the two knives to his feet and drove both blades into the man’s stomach. Then, still holding the man upright, reached back and snatched a mug of ale from the bar.

  “I offered to buy you a drink,” Alerio said as he poured the liquid over the dying man’s face. “You and your friends should have accepted the offer.”

  The body dropped to the floor and Alerio took a long pull from the mug. Before he could set it back on the bar, four Legionnaires accompanied by a Lance Corporal, and a Corporal, acting as Sergeant of the City Guard, flowed into the near empty pub.

  Chapter 10 - The Dangerous Pub

  They saw a blood splattered country boy leaning against the bar and singing out of tune.

  “And that’s whyyyy / They’re dead on the floor…”

  On the rough plank flooring, eight bodies lay in a semicircle around the lad’s feet. The first thing that saved the boy’s life: he was unarmed.

  In a small trading town, the city guard was composed of Legion units on temporary assignment. A larger city would have a permanent city guard. They might be less prone to chopping down a criminal as he might be a neighbor or related to a wealthy family.

  The Legionnaires who entered the bar didn’t know the boy or particularly care whom he knew. They held no compunction about taking down a murderer and the boy was certainly guilty of it, many times over.

  The second thing that saved Alerio Sisera’s life was the acting Sergeant of the Guard. As a Corporal standing in for a senior NCO, he wanted to get everything done legally and proper. It was why he’d accompanied the patrol when someone had called for help at the pub in this unsavory part of town.

  While the patrol with drawn gladii prepared to overwhelm the criminal, the Corporal put a hand on the arm of the Lance Corporal.

  “Hold,” ordered the Lance Corporal. The four veterans stopped but held their gladii pointed at the boy.

  “Put the mug down lad or die,” the Corporal ordered. “I don’t really care which.”

  Alerio turned his head slowly and tried to bring the troopers into focus. Then he did the third thing that saved his life.

  He set the heavy clay mug on the bar, braced at attention as Sergeant Egidius had shown him, and announced, “Corporal, Lance Corporal, good morning.”

  The two NCOs exchanged glances at the recognition of their rank. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to know military ranks, but it was unusual for them to assume the position of attention.

  “What’s your name lad?” the Corporal asked.

  “Alerio. Treasurer,” the country boy replied.

  Now the Corporal was really confused. His position in the Century was that of the unit’s treasurer. The boy’s military knowledge and fighting skills didn’t jive with his farmer’s clothing or his youth.

  “Turn around and put your hands behind your back,” the Corporal ordered.

  As the Lance Corporal secured a leather strap around his wrists, Alerio leaned forward and added a flood of vomit to the blood and guts on the pub’s flooring. He didn’t remember being lead out of the pub, through the streets, or being shoved into a holding cell.

  Chapter 11 - The Town’s Guard

  “His name’s Alerio and he single handedly took out eight members of the Cruor gang,” reported the Corporal.

  “Eight of the Spilled Bloods?” the City Guard’s Centurion asked. “What did he use a Heavy Infantry shield and a gladius?”

  “According to witnesses, he disarmed one and used the man’s knives to kill them. Looks like a case of self-defense to me,” the Corporal said. “Odd thing though, he knows military ranks. And he’s obviously had some weapon’s training.”

  “Well the training won’t do him any good when the rest of the Cruor find him,” the Officer of the Guard stated. “Alerio you said. What’s his family name?”

  “I didn’t get that,” admitted the Corporal. “Between his vomiting and mumbling, I didn’t have the chance to question him.”

  “Go find out,” the Centurion ordered. “Oh, and move him to a private cell until we get this straightened out. I imagine the Cruor leadership has already put out a bounty on him. Better he died on the streets than in one of our cells.”

  “Yes Sir,” the Corporal said while saluting and backing towards the door.

  Alerio had picked himself up from the cold floor and stumbled to an open space on a stone bench. On either side of him, drunks, thieves and brawlers sat hunched over waiting for morning court. They ignored the country boy in the blood soaked clothing. A commotion outside the cell drew their attention.

  Everyone sober enough to notice sat upright when the cell door swung open. Four armed Legionaries stepped in followed by a Corporal.

  “Him,” the Corporal directed.

  While two troopers moved forward to take the farm boy, the other two stood ready to put down any acts of rebellion from the prisoners. Alerio was dragged out. Before the door closed, a thin man was tossed into the holding cell. Then the two Legionaries on security duty backed out. Once they were gone, the thin man jumped to his feet.

  “The Cruor are looking for a farm boy,” he whispered looking around at the prisoners. “They’re offering five Republic Golds, dead or alive.”

  “Your timing sucks little man,” a large brutish guy offered. “They just took him out.” He was hunched over alone on the end of the bench. After a long pause he added, “When they bring him back, the boy and the coin are mine. Any arguments?”

  No one disagreed the big brute should have the bounty. Although a few thought, if the farm boy was returned, they might take a shot at the prize.

  Chapter 12 - The Officer of the Day

  “His full name is Alerio Sisera,” the Corporal reported. “His family has a small homestead a few days west of here.”

  “Sisera, a farm,” the Centurion repeated. “Did he happen to say anything about his father?”

  “He mumbled something about a Sergeant Sisera being upset with him,” the Corporal replied. “Does the name mean anything to you?”

  “Corporal, if Alerio is retired Sergeant Sisera’s son, we have a small issue,” the Centurion said while slowly rubbing the bridge of his nose in irritation. “If the Cruor kill, said son of retired Sergeant Sisera, we have a huge problem.”

  “Why is that Sir?” the Corporal inquired.

  “Because, there are three Centuries of Legionaries two day’s march from here who owe their lives to Sergeant Sisera,” the troubled Centurion replied. “If his son is killed in our town, the Sergeant will march on this measurable piece of merda and burn it to the ground.”

  “A farmer and retired Legion NCO,” the Corporal stated. “How much damage could he do?”

  “Oh, it’s not him alone,” the Centurion said while gritting his teeth. “It’s the three Centuries of Heavy Infantry who’ll be more than happy to help former Sergeant Sisera level this fleapit.”

  “We could simply release the boy and send him home,” volunteered the Corporal.

  “Same problem. The Cruor hunt him down and the Sergeant comes seeking revenge,” the Officer replied. “Right now, I wish I was on the other side of the Republic.”

  The NCO and the Officer stared at each other for a few seconds before the Corporal cleared his throat.

  “Ah sir, suppose the boy was on the other side of the Republic?” he asked.

  “Explain, please,” urged the Centurion.

  “We have a courier chariot leaving at dawn. There’s room among the mail sacks for the driver and another body,” the NCO said. “If the lad was a Recruit, he could easily get passage from the Capitol to the Eastern Legion.”

  “Sober him up enough to sign his name to the enlistment papers,” the Centurion ordered. “I’ll send a letter to his father. Thank you, Corporal. Dismissed.”

  Chapter 13 - The Road to the Capital

  Alerio Sisera woke up when the Courier shoved a heal of bread and a lump of cheese into his hands.

&nb
sp; “Are we home yet?” the confused teen asked.

  “Recruit Sisera, by order of the Consuls, you are hereby commanded to report to the Eastern Legion for recruit training,” the Courier read from a scroll.

  “But I’m a farmer and my father depends on me,” Alerio pleaded. “He’s expecting me.”

  “No, he isn’t. My Centurion sent a letter explaining the need to get you out of the western sector,” the Legionary explained. “Seems you have a five Republic Gold bounty on your head - payable by the Cruor gang, dead or alive. So you enlisted in the Legion.”

  “I enlisted?” Alerio asked.

  The Courier handed him a folded piece of parchment and said, “These are your travel papers. They’ll get you passage on a ship from the Capital to the Eastern Legion.”

  Alerio unfolded the parchment and read down to the end of the document. There he found his name scrawled unmistakably in his own handwriting.

  “Where are we?” Alerio asked.

  “You slept through the two way stations. This is an inn so we’re fourteen miles from the trading town,” the Courier informed him pointing out the single story building with an attached stable. “We’ll be here long enough to eat and change ponies. So, eat and do your business quickly, the Legion’s messages can’t wait. We have another four pony changes before we sleep for a few hours.”

  “How many days to the Capital?” Alerio asked.

  He’d studied maps of the Republic and knew his father’s farm was over two hundred miles from the Republic’s seat of government and the Consuls’ and Senate’s Government building. Even deducting the distance traveled to the collection town and the courier’s progress, he figured they had about one hundred twenty miles to go.

  “We should arrive at the military post outside the Capital,” explained the Courier as he checked the harness on the two-pony rig. “Around mid-watch in two and a half days.”

  “How much sleep do we get each night?” Alerio asked realizing this wasn’t a leisure trip. His head hurt and his stomach was sour.

  “Sleep? As in stretch out, snuggle down in a feather bed with a fleece filled pillow? A warm blanket and letting the roosters crow you awake sometime after daybreak?” the Courier asked. Alerio knew where this was going even if he hadn’t seen the sneer on the Legionary’s face. “We nap beside the chariot for an hour or so. A full night’s sleep? No Recruit, that’s not going to happen.”

  Chapter 14 - The Capital’s Wall

  Alerio saw the Capital for the first time five days later. The sun was low to the East and the morning light cast a halo over the hills composing the city. The biggest of buildings, backlit by the rays, stood out as they glowed white.

  “First time seeing the Capital City?” asked the Courier.

  Alerio was standing beside the driver. His mouth hanging open while his eyes shifted rapidly in an attempt to take in every inch of the scene.

  “Is it that obvious?” he replied when the driver nudged him in the ribs.

  “Everyone acts the same when they see it for the first time,” the Courier said. “The Capital is an awe inspiring site.”

  They crossed a bridge as torrents of water cascaded down the river below them. Once across, the chariot dropped to the valley floor and pulled into the next to last waystation. Far across the flatland, the city walls appeared no higher than three fingers’ width in height. The perspective would change over the last fourteen miles of the trip.

  Chapter 15 - The Legion Transfer Post

  Alerio handed his orders to a Corporal at the Legion Transfer Post. His eyes looked beyond the tall NCO. Brick walls thirty feet high surrounded the city. Behind the ramparts, the city loomed higher with tightly packed buildings crowding every inch. On the highest hills, he could see narrow streets twisting and turning between structures.

  “Eastern Legion,” the Corporal said as he glanced at the travel orders. “You’ll need to report in at the docks.”

  From the Western side, there didn’t seem to be any bodies of water deep enough for a dock. Alerio looked back towards the river some twelve miles away.

  “At the river?” he asked.

  “No Recruit. The docks are two day’s travel around the city,” he explained. “We have a shipment of slave rowers from the northern campaign leaving the day after tomorrow. You can be part of the security detail.”

  “Yes, sir,” he acknowledged.

  “It’s Corporal Gratian or Treasurer, only Officers and training NCOs are sir,” the Corporal replied. “Take your orders to the quartermaster’s office and they’ll get you armed and outfitted. Can’t have you dressed like a farmer in a Legion unit.”

  Chapter 16 - The Old Gear

  The armor was old and cracked from age. Deep slices attested to the battles where the armor had protected a Legionary. A lack of oil and cleaning made the leather stiff and covered its metal fittings in rust spots and tarnish. The delight in having been issued his first gladius was dampened by the layer of rust and the dull-notched blade.

  With the equipment slung over his shoulder, Alerio ate at the mess tent and went to find his rack for the night. Once he knew where he’d sleep, he went in search of supplies.

  The Corporal he’d spoken with when he arrived strolled up. After watching as the farm boy scrubbed briskly at rust spots on the gladius, the NCO glanced at the rest of the Recruit’s equipment. Beside the farm boy, a well-used set of armor, covered in a thick layer of goat grease, lay soaking in the fading light.

  “You know, they’ll take that set from you at the docks,” advised the NCO. “There’s no reason to waste time on it.”

  “It’s good leather. Maybe the next man will appreciate having it in better condition,” Alerio said as he scooped up a handful of sand and drew the blade through the abrasive material. The blade gleamed except where the notches marred the cutting edges. As he inspected the weapon he added “The gladius is made of good metal. It’d be a shame to let it rust away.”

  “Do you know how to use that?” asked the NCO looking at the thick arms and broad chest of the farm boy. An idea was forming and he wondered if the Recruit could be useful.

  “I’ve trained with a gladius,” admitted Alerio.

  “There’s a camp competition tomorrow,” Corporal Gratian said. “Winner gets five Republic Silvers and a share of the gambling wages place against him.”

  The Corporal wasn’t looking for a champion. He already had a favorite in the competition. But betting on the early rounds was chancy. If the big farm boy could win the first two elimination rounds, the NCO could make a nice profit before the better fighters entered the final matches.

  Alerio reached out and poked the armor’s chest piece. It compressed under his fingers and reformed quickly when he released the leather. Then, he studied the blade. He knew from his father a blade with notches was inefficient. It’d catch on another blade at odd and unpredictable angles in combat.

  “The leather and plates are as good as I can get them,” Alerio said. “But the blade needs grinding and I haven’t the coin to afford a metalworker’s fee.”

  Corporal Gratian was taken by surprise. Not only was the Recruit big enough to last several rounds, he seemed to know his equipment. After thinking for a few seconds, he made a decision.

  “I’ll front you the cost of grinding,” the NCO explained. There was a blacksmith who owed him a favor so there was no cost. He didn’t tell the farm boy. Instead, he added, “But I want twenty-five percent of your winnings.”

  Alerio stood up and gripped the hilt with his right hand. After a few slices with the blade, he spun the gladius into the air and over his head. He skillfully caught the spinning hilt with his left hand. After checking the balance by demonstrating swords drills with both hands, he lowered the weapon.

  “I’ll take you up on the offer Corporal Gratian,” he announced. “Where’s the metalworker?

  Chapter 17 - The Corral

  The Legion Post was a transfer station and didn’t have a proper arena. They
had cleaned out a corral, spread a layer of sand, and stacked boxes and barrels around it for seating. Legionaries from nearby Posts, Stations, and units assigned to the Capital were flocking in for the entertainment. The camp’s normal compliment was more than quadrupled for the competition.

  Vendors set up tents and soon the air was filled with the aroma of roasting meats and baking bread. Voices bragging about the quality of their wines and ales competed with the noise of the crowd for attention.

  Alerio wandered through the throng looking at the elements of the festival. He’d never seen this much activity in one place before. As much as he hated to admit it, he was intimidated and distracted by the activity.

  In order to separate himself from the mayhem, Alerio sought out the Marshal of the competition.

  “Recruit Sisera. Is this where I sign up for the tournament?” he asked a Sergeant.

  The NCO was sitting at a table with pieces of parchment spread out in front of him. He studied the young man and after taking in the well-used but supple armor and the physique of the boy, he selected a page from the top of a short pile. “What’s your record?” asked the Marshal gruffly.

  “Record, Sergeant?” Alerio inquired.

  “Your number of wins or second place finishes in recent competitions,” the NCO explained in frustration. “I need to place you in a bracket. We don’t want top competitors wasting time on rookies. It’s not fair and the gamblers will have a fit if I put an experienced fighter against a nobody. So, record?”

  Alerio was at a loss. He’d seen a few sword competitions when he and his father had visited the collection town. There had only been a few competitors. He had no idea what a bracket was or where he should be placed in it.