***
On one side of the room, the Tribune’s staff and the First Centurion were huddled around a table discussing something. On the other side of the wooden structure, two men sat sipping vino. Both had on worn leather armor and patched up sandals. A quick glance back in the direction of the staff officers revealed two old pitted swords and two honed and buffed hunting knives on the tabletop.
“Sir?” Alerio inquired.
The Senior Tribune indicated the two men.
“Talk with them and you tell me,” Gaius Caecilius instructed.
“Soldiers, I would guess,” Alerio offered as he approached the men. “Where are you from?”
“Brindisi, Captain,” one replied using an Empire officer’s title to address the Centurion. “And we want to go home.”
“Nice city,” Alerio commented.
“You know it?” the other inquired.
“Enough to know that a couple of rebels like you probably left there for glory,” Alerio remarked. “So, what happened?”
“The Qart Hadasht Empire only cares for landed farmers and chiefs who can provide mercenaries,” the first soldier described.
“Found out a heart full of hate for the Republic didn’t get you anything except a position in the light infantry?” Alerio guessed. “Why are you here in the middle of Sicilia? Brindisi is to the east.”
“We don’t have travel coins,” the other soldier admitted.
“Stop by to steal from us to pay for your passage?” Alerio challenged.
“No, Captain,” they both exclaimed. “We have information to sell.”
“We know the fleet and the Empire’s army are wintering at Palermo,” Alerio tossed out. “And we know the names of Admiral Gisco and General Hamilcar. What could you possibly have that has value to the Republic?”
“The Gaul mercenaries are moving south,” one soldier stated. “That’s worth some coins.”
“It might be,” Alerio commented. “Depends on how many and where they’re headed.”
“Nine hundred heavy infantry and six hundred light,” the other captive informed him.
Alerio glanced over his shoulder at the Tribune and wrinkled his face as if asking a question.
“We’ve sent out scouts to pick up their track,” the Legion Field Commander assured Alerio.
Turning back to the soldiers, Centurion Sisera related, “We have five thousand allied troops here. What do the Gauls think they can accomplish? Besides running our siege line and joining the hungry in the city.”
“It’s not Marianoppli that they’re targeting, Captain,” one of the Brindisians specified. “They’re going for Cianciana.”
“Where is that?” Alerio demanded.
Junior Tribune Georgius from the other side of the room began, “Cianciana is…”
Alerio’s hand shot up to silence the young noblemen.
“Please Tribune, allow the deserter to answer,” Alerio requested. Then to the soldier, he asked again. “Where is Cianciana?”
“Well Captain, it’s sixteen miles northwest of Agrigento,” the other replied. “It is the back door to the walled city of Agrigento.”
Alerio laughed, causing every head in the building to turn in his direction.
“Tribune Caecilius, you asked for my advice,” Alerio declared. The Senior Tribune bowed his head to signify agreement. “Crucify these two and send a force to Cianciana.”
“You have been counted on the I-believe-them side of the ledger,” Tribune Caecilius informed Alerio. “But you are the first of my staff to advise execution. Can you justify that?”
“These two Brindisians wharf rats don’t need coins to get home,” Alerio explained. “The city’s network of Greek rebels would get them home for the propaganda value. Plus, these alleyway heroes know too many details.”
“How do you figure that?” Junior Tribune Georgius questioned.
Alerio wondered if young nobleman Georgius was on the I-believe-them side or the I-don’t-believe them column of the ledger.
“Cianciana is to the northeast of Agrigento at exactly sixteen miles. But it’s not the backdoor. On our march across Sicilia, we traveled south of the town,” Alerio responded. “And the division of the Gauls at nine hundred heavy and six hundred light is also too exact. Plus, the hunting knives are well cared for, but their swords are barely scraped of rust and freshly oiled. Any man who lives by the blade would tend both of his. Their swords have been switched out, as well as, their footwear. In my opinion, your captures were ordered here to deliver the information.”
The First Centurion slammed his heels together, “Tribune. Let me put them up on the wood. I’ll soon have the truth for you.”
“First Centurion, do it,” Gaius Caecilius ordered. Then he instructed. “Centurion Sisera, accompany me to my quarters.”
***
The Tribune crossed the floor of his tent and stopped at a table with a model of Marianoppli. Placing the tip of his little finger on the mark for his headquarters, he stretched his hand until the thumb reached to a point westward and at the edge of the map.
“Eighteen miles to Cianciana,” Gaius Caecilius proclaimed. “I cannot have an enemy force that close. It needs to be removed.”
“I’m guessing you’ve kept this siege going in order to train our allies,” Alerio ventured. “Here’s your chance to give the auxiliary forces some tactical experience, sir.”
“If I had the time, Centurion, I’d send a message to Segesta and march twelve Centuries down to handle the Cianciana situation,” the Tribune remarked. “I can’t trust our allies to hold a battle line. Although the Syracusan Hoplites are good troops, their commanders are timid. And the rest of our allies can’t be trusted to stay awake on watch.”
“Give me a thousand heavy and a thousand light, Senior Tribune,” Alerio offered. “I’ll use the Gauls to sort out the uncommitted. And maybe demonstrate to the surviving allies the value of Legion maneuvers and discipline.”
“I can’t spare that many troops,” the Tribune warned. “But if you want the assignment, I’ll see what I can get you.”
“Whatever assets you can give me, sir,” Alerio informed the staff officer. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Get those Gauls off my backdoor stoop,” Tribune Gaius Caecilius instructed. “Good luck, Centurion Sisera. May the Goddess Victoria travel with you.”
Chapter 3 – Auxiliaries vs Mercenaries
The higher elevations were covered with scrub pines and rocky ground. In the valleys, a variety of trees and winter grasses offered a competing environment. The two appeared to be from different parts of Sicilia rather than simply a matter of elevation.
Also different were the attitudes of the officers in Alerio Sisera’s detachment. A Syracusan officer guided a phalanx of sixty-four Hoplites while a Centurion directed eighty Legionaries in a Century. Except here, there were no Centuries of Republic heavy infantrymen. The role was filled by four phalanxes, managed by four Lieutenants. Selected for their size and family connections, the Syracusan officers marched at the tail end of the phalanx and made sure the ranks didn’t retreat in combat. In bivouac, the officers clustered with each other and debated everything.
“It’s not much of a town,” Lieutenant Homerus declared. “But once we empty a few homes, we’ll have plenty of room for our officers’ quarters.”
Unfortunately, in this instance, the other three Syracusan Lieutenants agreed.
***
Cianciana wasn’t a large town. Most of the buildings were away from the center and consisted of warehouses for breaking up sulfur for transport or for slaughtering meat and processing fish. Only a few streets were paved. The rest were dirt paths pounded hard by decades of livestock, farm carts, fishermen, and miners. Access to the sulfur mine required the location of the town to be on the northern end of the Platani River valley.
“That will put you away from your men,” Alerio suggested upon hearing the Greek officers plan. He held his tongue and true thoughts.
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“A Syracusan officer requires proper quarters,” another of the Lieutenants remarked.
The last thing Alerio needed was the Auxiliary forces going to war with him before the Gauls arrived. It might be difficult, but he had to find a way to convince the Syracusan officers to camp near their men.
“Optio. Find us a camp site on the east of town,” Alerio directed.
“There’s a flat stretch of ground about halfway to the river, Centurion,” Sergeant Miravi replied. “That’ll put us about three thousand feet from Cianciana.”
“What about fresh water?” Alerio inquired.
“We’ll trench a flow to our camp from the river, sir,” the NCO replied.
“Latrines?” Alerio inquired.
“They will be placed downstream of our drinking water,” the Optio responded.
None of the questions were necessary as the Legion NCO knew how to organize a camp. By asking, Alerio hoped to show the Syracusan officers’ examples of leadership. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.
“Sounds as if you have everything under control, Centurion,” one of the four Greek officers commented.
The Lieutenants and their servants strolled away and Alerio squeezed his fists. Having marched eighteen miles over two days through rough terrain, the Hoplites, the other allied soldiers, and Alerio were exhausted. Seeing the phalanx officers walking away as if they didn’t have a care in the world almost got the better of Alerio.
“Anything else, Centurion Sisera?” the Optio asked.
“Four crosses,” Alerio mumbled without thinking.
“Sir?” the Sergeant inquired.
***
Alerio confronted a small sample of what Tribune Gaius Caecilius faced with the auxiliary troops. Indecisive officers and unguided soldiers were almost more of a hinderance than a help. The nine Legionaries and the Optio, who accompanied Alerio, would have built the stockade by themselves. But the Centurion patrolled the perimeter, making sure the Legionaries acted as supervisors and instructors.
By dark, the final poles were in place although the surrounding trench was yet to be excavated. The stockade construction took most of the day, a long time for a structure that was a third the size of a Legion marching camp.
***
The first night, Alerio was sure to exclude the Syracusans from guard duty. To help ratchet up the tension, he assigned the Sons of Mars out of Messina to the early morning rotation.
“Halt. Who comes from the dark?” a Son of Mars on gate duty demanded.
In the torch light held by servants, the sentry could easily identify the Syracusan officers walking from the town. But Centurion Sisera warned about sessions on the punishment post for any sentry allowing anyone to enter the camp without authorization. Besides there was bad blood between Massina and Syracuse. And the guard was delighted to stop the Greek officers.
Seeing who was attempting to enter the stockade, four other Sons of Mars joined the gate guard. They stood at the entrance to the stockade with spears leveled.
“Get out of my way, pirate,” Lieutenant Homerus barked.
The four officers stepped forward but were stopped by the tips of the Sons of Mars’ spears. Their two cities had been skirmishing for years. The Greeks considered the Sons thieves and murders. The Sons of Mars, who had once been mercenaries for Syracuse, considered the Greeks to be faithless. Alerio had counted on the adversarial roles when he assigned the gate duty.
“Where is Centurion Sisera?” Homerus demanded. “Get him right now.”
“I can’t do that,” the guard replied. “We have orders to wake Optio Miravi first.”
“Well then, get him,” another officer instructed.
“We can’t do that, Syracusan,” the Son sneered. “In an emergency, we have orders to wake Decanus Sambuci.”
“Can you at least get him?” the third Syracuse officer asked.
“Is this really an emergency?” the Son of Mars questioned. “Because the Legion squad leader said if anyone woke him, he would demonstrate rapid amputation and thrashing.”
“What does that mean?” Homerus inquired.
“I believe it’s when the Decanus rips off your arm and beats you with it,” the Son described. “Can’t you…”
Boots on the ground echoed off the inside of the stockade wall. From the dark, ranks of Hoplites marched towards the gate. Lochagos Barvs marched at the head of the columns.
***
“Good morning, sir,” the rank leader greeted his officer. “We have the dawn patrol.”
“Hold up, Barvs,” Homerus ordered. “I did not order the movement of my phalanx.”
“Sir, I would…” Barvs began when Centurion Sisera appeared.
“Good morning, Homerus. Ready?” Alerio asked.
“Ready for what?” the officer inquired. “We haven’t held a staff meeting to decide our next steps.”
“But we did,” Alerio assured him. Then the Legion officer shouted. “Rank leaders, did we breakfast this morning during a meeting? The offer stands.”
Thirty-two Greeks roared back, “We did, Centurion, and the answer is still no.”
“I don’t understand?” Homerus complained.
“While we ate, Centurion Sisera asked if we would like to stay around camp and drink wine later,” Barvs informed the officer.
“What’s wrong with that?” Homerus questioned.
“Because the duty means digging trenches, a long water flue, and latrines,” the rank leader described. “We would rather recon the Gauls approach then sweat in the dirt. Even if there is wine to celebrate when the work is done.”
“Optio Miravi, I expect the fort to be standing. And the work done when I return,” Alerio informed the NCO. Then to Barvs, he ordered. “Lead us out, Lochagos.”
“Phalanxes, forward,” Barvs called out.
Alerio peered into the torch lit faces of the Greek officers.
“Are you coming Lieutenants?” he inquired before moving away.
While Centurion Sisera fast walked to the head of the columns, the four officers fell in with their phalanxes.
As the columns marched away, the sentry turned to the Legion NCO.
“Optio Miravi. What would have happened if the Lieutenants had challenged the Centurion’s authority?” a Son of Mars asked.
“First there would have been four dead Syracusan officers,” the NCO described. He turned to face back towards the camp and shouted into the dark. “Decanus Sambuci. Stand down the Legionaries.”
In the deep shadows between tents, nine heavy infantrymen of the Legion relaxed. There wouldn’t be any work for the Republic’s craftsmen of war that morning. But there would be two days later.
***
As if an arrowhead, fifteen heavily armored Gauls walked at the front of the Gallic columns. Given the deterrent, the five lightly armed Greek bandits blocking the path were not taken too seriously. However, the unit leader alerted his commander.
“Colonel Baoth to the front,” the vanguards’ NCO called out. “Tell him, he’ll want to see this.”
Moments later, the Gallic commander reigned in his horse behind the infantrymen.
“That is the stupidest place for a blockade,” he laughed. “or maybe the defenders of Cianciana are blind.”
Behind the Gallic Colonel, five columns of soldiers and six wagons stretched back for eighteen hundred feet. The rear units had already trudged off the soft soil near the creek. Any attack should have happened where the defenders were hampered by the silty ground. Or to defend the town, the militiamen should be stationed at the brick and mud walls. Threatening the Gauls after they turned onto hard earth, heading for Cianciana, displayed a lack of strategy.
***
“These are bad tactics, Centurion Sisera,” the light infantry NCO stated. He and three other soldiers from Catania flanked the Legion officer.
“Think so?” Alerio asked and suggested after glancing to his other side. “Let’s get a second opinion.”
“Yes,
sir, bad tactics,” the infantryman on the other side assured Alerio.
They weren’t armored up, yet it was obvious they were warriors. Four held spears and light shields while in the center, Alerio wore two gladii on his hips. The Gallic columns had left the mushy area near the creek and were making their way through the dip between hills.
“The Gauls expect some sort of resistance. But our advance units removed the town’s militiamen,” Alerio told the Catanians. “Intelligence will have reported five defenders. Thus, we are five.”
The forward rank of Gauls had crossed the halfway point between the marshy ground and the end of the hills. Their heavy shields, sturdy helmets, and stout spears seemed bigger and deadlier the closers they came to the five.
“I feel like my butt is hanging out of my tent during a rainstorm,” another light infantryman stated.
“That’s not rain,” his NCO told him. “It is fear sweat, dripping down your crack.”
“Same result,” the Catanian added. “I’m shivering and my posterior region is wet.”
Alerio Sisera was the Legion commander of the auxiliary forces. He was neither required to ask opinions or to explain himself. Or, volunteer to be one of the sacrificial lambs, metaphorically, staked out on the pathway. He did them all for several reasons. Showing courage in battle was one way to exhibit Legion ethos. But, to stand in range of spears and talk casually while an enemy force approached, was a much more effective demonstration.
“Gentleman. Hold your ground until I give the order,” Alerio encouraged.
Ten of the armored Gauls increased their pace and broke away from the columns.
***
“Sergeant. Remove the rubble from the road,” Baoth had instructed. “I’ll send up a few more men.”
“Yes, sir,” the Gallic NCO acknowledged.
Tapping the shoulders of nine in his unit, he led the element forward to clear the five-city guardsmen from the line of march.
It had been a tough four days of travel through the hills from Palermo. The Gallic unit was looking forward to a summer of fishing, hunting, and building fortifications. As the Colonel had explained, when Admiral Gisco came to buy the town of Cianciana, he would find the price expensive for coins or higher still in deaths.
Unjust Sacrifice Page 2