Clay Legionary (Clay Warrior Stories Book 1)

by J. Clifton Slater

“This place might rate some watching,” suggested Ceyx.

  “You might be right,” Sergeant Horus said agreeing with the Lance Corporal.

  As the Legionaries crossed the street and turned on a boulevard heading back across the district, the rags shifted. From the pile, the boy who had greeted them at the front door rose up. He collected the loose, tattered cloth and ran back through the villa’s gate.

  Chapter 59 - For the Specialist, a Chit

  “We can send a squad to Golden Valley and probably get them killed,” Sergeant Horus reported. “Or, there is an off chance, they come back alive. I don’t like their odds.”

  “If I may?” asked Lance Corporal Eolus asked.

  “Speak up Eolus,” Stylianus commanded.

  The Centurion was sitting in a chair putting on a good show. Still, they could tell he was fighting exhaustion and struggling just to stay upright.

  “Private Sisera should go,” Ceyx stated. “It was his blade that slew the assassins. So rightfully he owns the Night Bees. The Sweet Fist might honor his prowess when he returns the Nocte Apibus.”

  “I’m not happy with sending one Private into a den of assassins,” Horus stated. “I’d rather the Legion march in and pacify the whole nest of wasps.”

  “Bees, Sergeant, and it’s a hive,” Stylianus corrected. “As I suspected, and after some inquiries at the mess hall it’s confirmed, honey from the Golden Valley is in fact the Consuls’ favorite sweet treat. For political reasons, the General will never approve the assault.”

  “So we send an inexperienced Private to his death?” complained Horus. Then he remembered Wido’s comment. As it was shaping up, it was the least he could do for Private Sisera.

  He brought it to his Centurion’s attention, “Sisera needs a chit to draw two additional gladii from the Armory. You might have noticed the duel harness he was wearing during your rescue, sir.”

  “I don’t remember much except for Speckled Pheasant using me for a punching bag,” Stylianus admitted. “Drawing two additional gladii means the chit goes to a specialist. Has Private Sisera mastered a skill? Is he a specialist?”

  Sergeant Horus rubbed his chin and pondered the question. A few months ago, Sisera was a farm boy. In his time in the Legion, he hadn’t been to any schools or apprenticed with a master of anything.

  “Weapon’s Instructor,” Ceyx blurted out. “He knows more about sword fighting than anyone I know. So, he is a specialist, a Gladius Instructor.”

  “Sisera. Get in here,” Horus shouted.

  Alerio pushed through the tent flap after a few words with the Infantrymen at the entrance. They had been aware of him as he conditioned the strange leather harness when they came on duty. Conversely, the guards hadn’t spoken with him and didn’t know him. It took a few seconds of convincing for the sentries to let the Private enter the tent.

  “Sergeant. Alerio Sisera reporting as ordered,” he said.

  Horus pulled his gladius and struck a guard pose.

  “What am I doing wrong?” the Sergeant asked.

  Alerio walked behind his Sergeant and studied the posture.

  “Your rear foot is twisted and you can’t push off with any power,” he explained while nudging the foot forward. “Stance is too wide.”

  For the next two minutes, Alerio adjusted the Sergeant’s posture, his grip, the set of his shoulders and finely, he tapped under Horus’ chin.

  “Hold your head that low and you can’t see through the helmet let alone over a shield,” Alerio directed.

  When he was finished, he stepped back. Sergeant Horus was posed in a perfect guard stance.

  “Sir your judgement?” Horus asked as he sheathed his gladius.

  “He knows the stance,” Stylianus admitted. “What about the gladius drills?”

  “I can attest to his expertise,” Horus stated.

  “Well, here’s the final issue,” the Centurion said as he swayed trying to keep his balance. “A Private can’t be a Gladius Instructor. Is there anything he’d done to earn a promotion?’

  “Sir. I was going to him put in for a Legion medal,” Ceyx announced. “for his actions in the warehouse. I expect, he’d trade an award for a promotion.”

  The Centurion uncorked an ink vase and dipped a quill. He wrote a short note before offering the quill to Horus. The Sergeant jotted his name at the bottom of the document.

  “Sergeant. You handle the rest,” Stylianus slurred as he raised an arm. “It seems I’ve used up my stamina. Lance Corporal Eolus. If you wouldn’t mind.”

  Ceyx dipped his shoulder under the outstretched arm and helped Stylianus stand. Together they shuffled to the Centurion’s bed. The Officer was asleep before Ceyx finished pulling the blanket over him.

  “Sisera. I’ve got some good news and some bad news for you,” Horus announced. “Good news, you are now a certified weapons specialist. Bad news, you’re going to the Golden Valley to return the Nocte Apibus. More good news. Congratulations, Lance Corporal Sisera on your promotion.”

  Ceyx gripped Alerio’s wrist and congratulated the young Legionary. Meanwhile, Horus fretted. He had helped promote Sisera and was probably condemning him to his death on the same day.

  “Enough of this,” Horus ordered. “When do you want to leave, Lance Corporal Sisera?”

  “We leave at day break from the Raider Post,” asserted Ceyx. “And we’re taking Speckled Pheasant with us.”

  “Alright, I’ll bite,” Horus said as he screwed down his eye brows as if facing an unsolvable puzzle. “Why the Rebel? Why you? Go.”

  “Speckled Pheasant contracted for the assassins. It was on his assignment where they lost their men and the Nocte Apibus,” Eolus replied. “Besides, he lied. It must have been his report to the Dulce Pugno that convinced them a squad of Legionaries killed the assassins. Seems to me, if the Dulce Pugno want retribution, it should be on Speckled Pheasant.”

  “Acceptable,” the Sergeant declared. “Go on.”

  “One man can’t watch a prisoner and guard the Nocte Apibus,” offered Ceyx. “Plus, I know the mountain trails. The last thing you want is for Lance Corporal Sisera to become lost. Imagine the legend of the lost Raider wandering in the mountains for thirty years. It would reflect badly on the Legion.”

  “Can’t have that now can we,” Horus said. Then to Sisera, he asked, “Are you okay with all this? We could put you on a ship and spirit you away.”

  “Sergeant, I will not refuse my duty,” Alerio assured the Sergeant. “Besides, according to my instructors in recruit training, it only hurts until you die.”

  “Go. Do what you need to do,” the Sergeant ordered Lance Corporals Ceyx Eolus and Alerio Sisera. “You’ll sleep in here tonight, under guard, and near the Nocte Apibus. We sail at first light.”

  Chapter 60 - Raider Post

  The fishing boat drifted on the last dip of the oars and nudged against the rickety pier. Horus jump first and jogged up the narrow trail. Eolus and Sisera formed a human chain and guided Speckled Pheasant off the deck, precariously over the short span above the water, and onto the dock. By the time the out of shape Rebel placed both feet on the weather worn wood, he was gasping for breath.

  “You expect me to climb that?” Speckled Pheasant asked while inhaling lungs full of air. He lifted one hand to his chest and pointed up the steep hill with the other.

  Ceyx pulled his long curved knife, laid the blade against the Rebel’s cheek, and explained, “You can climb. Or, you can feed the fish.”

  Reluctantly, Speckled Pheasant lifted a foot and carefully set it down on the first riser. He pushed on his knee with a hand and brought the trailing foot up beside the first. He stepped up again and repeated the motion.

  “Lance Corporal Eolus. This is going to take all day,” commented Alerio. “And we have over a hundred and fifty miles to travel. How is he going to make it?”

  “First, call me Ceyx. Next, I’m not so worried about crossing the high plains,” Ceyx said. “It’s the mountain trails where h
e’ll really slow us down.”

  “We could starve him and he’d lose weight,” Alerio suggested. “It works in recruit training.”

  “Over five months maybe,” Ceyx replied. “We only have a day. Starve a fat man and he gets weak before his body adjusts to the short rations. No. We’ll need to find a way to transport him.”

  At the top, an hour later, the Legionaries stood watching as the Rebel Captain sat to rest. On the far side of the plateau, Corporal Manfredus also sat. Not because he was tired, because it was easier to watch Sergeant Horus pace from a fixed position.

  “What’s taking them so long?” demanded Horus.

  “Well, based on your reports from the last four times you went over and checked,” Manfredus replied. “I’d say Speckled Pheasant was the glitch in your perfectly planned agenda.”

  “We did learn something,” admitted Horus. “They’ll need a mule and a cart to haul the fat cūlus.”

  Another hour later, the Nocte Apibus were stored in the command tent and Speckled Pheasant was in the care of Second Squad Heavy Infantry.

  “He’s rich and unethical,” Manfredus warned the squad leader. “He may try to bribe your men.”

  “After what he did to Centurion Stylianus, I’m not worried about the men helping him,” Lance Corporal Velius replied. “I’m worried about them murdering him.”

  “He’s got to be alive and fit to travel,” Manfredus said casually. “But, there’s no reason he has to be comfortable.”

  Over the last few years, Raiders had been killed or injured by the Rebel Captain’s men. So, he ended up naked and strapped to the tent’s center pole. Happily, according to the men of Second Squad, it was going to be a cold night.

  “How am I supposed to sleep with that in our tent,” complained Private Pholus. “Just walking in, I was blinded by the pale, flabby flesh. I almost lost my dinner.”

  “He does resemble a toad,” observed Private Didacus. “We could hide him under a blanket.”

  “It’s too far to walk to the stables,” Pholus said. “Besides, the blanket will keep him warm. I’ll just pretend there’s a full moon out tonight.”

  Chapter 61 - A Small Caravan

  After nudging an exhausted Speckled Pheasant through the gullies and ravines, a Squad of Light Infantrymen delivered him to the pass. Alerio and Ceyx stood beside a two wheeled cart and a mule. They enjoyed the show as the Rebel Captain complained, cursed, and offered enormous sums of Republic coin to anyone who returned him to the harbor town. Between the tirades, he yelped as sharp rocks poked the bottoms of his city shoes.

  “Should we have requisitioned him more appropriate footwear?” asked Alerio.

  “He’s riding, we’re walking,” Ceyx sneered. “His pretty, civilized slippers are fine.”

  The Light Infantry squad leader shoved the Rebel at Ceyx.

  “The loud mouth’s all yours, Lance Corporal Eolus,” he said in disgust.

  “Unfortunately, he is,” Ceyx admitted as he took a firm grip on the Rebel’s arm. “Let me escort you to your coach, Princess.”

  “You’ll be spitting blood out of your throat when my comrades catch up to us,” threatened the Rebel Captain.

  “What no bribe offers?” asked Ceyx. “Alerio and I are disappointed.”

  “Would you take a bribe?” Speckled Pheasant asked hopefully.

  “Well, no. But it would have been a nice gesture,” Ceyx replied as if his feelings were hurt.

  Then, he shoved the fat Rebel over the rear board of the cart. Speckled Pheasant ended up half in the low cart with his feet touching the ground.

  “Move it out, Alerio,” Ceyx shouted.

  Speckled Pheasant’s toes scraped and his feet kicked at the moving earth as he attempted to crawl fully into the cart. While the Rebel clawed his way onto the Legionary gear, the food supplies and the amphorae of watered wine, the Light Infantry squad jogged ahead of the small caravan.

  They would provide security for half a day before returning to the Raider Post. The caravan would be on its own afterward.

  As Legionaries, Ceyx and Alerio could travel twenty miles in five hours. Then rest for a couple of hours and run for another ten miles. At that rate, they could reach the mountains in a little over five days. The heavily loaded cart, unfortunately, moved much slower.

  Miles from the pass as the sunlight extended their shadows, Alerio and Ceyx began to seek a camp site for the evening. Although the land appeared flat, it was rutted and had mounds swelling above the terrain.

  “There, about fifty feet from the road,” Ceyx suggested while pointing to a low rise.

  “You call this a road?” Alerio asked while he nodded his head in approval of the camp site.

  “Caravan trail, well beaten path, or animal track,” replied Ceyx. “It’s straight, relatively level, and leads in the direction we’re traveling. So by definition, it’s a road.”

  The wheels of the cart bumped over stones and down and up ruts. As they approached the rise, Ceyx marched ahead to survey the area. Alerio pulled the mule to a stop. From the edge of the cart, he lifted a feed bag and strapped it to the mule’s muzzle.

  The Rebel was sitting and gazing at the back trail.

  “I’m going to clear rocks for the camp,” Alerio explained to the Rebel as he walked to the back of the cart.

  The point of a dagger dug into the top of Alerio’s right arm. Alerio jerked the hand and his body back as the dagger stabbed for his face. Speckled Pheasant swiped sideways with the dagger and struggled to climb out of the cart.

  Alerio drew his gladius with the bleeding arm and passed it over to his left hand.

  “Stay back or I’ll gut you,” the Rebel said as his feet touched the ground.

  For a second, Alerio was tempted to sever the man’s knife hand. Speckled Pheasant had misread the pause as a sign of victory. Guessing the injury to the Legionary’s right arm put him at a disadvantage, the Rebel moved in close.

  “You’ll tell your boyfriend to stand down,” the Rebel ordered as he stepped up. “If you know what’s good for you.”

  At first taken back by the swiftness of the fat man, Alerio tensed preparing to windmill his blade. The effect would be a handless Rebel who probably would die on the plain and never reach the mountains. Before he could begin the maneuver, Ceyx’s hand clamped over the hilt of his sword.

  “Step back,” ordered the Light Infantryman and Alerio rolled to the side and away from the dagger.

  They exchanged places so swiftly Speckled Pheasant was confused as to whom he was trying to intimidate. The blade shifted back and forth between the two Legionaries.

  Alerio was a step away when he realized Ceyx hadn’t drawn his gladius. He raised his blade and took a half step.

  “Stay,” Ceyx ordered.

  The voice gave Speckled Pheasant a focus and he drove his dagger forward. Ceyx’s wrist shot out and touched the wrist on Speckled Pheasant’s knife hand. The blade veered off course. As the Rebel attempted to bring the blade back to the attack, Ceyx’s wrist stayed connected. When the Rebel made a circle with his arm trying to dislodge the Legionary’s wrist, Ceyx rotated his hand until his palm was touching the Rebel’s wrist.

  It was as if the wrists were tied together. The Legionary’s wrist, hand or palm redirected ever move by the Rebel Captain. They remained in contact despite the rapid moves. Finally, Speckled Pheasant grabbed with his free hand.

  Ceyx countered. He attached his other hand to that wrist. Now, both men seemed to be hand dancing. From a frontal attack, the miniature battle had dissolved into Speckled Pheasant stepping back in an attempt to free his hands from the Legionary’s hands.

  “Get off me,” Speckled Pheasant pleaded. He was rapidly shaking his hands as if to clean pony merda from them. Sometime during the moves, the dagger fell but Ceyx didn’t relent.

  The Rebel shouted in frustration and clamped his hands behind his back. Ceyx drew back his head and smashed it into Speckled Pheasant’s nose. Blood spurted as the fat
man sank to the ground holding his face in his hands.

  “What was that?” Alerio asked. He was awed by the movements of the other Legionary.

  “Disarming an armed opponent without hurting him,” Ceyx answered.

  “He doesn’t look uninjured,” Alerio pointed out as Speckled Pheasant sniffed and dabbed at his nose trying to stop the bleeding.

  “That is injured after being disarmed,” Ceyx explained. “There’s a difference.”

  Chapter 62 - Sticky Hands

  They cleared rocks from the hill and used them to build a ring of stone around the camp site. Any enemy could easily walk over the barrier but in the dark, they hopefully would trip over the loose stones.

  Alerio started a fire and Ceyx cooked a corn meal mush. Once the corn had softened, he tossed in pieces of dried goat jerky.

  “Smells wonderful,” Alerio said as he took the clay bowl. Then glancing over towards Speckled Pheasant exclaimed. “Good Legion field cooking. Enjoy!”

  The Rebel mumbled something in response. Alerio and Ceyx couldn’t understand as the sound was filtered by the mule’s feed bag. It hung from his neck forcing him to used his bound hands to press the bottom of the bag so the food lifted to his mouth.

  “What did he say?” Ceyx asked.

  “He was complimenting you on the fine cuisine,” Alerio explained between bites. “So, what were the hand movements you used to disarm Speckled Pheasant?”

  “When I was a lad, an old warrior lived in our village,” Ceyx replied. “One day, a bunch of us boys were playing war. We had chopped down bamboo poles.”

  “Bamboo?” asked Alerio.

  “A utilitarian reed that can grow thicker around than your arm muscle,” explained Ceyx.

  “I’d like to see that,” Alerio said. “The reeds in the West grow in ponds and are only the size of your little finger, if that.”

  Speckled Pheasant began making muffled noises.

  “Smells bad, doesn’t it?” Alerio asked the Rebel.

  “Tastes bad as well,” Ceyx commented. “As I was saying. The bamboo poles we cut were about as thick as a javelin. For a day, we chased and wacked each other until we ran by the old warrior’s hut. He liked to take the afternoon sun and usually ignored the children. This day for some reason, he called us over.”