Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1

by J. Clifton Slater

  Two right-handed fighters would face a mirrored foe. With one being left-handed, his opponent couldn’t deliver a powerful sweeping blow. It would leave the lefty’s blade inside his guard, opening a path to the righty’s side. This was Daedalus’ advantage. He continued to circle.

  Alerio ignored the opening and moved counter to his opponent. The crowd groaned as the fighters circled but didn’t engage. They didn’t realize the duel wasn’t a tournament competition. It was a life and death sword fight.

  Daedalus attacked first. He came in hard with swift strokes designed to confuse Alerio. Their blades connected time and time again. Alerio used only defense as he backed away from the expertly delivered strikes. Stepping back and to the side, allowed him to stay away from the blade while moving around the corral. Daedalus grew weary of the flurry and let Alerio put distance between them.

  “For a tall man, you have small hands,” Alerio teased. “You know what they say about small hands.”

  “What?” Daedalus asked. He’d been taunted and threatened many times over the years but no one had ever commented on his physical attributes.

  “I bet you have a huge set of cōleī,” Alerio said as he raised his blade. “The gods are kind like that. Compensation for a small mentula.” Then he relaxed his guard and looking confused asked, “Is that the correct wording? Or did I get it wrong?”

  Daedalus went from amused, to angry, to feeling the need to reply. For a second the lad’s quizzical look and stupid ramblings exposed him for the amateur he was. To confirm it, Sisera lower his guard.

  Daedalus lunged and stabbed for the Recruit’s lower stomach.

  Alerio circled his blade inside Daedalus’ low thrust and knocked the man’s gladius to the side. For a brief moment, he had a clear path to the Corporal’s unguarded chest. He brought the blade back using the power of his body and just as the tip reach Daedalus, the experienced fighter leaned back. A deep scratch appeared on his torso plate and the blade moved far to the side.

  Taking advantage of the wide swing, Daedalus reached out and ran the tip of his gladius through Alerio’s old leather armor and into his deltoid muscle. He was aiming for the shoulder joint to cripple the lad, but Alerio rolled the shoulder forward. The blade only skewed the meat of his shoulder cap.

  Daedalus was incensed. The blow was supposed to be a double move. One to cripple the shoulder, then as he withdrew the blade, he’d angle it to cut the lad’s throat. A simple one, two and this fiasco would be over. But the inexperienced Recruit rotated inward instead of exposing his neck by leaning away from the blade.

  The crowd screamed and howled as blood began running down Alerio’s right arm.

  Above the roar, Alerio heard Corporal Gratian yelling, “Walk away! Walk away!”

  All the Tesserarius could see was the lad’s blood-soaked right arm dropping seemly unable to support the weight of his gladius and the Recruit’s eyes looking down at the sand. Daedalus also noted the weakness and lack of focus.

  Instead of waiting for the muscle to fully cramp and for more blood lose from the shoulder injury, Daedalus stepped in close to the lad. Three inches closer and he’d have the lad’s right arm trapped. There was a problem with the maneuver as he couldn’t use his own gladius. He’d have to shove the lad away in order to finish him off.

  Alerio noticed the foot as it snaked between his feet. Coming in from his right, the foot would hook his heal and send him tumbling helplessly to the ground. Just as Daedalus’ foot reached the point where he could trip him, Alerio moved.

  He clamped his legs together trapping Daedalus’ leg. Then, he jumped and twisted. The rotation forced the experienced fighter off balance and he found himself slammed into the sand on his left arm. While Alerio spun in the air, he reached across and grabbed the gladius from his injured right arm.

  Both men ended up on the sand, their legs intertwined. Daedalus began to roll away, confident he could gain his footing, and kill the injured lad. He never made it.

  Alerio flexed his stomach muscles and twisted to a sitting position. With his strong and able left arm, he struck Daedalus in the head. The fighter collapsed. But Alerio didn’t notice or care, he continued to pound the unconscious man’s helmet until the Marshal pulled him away.

  Unfortunately, the lad’s shoulders were slick with blood. The Marshal lost his grip. The gladius began to swing towards the off balanced and unarmored Optio. It was half a body’s distance from the man when Corporal Gratian tackled Alerio.

  “At ease Recruit Sisera,” he said while twisting Alerio’s head around so he could look into the lad’s eyes. “Stand down. It’s over. Steady.”

  “Am I dead?” Alerio asked looking up at the Tesserarius. “Because you’re the ugliest Valkyrie I’ve ever heard of.”

  “If you are done trying to kill people,” the Corporal said as he stood and offered a hand to help the lad up. “The Medics need to stitch you up and I have an appointment with an angry bookie.”

  As Alerio stumbled into the arms of a waiting Medic, three of Tesserarius Gratian’s Century closed in protectively around them.

  Fifteen more of the Corporal’s Legionnaires were holding discussions with the fighters who’d injured the amateurs to cover for the attempted assassination. None of the fighters would be competing again until their bones mended.

  One of the bookies decided he’d had enough action for one day. Just as he finished packing up his money chest, four Legionaries and a Centurion marched up to his booth.

  “Your gambling license requires you to stay open for the entire competition,” the officer informed the bookie.

  “I have a family emergency back in the city,” the sweating and nervous man explained.

  “I understand,” the officer replied. “Let me have a look at your slate to be sure you’ve cleared all your debts and you can be on your way.”

  Hesitantly, the man handed over a scroll. All the bets from the day were marked paid or profit. There was only one wager still open.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Tesserarius Gratian said interrupting the Centurion. “I’m holding a chit for Recruit Sisera for a share of all bets placed against him. Also, I have a betting slip from this merchant.”

  The bookie plopped down on his seat and began to slowly unstrap his money chest.

  Chapter 23 - Flight from the Transfer Post

  Corporal Gratian found Alerio and the three escorts sitting down to eat in the mess hall.

  “Recruit Sisera. I believe it’s unwise for you to stay here any longer,” he said. “If I were you, I’d rent four horses and pay these Legionaries to show you the way to the docks.”

  “With what coin?” Alerio asked pointing to the small pouch attached to his belt.

  Tesserarius Gratian pulled out a small pouch and a large pouch. He dropped them on the table.

  “A lot of people bet against you,” Gratian said pushing the large one towards Alerio. He next pushed the small one over saying. “And you and I have a twenty-five percent agreement; this is your share.”

  As darkness fell, four riders left the Legion Transfer Post heading East around the Capital. They were armored and carried a complete load of javelins. No one interfered with them.

  Chapter 24 - The Docks at the Capital

  At a gate in the wall, a City Guard questioned them about the competition. Specifically, he was interested in where Corporal Daedalus had placed. Alerio remained silent as one of the Legionaries explained they had been on patrol, and sadly, had missed the contest.

  Alerio and his three escorts were passed through the city gate by a disappointed guard. They went from the night with only a starlit sky for light to streets and buildings identifiable in spots of lantern light. Dark, long warehouse buildings bracketed the docks and piers of the harbor.

  His escorts rode by the harbor and at a dark small building, they dismounted. Pulling out bed rolls, they settled in for the night outside the building’s front door.

  ***

  “Good morning Optio
,” the last man on guard duty said loudly enough to waken Alerio and the other two Legionaries.

  “You’re one of Corporal Gratian’s men,” the NCO stated.

  “We’re on assignment for the Tesserarius,” the Legionary replied and explained. “We had a little trouble at the Transfer Post during the sword competition. Gratian wanted the Recruit separated from any fallout. He sent us to be sure Recruit Sisera got off okay.”

  “Trouble? Anything I should know about?” asked the NCO.

  “No Optio,” another of the Legionaries reported as he walked over from his bedroll. He pulled a pouch from his belt and handed it to the Optio. “Corporal Gratian appreciates your discretion in the matter of the Recruit and asked if you could stash him on a ship until it sails.”

  The NCO looked down at the pouch and smiled. He had dealings with the Tesserarius before and every time he walked away with a few extra coins and no repercussions. He couldn’t see this time being any different.

  “My Lance Corporal of transit won’t be along until later,” the NCO said as he opened the office door. “So, I’ll handle this myself.”

  Recruit Sisera was escorted to the ramp of the Republic warship by the three Legionaries. Once he was safely aboard and as directed, hidden on the rowers walk, the escorts relaxed. Although, they didn’t leave the dock area.

  They sat on the dock for two days until the ship hoisted anchor, cast off their lines, and rowed to mid channel. The last time they looked the warship was heading down the Tiber river towards open water. Only then did they mount up for the trip back to the Transfer Post.

  Corporal Gratian had been implicit in his instructions. The Recruit was to be watched until the ship sailed. If anything happened to him, their days would be spent digging latrines. Promotion papers and transfer requests would be perpetually lost. On the other hand, if the ship sailed and the Recruit was alive and on board, they’d receive a nice bonus and be excused from latrine duty for a year.

  Chapter 25 - Warship Sailing Towards the Massina Strait

  Alerio was bunked in the Legion quarters on the quinquereme. Due to lack of space, the slung beds occupied spaces between shields, javelins, bows and the Marines’ gladii. To get around the space, he had to navigate barrels of arrows along the rowers walk. The only escape from the claustrophobic and cluttered space was the upper deck.

  On the second day of the voyage, out of boredom, Alerio carried a gladius to the deck. With his left arm, he went through the sword drills. An Optio wandered over.

  “You can’t use your left hand in a shield wall,” he stated. “It’ll interfere with the man on your left.”

  “I don’t have much choice, Sergeant,” Alerio replied. He set the gladius down and pulled aside the sleeve of his tunic.

  Two distinct lines of stitches ran down his deltoid muscle. The one to the front was a little longer than the rear line.

  “Those are wounds from a gladius,” the NCO declared. “Entrance and exit wounds. Care to explain how you got them?”

  “Sword competition that got out of hand,” replied Alerio letting the fabric fall.

  “No dueling on my ship,” the Optio warned. “But I’ve got four rowers who need to improve their sword work. This ship doesn’t have a weapon’s training officer and I’m too busy. Care to work with them?”

  “Optio, I’m at your service,” Alerio said.

  The four Legionaries were from the Southwestern edge of the Republic where slings spears were preferred over swords. While they could knock down a bird in full flight with a stone, they had only managed to master the rudiments of the gladius.

  Alerio began by having them spar. Right away he saw their problem. As slingers, they thought in speed, trajectory, and angles. Translated to a blade, it made the Legionaries slow as they processed each swing. In short, they were focused on where the blade was going rather than how the blade traveled. He stopped the sparring.

  Looking around the deck, he spotted long poles used to shove off attacking vessels. He gave each of the men one of the fifteen-foot poles and instructed them to hold it upright in one hand.

  “Now, your first drill, go,” he said. “Focus on your hand movement. Two strikes and one backhand just like you learned in training.”

  Of course, they could only manage to move their wrist slightly or the pole would tip over and fall to the deck. Three did and Alerio had them pick up the poles and resume the practice.

  The Optio climbed onto the deck and watched for a few minutes.

  “Recruit Sisera. The Legion doesn’t have much use for circus balancing acts,” the NCO advised.

  “Look at their hands, Sergeant,” Alerio suggested. “Their doing the first drill.”

  “It doesn’t look like the first drill,” the NCO stated. Before he could say anything else, a Private came rushing up and spoke to the Optio. “Duty calls. Carry on,” the NCO ordered as he left the training deck.

  Alerio went from one pole balancer to the other. To each man, he showed where the balance point for a gladius would be compared to the tall pole. After a while, the four left to do their shipboard duties.

  The next day, the four reported for training and again he had them run the tiny movement drill with the long poles. Once satisfied the oarsmen had mastered the pole drill, he had them put the sticks away.

  “Pull your gladii and hold them upright,” Alerio instructed. “Now, do the small movements and feel the balance point on the blade.”

  From the tall unwieldly poles to the short gladii, they began to get a sense of where the power needed to be applied for the weapon to be useful. When he paired them up to spar, they swung with authority. The center of their blades connecting at the sweet spot. Their swings solid and delivered with confidence.

  The Optio climbed the ladder and stopped before coming all the way to the deck. He stood there astonished at the loud and rhythmic clinging as blades met, parried and swung back to collide again in a steady cadence. His Legionaries were sweat soaked and grinning as they attacked each other.

  “Time,” Alerio announced when the ship’s bell sounded the end of watch. “Dismissed.”

  The Optio climbed onto the deck and stepped out of the way as the four excited Legionaries descended the ladder.

  “Recruit Sisera. That’s one of the best and most efficient training lessons I’ve ever seen. Why aren’t you a Centurion?” inquired the NCO.

  “Sergeant. I barely know how I ended up in the Legion,” admitted Alerio. “Let alone how I would become an officer.”

  “Money mostly. Enough personal wealth to outfit a Century,” the Optio explained. “Or, if you have a patron with lots of money.”

  “I don’t have either,” Alerio observed. “I’m a simple Legionary.”

  “Not yet Recruit Sisera, you still need to complete the training,” the NCO said as he walked to the ladder. “But I don’t think you’ll have a problem with it.”

  The weather changed as the ship sailed south and once through the straits of Messina tracked Northward. From the mild fall in the center of the Republic, the further South they traveled, the hotter each day became. Soon the men were sweating day and night from the humidity.

  Ten days after leaving the Capital on a mild morning, the warship rowed into the broad harbor of Crotone. Alerio got his first look at the shoreline of the Eastern part of the Republic.

  Act 3

  Chapter 26 - Main Harbor of the Eastern Providences

  The buildings were white, blindingly so, in the mid-morning light. Alerio blinked as he walked down the ramp. Other than crews loading supplies and unloading cargo, the dock was empty of military personnel. He dodged between porters pulling carts and made his way to a broad boulevard facing the harbor.

  Up close the buildings were smooth with high arched windows. Civilians in loose robes hustled by and Alerio had to step to the side to avoid colliding with them. He studied the entrances of the buildings up and down the wide walkway. On his third pass, he saw a Legion flag hanging limp
in the hot, humid air. Pushed his way into the moving mass of people, he angled for the flag.

  “Recruit Sisera reporting in, Decanus,” he said to the Legionary sitting behind a table. He followed up the greeting by handing over his travel orders.

  The Legionary opened the parchment and studied it.

  “There’s a supply train leaving for the fort this afternoon,” he said. “You can catch it if you hurry. Behind this building is a road, follow it to the fountain. Turn left there and look for the Legion Post.”

  “Thank you, Lance Corporal,” Alerio said as he shouldered his few personal items. The armor and gladius he’d surrendered at the dock before leaving the Capital. What he did carry came from purchases made while on the ship.

  Alerio jogged out of the office, around the building, and by the time he started down the road, he was covered in sweat. A long-forced march later he located the fountain, it was dry. He took the left-hand road and picked up his pace. The road wasn’t a straight Republic build. It wandered back and forth as if it were constructed by following a drunken goat.

  Even longer from the fountain then from the town, the road began to solidify into a gentle curve. It started to lead back towards the harbor town. Eventually shapes appeared in the distance. Alerio spied a Legion flag and the tops of tents. He was almost back to the harbor, by the time he reached the gate of the Legion Post.

  “Recruit Sisera reporting in,” he said to the guard at the entrance.

  The Private looked at him, at the long road he came down, and back at Alerio.

  “Where did you come from?” the guard asked.

  “The harbor,” Alerio replied.

  The guard lifted an arm and pointed between two buildings. Alerio saw a section of the harbor side boulevard and across the harbor the warship he took from the Capital. Apparently, the Lance Corporal had given him directions for the long way around.