Fortune Reigns

by J. Clifton Slater

  “Weapons instructor Sisera, you are so full of merda,” Hermanus observed.

  “Not for several days,” Alerio responded as he walked off to finish the inspection.

  Five positions from Hermanus and Honey Cakes and at a different Century, Alerio spotted a familiar figure jogging from the Senior Tribune’s tent. The Tribune’s tent was back at Echetla so Claudius had taken Colonel Requiem’s tent from the supply wagon. This was good for the Senior Tribune but didn’t bode well for the Colonel.

  Junior Tribune Castor Ireneus reached the sentry post and spoke to the Legionaries. As they talked, all three glanced in Alerio’s direction. Then Castor spun quickly and ran back to the big tent. One of the duty Legionaries waved for Alerio.

  “What’s up?” Alerio inquired as he approached the position.

  “The Senior Tribune wants to see you,” the Legionary answered. “Or as the snot-nosed brat put it, he requests the pleasure of your company. Don’t know why anyone thinks your company is a pleasure, weapons instructor.”

  Alerio smiled and indicated the field full of soldiers.

  “Tell that to me when you don’t dip your shield to the left and, let an Echetla sword gut you,” Alerio pointed out. It was a fault the Legionary exhibited during a training session. “Why didn’t Ireneus tell me himself? And where did he come from?”

  “When we marched in, the Junior nobleman was hiding in the medical wagon,” the Legionary replied. “As to why he didn’t go to you directly? The little general is afraid of you, Death Caller.”

  “Just once I’d like him to strap on armor and join us for a training session,” Alerio said as he walked towards the Senior Tribune’s tent.

  “I don’t like the lad but, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” the Legionary mentioned to his squad mate.

  “Keep your shield centered,” Alerio reminded the man in a voice loud enough that he didn’t have to turn his head to be heard.

  ***

  “Sir, you wanted to see me?” Alerio asked as he performed a cross chest salute.

  “Corporal Sisera. I’m pressing you back into bodyguard duty,” Gaius announced when he looked up from a piece of parchment with a drawing of the camp and the location of the Echetla forces. “We don’t have enough Legionaries for me to pull any off our defenses. And I plan to be where I’m needed when they assault us.”

  “Sir, it’ll be my honor,” Alerio assured the Senior Tribune.

  “Do you think they’ll come at us directly from their camp?” inquired Gaius while pointing at the crude map. “Or they could move south and come up the road? It’s the smoothest approach.”

  “Neither, sir. They’ll shift left and come at us out of the setting sun,” Alerio explained. “If it’s a dawn attack, they’ll march around us and come from the east.”

  “They want the sun in our eyes,” surmised Gaius. “Go eat and get what you need. I fear once again, you’ll earn your rations.”

  “Sir, no one has harmed you yet and they won’t,” Alerio promised as he headed for the tent flap. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some preparations to make.”

  Senior Tribune Gaius Claudius waved the Corporal away then stood staring at the entrance for a long time. Before Corporal Sisera came into the tent, he had a feeling of foreboding. Now, for some reason, he was optimistic.

  “Why do you listen to him?” asked Castor Ireneus as he slipped in from a back entrance. “And how can you trust him? Or stand to be around him? He’s frightening.”

  “Because he has tactical knowledge beyond most of my line officers,” Gaius informed the young nobleman. Then he paused before adding. “These are dangerous times, Castor. Legionaries touched by the Gods, like Corporal Sisera, carry a blessing and a curse. We pray for the benefit while fearing the bane.”

  “But the Goddess Nenia?” questioned Castor shivering as if from a chill. “Death hangs on him like a custom-made cloak.”

  “And I will keep Nenia’s beloved close,” Gaius assured the young noblemen. “Let Death Caller present her with gifts as long as they’re someone other than me.”

  ***

  “Centuries, prepare javelins, standby,” the experienced Centurion shouted.

  “Centurion, standing by,” four hundred heavy infantrymen responded as they stomped and lifted javelins to their shoulders.

  Another one hundred and thirty mixed light and heavy infantrymen were spread around the other side of the camp. They observed Syracuse and Echetla riders rush forward as if the horsemen were going to ride their horse onto the picket stakes. No one believed they would sacrifice their mounts. It proved true when they turned and rode away. On the heavily defended side, the Legionaries squinted at the Echetla soldiers marching out of the bright afternoon sun.

  The older Centurion, acting as the field commander, watched the Senior Tribune waiting for a signal. Gaius had his hands cupped over his eyes trying to block the strong rays. He stood so still with his eyelids pressed close together, the line officer feared the Tribune had fallen asleep.

  A flight of spears, unseen as the sun ate the shape of the shafts, descended suddenly from the sky. Two infantrymen staggered back with spear tips in their legs.

  “You want to move that thing,” demanded Gaius. “You’re blocking my view.”

  “Sorry, sir,” Alerio replied as he lowered his shield. He had thrown it up to protect the Tribune. With it down, Claudius was exposed to enemy spears. “I’d feel better if you’d step back from the trench.”

  “Not yet,” Gaius said brushing off the advice.

  Alerio, Gaius and the Centurion stood on the embankment. The Legionaries waited in ranks behind them marveling at the stupidity of their commander. Secretly, Alerio agreed.

  “Now Centurion,” Gaius announced as he spun, walked off the mound and strolled between the ranks. With the shield held high and angled to deflect a spear, Alerio followed. “The spears were from a small group that crawled close to us. Sub Commander Ezio wanted us to waste our first volley.”

  “Centuries, throw,” the Centurion shouted.

  Four hundred javelins soared up and arched down into the amassed soldiers who appeared on the far side of the trench.

  “Third and second maniples to the mound,” command the Centurion. “First throw.”

  Soldiers poured into the trench and their forward elements attempted to bash aside the stakes. But javelins poked down, stabbing them and only a few picket stakes were dislodged. Behind the assault lines, javelins fell among the soldiers waiting to move forward.

  Spears thumped against the infantry shields and fell harmlessly into the trench causing soldiers to trip over the free shafts. The center was under control. Then, Sub Commander Ezio sent another force into the fray.

  A group of soldiers appeared from the back of his formation. Sprinting to another section of the trench, twenty of them bounded through the trench, shoved a hole in the stakes and burst into the Legion camp.

  “First maniple, plug that hole,” the Centurion shouted seeing a new surge by the soldiers rushing forward.

  Sergeants and Corporals fell back from the defensive line and moved to engage the ones that made it through the breach. The NCOs smashed into the soldiers. Most turned to face the Legionaries. But four seemed to have a different mission. They headed for the Senior Tribune.

  “Stay behind me, sir,” instructed Alerio as he swung his shield from side to side.

  The movement confused the soldiers. They jogged left then right trying to decide how to get around the obstacle. When the shield cocked to the right, they knew the Legionary defending the detachment’s commander was out of place. They had watched and knew Legionaries always fought with swords in their right hands.

  Alerio reached behind his shield, switched it to his right arm and extracted a cutoff javelin head. In one motion, he sent the iron tip twirling at the nearest soldier. The heavy object flipped over just before the weight drove the point into the soldier’s neck. A second one flew and the next soldier fell as the
iron tip penetrated his thigh.

  Corporal Sisera drew his gladius with his left hand and ran at the last two soldiers. They moved in, shoulder to shoulder, preparing to bull the lone Legionary out of the way. Just before the three collided, Alerio dropped to a knee and pivoted to his left. Both soldiers had their shoulders down for the impact. They bounced off the shield and stumbled to the side.

  Alerio jumped up, ran towards them and hacked the first one in the back of his neck. The second spun, swinging his sword at the Legionary’s head. But Alerio went to a full squat while driving the tip of his gladius up into the man’s groin.

  Gaius watched as his bodyguard rose to full height and calmly walked to the soldier with the wounded thigh. The man looked up, possibly expecting mercy. But Death Caller plunged the gladius into the man’s eye socket splitting his face open and killing him instantly.

  “Blessed of Nenia,” Gaius whispered.

  “Senior Tribune, are you injured?” Alerio asked when he saw the blood drain from Gaius’ face.

  “I’m unhurt,” Gaius assured his bodyguard. Recovering quickly, he informed the Corporal. “I’m moving to the defensive line.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alerio acknowledged falling in beside the Senior Tribune.

  The Centurion, acting as the field commander, glanced back. Tribune Gaius Claudius strolled towards the ranks with Corporal Sisera a step behind him.

  But the bodyguard resembled something mystical. Almost as if he was a mirrored reflection of a victorious warrior. The blood splattered shield on his right arm and not his left. The gladius, dripping blood onto the ground, clutched in his left hand, not his right. And, as Corporal Sisera shadowed the Senior Tribune, his eyed moved rapidly as if searching for another life to take.

  “Death Caller,” the Centurion whispered.

  The sun began to sink behind the mountains allowing the Legionaries to select targets for their javelins. When the Sub Commander lost two of his best Lieutenants, he called for a withdrawal. Horns sounded and the soldiers rushed away from the reinforced camp.

  Cries of wounded soldiers and Legionaries filled the void left when the clash of spears and javelins against shields faded. Medics rushed forward to treat the living.

  ***

  “Sixty-seven Legionaries and half our Optios and Tesserarii are dead or severely wounded,” reported the experienced Centurion. “Sir, if they come at us in the morning, we may not be able to repel them.”

  “We don’t have much choice,” Gaius replied. “I’ll be around to see to the men shortly.”

  “Very good, sir,” the Centurion acknowledged before he pushed through the tent flap.

  “Corporal Sisera. Any tactics left in your purse?” Gaius asked.

  “No sir,” Alerio admitted. “The Centurion and Sergeant who trained me said sometimes you can’t run so resign yourself to the fates and go down fighting.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do in the morning,” Gaius said as he stood from a camp chair. “Let’s go and motivate the Legionaries.”

  After making a round of the hospital tent, and each Century’s area, Gaius fell into bed and suffered a tortured nights sleep. His bodyguard dozed in the corner of his sleeping tent.

  ***

  Before dawn, Gaius Claudius was up and walking the perimeter. Talking and encouraging the men on sentry duty, he lifted spirits and offered encouragement. Always close behind, Alerio watched for any signs of discontent from the Legionaries. They all knew the Echetla soldiers outnumbered the detachment and one breach could lead to a total defeat. At a time like this, men’s minds turned to self-preservation and a quick way to force negotiations was to assassinate the Commander.

  A runner came through the camp asking guards where he could find the Senior Tribune. After checking with a few sentries and getting directions, he raced to the Gaius.

  “Sir. The Echetla are moving around the camp,” the skirmisher reported.

  “An attack from the east,” commented Gaius. “It was expected. Thank your Centurion for the information. I have no orders, dismissed.”

  The light infantryman vanished in the dark and Gaius continued his rounds of the guard positions.

  ***

  The sky showed a line of pink over the eastern mountains. On Sicilia, the land lay in darkness and the morning was still. Beyond the picket stakes, the trench and the rough grasslands beyond, Echetla soldiers stretched out waiting for the call to rise and attack.

  Sub Commander Ezio had the bulk of his forces staged to attack from the east. In response to the information from his cavalry, he placed a second force on the west. At daybreak, his soldiers would crush the Legion detachment from two sides.

  While dining on a big breakfast, the Sub Commander realized he no longer cared about taking Tribune Gaius Claudius prisoner. Macario Hicetus would get a refund and Ezio would get the pleasure of stabbing Claudius in the heart. This thought filled his mind as he ate his large breakfast.

  Light crept over the mountaintop and cast rays on the Legion tents. Ezio peered at the taunt goatskin in the distance of the commander’s tent.

  “Sound the attack,” he ordered as he mounted his horse. “And send a runner to the other force. Have them wait for my word.”

  Over nine hundred soldiers stood, picked up their shields and spears and began walking towards the Legion camp.

  ***

  “They’re staged to the east with a smaller force to the west, Colonel,” the light infantryman reported.

  “Senior Centurion Valerian. Get them up and moving. Now that we know where they are,” Pericles Requiem directed. “Send the cavalry and Velites to the west as a delaying force until our heavy infantry finishes with the main force of soldiers.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Senior Centurion replied as he turned to his runners.

  By the time the orange ball of the sun was halfway over the mountains, two thousand heavy infantrymen were running from the depressions south of the reinforced camp. Legionaries ran and by the time the Centuries reached the Echetla soldiers, they were warmed up and ready for a fight.

  Chapter 29 – A Promise Fulfilled

  Claudius’ detachment had no rest. Sub Commander Ezio’s forces were in full retreat and Gaius expected the Legions to pursue the soldiers or rest for a few days. Neither happened.

  Appease Clodus Caudex’s term as Consul and General was drawing to a close. Before he returned to his Senate seat, Caudex wanted to make a final report on the Sicilia operation. And, he was determined to do it as a Co-Consul of the Republic.

  Unfortunately, the acclaim he expected for freeing Messina by defeating two armies, vanished at the walls of Syracuse. Too much wall and too many Syracusan troops handed him an ugly defeat and swept away his popularity. His best hope to leave his mark on history was a powerful speech in front of the Senate.

  The survivors of Nicephrus and Requiem Divisions along with the men under Gaius Claudius were on the road as soon as the Sub Commander fled. By nightfall, they camped north of Catania. Days later, the Legions limped into Messina to find twenty Republic warships patrolling the Strait and freighters in the harbor. Caudex Legions were on their way from Messina to the Capital where they would be discharged.

  ***

  “Corporal Sisera. I understand why you didn’t want to stay with the Southern Legion. But there are other options. Say the word and I can get you a position at any Legion you want,” offered Centurion Sanctus Carnifex as he shifted his pack. “Colonel Nicephrus is taking his Division north. They could use you.”

  “Centurion, there is nothing wrong with the Southern Legion,” replied Alerio as the walls of the Capital came into view. “I have something to attend to in the Capital. Then I’m going to my father’s farm and help with the harvest.”

  “Rumor has it the top candidates for Co-Consul this coming year have all made speeches about going back to Silica,” Carnifex suggested. “They’ll be putting together Legions. If you need a recommendation, let me know.”

  “What
about you, sir?” inquired Alerio. “What will you do?”

  “What I always do between Legions,” the Centurion responded. “I’m going to my Villa and tend my gardens. Rich earth, no one second guessing my decisions and, no ignorant Legionaries questioning why I’m so hard on them.”

  “I certainly understand the last part,” commented Alerio.

  ***

  The Priestesses went about their rituals quietly. So silent were the devotees, that their footsteps and voices didn’t echo around the sanctuary. Braziers burned but, the light barely reached the recesses of the Temple. The flickering flames only served in making the shadows appear to twist and sway. Visitors coming to worship and asking for the Lady’s services were usually exhausted and searching for answers. Loved ones lay at home sick, injured or old. No one joyfully or enthusiastically entered the Temple of Nenia. The wealthy paid ancylites to come to their Villas and sing the Naenia, thusly, avoiding the Temple. Those entering, were of humbler means. Despite their status, they all asked for death to take a stricken acquaintance.

  Hobnailed boots on the granite floor sent echoes around the Cella with each stride. Priestesses lifted their heads or turned towards the entrance to see who was disturbing the sedate atmosphere. Down the aisle, between the columns, marched a Legionary. His armor polished, a gladius hanging at his side and a helmet tucked under his arm. Halfway through the Temple, he stopped and stared at the statue of Nenia and the marble altar.

  “Have you come to request a service and a blessing from Dea Nenia?” a Priestess inquired as she approached the scarred military veteran. “She is always available.”

  “I’m too familiar with Dea Nenia,” Corporal Alerio Sisera informed the young woman. “Where I’ve just come from, the Goddess was very busy.”

  From a back room, a choir of female voices began the Naenia. The tones blended creating a warm melody until one voice rose above the others. Everyone within earshot shivered from the sweet notes and perfect pitch as she sang for the Goddess of Death.

  The Legionary reached under his armor and pulled out a leather-wrapped package. Taking the Priestess’ hand, he gently placed the package in her palm. Then, he about-faced and marched away.