Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1

by J. Clifton Slater

  “But sir,” Alerio began to protest when Corporal Cephas stepped between him and the officer.

  “Stand down, Lance Corporal,” the Tesserarius ordered although Alerio was still sitting. “Go get some rest, and we’ll revisit the topic in a few days. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Corporal,” Alerio said meekly.

  The Legion demanded discipline, and the punishment for any infraction could be brutal. Even if the offender was a hero, the questioning of a Centurion once he rendered his decision, could include digging trenches, cleaning out latrines, beatings with a staff, running to full exhaustion, or other difficult tasks. As Alerio was wounded and unfit physically to perform extra duties or to withstand a caning, the most likely penalty would be lashes from a whip.

  The Corporal had just saved the hardheaded young Lance Corporal from a world of hurt.

  If Alerio had the time to ask, Cephas would have told him, “It would be a waste to have a Legionary damaged more than Sisera was already.” Not because he was overly fond of Alerio. It was simply, Corporal Cephas hated waste.

  The Tesserarius and the Centurion walked off and Alerio stood, but he was bent over. Inching around until he could get both hands on the porch post, Alerio walked his hands up the beam until he stood upright.

  Limping slowly, he made it to his room in the supply building. After stripping off his shoulder rig, and slinging his dual sheaths over the wall peg, he sat on the edge of the bed. A grunt escaped his lungs as he leaned down to loosen the straps on his hobnailed boots. Once he kicked them off, he fell back on the bed. The day’s events faded, and sleep came fast to the weary Lance Corporal.

  Act 6

  Chapter 35 - Rest and Reputation

  A night, a day, and half the next night passed before Alerio stirred. Still half asleep, he rolled over on his right side. Pressure caused the wounds to throb, and the pain jolted him fully awake.

  Crawling weakly out of bed, he inched across the floor to his personal pack. From it, he pulled a narrow bundle of silk. After unrolling the twelve feet of fine material, he measured a section and sliced off a length. The longest piece was tightly wound around his waist. The shorter piece he used to wrap his injured right thigh. Next came his boots. Then after slipping on an old tunic, he left the room.

  ***

  Tesserarius Cephas completed his written reports, did the Century’s accounting before getting a little sleep. He woke well before dawn. It was another day he would also act as the Century’s Optio.

  “Century. On the road for exercise,” he called out while lighting a lantern. “Lance Corporals, get them up and out. Now people.”

  From out of the dark, a stumbling figure emerged. He was breathing heavily and seemed to be favoring his right leg. The Corporal watched as Lance Corporal Sisera hobbled into the lantern light.

  The Decanus placed both hands on his knees and, between clinched teeth, said, “Good morning, Corporal.”

  “You are up early,” Cephas noted. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I have arrow holes in my body,” Alerio, still short of breath, blew out.

  “You’re supposed to be on light duty,” Cephas advised. “Not hobbling around my camp in the dark. I’m surprised the sentries didn’t challenge you.”

  “They didn’t need to. I found each of them,” admitted Alerio.

  “You could have just found the acting NCO of the Guard,” Cephas explained. “He would have alerted the guards to your presence.”

  “But then, I couldn’t have begged dried goat’s meat off the guards,” said Alerio.

  “Hungry, were you?” asked Cephas.

  “I still am. But the meat will hold me until after class,” Alerio declared.

  “You really want that ride to Passomasseria, don’t you?” suggested Cephas.

  “I have orders and if the only thing holding me here is medical, I have to prove my fitness,” Alerio stated. “It’s going to be a basic class. No fancy dueling for me.”

  Cephas shook his head at the stubborn weapon’s instructor. Then, he faced the squad tents.

  “Lance Corporals. If daylight touches my heels, and everyone isn’t on the street,” shouted Cephas at the tents. “I’ll have seven squad leaders digging new latrines. Now people!”

  “What did I miss yesterday?” inquired Alerio.

  “While you were malingering in bed all day? Not a lot. We haven’t had any merchant ships or warships come in,” Cephas reported. “And Hadrian hired a crew of fishermen and sailed east for Crotone.”

  Alerio smiled. It seemed Gilibertus, the assassin from the Golden Valley, had found a ride home.

  A Lance Corporal came from the direction of Bovesia. He entered the garrison at a dead run heading for one of the dark tents.

  “Trouble, Sergeant of the Guard?” asked Cephas.

  The acting SOG slid to a stop and faced his Corporal.

  “No, Tesserarius. I wanted to finish rounds before checking on my squad,” the squad leader replied.

  “You’re Right-Pivot should have them up,” Cephas scolded. “Shouldn’t he?”

  “Lupus is a sound sleeper,” Second Squad’s Lance Corporal replied. “I’m just checking to be sure the squad is up.”

  “Get them on the street,” urged Cephas.

  The Decanus ran into his squad’s tent. Soon shouting and a few thuds drifted to Alerio.

  “Make it a short class,” ordered Cephas. “We’re running double guard duty and everyone is busy.”

  “It will be, unless there are issues,” promised Alerio.

  ***

  The sun was barely over the mountains when Centurion Laurens, Second Century’s commanding officer, strolled onto the practice field. He’d been up early and having finished his reports, he decided to check on his Legionaries.

  As Laurens walked to where Tesserarius Cephas oversaw the wrestling, he glanced at the gladius posts. Five infantrymen were standing in a tight formation and attacking three practice posts with wooden gladii. Behind the line, a man with a silk wrap on his leg leaned between the ranks and adjusted arms, feet, and even the head angles of the five.

  “Who is running gladius drills,” asked the infantry officer as he approached the NCO.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera, sir,” replied the Tesserarius.

  “Shouldn’t he be on light duty?” inquired the Centurion.

  “According to Sisera that is light duty,” Cephas responded. “At least that’s what he claimed this morning after his run.”

  “I’m beginning to see why our squad leaders are so taken with him,” the Centurion commented. “All right, once he’s cleared by medical he can go on his spy mission. However, we can’t spare rowers. He’ll need to find his own way to Passomasseria.”

  “I’ll let him know, sir,” Cephas replied.

  ***

  Alerio had picked five Legionaries who failed to advance with authority. After adjustments, they were sharp and precise in their shield and gladius movements. They stood facing the instructor.

  “Delivering a unified first strike to the enemy puts them on notice that they are about to have a very bad day,” Alerio said to the five sweating infantrymen. “If you lag behind those around you, the enemy will see you as a flaw in the line. It gives the enemy hope. And, the one thing a barbarian warrior doesn’t have when facing a squad of Republic Legionaries, is hope. We fight as a unit. We kill as a unit. Understand?”

  “Yes, instructor,” the five responded.

  “Dismissed. Stow the training gladii, and go check in with your Decani,” Alerio ordered.

  As the five jogged away, Alerio placed his back against a training post. He hurt from running and teaching. Plus, he was dirty and hungry. Across the training ground, the Century had installed a vat that was kept filled with river water by a bucket brigade. It wasn’t very far, but to the injured and exhausted Alerio, it seemed a long way.

  Chapter 36 – A Proper Meal

  Alerio knew Centurion Laurens and the medic were wa
tching him. They appeared to be in deep conversation on the porch but when he left the supply building, they followed him with their eyes. He was cleaned and shaven, and wore his dress tunic with the Lance Corporal band, the instructor brooch, and the Legion Raider silk over his shoulder. Although he looked fit, he worried about making it up the steep trail to the town.

  Gritting his teeth and bracing his back, Alerio marched up the hill. He only stumbled once near the top. It wasn’t until he rounded the corner of a building, that he let the pain and cramping show. Now out of sight of the infantry officer and the medic, he leaned against the wall, moaned, and began massaging his thigh.

  Once the muscle loosened up, he straightened his back and jerked down the hem of the tunic. With all the dignity he could muster, Alerio limped across the plaza and entered the Columnae Herculis.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera,” shouted Hyllus in surprise. “We thought you were dead.”

  “No, I’m still alive,” stated Alerio.

  “Don’t let him fool you,” Marija said while leaning around the doorframe from the backroom. “He checked with Corporal Cephas three times about your condition.”

  The big man smiled and pointed at a corner table, “Sit little man. I’ll fetch you a meal worthy of an Athenian Hoplite.”

  “Does it take a lot to feed men who stand mentula to cūlus when they fight?” inquired Alerio.

  “You refer to the phalanx, of course,” said Hyllus after pausing to think about the description. “You try holding an Athenian shield in place while jabbing with a long spear. All the while you’re blind to what’s going on outside of the shell and the commanders are shouting orders. And it’s hot with all those bodies pressed close together. We call it the love machine. Delivering a perfututum to our enemies where every we go.”

  “I thought you were a rower?” ventured Alerio.

  “When I was younger, I served with a phalanx unit,” Hyllus described. “But I was so tall, they placed me in the center to keep the shell balanced. Let me tell you, there’s a lot of gas expelled in those formations. Do you know what happens to hot, smelly gas?”

  “Not really,” admitted Alerio.

  “It rises to the highest level of the phalanx,” Hyllus declared. “So, I joined the Navy to breath clean sea air.”

  “Is pork and onions all right with you, Lance Corporal Sisera?” Marija yelled from the kitchen.

  “Sounds delicious,” replied Alerio.

  “It’ll give you gas,” warned Hyllus. “But Legionaries fight in lines, so it’s doesn’t matter. I’ll get your food.”

  Alerio sank into the chair and spread out his legs. His thigh appreciated the position as the muscle loosened, and he relaxed. When the meal arrived, he cut fast, and chewed slow, savoring each bite.

  Marija limped up to the table. A bandage, wrapped around a shin gash, caused the limp.

  “Were you injured in the fighting?” Alerio questioned.

  “An Illyrian dove under my blade and sliced me,” the Macedonian replied as she pulled out a chair and sat. “Can you believe it? I don’t know what he expected me to do, fall back or collapse.”

  “What did you do?” Alerio inquired.

  “I buried my blade in the back of his skull,” Marija replied with a smile. “How are you, archery target? Or, should I call you ambush bait?”

  “I assume, you heard about the action on the merchant ship,” Alerio said. “Why would the Illyrians attack us? And why did the Greeks come to our rescue?”

  “I can tell you why the Greeks got involved,” Hyllus said as he crossed the dining room, pulled out a chair, and sat. “Athens depends on trade and shipping. Our Navy is the biggest in the region and we’ve been fighting the Illyrians for decades. Bova harbor is the closest landing to the Greek coast for ships heading to your coats, to Rome, Syracuse or Qart Hadasht ports. If Bovesia were taken, it would disrupt our trading. At least until your Legionaries took it back.”

  “What about Macedonia?” asked Alerio looking over at Marija. “Do their traders pass through here?”

  “A lot more than before. We’ve had trouble with that upstart king in Egypt,” Marija explained. “Can you imagine that ungrateful wretch, not bowing to his rightful king.”

  “The king of Egypt needs to bow to another king?” Alerio said as he choked on a piece of onion.

  “Why the king of Macedonia of course,” Marija informed him. “After all, he is a descendent of a Macedonian General. One of our great King Alexander’s military leaders. The king of Egypt is a Macedonian and must acknowledge the fact. Isn’t that right, Hyllus?”

  “We’ve been over this, many times love,” the big man spoke slowly as if his words were footsteps, strolling on bird’s eggs. “Egypt has coins from their fertile grain fields, a navy, and an army. I really don’t think he owes allegiance to Macedonia after all these years. Like Athens, Egypt is a free state.”

  “Nonsense, King Alexander claimed Greece and all the lands to Egypt and beyond for Macedonia. Athens participated in the conquest,” Marija insisted. “Why can’t you see the truth?”

  “Because the only reason we sent cavalry, men-at-arms, and coins to your Alexander was to prevent him from turning his army around and marching back,” explained Hyllus. “Threaten any city with a quarter million-man army and bend over, because the city will happily kiss your cūlus rather than be destroyed.”

  “You just can’t see reason,” an exasperated Marija said. She stood and began limping away. After a few steps, she stopped and turned around. “One day, Macedonia will sail on Egypt and take back what is ours.”

  Hyllus waited until she vanished into the back room.

  “Alerio. Do you have a woman?” he asked.

  “No. One day perhaps, but not now,” Alerio replied. “Why do you ask?”

  “A warning. Do not lose your heart to a Macedonian she-devil,” the big man said. Then he winked and added as he stood. “No matter how exciting she is.”

  Chapter 37 – The Healing Properties of Work

  Alerio spent the next four days pushing himself to show his fitness to the medics. Except for the mission from Tribune Velius, he had no other duties. He stayed busy with gladius training infantrymen in the mornings and working with Tesserarius Cephas and Centurion Laurens in the afternoons.

  Late on the fourth day, Alerio stepped back and dropped his guard. The Centurion’s gladius swept up from hip level. It carved a path toward Alerio’s chest. Just before the blade could score a touch, Lance Corporal Sisera pivoted around. Letting the tip pass his side, he spun while raising and bending his arm. When the elbow was two inches from the officer’s jaw, Alerio halted the motion. Dropping his arm and turning to face the Centurion, he explained.

  “Barbarians don’t duel, sir,” Alerio informed the infantry officer. “They’re fluid. It’s fine, even preferable, for a Legionary to square his shoulders to the line of attack. For a Centurion, without a shield and fighting companions, you need to stand sideways in a sword fight. That will allow you forward and reverse movement to defend against an attack like the spinning back elbow. Plus, it makes you a smaller target for enemy arrows and spears.”

  “Speaking of arrows,” the officer commented while he sheathed his gladius. “I see your leg is better.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alerio stated. He lifted his left leg and pivoted on his right. “I’m fit for duty.”

  “Or, a reconnaissance mission I assume,” Laurens stated. “I still can’t free up rowers. Even though only a few merchants are sailing, we need to be on guard. Believe me, the entire Republic and many foreign powers are screaming for Illyrian blood. My last message from Rhegium was to stay at full readiness. I can release you to full duty, but transportation is on you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Alerio said. “I’ll figure something out.”

  ***

  Throughout history, there were two military truths. One was Sergeants, Optios, Sminias, NCOs, or any other name you called noncommissioned officers, they ran the arm
y. Another truth, if you wanted to know the easiest way to circumvent a regulation, avoid a duty, or find transportation outside of official channels, you spoke with the oldest Private in the unit.

  “Lupus. I need transportation to Passomasseria,” explained Alerio.

  “We could steal a patrol boat,” suggested the Private. After seeing the look of horror on the Lance Corporal’s face, he added. “Or, I could have one of my fishermen friends row you there.”

  “You have friends among the fishermen?” Alerio inquired.

  “Sure. I go to their village and clear out the snakes during my off-duty time,” Lupus informed him. “You see fish parts draw small rodents and the favorite food of serpents are small rodents. One draws the other like dung beetles to a pile of merda.”

  “I’ll pay for the ride,” offered Alerio.

  “No need Lance Corporal Sisera,” Lupus assured him. “They owe me as I can’t eat, or take, all the fish they offer in exchange for my services. What they don’t know is, I always leave a few of Angitia’s beauties for the next hunt.”

  At the mention of Lupus’ goddess, his eyes clouded over and his face went slack. Alerio waited for the seizure to pass.

  “Tomorrow morning at first light?” asked Alerio.

  “Meet the boat at the Legion dock. Someone will be there,” Lupus promised.

  Chapter 38 – The Mists of Kaikinos

  The weather had been hot and dry since Alerio arrived at Bovesia Garrison. When he left the supply building, he assumed the moon had set. Then he realized the moon was still up but hidden behind a thick layer of clouds.

  He could, as all farm boys, smell the promise of rain in the air. Plus, a heavy mist covered the Kaikinos River. Alerio’s field of vision shrunk on the stroll down the rickety ramps into the gray fog.

  The two Legion patrol boats bobbed gently in the flow of the river. At the end of the dock, he located fingers and a hand through the fog. They clung to the wooden planks of the pier. As Alerio drew closer, the mist parted revealing the hand’s connection to an arm, a shoulder, and finally to a hooded man sitting in a wide flat-bottomed boat.