“Are you my ride to Passomasseria?” asked Alerio.
No reply came from the man. But the hand pointed to the front of the boat and the head nodded. Alerio had his dual gladius rig and a few articles of clothing in a bag slung around his neck. He’d left all the legion gear in his room, taking only rough woolen civilian clothing. A sprinkling of raindrops hit his head and, after climbing into the rocking fisherman’s boat, he pulled out his cloak. The rain did nothing to dissipate the fog.
The hand pushed and the boat drifted away from the pier. A splash announced the dipping of the rear oar and the fisherman began a slow, rhythmic back and forth motion with the oar handle. With what appeared to be little effort, the fishing boat nosed into the fog, creeping steadily northward.
Alerio could tell the boat tracked close to the river bank from the occasional low tree branch that appeared overhead. From what he could see of the river’s center, logs and leaves flowed by swiftly in the current. The floaters let him know why the fisherman stayed near the bank.
***
A long time later the boat cut across the current and at the opposite bank the fisherman ran it aground. The wood scraped on the gravel riverbed.
“You leave here,” announced the fisherman.
“Is this Passomasseria?” inquired Alerio.
“There,” the man indicated a direction upriver. Then, he advised. “In the mountains, it rains. Kaikinos rises.”
“What does that mean?” demanded Alerio.
“I’m going back to Bovesia. You walk, or return with me,” stated the fisherman.
“How long will it take me to reach the town?” Alerio asked as he slung the strap over his shoulder and stepped out of the boat.
“As long as it takes,” replied the fisherman. Then he warned. “Stay away from the river’s edge.”
The boat now lighter by the weight of one large infantry NCO rose and lifted off the riverbed.
Alerio watched as the boat turned, and was soon swallowed by the fog. He looked around. To his left, the land rose and became studded with small trees and brush. The gravel bed where he stood allowed for good footing, and although the gray mist limited his visibility, he could see it was mostly flat. With the river on his right, the Legionary began walking northward on the gravel surface.
He noticed a few pebbles rolling into the river at the edge of the flat ground. Guessing it was normal when the current flowed that fast, he ignored them.
After walking for a while, he encountered a stream cutting across his path. Rather than wade the swollen tributary he headed inland and climbed the bank. Under the grass and shrub trees, the ground was damp and soggy. By the time he struggled to higher ground his sandals and lower legs were covered in mud. Luckily, on the bank, he found the stream narrower and easily jumped. After circling a boulder and slogging through more sticky mud, he dropped back down the bank to the gravel of the sand bar. The walking was easier even though the river’s edge seemed closer.
He climbed twice more and was forced to leap wider raging streams. Each time he noticed the ground ran flat for a few yards from the riverbank. Then, the flat ended at steeply climbing ground. At each crossing, the ground ended at higher and higher walls until they became cliffs. Following each traverse of an overflowing creek, he climbed down to the gravel bed at the river.
***
Where it had misted before, rain now fell in fat drops that clinked on the gravel and plopped in the river water. Overhead the charcoal clouds hung low as if trying to blend with the ground fog. Alerio pulled his hood up and leaned forward as he marched northward into the storm.
His world shriveled to the soreness in his thigh and side, and the worry about locating Passomasseria before nightfall. Along with the weather, his attitude grew as dreary as the day.
Yet, he trudged onward remembering the words of the Sergeants from Legionary training.
“Your first enemy isn’t over the next rise. Your body can take the punishment. It can take more then you believe. No, the enemy isn’t an unknown barbarian. It’s that voice inside you screaming about pain, fear, and hunger. Give in and die. Ignore it and survive. Conquer it and thrive. Because, your first enemy is your mind.”
Further upriver a strange noise jerked him out of his stupor. For two heartbeats Alerio couldn’t understand the rumbling. It was as if a hundred supply wagons, pulled by runaway horses, bounced along a rocky road.
He discovered the source when the river leaped up and slapped his knees. Before he could react, a wall of water rose out of the fog and engulfed him.
***
Submerged, choking, and tumbling in the raging water, Alerio felt helpless. Ever since he outgrew being a timid farm boy being chased by older teens, he had depended on his strength and skills to survive. But, his was no match for the power of the water. It bent him, twisted him, filled his nose and mouth, and confused his mind. For a heartbeat, Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera surrendered to his fate.
“Your first enemy isn’t over the next rise. Your body can take the punishment.”
The words cut through the lethargy, focusing his mind, and energizing his limbs.
Alerio fought the tumbling water to pull his knees and elbows in close to his body. Tucked as he was, he rolled faster without any idea of direction. Up, down, the location of the surface or the riverbed was impossible to judge.
“Your body can take the punishment. It can take more then you believe. No, the enemy isn’t an unknown barbarian.”
His legs shot out and he began a swim-kick. Along with the legs, he thrust out his arms. Like a water wheel in a stream, the raging water turned his body end-over-end. On the second rotation, his legs touched the riverbed and he kicked off. With lungs screaming for air, he burst through the surface and gulped down a deep breath.
“It’s that voice inside you screaming about pain, fear, and hunger.”
Before the water sucked him down again, he spied the shoreline. Underwater, in the turbulence, he kicked and angled for the riverbank. Fighting the current that attempted to pull him to the center of the river, he swam. He floundered in the rolling water and was bent sideways. Yet, he kicked and swam some more.
“Give in and die. Ignore it and survive.”
Another breath and a view of the bank gave Alerio hope. With energy waning and his body failing, he remembered.
“Conquer it and thrive.”
Alerio’s face broke the surface. Rather than lifting it as a drowning man would, he turned his head to the side and inhaled deeply. Legionaries learned to swim. Some better than others, but all Legion infantrymen could swim. For the next six heartbeats, Alerio kicked hard and stroked powerfully until he felt his heart would burst.
One hand touched dirt. Then his other hand gripped the base of a shrub tree. Alerio’s arm acted as a fulcrum and his body swung in an arc until it slammed into the riverbank. With the last of his strength, he clawed at mud and reeds while pulling his body clear of the water.
With the side of his face pressed against the mud, he whispered, “Because, your first enemy is your mind.”
When his breath returned to normal, Alerio rose to his knees. His face was hot from the frantic swim and he tilted it skyward to feel the rain. Glancing back, he noted the water lapping at the top of the riverbank. Realizing the river could rise more, he looked to the line of steep hills in front of him.
They were almost cliffs and as exhausted as he was, he knew climbing was impossible. Dragging his feet to the base of the cliff, he walked along the rocky face looking for access to higher ground. Fifty feet from where he emerged from the river he came upon a break in the cliff face. A rushing creek created a mini waterfall; the heavy flow rushed from the saddle between the hills, over the riverbank before disappearing in the boiling river water. Spying a ledge on this side of the rapidly flowing creek, he stepped on a large rock and placed his hands on the sheer rock face.
Gazing up he located foot and hand holds and began to climb. Three small outcrops later
he rolled onto a ledge. Far below, the river rose and its fast-moving water flooded the ground between the riverbank and the base of the cliff.
Exhausted, Alerio pulled the strap over his head and jerked up his hood. Using the pack as a pillow, he curled up in the cloak and went to sleep.
Chapter 39 – Strangers in the Rain
It was near dark when the sound of voices awakened him. Peering from under the hood, he almost called out. But the two men standing on the other side of the stream were too well armed to be farmers, hunters, or trappers.
They carried short Greek style swords on one hip and long fighting knives on the other. Both were muscular and wore thick soled, high sided sandals on their feet. Although not in uniforms or armored, they looked as if they would be comfortable in military garb. It was also in the confident way they carried themselves, and the thick set of their shoulders. Alerio remained hidden and watched.
The men stopped at the edge of the saddle and one pointed down at the flooding river.
“Like I told you. We’ll not hear from the Sergeant tonight or tomorrow,” he announced.
“How could you be so sure?” asked the other.
“I watched the clouds close in on the mountains,” the first man explained. “It’s been raining up there since yesterday. All that water has to go somewhere. And there it is. No way he can get here from Bovesia unless he can walk on water.”
“I’ve seen the Sergeant do a lot of things since joining the Syracuse Raiders,” the second man said. “I wouldn’t doubt he could. But, you’re right. We’ll let the lads relax tomorrow.”
As the men turned, the first one said, “It’s a shame we can’t go into Passomasseria. I’d like a proper drink.”
“What? The Sergeant’s excellent beer not good enough for you?” asked the second man.
“I said a proper drink. You know, wine,” came the reply as the two marched away from the river. “I still don’t see why we don’t clear out that town. There’s no sense in leaving an enemy at our backs.”
“Is that a military strategy, or your opinion as a wine drinker?” asked the first man.
The rest of the exchange got lost to distance, the gurgling creek, and the rain. Alerio sat up and watched as the figures disappeared into the mist.
Slipping the pack over his shoulder the Legion NCO stood stiffly and walked to the back edge of the ledge. Although barely visible, he could make out the imprints from the men’s sandals in the mud on the far side of the creek.
He was still wet from the river. So, when he jumped off the ledge and began to slide down the cliff face of the saddle, it didn’t matter. He splashed down in the creek. Six unsteady steps across allowed him to climb from the swollen stream. Once on the path, he dropped to his knees and examined the sandals’ prints.
Lads born on farms hunt game for recreation and to supplement the family’s diet. Alerio recalled the tracking skills from his childhood and set off after the strangers. They weren’t hiding their footsteps, which told Alerio this wasn’t the primary path to their camp. If it was, they would have eradicated their footprints to confuse an enemy. And although the rain smeared their tracks, they didn’t seem concerned about an attack from this direction. The washed-out sandal prints and the fading light forced Alerio to stop frequently and feel for the imprints.
At a fork in the trail, Alerio squatted again to study the signs. The tracks headed off on a lower path. Glancing at the higher path, he noted it led into the hills.
Suddenly, his hunter’s instincts raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Rather than stand Alerio remained low and crept forward. The men’s tracks ran true for a few feet before one turned right scuffing the mud. Now facing off the trail, the sandals’ imprints shuffled under a bush, before turning to rejoin the other set. The man had either relieved himself, or he’d spoken to someone in the bush. Maybe a sentry?
Alerio pondered this as the defused light of a cloudy evening finally faded. In the dark, he waited and listened trying to form a plan.
The sneeze was soft and the noise almost blended with the sounds of raindrops on leaves. If Alerio hadn’t been listening he would have missed it.
The sentry was located off to the right of the lower path. But he was posted too far from the trail to engage an approaching enemy. Alerio sneaked back to the fork in the trail figuring to avoid the guard’s notice.
He then went in the opposite direction and followed the high path. It rose, zigzagging back and forth as it climbed the steep hill. At an overlook that faced the lower trail, he slowly unslung the strap and eased the pack under a bush. Ignoring the cold and dampness he crept back to the fork in the trails.
***
If the listening post was guarding a secondary approach to the strangers’ campsite, the sentry’s relief, if any, would come from the direction of the main encampment. Alerio waited until the wind gusted before sliding under a bush and carefully crawling further off the trail. Then he waited.
He fought the shivers for fear the shaking would attract the guard’s attention. He kept his breathing shallow for the same reason. As Alerio lay against the damp earth, he recited the training Sergeants’ mantra, “It’s that voice inside you screaming about pain, fear, and hunger. Give in and die. Ignore it and survive. Conquer it and thrive. Because, your first enemy is your mind.”
Just when Alerio began to doubt his tactics, brush to his left and behind the sentry began to shake and snap. Bodies were coming and as the noise of their passing came closer, Alerio crept forward.
He had waited a relatively short time and this was another clue to the make-up of the strangers. Rebels, highwaymen, barbarians, and marauders, didn’t maintain regular guard rotations. This group was bringing a relief for the sentry.
Not only was a relief coming, but a supervisor accompanied the man. Only one entity had the discipline to protect their men from mental and physical fatigue by regularly relieving them – these men were part of a disciplined military unit.
Recalling the earlier discussion by the two strangers, Alerio reached a conclusion. The reference to Syracuse raiders didn’t mean they were pirates or marauders. Rather it referred to a detached military unit. And, if a Sergeant was in charge, they would be on a mission. Armed with these thoughts, Alerio no longer doubted his tactics.
He crawled forward, using the noise of the approaching relief and noncommissioned officer to cover his movements. “Now, all I need is a more accurate count,” he thought. “And get back and report the unit to Centurion Laurens at Bovesia Garrison.”
Alerio paused when the three men met and whispered to each other. As the NCO and the off-duty guard backtracked through the bush Alerio fell in behind them.
***
The camp was composed of three ten-men tents with shielded lanterns marking the entrance to each shelter. As the off-duty guard disappeared into a tent, the NCO tapped another man on the shoulder. They walked into the bushes to Alerio’s right.
While creeping back from the edge of the clearing, Alerio smiled. Now, he knew the strength of the Syracusan unit and the locations of their sentries. By splitting the distance between the listening posts, he was able to safely move back to the trail.
Alerio retrieved his pack and hiked up the winding path. Although tired, he couldn’t rest on this side of the hill. It was one of the many problems with night maneuvers. A dark hiding spot in the night might turn out to be clearly visible to your enemy in the light of day. Moving slowly, he felt for the path with his feet until the ground leveled. When it began to fall away he located a thick bush and crawled between the branches.
Sometime in the early morning, the rain stopped. The silence woke Alerio. He listened for footfalls in the dark. When none came, he fell back to sleep. A sharp rock and the arrow wound in his side rousted him at dawn.
Chapter 40 – Hamlet on the Hill
The foothills before him reached higher elevations at each peak as they stretched out toward the mountains. Green covered most of the lower
portions with clumps of small trees in spots. Where it wasn’t grass, it was bare rock. Just as Lupus had described it, the landscape consisted of high hills. And, almost as if Mars had used his gladius to slice some of the tops off. But the plateau areas were serrated, not smooth.
After shaking the leaves from his cloak, he slung it over the pack and marched down the first hill. In the back of his mind, he worried the Syracuse NCOs might send out a patrol at first light. He couldn’t afford to be seen, so even though the path was treacherous, he rushed to the valley below.
Two rabbits squatted, chewed, and watched him cross the valley floor. They rightly didn’t consider him a threat. In his present state of mind, he wasn’t. But, he hoped a few of their cousins, over the next hill, had the same relaxed attitude. Moments later, his attitude was no longer relaxed.
***
Alerio found himself sweating and kneeling in a clump of trees. On the hill where he spent the night, stood four men. They’d appeared when he was halfway up the hill. The soldiers had stopped to take in the vista before glancing down into the valley, and scanning the far hillside; that saved the Legionary. Catching a glimpse of their heads as they crested the hill, he ran for the trees.
His stomach grumbled when the four sat down, pulled strips from pouches, and began gnawing on the dried meat. In Alerio’s mind, he went to an extreme and envisioned them chewing on fresh beef. It was more likely dried goat but, if you’re going to be envious, you might as well make it worthwhile.
A root dug painfully into one knee and his back ached from remaining stooped. Alerio thought seriously about standing up and calling the four over. He wondered if they would share a few meat strips before the fight?
What saved him, was the appearance of a fifth man. The man must have been their squad leader as the four jumped to their feet. He wasn’t happy and demonstrated it with a few explicit hand gestures. After the display, the five disappeared behind the summit of the hill.
Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 1 Page 60