Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1

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Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1 Page 50

by J. Clifton Slater


  “I will have the name of your Captain,” Alerio screamed. His voice carried across the inlet, up the hill, and reached the village.

  To no avail, the singing of the pirates drowned out his voice. He crushed one of the pirate’s ears between his fingers and forced the man to his feet. With the other hand, he reached back and drew the Ally of the Golden Valley dagger.

  “I will have the name of your Captain,” he repeated while slicing the pirate’s throat.

  His voice didn’t carry, but the sight of one of their own gushing blood caught the attention of a few. When the Legionary slung the dying man away and pulled another to his feet, they ran to alert their Captain. By then, the singing was hushed and the crewmen gathered on the hillside.

  “I. Will. Have. The. Name. Of. Your. Captain,” shouted Alerio as he drew the curved blade across the other pirate’s throat.

  That dying pirate was tossed aside and the Legionary marched to the doorway. He returned dragging two more pirates.

  “The name,” he ordered as he placed the point of the knife in a pirate’s ear.

  Not waiting for a reply, he drove the blade through the ear and into the man’s brain. Pushing away the dead Illyrian, he reached down and pulled the other to his feet.

  “The name of your leader?” he yelled. “Where is he?”

  A large man shoved through the ranks of pirates and strutted to the very edge of the hill. Two men with torches flanked him so he was well lit although far away.

  “I am the leader. Legionary,” the big man shouted.

  Alerio held up the knife as if to signal for the man to wait. Then, he stuck the blade through the side of the injured pirate’s neck and yanked until the blade burst out the front of the man’s throat.

  “I asked for your name. Not a conversation,” Alerio yelled back.

  Without waiting for a reply, Lance Corporal Sisera marched to the last living pirate on the right bank. The wounded man was crying and sobbing as he crawled away from the fate that befell his shipmates. Alerio grabbed the foot with the split bone and dragged the man back towards the torches. There were claw marks in the hard ground where the man attempted to stop the movement with his fingertips.

  “Your name,” demanded Alerio of the pirate leader. He pulled the wounded pirate to his feet.

  “Navarch Martinus Cetea of the Illyrian Navy,” came the reply. After a pause, he added. “Your name Legionary? I will have your name.”

  “Alerio Sisera. Lance Corporal of the Southern Legion,” Alerio spit back. “You murdered the old and the innocent. I will see you on a cross.”

  “We are Illyrians. The sea provides. And what she doesn’t, we take. Those who died brought no profit so we made them sport,” Cetea thundered back. “I will gut you. Before you die, you’ll watch as we make sport of every farmer in the village.”

  A hand tapped Alerio on the arm. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Marcissus stepping out of blade distance.

  “There are pirates sneaking down to the fiumare,” the farmer advised him.

  “Go. Get your people as far from here as possible,” Alerio said. “By morning the pirates will be gone. Or they will fall to the Legion. For now, go and hide in the fields.”

  Marcissus inched away as if afraid to turn his back on the blood-soaked Legionary. As with most people when confronted by the reality of vengeance, he relished the idea of revenge but was disgusted by the brutality of the act. And was leery of a man who could extract the full measure of retribution.

  “Navarch Martinus Cetea. You will die by my hand,” promised Alerio turning back to face the inlet.

  Cetea shifted his stance. From a proud and arrogant stiff back, the pirate leader relaxed. He held his hands out wide as if to show he was unarmed.

  “We should talk,” suggested Cetea. “Any man who could overwhelm six Illyrians would be valuable to me. Valuable to the Illyrian Navy. What say you?”

  Despite the offer, Alerio knew a war party of Illyrians was creeping down to the shallow head of the inlet. Once across the low summer stream, they’d attack quickly.

  “I already have a job. But here’s a parting gift for you,” Alerio said as he jammed the knife between the pirate’s ribs and twisted the blade. “You killed old people and babies. You aren’t a navy, you are pirates.”

  With those final words, he let the body fall, faded back out of the light, and ran into the grain field. Moments later arrows fell from the sky. As if planted in ragged rows, the shafts filled the space between the two torches.

  Chapter 11 - Signal Fires

  Twice an Illyrian pirate screamed out and disappeared in the grain field before a horn sounded. The remainder of the war party sent to deal with the Legionary retreated to the safety of the village and their fellow crewmembers. Although they wouldn’t admit it, they were happy when the recall sounded.

  Alerio followed them to the edge of the field. He watched their shadowy figures climb into the riverbed, splash through the stream, and scramble up the far bank. Once sure they wouldn’t return to hunt him or chase the escaped farmers, he turned downstream.

  Skirting the wall of the Legion stockade before venturing to the bank of the inlet, Alerio located the path down to the boat. A misstep as he climbed down sent him sliding into the water. While standing in it knee deep, he took time to rinse off his hands before stepping into the flat-bottomed boat. Rather than paddling across to the far bank, he aimed the boat towards the strait.

  A short while later, the water became rougher as the inlet met the Messina strait. At the mouth of the inlet, he beached the boat.

  “Most of the women and children are safe,” Alerio stated as he entered the ring of farmers. Then he delivered the bad news. “Unfortunately, the Illyrians killed the oldest and youngest of your families.”

  Gasps and curses came from many of the farmers at the announcement. Ignoring the anguish of the grieving men, Alerio asked about the wounded Legion Decanus.

  “He’s the same. Which is good considering his injuries,” a farmer replied.

  Alerio found an unoccupied tree and sat down. He closed his eyes as he leaned against the trunk. Someone placed the waxed firebox in his lap.

  “Wake me at first light. Or if the pirates row out,” he said.

  “But what happened at the grain building?” another farmer inquired. “Who’s dead and who’s alive?”

  “You’ll have to ask Cimon and Marcissus in the morning,” Alerio replied. “I was busy having a conversation with Navarch Martinus Cetea.”

  “You were talking to the pirate leader?” another farmer asked.

  “Just a brief chat. I think we came to an understanding,” Alerio stated.

  “An understanding? What understanding?” questioned the farmer.

  “That one of us will die when we meet again,” Alerio said as he dozed off.

  It was still dark when a hand nudged Alerio.

  “The Illyrians are boarding their ship,” announced a farmer.

  Drifting down from far up the inlet, male voices shouted unintelligible orders. Individually an oar wouldn’t make enough noise to reach Alerio and the farmers. But one hundred and twenty oars clicking into place was a cacophony that traveled.

  Alerio pulled his knife and sliced away the wax. In the box were dry shavings of wood, a flint, and a small iron bar.

  As the kindling flared to life, a farmer commented, “Won’t the pirates see the fire.”

  “If they do, it’ll be on the beach,” Alerio informed him, but he also warned. “They may shoot arrows into the trees as they row out. Everyone, move away from the beach.”

  Alerio stood up carefully with the burning kindling and walked to the depression in the shoreline. After laying the fire in the small pit, he blew on the branches until the flames flared assuring him the fire would burn until he returned.

  A drum beating a slow rhythm announced the Illyrian vessel before it appeared in the predawn light. Alerio jogged back to the trees. Finding a thick one, he scooted in
behind the trunk and watched the inlet.

  The ship was about eighty feet long and ten feet across the middle. Two banks of thirty oars dipped into the water in time with the drum. Alerio figured with sixty oarsmen on each side plus commanders and sailors, the Illyrian pirates numbered at least one hundred and seventy-one when they arrived. Now they rowed out with eight less. He wished it could have been fewer.

  Behind the Illyrian bireme, a merchant ship rowed slowly down the inlet. Only six oars propelled it. Even with the slow pace of the larger vessel, the underpowered transport was falling behind.

  Alerio leaned farther around the tree trunk trying to get a better look at the ship and the pirate leader. As the two banks of oars rose and fell, the sideboards of the ship slid by. There was no sign of the ship’s captain. It was disappointing to be this close and not have a javelin handy even if he couldn’t identify Cetea.

  From Alerio’s left rear, someone shouted. A moment later, a young farmer broke from the trees and ran onto the beach. He held a tree branch and waved it over his head like a club.

  “Come back here and fight, you piece of merda,” the young farmer screamed as he sprinted toward the inlet’s mouth. “I’ll perfututum you up for what you did to my sons.”

  The aft of the boat had just entered the mouth of the inlet and suddenly, the broad shoulders and short brown hair of a man appeared.

  “Skew him,” he ordered while pointing at the charging farmer.

  Alerio recognized the voice and now could put a face to the pirate, Navarch Martinus Cetea.

  Five archers stood up mid-ship, notched arrows and released. The farmer was knee deep in when two arrows plunked into the water on either side of him. Then, three arrows sank into his chest. He managed one more step before disappearing beneath the waves.

  Occhio inlet had been gorged out of the soft soil along the coast for thousands of years. In that time, the water flowed from the mountains in torrents dragging soil and carving out the riverbed. The river water ate through the soil creating a deep inlet before dissipating into the Strait of Messina. The farmer’s last step put him over the edge of the inlet’s steep channel.

  “Stand down,” Cetea ordered.

  The Illyrian ship cruised from the mouth of the inlet and rocked as it rowed into the swift current of the strait. Behind it, the merchant vessel wobbled as it floated into the same current.

  “I didn’t mean to,” pleaded Cimon. “I only wanted to tell him about his mother and sons. How was I to know he’d charge the pirate ship?”

  It seemed Cimon had followed the Illyrian ship and reported the horror of the night before to the farmers. One of them had reacted rashly to the news. The group of farmers wandered out of the woods to watch the pirates sail away in the soft dawn light.

  “Charybdis has claimed him,” another farmer said. “A horrible way to die; being gulped down by a sea monster.”

  Alerio stared at the waves seeking signs of the mad farmer. When nothing broke the surface or bobbed in the waves, he figured a Goddess of the deep had consumed the farmer. Looking up, he watched as the Illyrian ship tracked to the south and set its sail.

  The Lance Corporal ran to the beach, blew on the fire pit, and lifted out two flaming sticks. After two of the signals mounds were ablaze, he sat down on the rocky beach to wait.

  Chapter 12 – Beach Landing

  Optio Martius’ boat was leading four other patrol boats. The flotilla rounded Point Ravagnese and rowed feverishly in the direction of the inlet. Alerio relaxed. After judging the speeds of the approaching Legion boats, and the under sail retreating Illyrian ships, he decided no sea battle would be fought today.

  Sooner than he expected, the five patrol boats beached and over a hundred Legionaries leaped to shore. Alerio stood, brushed off his posterior, and saluted as a Centurion shoved through the line of charging Legionaries.

  The infantry officer looked at the dried blood on the armor, helmet, arms, and face of the young Legionary. When the Lance Corporal left Rhégion to be the spotter, he seemed fresh faced and eager. Now, coated in blood, he had bags under his eyes.

  “Report,” ordered the Centurion.

  “Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera, Sir. The farmers have an injured Decanus in the tree line,” he explained while pointing up the beach. Then, he pointed out to sea, “The Illyrian ship and the merchant ship have sailed.”

  “Medic to the crop of trees,” directed the Centurion before he shifted back to Alerio. “What happened to you?”

  “The pirates killed the oldest farmers and the babies. They spared the women and children to sell as slaves,” Alerio reported. “I couldn’t let the Illyrians take them and destroy the farming community. There are dead pirates at the grain storage building and in the grain fields.”

  “You sound like a farm boy,” suggested the Centurion.

  “Yes, sir,” admitted Alerio.

  “As am I. So, thank you,” the officer said before turning to a Legionary NCO. “Optio Cletus. Take a squad to the village and be sure the Illyrians didn’t leave any surprises for the community. Especially, in the well.”

  “Yes, Centurion. Decanus Eligius. Take Sixth Squad to the village,” the Sergeant ordered. “I’ll be joining you. Corporal Domitian. Put two squads around the village, send another to the grain storage area, and keep two on the beach.”

  While the Sergeant was organizing the distribution of the squads, their Centurion crossed the beach to another officer. They spoke a few words and by the time the Centurion returned, two of the patrol boats were launching. From the woods, a medic accompanied four men carrying a stretcher. The injured Legionary was loaded on the fourth patrol boat under the watchful eye of the crippled Sergeant.

  “Optio Martius. I’m keeping Sisera with me for the day,” the Centurion said as he turned from Sergeant Cletus. “You can have him back tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Martius replied before turning to his boat crew. “We have an injured Legionary, five miles of rough seas, and we are tired. If it was you laying on that stretcher, what would you want your oarsmen to do?”

  “Row like my oversized cōleī were on fire,” a rower responded.

  “That’s what I’d want as well. Fall in,” Martius ordered.

  They pushed the boat off the beach and the twenty oarsmen, the medic, and the Optio climbed into the boat.

  “Stroke, stroke,” Martius shouted as the patrol boat headed out for the trip around Point Ravagnese.

  Act 3

  Chapter 13 - Well, Well Duty

  Lance Corporal Eligius motioned for Alerio to join him as the Sixth Squad marched up the beach.

  “The name’s Ovid Eligius. You look a mess,” the squad’s Decanus stated as they reached the tree line.

  “Alerio Sisera,” he replied. “And you should see the other guys.”

  “The Illyrians have been active in the past few months,” Eligius offered as they entered the small grain field. Looking ahead, the squad leader shouted at his two leading Legionaries. “No more than a two-shield distance apart. If someone gets between you, it’ll be a bad day.”

  The Legionaries angled inward and touched the edges of their shields together. They hadn’t broken stride, but now there was less space between them. Following behind, the eight other members of the squad adjusted so if attacked they could rapidly form a shield wall.

  “As I was saying, the Illyrians have become more active and bolder,” Eligius stated. “They’ve never attacked this far up the strait. Something has them riled up. Have you been in the village?”

  “No, Decanus. Last night I did all my work across the inlet at the grain storage building,” Alerio said. “Is there something unique about the village?”

  “Call me Ovid or Eligius. Save the rank for ceremonies,” Eligius directed. “Not that I know of, it’s just I’ve never been to this village. Until three weeks ago, I was the Right-Pivot for First Squad, Third Century.”

  “Congratulation on your promotion,” Alerio commented. “
Whose squad did you take over?”

  “No one’s squad. The Senate decided to finally add Centuries to the Southern Legion,” Eligius informed Alerio. “We’ve been thirty under strength Centuries for as long as anyone can remember. Now they suddenly allocate coin for additional squads bringing the Centuries up to what a Legion should have.”

  “Why now?” asked Alerio. “Is there an increase in rebel activity?”

  “Not that I’ve seen and I was with the Bovesia Garrison until last year,” Eligius replied. “There’s a big river, not the fiumare like here, a good-sized trading town and farming communities. If there were rebel activity, it would be at Bovesia. No, I don’t think its rebels. But something has the Senate nervous and I don’t think it’s only the Illyrian raiders.”

  The squad stepped out of the grain field and started the climb up to the first terrace. Alerio finally saw the rows of beans and the stakes for the bean plants in daylight.

  “There’s a trail on the right side,” suggested Alerio.

  “Lead element, angle right,” ordered Eligius. “Follow the trail.”

  Two terraces later, the land flattened and low buildings came into view. They were constructed of mud, ill formed bricks, and rough wooden planks.

  “Not much to look at,” observed Eligius.

  “I agree,” Alerio said. He pointed across the inlet to the grain fields stretching out far beyond the right bank of the waterway. “That’s their treasure.”

  A group of women and older children were brushing through the grain stalks. Leading them was a squat farmer swinging a gladius.

  “Is he a problem?” asked Eligius.

  “That’s Marcissus. He helped me free the hostages last night,” Alerio commented.

  “Is that where you picked up the stains on your armor?” teased Eligius. “How many pirates did it take to accumulate that much grunge?”

  “Six at first,” stated Alerio.

  “At first? How many in total?” Eligius questions. Before Alerio could reply, the Decanus bellowed. “Sixth Squad, form on line and halt.”

 

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