Unjust Sacrifice
Clay Warrior Stories
Book #11
J. Clifton Slater
Unjust Sacrifice is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. I am not an historian, although I do extensive research. This book is about the levied, seasonal Legion of the mid-Republic and not the professional Imperial Legion. There are huge differences.
The large events in this tale are from history but, the dialogue and close action sequences are my inventions. Some of the elements in the story are from reverse engineering mid-Republic era techniques and procedures. No matter how many sources I consulted, history always has holes between events. Hopefully, you will see the logic in my methods of filling in the blanks.
Running around with her red pen while I wrote this book was Hollis Jones, my editor. Grabbing pages and happily making red slashes on the manuscript, she corrected and shepherded me through the process. For her, I am grateful.
Gratitude to my hard-core readers who are Legion. I am not sure if it’s because you are many or are spiritual descendants from an ancient Roman army. In either case, Salute!
Table of Content
Unjust Sacrifice
Unjust Sacrifice
Act 1
Chapter 1 – Winter Quarters
Chapter 2 – Siege at Marianoppli
Chapter 3 – Auxiliaries vs Mercenaries
Chapter 4 – Debt Erased
Act 2
Chapter 6 – Fleet in Distress
Chapter 7 – Warship Diplomacy
Chapter 8 – Crippled Rabbit
Chapter 9 – Public Clinic
Act 3
Chapter 10 – Proper Authority
Chapter 11 – The Challenge
Chapter 12 – Push Float
Chapter 13 – Exceeding Authority
Act 4
Chapter 14 – Over Extended
Chapter 15 – I Am More
Chapter 16 – Guilt by Allegation
Chapter 17 – The Grind
Act 5
Chapter 18 – Good Bad News
Chapter 19 – Edge of Chaos
Chapter 20 – First the Bull
Chapter 21 – Hunter Chase
Chapter 22 – Look Around
Act 6
Chapter 23 – Dog
Chapter 24 – Weighted Ends
Act 7
Chapter 25 – Mosaic Pretty
Chapter 26 – Values Displayed
Chapter 27 - Battling Passions
Chapter 28 – Death Caller
Chapter 29 – Cost of Business
Chapter 30 – Necklace of Venus
Act 8
Chapter 31 – Launching
Chapter 32 – Sightings
Chapter 33 – Confidence Kills
Act 9
Chapter 34 – Spiked Islands
Chapter 35 – Day of Reckoning
Chapter 36 - Two Battles
Chapter 37 – Dueling Commands
Chapter 38 – Shields and the Goddess
Act 10
Chapter 39 – Victoria’s Choice
Chapter 40 – Carthage 260 BC
Chapter 41 – Rome 260 BC
The End
A note from J. Clifton Slater
Books by J. Clifton Slater
Unjust Sacrifice
Act 1
The year before, the rains were moderate. Almost as if Neptune and Jupiter reached an agreement to allow shipbuilders clear skies for their work. From sites around the Republic, newly constructed quinqueremes rowed into the port of Ostia. In waves, weeks apart, the warships arrived at the naval facility.
This was a blessing as the final equipment could be installed one ship at a time but, also a curse. The trickling in of ships left the inexperienced crews and commanders without ships for hands on rowing drills.
Greeting the new ships-of-war was a flourishing town on the banks of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Making up the temporary citizenship of the area were skilled craftsmen and suppliers. The other occupants consisted of newly recruited oarsmen and, fresh from training Legionaries, their Optios, and Centurions. Few of the military groups were properly indoctrinated and incorporated into the fleet as seagoing Centuries.
When Qart Hadasht raiders were spotted near Pompei, the Senate ordered Fleet Praetor Zelare Sudoris to launch all the warships he could, and to send four Centuries of infantry south to act as a quick reaction force against an invasion. He complied, although the actions stripped away his rowing instructors and veteran Legionaries. While severely hampering the training of new crews, the actions did secure the Republic’s coastline from Admiral Hannibal Gisco’s probes.
Then the agreement between the God of the Sea and the Sky Father fell apart and storms raged. Every shipyard turned to mud, wooden beams swelled, and men struggled to see their work through the deluge. The steady delivery of the Republic warships ended with the downpours.
Welcome to 260 B.C.
Chapter 1 – Winter Quarters
Admiral Hannibal Gisco spread the robe over his legs to block the winter breeze. Tempted to leave the roof and go below, he didn’t. Under him, the two floors of the building were filled with administrators for his fleet and General Hamilcar’s army. Should Hannibal appear in the building, the Supreme Military Commander for Sicilia would be inundated with requests. After the fruitless excursion to the coast trying to draw a reaction from the Republic, Hannibal just wanted to sit and enjoy the view.
“Admiral, I hate to bother you,” Fleet Lieutenant Boodes called from the stairs.
“Then don’t,” Gisco shot back. Before Boodes was fully turned to descend the steps, the Admiral thought better. “Please excuse me. I’m just feeling grumpy. What do you need, Senator?”
While serving as second in command for the Qart Hadasht fleet in the Sicilia region, Boodes, thanks to his powerful family, was also a sitting Legislator on the Qart Hadasht Council.
“I don’t blame you, sir,” the Fleet Lieutenant commiserated. “I too assumed the Republic would respond with an attack in Sicily prompted by your provocation.”
“We rowed warships back and forth along their coast, showing sailcloth and our butts,” the Admiral complained. “And in all that time, we accomplished nothing. What do you need?”
“I am afraid I’m about to add to your winter malaise, Admiral,” Boodes warned.
“Baal grants earth a time to rest before spring,” Hannibal Gisco reflected. “If only our commanders in Qart Hadasht allowed for the same respite. What do you need?”
A loud, coarse voice roaring from the floor below erupted from the stairwell and burst over the roof deck.
“That, sir,” Boodes confirmed when he saw the pained look on Hannibal’s face. “Colonel Baoth.”
Most of Hannibal Gisco’s mercenary commanders, bathed and changed into robes or their native clothing, before coming to his headquarters. The Gallic officer never did.
“Admiral, we came when Qart Hadasht called,” the Colonel growled upon reaching the roof. “My Gauls stood with Admiral Hanno Gisco during the toughest of battles. But when he left for home, he left us unpaid. Things are shifting and, come spring, you’ll need my fighters. Or maybe the Republic could use us?”
The creases at his eyes twitched before Hannibal forced his face into a passive expression. Having a mercenary commander threaten to go over to the enemy was as close to treason as actually marching across a battle line. Baoth’s threat could not go unanswered.
“Colonel, as you know,” Hannibal began. Then he stopped and studied the wild beard and unwashed hair of the Gaul. “You and your men have proven yourselves in every engagement. Because of your abilities, I’d like to make you an offer.”
; “Partial pay?” the Colonel scoffed. “We’ll take our full pay and not a gold coin less.”
“Admiral,” Boodes added.
“What did you say?” Baoth demanded.
“His title is Admiral or Lordship,” the Lieutenant stated. “When speaking to a superior officer, it is customary to use a formal address.”
“Listen here sailor, I’ve been carving up men since before you were born,” Baoth informed the naval officer. “I don’t need you to teach me manners.”
Where most Qart Hadasht nobles wore an ornate knife but traveled with bodyguards, Boodes had no-men-at arms. Rather he carried an additional blade. Lieutenant Boodes dropped his hand to the hilt of the sword.
The Admiral watched as Boodes touched the hilt of a Carthage battle sword, and Baoth dropped back to clear distance for his gallic sword. Both weapons had swollen bellies, but one was single edged with a sharp point and the other sported a double-edged blade with a narrowing tip. Hannibal Gisco had seen both blades take limbs and lives.
For a heartbeat, he thought to let young Boodes end his problem with the Gaul. But then the Admiral remembered Senator Boodes’ family. An inquisition if Colonel Baoth killed the nobleman would not end well. Explaining that his fleet Lieutenant died in a roof top brawl presented problems the Admiral did not need.
“Gentlemen please,” Hannibal Gisco insisted. He held up both hands in a sign of peace. “I need you both.”
“You had an offer in mind, Admiral,” Baoth remarked while giving a hard look towards Boodes.
“I don’t have your coins, yet,” Hannibal admitted. “But I plan, late in the summer, to move in and reoccupy Agrigento.”
“And that has what to do with me and my guys?” Baoth questioned.
“I need a force in Cianciana,” Hannibal informed the Gaul. “It’s sixteen miles northeast of Agrigento. The perfect position to defend my rear when the Republic comes for me.”
“You want us to work for you without pay?” Baoth asked in disbelief.
A youthful senior officer appeared at the top of the stairwell and a cross look passed over his face. General Hamilcar, commander of the Qart Hadasht ground forces in Sicilia, didn’t care for most of his mercenaries. And for the Gallic Colonel, he reserved a special place in his bile.
Once the sour expression left, he approached the three men.
“Admiral, sorry to interrupt,” Hamilcar announced.
“Cianciana has a sulfur mine and a population of Greek families,” Hannibal described to Baoth with only a passing nod to the General. “You take that town, with your Gauls, and defend my rear and you can keep all the profits from the mine. And from when you sell the occupants. By the end of summer, I’ll be financially able to buy the land from you.”
“We get to take the summer off from campaigning,” Baoth said while rubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin. “And keep the profits.”
“That’s correct, Colonel,” Hannibal informed him.
“It’s very generous, sir,” Baoth agreed. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”
“Excellent. General Hamilcar will see that you have all the provisions and wagons you require,” Hannibal promised. “Good luck, Colonel Baoth.”
The Gaul marched to the stairs and quickly vanished from sight.
“We’re going to attack Cianciana?” Hamilcar inquired. “And retake Agrigento?”
“Of course not,” Admiral Hannibal Gisco replied. Then to Boodes he requested. “Send messages to our agents in Syracuse, Messina, Rhégion, and Segesta. I want to know what the Republic commanders plan for the summer before they do.”
“Yes, sir,” the Fleet Lieutenant acknowledged. “Will there be anything else, Admiral?
“General Hamilcar, before you get the Gaul his supplies, check to make sure we aren’t giving him our best. I’m afraid you will not be getting the wagons back,” Hannibal Gisco advised. “And Boodes. Find two likely defectors and send them to me. I have a special mission for them.”
Chapter 2 – Siege at Marianoppli
The Hoplite halfheartedly swung the xiphos. In response, the Legion gladius slammed into the Hoplite’s sword, driving the Rank Leader to his knees.
“Barvs, we’re here to demonstrate a hero,” Alerio Sisera scolded while withdrawing the gladius and stepping back. “How can we draw out Marianoppli’s champion if you are dancing and not fighting?”
“For a month, you have stood in front of these gates and dueled with soldiers from Centuripe, Catania, Messina, and other cities,” Rank Leader Barvs stated. He rose, shook out his sword arm, and tapped his helmet with the blade to straighten the head gear. “Now, you’re working your way through us Syracusans.”
“It’s apparent Marianoppli isn’t impressed with me,” Alerio explained. “Maybe someone will beat me, and the city will decide the new champion is worthy.”
“Has it occurred to you that the city hasn’t sent out a champion to fight because they don’t have a champion worthy of you?” the Lochagos advised. “Common sense dictates that a man does not voluntarily fight a Minotaur.”
Although well-traveled, thanks to the Legion, Centurion Sisera had never heard of the man, Minotaur.
“Who?” Alerio asked. “Is he a Greek champion?”
“It’s a creature, part man and part bull,” Barvs explained. “The beast lived in the Labyrinth of Crete before the Athenian hero Theseus killed it.”
“If the hero Theseus killed it,” Alerio ventured. “then a man can fight the beast.”
“That, Centurion Sisera was not the point,” Barvs offered. “The managers of Marianoppli are not sending anyone out for single combat because they are afraid of you.”
Alerio glanced up at the stone walls. They were lined with city defenders eating and drinking. It seemed the gathering on the walls, as well as the men in the field around him, were there for the same reason, entertainment.
A rare commodity in a military camp especially, a siege bivouac. While not permanent, the besieging units were in place for an extended period but without a town for distraction. The entertainment establishments, pubs and restaurants, were behind the city’s wall. While the Legion commanders had strategic reasons for the siege, for the average soldier, capturing a city meant wine, beer, gambling, and serving girls.
“We seem to have drawn a crowd,” Alerio suggested to the Hoplite file leader. “Let’s put on a show.”
Barvs rotated the blade of his xiphos and while it twirled, he stutter-stepped to the right. In a surprise attack, he pivoted and leaped forward. Leaning his body forward, he swiped his blade from knee height, bringing the tip up towards the Legion officer’s hip.
The Greeks in the allied forces around them yelled their approval. They may be politically united with the Republic but, most didn’t care for the arrogant Legion Tribune in charge, his Centurions, or the Legionaries. To see a phalanx Rank Leader put a Centurion in the dirt would bring joy to their hearts.
Except, Barvs unintendedly announced his target by fixing the area of attack with his eyes. While his body went off to the side, Alerio was able to anticipate the follow up moves by watching where the Syracusan focused. As the blade traveled from below waist level, the Legion weapons’ instructor tossed his gladius from his right hand to his left.
Rather than stepping back, Alerio’s blade came across and smashed the Hoplite sword off the attack line. Stepping forward, the Centurion laid a forearm blow across Barvs’ chest. The Hoplite staggered back and fell into the arms of his men.
“Can we begin again?” Alerio questioned. “Maybe start at the guard position this time?”
With encouragement from his rank, Barvs strolled back to the weapons’ instructor and raised his blade. Before Alerio could meet the guard, a runner jogged up.
“Sir, Tribune Caecilius requests your presence at the command center,” a Legionary announced.
“I apologize, Lochagos Barvs,” Alerio stated while sheathing his gladius. “Duty calls.”
“Saved you the embar
rassment,” a voice called from back in the pack of Greeks.
Barvs shrugged and offered a weak smile in response to the remark.
“We will take this up at another time, Rank Leader,” Centurion Sisera promised.
Then Alerio walked away with the runner. And, Barvs marched to his ranks of Hoplites to threaten the man who spoke out.
“It’s one thing to try a faint and fail,” he informed the mouthy Greek. “It is something entirely different to insult a Minotaur before the next fight.”
***
Alerio marched into the command area. Just like the rest of the Legion and allied positions around Marianoppli, the headquarters was a collection of roughly constructed huts supplemented by tents. Unfortunately, they were built to keep the rain and wind off the men rather than to provide comfortable living accommodations. Siege bivouac made for unpleasant working conditions.
“You wanted to see me, sir,” Alerio asked with a salute.
Tribune Gaius Caecilius stood outside a tent and plank structure, gazing at the sky. In the absence of an elected Consul/General, the Senior Tribune was the acting commander of Republic forces in Sicilia. Even with former Consul Lucius Flaccus wintering in Massina, all decisions for the divided winter Legion fell to Gaius Caecilius.
“Does Fortūna drop her gifts from the sky?” the Tribune inquired.
Alerio flashed back to a disaster outside the city of Messina. During a final stand, the combat line of the Sons of Mars militia broke. Knocked onto his back during the rout, Alerio expected to see Hoplites and spears close in on him. To his surprise and disgust, a pair of hobnailed boots bracketed his head and he could see up a Legionary’s armored skirt. Shifting his head, he saw an Optio backlit by the sky. Coming back to the present, he answered.
“In a battle line, Senior Tribune, heavy infantrymen find luck everywhere,” Alerio assured him. “Why the question?”
“Come with me, Centurion,” Gaius Caecilius ordered. “I want to get your untainted opinion.”
The staff officer guided them off the street and through a tent flap.
Unjust Sacrifice Page 1