The speaker pointed up the hill at Bovesia. There was a pause then the Illyrians charged across the beach directly for the stairs and the Legionaries waiting high above.
Alerio cringed as the mob moved. He relaxed a little when they bunched up pushing and shoving while trying to gain the stairs. Their greater numbers looked more manageable once the Illyrians were compressed to five abreast on the risers. At the first level, they spread out but were again jammed together on the stairs as they approached Tesserarius Cephas and his infantrymen.
Blinking to clear his distance vision, Alerio strained to see details of the Legionary line. In the third rank, standing head and shoulders above any of the men stood Hyllus. On one arm was slung a huge bronze shield. In his other hand, he gripped a long spear. Alerio couldn’t locate Marija but he was confident she was somewhere near her man.
The first rank of pirates approached the solid line of interlocking shields. They slowed, but the pent-up pressure from those following drove the first into the barrier. Alerio couldn’t hear the command, it wasn’t necessary. The shields thrust forward and were pulled back. When the gladii followed they sank into the chests and necks of the tightly packed pirates. Some fell, blocking the feet of the attackers Others, wounded or dead, were lifted by the throng and passed overhead and downward until there was room to throw the bodies off to the side.
While the Legionaries slaughtered those on the stairs, other Illyrians began to stack objects at the buildings. Once their hands reached the roof of a structure, the pirates began to climb up. Four infantrymen appeared on the roof and fought with the climbers. On the other side of the stairs, three Legionaries and Marija jumped and raced across the roof to engage other Illyrians climbing from the lower plaza.
The Macedonian innkeeper was a good as her reputation. Sweeping back and forth with a spear tipped by a sharp broad-head, she defended a section of the roof. The Illyrians trying to avoid the woman and her spear ran into the infantrymen. They took care of the wet-combat while Marija continued to herd newly arriving pirates into the shields and gladii. But more were crawling over the lip of the roof forcing Marija and her Legionaries to step back as they fought.
Below that fight, on the stairs, Hyllus jabbed his long spear over the head of a Legionary. With each thrust, an Illyrian fell out of sight and under the feet of his comrades. But here as well, the sheer number of pirates was taking a toll. The ranks of infantrymen were down to two lines of defenders.
On the other roof, one Legionary lay dead and the three remaining were almost lost in a ring of Illyrians.
A scream of frustration burst from Alerio. Hadrian and the Legionaries tore their eyes from the battle and looked at him.
“I can’t just sit here floating around with my mentula in my hand,” Alerio yelled. “They’re getting massacred. I need to be there.”
As he talked, Alerio struggled to his feet. Private Lupus rushed to his side.
“Gladius instructor. There’s nothing we can do for them,” the older Private stated. “If we were on that beach, we’d die as sure as a river trout meeting an ocean shark.”
Alerio deflated and his shoulders slumped. As he raised his eyes to the battle at Bovesia, the trumpet from the stand rang out three sharp notes.
“What now?” Lupus complained. “More Illyrians?”
Chapter 30 – Ninety-Six Greeks on Bova Beach
Faster than the pirate’s biremes, taller by several feet, and dipping one hundred and eighty oars on each stroke, the Greek quinqueremes sped towards Bova beach from the east. As they came near shallow water, one veered off and headed towards the warship guarding the merchant vessel.
Five banks of oars propelled the Greeks closer and closer to the pirate and merchant ship. The Illyrians sank oars and turned away from the charging warship. They rowed to open water with the quinquereme in pursuit.
“To the patrol boat,” Third Squad’s Lance Corporal bellowed. It seemed Alerio wasn’t the only one frustrated by the situation.
Before anyone could move, the first Greek warship backed onto Bova Beach. Ramps dropped and armored men carrying large bronze shields descended. They didn’t rush towards the stairs and the fighting.
The Greek ship kept disembarking men until two groups stood on the beach. From the ship, men passed down long spears and these were distributed to the men on the ground.
“There’s only about a hundred of them,” Lupus commented. “Just a fat Century’s worth of fighters. Why didn’t the other ship come in?”
The Legionaries’, a second ago elated at the Greek’s arrival, now sank into despair.
“It’s a tight battlefield,” observed Alerio. “The Greek Hoplites are renowned as close formation fighters.”
“They may be good but one hundred against two hundred isn’t great odds,” commented Lupus. “They’ll get swallowed up like a sparrow meeting a vulture.”
Some of the infantrymen had legs over the rail and they paused on that perch. Others were crowded behind them. No matter where they were on the merchant ship, they shifted their eyes between the fighting at Bovesia and the Greeks on Bova Beach.
***
Four Greeks stepped out in line. They began to slowly shuffle towards the Illyrians. Four men from the other group also stepped off. Their long spears held up as if they each carried a flag pole.
The two groups of eight men continued to kick sand as they walked down the beach. Four more men joined the march, then four more until each group had forty-eight men in the loose, slow moving formations. To the watching Legionaries, the Greek formations weren’t impressive.
The Illyrians had noticed the gathering of Hoplites on the beach. Almost three quarters of them broke from the fight with the Legionaries and rushed down to the beach to meet the new enemy.
“At least the Greeks have pulled Illyrians from the town,” Alerio offered.
“That gladius instructor,” commented Lupus. “Is a good thing. Even if the Greeks are going to die, their sacrifice will save infantrymen.”
While the pirates moved into rough lines facing the odd formations, the Greeks continued to shuffle awkwardly forward through the rocks and sand. Legionaries marched, Illyrians swaggered, so neither side could figure why the Greeks couldn’t pick up their feet.
The pirates didn’t care, they yelled and broke into a hard charge. In response, the Greeks closed ranks until their formation shrunk.
“Those sailors need to come on line,” suggested Private Lupus. “You can’t swing a sword or defend with your shield standing in ranks.”
The fastest of the Illyrians had covered half the distance to the Greeks. In a few heartbeats, they would barrel into the tightly packed masses and disrupt the formations.
Suddenly, all the Greek shields lifted and touched edges. Because of the density of the packed men, the shields ended up covering the formations from ground level to overhead, and down to the ground on the other side. Where the long spears had jetted into the air, they were now parallel to the beach aimed directly at the charging Illyrians. The awkward, shuffling steps allowed each formation to move steadily while keeping their shields together. They powered up the beach encased in a shell of shields bristling with spears.
“They look like armored porcupines,” observed Lupus. “Kind of like our testudo formation.”
“That Private is a phalanx and those aren’t sailors,” offered Alerio. “It takes a lot of training for Hoplites to get it right and to keep it tight in battle.”
“How would you defeat that formation, gladius instructor?” Lupus asked.
“I would suggest you not stand in front of a phalanx,” replied Alerio. “It’s not fast but it would be a tough nut to crack. Give them room and chip away at the sides like cutting down an old oak tree.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” replied Lupus.
The first Illyrians to reach the Hoplites, zigzagged around the longest spears. But some of the shafts were drawn into the formation. When the pirates dodged
the long spears, the short ones thrust forward impaling them on the tips. Others never made it to the short spears as the long spears swept sideways knocking the Illyrians to the ground. Those who fell disappeared under the bottom of the forward shields. When the phalanx formations moved beyond the spot, the bodies weren’t recognizable as human remains.
The Illyrians continued to clash against the phalanx from the front. It seemed as if they collided with huge rolling boulders. Those not impaled, bounced off the shields and vanished under the steadily advancing phalanxes.
The Greek formations remained apart. Each clearing a section of the beach. Now, as Illyrians realized the moving fortresses couldn’t be breached, they stepped out of the way and clustered between the formations. That’s when each phalanx stopped.
For three heartbeats, the pirates stood between the massed shields. Puzzled by the lack of motion, they peered at each other or stared at the wall of shields. Then, the Greeks began moving again.
One step forward, two steps forward followed by a ninety-degree pivot. The two formations began closing the distance between them, trapping and mangling the Illyrians caught in the middle. Most Illyrians, seeing they again faced the front of the phalanx formations, broke ranks and ran for their ships.
The final few remaining between the phalanx-vice felt a slight relief when the shield-shell broke apart. It was a small moment, soon replaced by apprehension when a line of Hoplites stepped forward and drew their swords. They tapped their blades on their shields as a challenge.
Illyrians prided themselves on being aggressive fighters. They replied to the Greeks by rushing at the line of individual Hoplites.
Legionaries fought head-on even when in one-on-one combat. They were trained to keep the enemy in front of their formation. The Greek Hoplites, however, were fluid. They deflected with their shields and spun the Illyrians behind, or even over their heads. All the while, hacking and stabbing with their swords.
“At least they’re not afraid to come out from behind their shields and fight,” Lupus said as he hopped into the patrol boat.
Alerio prepared to follow but had to wait his turn. Balanced on the top board of the merchant vessel, he studied the fighting. After a final look at the fleeing Illyrians on the beach, he peered up at the Legionaries on the stairs.
Corporal Cephas had only five healthy Legionaries on the steps. On the roof to the right, two infantrymen stood protectively over two fallen comrades. Across the stairs on the other roof, Marija and a Legionary favoring a wounded leg, stepped back as four Illyrians dashed in and out attempting to inflict damage on the lone pair. The infantryman stumbled and dropped to a knee. Instead of deserting him, the Macedonian restaurant owner jumped forward using her body and spear to defend the injured Legionary.
The Illyrians facing the lone woman warrior turned to each other, nodded and tensed. One final attack and they could circle around behind the unit blocking the stairs. One more assault and Bovesia would fall.
Like an avenging Greek god, Hyllus leaped onto the roof. In five long strides, he joined Marija. The Athenian used his big shield to drive two Illyrians back while hoisting his sword high overhead. A powerful slash brought the blade downward and across the bodies of the other two. They stumbled away clutching gaping wounds to one’s chest and the other’s stomach. Hyllus and Marija advanced on the last two pirates.
Alerio missed the rest of the fight as he dropped painfully into the patrol boat.
***
“Stand by oars,” shouted the helmsman, “Dip oars, and stroke, stroke.”
The patrol boat glided away from the transport. The Legionaries were hot to join the fight. But, on the fourth stroke, three signals sounded the end of the battle for Bovesia.
Additional horns sounded from the Illyrian ships and from the Greek quinquereme. By the last note, the surviving pirates were flowing down from the stairs, or across the beach, and lining up at the ramps or climbing the sides of their ships. The Hoplites with no enemy nearby answered their own horn and jogged to their vessel.
Chapter 31 – Wayward Assassin
The patrol boat passed the two Illyrian warships. They rowed frantically in the direction of open water, and the Legion boat rowed just as sharply for shore. Further down Bova Beach, the Greek warship lagged behind, but not by much. Soon the quinquereme pushed off the beach and the five tiers of oars dipped. It was obvious from their immediate launch, they planned to chase down the Illyrians.
The patrol boat touched the shoreline and with the keel grinding on the sand, the twelve healthy Legionaries leaped to the beach. Alerio, along with the other walking wounded, rolled over the gunwales and waded slowly to shore. Despite their injuries, they pulled and shoved the boat up onto the beach. At least far enough so the severely injured wouldn’t drift away.
Half the fit infantrymen bolted up the stairs to render aid to the town’s defenders. The other half spread out on Bova Beach and began to relieve wounded Illyrians of their pain.
***
Alerio found a broken spear on the beach. Using it as a crutch, he limped to the body of the man thrown from the aft of the Illyrian warship.
A graying older man with a bald spot on the back of his head rested crumpled on the beach. Alerio rolled him over expecting to see stab wounds. When the body revolved, there were no indications of blade cuts. Confused, he placed the body back onto its face. Alerio lifted the man’s tunic and upon closer inspection, he located a small hole. Less than a silver coin’s thickness around, the puncture wound, off to the side of the man’s lower back, was barely noticeable. He rotated the body again and studied the face. It was a good face, with ropy muscles beneath the deeply tanned creases. But, the skin had a yellow pale to it, which extended to the yellow tinting of the man’s eyeballs.
A groan came from the side and Alerio turned to see the second man who was thrown from the warship. His hand reached out and clawed at the sand. For a moment Alerio thought he was attempting to crawl out of the surf. But the hand didn’t stretch out. The fingers dug down creating a shallow hole.
Images of injured and dead Legionaries came to Alerio. He reached back and pulled the Golden Valley dagger. While he struggled to stand, the man’s hand continued to scoop out sand and rocks. Clearly, the wounded man sought to dig a hole.
With his dagger in one hand, Alerio leaned on the crutch and limped to the man. Struggling against the pain, Lance Corporal Sisera dropped to a knee and rolled the digger over. A blade had entered the top of his chest muscle but was deflected by the ribs so it didn’t penetrate into the torso. A small exit hole below the man’s nipple showed the path of the blade. As if the Gods willed it, the man survived so Alerio could get revenge.
“This is for the Legionaries who go to the Fields of Elysium thanks to the Illyrians,” Alerio swore as he raised the dagger over the injured pirate.
Alerio expected either rage or resignation from the Illyrian. He wasn’t expecting to see the man smile. Slowly raising a hand, the man gently laid it over the blade of Alerio’s dagger. With his other hand, the man began to pull up the leg of his worn, woolen pants. As he gathered the material, a sheath came into view. When it was fully exposed, the man flicked a strap and the blade holder parted revealing a black hilt with a yellow stripe.
Hidden on the inside of the man’s thigh was a Nocte Apis; the blade of the Dulce Pugno.
The night bees were the exclusive property of the Sweet Fists, the assassins from the Golden Valley. For anyone, not a Dulce Pugno, to possess a night bee was forbidden; it was a death sentence for the person. The Sweet Fist, when they came to reclaim their Nocte Apis blade, killed everyone near the person possessing it.
The smiling, wounded man recognized Alerio’s dagger and whispered, “Ally.”
Alerio’s dagger was a gift from the Dulce Pugno identifying him as an Ally of the Golden Valley. As an ally, the Sweet Fists wouldn’t take a contract on him and he could go to any Golden Valley trading house for information or help. Alerio wasn’t
sure if being an ally also included him helping an assassin of the Sweet Fist by rendering medical aid and sanctuary.
“What have you got there, gladius instructor?” Lupus inquired as he strolled up and stood beside Alerio. He held a gladius coated in blood along the side of his leg. “Need me to put the dēfutūta Illyrian, out of his misery, for you?”
Alerio reached out and snatched the night bee while cuffing his own dagger. Although not of the exact same design, the handles and scrolling on the blades were close and anyone could see both blades came from the same metalworker.
“No. What I need is to get him off the beach and somewhere where I can clean his wounds,” explained Alerio. “And that wine skin from around your neck.”
“It would easier to kill him,” replied Lupus. “And save the vino.”
“I can’t question a dead man,” explained Alerio. “And I can’t press for details if he gets the rot before I’m finished with him. Now, are you going to help?”
Lupus shrugged, walked to the water’s edge and rinsed off his gladius. He dried it as he strolled back.
“Where do you want him?” the Private questioned as he placed the gladius in its sheath.
***
A short while later, Lupus went in search of a medical kit after laying the Sweet Fist on a flat rock at the base of the steep hill. Alerio lifted the assassin. Drops of wine trickled onto his lips and the man’s eyes fluttered. He’d been beaten badly before the stabbing, but a quick test by Alerio failed to locate any broken bones. They were about twenty-five feet from the start of the stairs so Alerio wasn’t concerned about being overheard.
“Return the Nocte Apis when I am dead,” the wounded man pleaded.
“You won’t die from the flesh wound. Unless it’s from the embarrassment at being discovered, Sweet Fist,” Alerio said. “You’ll live.”
Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1 Page 57