Rome's Tribune (Clay Warrior Stories Book 14)

by J. Clifton Slater

  “All high value cargos,” Filib mentioned as he emerged from a tent. “They can afford the best.”

  “If the merchant ship travels so far,” Alerio inquired, “how do I know it is heading in the direction of Rhodes?”

  “Kithira is as far west as they travel,” Rehor informed him. “From here they will head to Asia Minor or home to Alexandria. In both cases, it is the right direction for you.”

  The elegant Egyptian ship approached the shoreline. Then in a flurry of oars counter rowing on either side of the vessel, she spun, and backed her curved aft to the beach.

  “The Egyptian might be able to transit longer distances. Go about with armed guards. And boast sixteen oars. But she can’t avoid everything a coastal trader does,” Olek commented when crewmen leaped into the water. “They still have to beach their ship.”

  ***

  More impressive on land than at sea, the Egyptian’s curled tail and tall bow bream extending over the fore deck added to her graceful lines. Although only half the ninety-foot hull rested on the shoreline, enough was in view to dwarf the coastal trader.

  A ramp slid from the deck and dropped to the sand. Alerio recognized the first man off. Not the individual, but his weapons, measured pace, and the carriage of his shoulders identified him as a Hoplite. From one heavy infantryman to another, Alerio gave him a nod. Although the Greek Hoplite did not respond to the greeting, he did scrutinize the crew of the Momus.

  Following the guard, a man in an expensive robe strolled to the sand and crossed the beach to the hut and the field of snail pots.

  “We will let the Captain finish his business before we approach him about you,” Rehor suggested.

  “Busy day at the beach,” Isyllus remarked.

  “How so?” Filib inquired.

  Two ships appeared from the south. They came in fast, not bothering to backstroke before their keels ran up onto the beach.

  “Ah Hades!” Rehor swore. He stepped back and ordered. “Defend the Momus.”

  Then he spun and the four crewmen ran to their vessel. Olek and Isyllus climbed onto the ship while Rehor and Filib waited in front of the coastal trader and watched.

  “Who are they?” Alerio asked.

  “Cilician pirates,” Rehor uttered. “They must have been watching for the Egyptian.”

  From the deck of the Momus, Isyllus called down to Alerio.

  “Sisera. Do you want this?” he inquired.

  In the chubby poet’s arms was the Hoplite shield from Vromoneri. He and Olek had stacked oars, knives, and anything they could use to defend the ship on the deck.

  “Yes, please,” Alerio said. After taking the shield, he requested. “Now if you would be so kind as to go to my bundle and get my gladius.”

  Chapter 21 – Milk for Blood

  “How many do you figure?” Alerio inquired.

  “Forty fighters from each Cilician vessel,” Rehor answered. “Enough to capture the Egyptian and take my ship.”

  “What about the sea snail dye?” Alerio asked. “Isn’t that the real prize?”

  “If they can take the snails, yes,” Rehor informed him. “But if the Hoplites make it too costly, the Cilicians will settle for the vessels.”

  Heavy infantrymen, identified by their big shields, jogged down the ramp. On the sand, the eight Hoplites set a curved barrier between the pirates and the rear of the Egyptian ship.

  A handful of pirates, noting an easier target, headed for the Momus.

  “Rehor, Filib, Isyllus, Olek,” Alerio announced. “It has been interesting traveling with you.”

  “Are you going somewhere, Sisera?” Isyllus inquired.

  “No. But you are,” Alerio responded.

  The two fastest pirates reached Alerio and the line of crewmen. Their mistake was shuffling their feet to slowdown. Had they run around the Legion officer they would have broken the crewmen’s line. By hesitating and waiting for help, the pair gave Alerio a heartbeat.

  In that brief period, Alerio crossed his legs at the ankles then stepped to his left. Extending his leg, he stepped out wide, and bent his knees. From the low position he shot upward, his left arm powering the shield up and into the pirate on that side. The Cilician stumbled from the impact and Filib stabbed him.

  The shield did not remain stationary. Resembling a full moon racing across the sky, the big shield arched overhead as Alerio shuffled to the right.

  The second quick Cilician noticed the shield moving away from him. Feeling safe from the round mass, he started to attack. Just before reaching Rehor and Olek, a shadow passed over him. Before his mind could register the shade, the bronze shield hammered him to the ground.

  “Where are we going?” Olek asked.

  “You are getting the Momus off this beach,” Alerio instructed. “Away from the pirates and back to the coast.”

  “What about you?” Filib asked.

  “Throw down my bundles on your way out,” Alerio instructed. Then he added a blessing from a Latian Goddess. “Now launch and go. And may the Goddess Fortuna go with you.”

  “Who?” Isyllus inquired.

  “He means the Goddess Tyche,” Olek corrected him by using the Greek Goddess.

  “We will take luck from either Goddess,” Rehor bellowed. “Launch us.”

  A moment later, the crewmen plowed into the aft section of the coastal trader. Driving with their legs, they shoved the Momus off the beach and scrambled aboard when it floated free.

  “Oars,” Rehor ordered. “Stroke, stroke.”

  As his vessel moved away from the beach, the young skipper glanced back. Alerio Sisera was backing up the beach. Arranged in a semi-circle to his front, pirates pressed forward. In response, the Tribune swung the bronze oval from side to side to keep the pirates from getting around the shield.

  Although there were opportunities, Sisera did not stab or slash with his gladius. Rather, he held the blade upright behind the top of the shield, almost like a priest displaying a ceremonial knife before starting a sacrifice.

  ***

  In a Legion Century struggling with a breakdown of their combat line, Alerio’s maneuver would receive Euges and other cheers. But isolated on the beach and being an unknown entity, his drawing pirates away from the battle at the Egyptian ship and the fighting by the Captain and his security officer had no effect. None of the combatants acknowledged his efforts.

  “It was worth a try,” Alerio submitted. Then he prayed. “Goddess Nenia, memento mori I sing. Remembering, we all will die. I ask only that you take me fast if I fall.”

  An icy breeze swept the beach and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. The gladius of its own accord rotated downward to rest against the side of the bronze oval. And, as if someone looked over his shoulder, he felt pressure against his right shoulder blade.

  “To you, Nenia Dea,” Alerio submitted, “I commend these souls.”

  The retreating stopped. Alerio Carvilius Sisera paused for a heartbeat. Then he and his personal deity stepped forward and waded into the crowd of pirates.

  ***

  The shield powered out and around to the left. With it went half the front rank of pirates. Those behind, making noise but not fighting, were unprepared when the Legion blade sliced to the right. Between Alerio’s two weapons, a hole developed in the crowd of Cilicians.

  The Tribune strolled through the gap, rotated, and attacked from a new direction. With both his left and right arm at high guard, Alerio crushed two pirates with the bronze oval while chopping down two more with the gladius.

  ***

  Bleeding bodies on the ground made movement hazardous and uncomfortable for the attackers. Judging the locations of their comrades’ limbs, three pirates struggled to reach the man with the Hoplite shield. In their attempt to avoid stepping on the dead and the injured, they divided their focus. It left them unready when the infantryman came from the sky.

  Alerio stepped around two stacked bodies. Having fallen together, the pirates provided a grizzly bar
rier. When three moved to attack him but approached gingerly, Alerio bent and tensed his legs.

  The eyes of a swordfighter communicated movement and the sword’s direction of travel. Conversely, the opposing eyes watched for clues. And the clues from the three attackers were unorganized and tentative.

  Using the bodies as a step, Alerio pushed off and vaulted into the air.

  The three attackers glanced ahead at the Hoplite shield. Then, they looked down to avoid stepping on the arms of friends. Then, ahead again. But the shield and the infantryman had vanished. A rustle overhead drew…

  Alerio landed on one, driving him into the sand with his feet. Another caught the end of the shield with his elbow. The bones shattered and he fell to the ground gripping his arm. A stomp took the fight out of the first and Alerio searched for the third pirate.

  As if a scarecrow hanging limp in a grain field, the pirate dangled in the midair. Around the Cilician’s body, Alerio saw the security man from the Egyptian trader. This time it was the Greek nodding his acknowledgement at Alerio.

  “You took down nine of them,” the man stated while shaking the dead pirate from his blade. “The Captain suggested we join forces.”

  Alerio peered beyond the Greek. Bodies littered the ground at the hut where the pots of snail dye were staged.

  “You did a lot of damage yourself,” Alerio complimented him.

  “So far Cilician command hasn’t noticed us,” the Greek pointed out. “What is your decision?”

  “I need passage to Rhodes,” Alerio mentioned.

  “Then it’s milk for blood,” the Greek declared. “Let’s finish this.”

  ***

  The Egyptian Captain, although he gripped a bloody knife, hung back. He understood military men. And when his Sergeant of Hoplites locked shoulders with the Latian, he knew they understood each other.

  At the Egyptian ship, the eight infantrymen had held positions. Three were wounded, but their shields and pride kept them in the fight. And as happens with all infantrymen when ordered to remain in place they were teeth grinding mad.

  But their adherence to orders had prevented the pirates from reaching the aft boards and launching the vessel. Now, the infantrymen looked over the heads of screaming pirates to see their Sergeant locked in with another Hoplite. Where he came from, they didn’t care. What they cared about was one side of the ship had double protection. And that meant an end to the passive defense.

  “Give me three butchers,” a section leader shouted.

  Three of the healthy Hoplites replied, “Take my blade, its thirsty.”

  “On me,” the leader ordered. When the four oval shields snapped together, he shouted. “Forward.”

  In a static battle, things slowed down. In fact, when not in direct contact with the enemy, the second and third rows behind the attack line became lethargic. Laughing, joking, planning for…

  The big oval shields that had been stationary surged forward. With each pitch, the four Hoplites tore into the lightly armored pirates. Screams replaced war cries. Then, from the Cilician’s rear, more shrieks of anguish carried to the front. Both were drowned out by horns sounding the recall.

  Cilician command had finally realized they had been fighting on three fronts. With the consolidation of the Egyptian ship’s defenders, the leadership decided it was time to go.

  “Orders, Sergeant Abrax?” the section leader asked when the four Hoplites joined with their Sergeant and the stranger. “We’d like more of the cultural exchange.”

  “Let them go,” Abrax explained. “I want us loaded and off this beach before they bring back friends. Oh, and I don’t want us to leave any living pirates on this beach.”

  “You heard the Sergeant,” the section leader instructed. “Clean up the beach and load the sea snails.”

  While oarsmen and sailors rushed down the ramp heading for the snail pots, the Hoplites walked to each wounded pirate. Mostly their blades were driven through throats. The chest and ribs making a heart stab difficult with the broad bladed swords.

  “Do you have a problem with killing wounded?” Abrax asked.

  “I am a Tribune in the Legion of the Republic,” Alerio replied. “We are far from reinforcements and outnumbered. I’d say it was a sound tactic.”

  “Tribune. That’s an officer, right?” Abrax remarked. He thought for a moment before asking. “What is your name, sir?”

  “Alerio Sisera. But I’m not sure the sir is necessary,” Alerio suggested.

  “The way you fight is not from studying dusty scrolls about ancient battles,” Abrax commented. “Your style shows me you came up from the infantry. So, you see, Tribune, you rate the sir. Come, let me introduce you to Captain Khnurn.”

  As they walked to where Khnurn supervised the loading of the pots, Alerio asked, “What did you mean about milk for blood?”

  “Our ship is the Gála apó Hathor,” Abrax replied, “in honor of Hathor, the Goddess of Motherhood and Fertility. And because the ship feeds us, the name means Milk of Hathor.”

  “Milk for blood was your way of granting me passage?” Alerio inquired.

  “Not my right to grant anything,” Abrax warned. “But seeing as you defended the ship, I can’t see how the Captain can turn you down.”

  “Plus, you could use an extra oarsman,” Alerio advised while pointing to the wounded Hoplites.

  “Now there is something I do have control over,” Abrax boomed. “Welcome aboard, Tribune Sisera. This is going to be fun.”

  “How so?” Alerio inquired.

  “It’s not often, I get the chance to boss around an officer,” Abrax stated. “But as I tell all my infantrymen, you follow my orders, and we will get along just fine.”

  “Spoken like a true Sergeant,” Alerio acknowledged.

  Chapter 22 – Seaworthy Ship

  The Gála apó Hathor caught the wind with her two sails. After traveling on the coastal boat, Alerio appreciated the speed as the sleek ship cut through the water.

  “The land off our starboard side is the island of Antikythera,” Khnurn instructed. He pointed at a big rock with a few spots of green. “As we pass Xiropotamos Beach, you’ll notice buildings on the hillside.”

  Tiered streets rose from behind a defensive wall to just short of the top of the island. Well defined buildings bordered the levels of streets. Oddly, while the stone buildings were sturdy, the roofs were constructed of cloth or reeds or remained gaps facing the sky.

  “What town is that?” Alerio asked the Captain.

  “It’s not a permanent settlement,” Khnurn replied. “The Cilicians built the defensive walls and the homes from the island’s natural stone. But they never imported other building materials.”

  “If those are pirates,” Alerio questioned, “shouldn’t we be sailing away from the island?”

  “They don’t have anything that can catch the Gála,” Khnurn boasted.

  Alerio studied the streets and the walls that divided the town into blocks. The Cilicians knew what they were building. While women, children, and families might be in residence, it wasn’t a permanent settlement. The town was a fortress. Then the island fell behind and Alerio lost sight of Xiropotamos Beach and, shortly after, the island itself.

  ***

  The sun had yet to touch the horizon when the Captain ordered the sails struck and the rowers to dip their oars. It seemed a strange order. They were surrounded by water and Alerio wondered at the call to row so far from a suitable beach. But Khnurn’s experience proved correct when a rocky coast emerged in the distance. Closer to land, they rowed around a point and the navigator guided the ship into a narrow cove.

  “Menies Beach,” the Hoplite behind Alerio told him. “Welcome to the island of Crete.”

  “There is nothing here,” Alerio reported. “No village or market. No fresh water, not even a tree. Why stop here?”

  “For those reasons,” the Hoplite informed him. “There are no other ships here. The beach is small so we’re not likely to ge
t visitors. And the location is easily defended.”

  Alerio noted the high rock and dirt walls and the narrow beach tucked into a corner of the cove. Hidden from the view of passing ships and boats, the snail trader landed for the night on the isolated beach at Menies.

  While the ship’s crew prepared for the evening, Alerio walked aft to speak with the ship’s navigator.

  “I can’t tell exactly. Did we go beyond the range of a coastal trader today?” Alerio mentioned while scrambling up the steps to the steering platform.

  “If you are referring to the island-hopping barge you came off of,” the man suggested, “then yes. A coastal trader would take over half a day to cover the distance from the island of Antikythera to Menies. The Gála, a seaworthy ship, did Kithira to Menies in the same period.”

  “At that speed, how long until we reach the Isle of Rhodes?” Alerio inquired.

  “It’ll take us two days to traverse Crete,” the navigator described. “Then another day of sailing to reach the island of Kasos. And that is as far as we will take you.”

  “Because Rhodes is off your route?” Alerio guessed.

  “Not at all. The logical track to Rhodes from Crete is Kasos to the island of Karpathos and then to the Isle of Rhodes,” the navigator described. “Two and a half days sailing. However, we won’t be taking that tract.”

  “Are you unwelcomed in Rhodian ports?” Alerio asked. “I mean, is there bad blood between Egypt and Rhodes?”

  “As far as I know, not right now. But that can change with the weather,” the navigator submitted. “We’ll avoid Karpathos and Rhodes to save from paying docking fees.”

  “The protection of the Rhodian Navy is expensive,” Abrax announced as he climbed to the steering platform. “It’s cheaper to sail overnight to Kas on the coast of Asia Minor.”

  “There are regular patrols to Kasos,” the navigator assured Alerio. “You can get transportation to Rhodes on a trihemiolia.”

  “A trihemiolia?” Alerio questioned.

  “Athens once used triremes with one hundred and seventy oarsmen,” Abrax reported. “They have since advanced from the ‘threes’ to quinqueremes, which are better battle platforms. But the Rhodians don’t care about archers, boarding parties, or bolt throwers on their decks. They added twenty-six more rowers, widened the center of the standard trireme to allow for double oarsmen, and created the trihemiolia, a ‘three-and-a-half’.”