by Silas DeBoer
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It was mid-afternoon when Ovidius, Paolo and Sirius arrived with their prisoners at base camp, built three days ago on the northwest side of the mountain and consisting of a dozen makeshift shelters using the native hard-grass and palm fronds for roofs. Five dozen Legionnaire pup tents lined the coast in rows of three. A short ditch and palisade arrayed in a semi-circle with a few boulders wrestled into place and packed with mortar protected base camp. Prior to Dawnchaser's arrival two days ago, the small cove had never been touched by a builder's hand. Already two tall watchtower frames stood over the ends of the palisade wrapped in thorny vines a hand long, a single platform at the top providing a view above the tree line with hard-grass walls providing cover for up to three sentries. Dog Soldiers milled about the camp in groups of five or six on construction duty while others rested from the previous watch.
Dawnchaser, an Imperial sloop, consisted of twin masts with five sails, sitting low in the water, and was anchored in the middle of the cove. Captain Reynolds rested a foot on the rail while First Mate Marius Levinus reported on the day's task schedule. Most of the Imperial Navy were Men, but a few Dogmen graced the crew that brought the 8th Squad of the 64th Legion (Expeditionary Corps) across the Southern Sea. A bare-chested Man in the rigging waved at the incoming patrol. Sailors were an odd lot to Ovidius' mind, mad to enjoy the tumult and chaos of the sea and too nomadic by nature to rest in any one place. Some sailors boasted of their many families in distant ports of call, while others knew nothing but the fury of the storm.
The group of Scouts escorted the Catiin prisoners into the compound center, where a pit filled with knee high water and lined with sharpened stakes waited. The Catiin grumbled as they were thrown into the pit with a splash, and a few nearby Dog Soldiers laughed. A single grey pavilion marked the Officers Tent, where Men adorned with steel plate and chain armor, scarlet cloaks, and full steel helms adorned with a crest of crimson horse-hair sorted reports, made plans, and otherwise served as Packleader.
"Catch some shut eye Scout, you've earned it." Paolo saluted with a clenched gauntlet to his breastplate.
Ovidius saluted in similar fashion and watched his superior head to the Officer's pavilion. Paolo was shorter than Ovidius, with scars marring his dark fur from a half dozen campaigns, including missing part of his left ear, which was little more than a nub of skin on top of his head. The grizzled Dog Soldier used a scarf to keep rainwater out of his ears when without a helm. There were rumors about Paolo serving once as a personal bodyguard to General Titus Gravius, an important personage in the Legion. Paolo was fearless and confident talking with Mannish Officers, which still unnerved Ovidius to some degree. Black Tower Kennel made it clear as day the divide between Man and Dog Soldier.
For a moment Ovidius considered the four Catiin prisoners inside the water laden pit, their arms still bound. Sentries watched the prisoners with quiet confidence, armed with heavy steel maces. Ovidius grasped his longspear and held it over the pit, catching the eye of the tan and white male wearing dark baggy pants, a gray tunic, and adorned with multiple earrings of brass and silver. Ovidius nodded and the Catiin turned his back, which allowed the lanky Dog Soldier to cut the twine bindings. The other Catiin eyed the gesture with suspicion. All were males, dressed in similar attire. None of the prisoners wore footwear of any kind and each bore a look of disquiet. None of these pirates had ever known the lash, but their open contempt was apparent in their bearing.
The Catiin stretched luxuriously. "Thanks Dogmeen." The pirate motioned to its fellows, and quickly unbound his fellow with nothing but his finger claws before moving on to the next. The Sentries noticed but said nothing. The Legion had well established codes of conduct for prisoners, and Dog Soldiers were bred with a nature to obey the law.
Ovidius blew a breath through his nostrils, but otherwise said nothing. He walked over to the far side of the camp to a series of low tents stretched on the rocky seashore. The sky was gray with rain laden clouds. He stowed his gear inside his small gray-green pup tent, and laid down onto a thin quilted bedroll, trying to ignore the sounds of labor from the rest of the Legion. After the Palisade was constructed, the tents had gone up next. Each tent could be folded up and stowed at the top of a Legionnaire's rucksack, complete with a hollow reed tent frame with taut leather cords that would fold up into a pawful and lashed with a loop.
This was the second day of their scouting mission to acquire intelligence on the local criminal gangs. Most of the Catiin were native to these jungles, either as the children of escaped slaves from the Empire or members of tribal prides operating deep inside the jungles, far from the slaver's whip. Ovidius rolled over and laid his head on his bunched up blanket. It was too hot to sleep anyway.