Tribune's Oath (Clay Warrior Stories Book 17) Read online

  Tribune’s Oath

  Clay Warrior Stories

  Book #17

  J. Clifton Slater

  Tribune’s Oath is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. I am not an historian although, I do extensive research. This book is about the levied, seasonal Legion of the mid-Republic and not the fulltime Imperial Legion. There are huge differences.

  The large events in this tale are taken from history, while the dialogue and close action sequences are my inventions. Some of the elements in the story are from reverse engineering mid-Republic era techniques and procedures. No matter how many sources I consult, history always has holes between events. Hopefully, you will see the logic in my methods of filling in the blanks.

  The manuscript for Tribune’s Oath has been scrutinized, analyzed, and marked up by the eagle-eyed Hollis Jones. With each note and observation, she has removed extra verbiage and tweaked the story. Her editing notes are the reason the tale makes sense and flows. For her work and guidance, I am grateful.

  If you have comments, please e-mail me.

  E-mail: [email protected]

  To get the latest information about my books, visit my website. There you can sign up for my newsletter and read blogs about ancient history.

  Website: www.JCliftonSlater.com

  Thank you for being a part of Alerio’s stories.

  Euge! Bravo!

  Tribune’s Oath

  Act 1

  Chapter 1 – Thirty-Five Miles

  Chapter 2 – A Space for Victory

  Chapter 3 – The Threshing Board

  Act 2

  Chapter 4 – March on Tunis

  Chapter 5 – A Naked Iberian

  Chapter 6 – Just Too Much

  Act 3

  Chapter 7 – Questionable Motives

  Chapter 8 – Winds of Regret

  Chapter 9 – Rules of Fate

  Act 4

  Chapter 10 - The Battle for Tunis

  Chapter 11 – Too Much Territory

  Chapter 12 – Not the Spartan

  Act 5

  Chapter 13 – Spartan Control

  Chapter 14 – The Generals’ Aides

  Chapter 15 – Raw Materials to Coins

  Act 6

  Chapter 16 – Freed from an Oath

  Chapter 17 – Freedom Sailing Away

  Chapter 18 – The Violent Trail

  Act 7

  Chapter 19 – Disguised and Undignified

  Chapter 20 – Travel Routes

  Chapter 21 – Counter Ambush

  Act 8

  Chapter 22 – Thracian Barricade

  Chapter 23 - Getting Home

  Chapter 24 – Off the Punic Coast

  Act 9

  Chapter 25 – Before Dawn

  Chapter 26 – Punta Secca Beach

  Chapter 27 – Premature Funeral

  Act 10

  Chapter 28 – Marcia!

  Chapter 29 - Olivia and Tarquin

  Chapter 30 - The Silent Wolf

  The End

  A note from J. Clifton Slater

  Other books by J. Clifton Slater

  Tribune’s Oath

  Act 1

  Although a successful operation, the invasion of the Punic Coast was also a cluster of escalating problems. By inserting four Legions and leaving them there, the Republic claimed an achievement if not a victory. The real problem started when Proconsul Marcus Regulus fought his way to within a day’s march of the defensive walls of the Empire’s Capital.

  The location left twelve hundred cavalrymen and fourteen thousand Legionaries over eight hundred miles from Rome and reinforcements. When the Senate recalled the fleet, the Legions were stranded on enemy ground. Nearing the end of his Consulship, Marcus Regulus, the expedition’s General should have been relieved. Yet, the Senate failed to send a replacement. All these difficulties amounted to troubling times, but they weren’t insurmountable.

  Meanwhile, four thousand cavalrymen from allies of the Empire and twelve thousand mercenary infantrymen arrived at the Punic capital. Adding to the weight of the forces aligned against the Legions were one hundred African war elephants. However, none of these elements presented the real dilemma for the Legions.

  For General Regulus and the Republic, the problem was dressed in a scarlet cloak and wore a Greek helmet with a red and yellow crest that cascaded from the top to the back of his helmet. Once hired as the commander for the Qart Hadasht army, the visible cloak and ornate helmet were everywhere. From the war elephant teams to the horsemen, the companies of mercenaries, and the tribal warriors, he arrived, rallied the forces, and delivered explicit directions in a curt manner. And so, the most dangerous element of the Empire’s defense took to the battlefield in the person of a Spartan General.

  Welcome to 255 B.C.

  Chapter 1 – Thirty-Five Miles

  Corporal Philetus added his shield to the wall by crowding in between two Legionaries. He paused for a heartbeat, listening to the war cries from across the combat line. When he isolated a specific roaring voice, he exploded over the top of the shields. Bellowing in reply to a huge mercenary, Philetus’ arm and gladius snapped out and cut the side of the big warrior’s neck. Blood spurted from the wound and coated men on both sides of the combat line. The Tesserarius landed on his feet, stepped back, and moved out of the shield wall.

  “You bled that one good,” a servant for Sixth Century noted when the big warrior crumpled to the ground. After handing the Corporal a waterskin, he pointed to the medic who was treating two Legionaries injured by the giant. “That beast was about to force his way through.”

  “If only he had,” Philetus remarked, “I could have killed him before he did the damage.”

  After visually checking for any new instructions from Centurion Aeneas, the Corporal addressed his squads, “Merchants of Mayhem, tighten your shields. Don’t make me come up there and correct your stance.”

  His words filtered through the squad leaders and the pivot men until all thirty Legionaries of his section heard his words. Men on the three lines chuckled at the idea of stopping in the middle of a fight to receive instructions. They laughed because Philetus, if he thought it would help, was the type of NCO to make those corrections in the middle of a battle. The Corporal returned to prowling behind the three lines seeking another danger to his section.

  Aeneas, the combat officer of the Sixth Century, divided his attention between Tesserarius Philetus, Optio Kalem, the three lines of Legionaries to his front, and his maniple’s Tribune. His head on a swivel, Centurion Aeneas watched for three things: Threats to his Century’s formation; instructions from the staff officer; and the state of his Legionaries.

  “First rank, stand by to rotate,” Aeneas called. His warning order filtered through the eighty infantrymen. “Second rank, rotate forward, first rank, step back, step back.”

  The Legionaries at the front felt shields slide in between their scuta. While the fresh arms and legs moved into position, the front rank stepped to the rear of the formation. Servants rushed to the sweating Legionaries. They handed out water and wineskins to the exhausted infantrymen and examined them for injuries requiring medical attention.

  Every rotation caused bulges and gaps, even if temporarily, between shields. Aware of the danger while the Legionaries settled into their positions, the NCOs and Centurions issued instructions to reestablish the line. Once their line was straight, they called for alignment with the Centuries on either side.

  Behind the Centurions and NCOs, the half maniple’s Tribune studied the distribution of his Legionaries to be sure his six Centuries p
resented a uniformed front. Additionally, the staff officer scanned over his combat line searching the rear of the enemy’s ranks for unique threats. Between observing his line and the enemy beyond, he checked for directions from command. Usually delivered as a message by a Junior Tribune or a signal flag, any changes would come from the flank officer for all three maniples, Senior Tribune Emerens.

  The senior staff officer coordinated his half of the Legion under directions from the Battle Commander.

  “Colonel Sisera, we should push forward,” Emerens suggested. “Put the mercenaries on their heels and rout them.”

  Alerio Sisera let his eyes brush over his first maniple. Although hard pressed, the inexperienced Centuries were managing the Qart Hadasht soldiers. However, moving forward seemed reasonable based only on the fighting at the center of the assault line.

  On the left end, Tribune Rapti Galba and the cavalry were engaged in a fight with a less than sure outcome. And farther along the Legion line, in Colonel Ferenc’s command, the cavalry from Legion East, was as hard pressed at Alerio’s North.

  Shifting to the opposite side of his Legion, Alerio watched Centurion Grear Keoki and his skirmishers. They had formed ranks against slashing attacks by mounted horsemen of the Empire.

  “I appreciate your confidence in our maniple, Emerens. But I think if we move off our line,” Alerio said, “we’ll quickly outrun our endcap defenses.”

  “Yes, Battle Commander,” Senior Tribune Emerens agreed in a less than enthusiastic manner.

  The junior staff officers, and Alerio’s right flank commander, Senior Tribune Cancellus, made their silent protests obvious by the set of their shoulders. None of them liked the remain-in-place order. But holding back the staff from rash decisions was Colonel Sisera’s job.

  Leadership, Alerio discovered when the Legions moved through the mountain pass, consisted of a balancing act. A Battle Commander needed to be bold enough to garner the respect of the toughest Legionaries while protecting the infantrymen from circumstances that would hurt and demoralize them. He understood that squatting behind their shields was safe but not satisfying.

  “Senior Tribunes Emerens and Cancellus. I want the second maniple moved up,” Alerio instructed. “And split the third. Send the halves to the ends of our formation. Ask the veterans to cut a dead zone between us and the Empire horsemen.”

  “Are we relieving the first maniple, sir?” Cancellus inquired.

  Rather than answer, Alerio asked, “Have either of you ever seen a waterwheel?”

  The Senior Tribunes for the Legion looked at their Battel Commander with puzzled expressions.

  “I have, Colonel,” a young nobleman spoke up. “In Ostia, they have a grain mill powered by water. I spent an afternoon watching the machine work.”

  “If you laid on your belly and studied the workings of the waterwheel,” Alerio proposed. “Tell me why I asked about it?”

  The Junior Tribune bit his lower lip as he pondered the question. Using one hand, he made circular patterns while visualizing the motion of the wheel. Then he added his other hand and, as if stirring a bowl of batter, he allowed his arms to go around and around until a smile crossed his face.

  “You’re going to rotate first and second maniples,” the teen affirmed. Then he recalled. “But Colonel, you said we weren’t moving forward.”

  “Exactly. Like the waterwheel that spins but doesn’t travel, we’ll rotate the first and second maniples,” Alerio described. “Each maniple will advance twice before falling back behind the other formation. Twice up then back. We’ll chew on the soldiers like wolves gnawing on bones. Objections?”

  “No, sir,” Emerens assured him.

  “The veterans will be happy to get into the fight,” Cancellus stated.

  “May the Goddess Victoria fight with us,” Alerio prayed. “Execute the plan.”

  As if a column of scythes hacking grain stalks, the first maniple advanced twice. Their shields bashed and the uniformed stabs cut into the opposing forces. Behind them, the second maniple waited their turn.

  Although Qart Hadasht soldiers died, the initial movement delighted their commander.

  ***

  Empire General Hamilcar had rushed five thousand soldiers and fifteen hundred horsemen through the valley beneath Mount Boukornine. Hoping to catch the Republic forces unprepared, Hamilcar started his mercenaries moving before dawn.

  In the rays of the rising sun, his cavalry and infantry left the valley and advanced across an open plain. Two miles west of the town of Béni Khalled and just shy of the Legion marching camps, triple lines of big shields appeared across the landscape.

  “If we don’t break their line, we’ll be here for a week pounding and pounding without progress,” the General grumbled.

  “It’s their shields,” the Major of Infantry responded. “We need them to come forward. Then we’ll locate a weak spot and pour through it. Make this a man-to-man fight, and we’ll slaughter the invaders.”

  “That’s all-wishful thinking Major. Now tell me, how do you propose to breach the shield wall when it’s static?”

  Shifting the blame to the cavalry, the infantry commander said, “If the horsemen had gotten behind the lines, we would be there now, General.”

  The top cavalry officer snorted in disgust.

  “Your hesitation to engage at the start is the reason we’re stuck,” the Captain of Horse protested. “My riders could have circled behind them but what good would we have done? Your soldiers weren’t ready to attack.”

  “They had to drop their extra equipment,” the Major responded.

  “Enough,” Hamilcar scolded. He smiled when the Legion lines moved. “While you bicker, the enemy hands us an opportunity. Move your reserves forward. Find that weak spot and let’s bring this invasion to an end.”

  ***

  The first maniple stabbed on the second advance then stepped back and back again. From behind the Empire forces, a wave of fresh soldiers charged forward to join the battle. Pushed from behind, the warriors at the front were shoved towards the retreating Legion maniple.

  The initial push of the first maniple allowed a narrow gap to open on the flanks. A few Empire horsemen galloped through, believing they could disrupt the Legionaries’ formation from behind.

  At the center of the battle line, the charging soldiers ran into the thrusts of the second maniple’s shields, and they tasted the steel of the experience infantrymen’s gladii. Meanwhile, the horsemen who managed to get behind the lines ran into a wall of muscle and sinew, hardened by years of warfare. The veterans of the third maniple quickly put an end to the mounted marauders.

  The advances and rotations of the maniples chewed up Empire soldiers. After the fourth switch, the Qart Hadasht Major ordered a retreat.

  “Do we pursue them, Battle Commander?” Senior Tribune Emerens inquired.

  Alerio reached for his gladius but stilled his hand. He was mounted and surrounded by Junior Tribunes. Flipping his blade while thinking through the situation seemed unprofessional. His quandary ended when a Junior Tribune from Legion East trotted to his command staff.

  “Sir, General Regulus would like you to join him at his command tent,” the messenger stated.

  “Right away,” Alerio acknowledged. To his staff, he instructed. “Hold your positions until I return. Senior Centurion Agoston, get me a report on injuries.”

  Orders were passed down and Legion North halted. But they remained on guard in case the Qart Hadasht army turned back. During the standdown, the Legion’s senior combat officer rode the maniples congratulating the Legionaries and officers while gathering casualty reports.

  As Colonel Sisera rode away from Regulus Legion North, First Centurion Palle and a troop of bodyguards fell into a formation around their Battle Commander. Alerio and the group headed for a tent erected to the rear of Regulus Legion East.

  ***

  “Colonel Sisera,” Marcus Regulus greeted Alerio when he entered the General’s tent. “Your
Legion did a good job of stopping their advance.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Alerio replied.

  “I know you took the brunt of the attack,” Regulus acknowledged, “but I went you to chase them down and keep pressure on the Empire.”

  “Sir, according to my planning and strategies officer, we are thirty-five miles from Kelibia and thirty-five miles from the defensive walls of Qart Hadasht,” Alerio portrayed the situation by tracing the distances on a map. “It’s a good place to build a backup location. Once we build a fort, we’ll have a secure rear position.”

  “Sisera, I’ve sent letters to the Senate asking to be relieved,” Regulus informed Alerio. “So far I’ve received no response. I feel like a piece of land abandoned by its farmworkers and left alone to go to seed. Well, I will not rest in Punic territory and let grass grow under my feet.”

  “I understand sir, but I have wounded who need tending,” Alerio protested. “At least give me a few days to rest my Legion.”

  Marcus Regulus slammed a hand down on his temporary map table. The top flipped off the stand and crashed to the dirt floor scattering parchment maps across the ground. Alerio flinched. Not from Marcus’ outburst, but from the abuse to the maps. Some of which, Alerio had drawn himself.

  “The Ides of March was two weeks ago,” Marcus Regulus sneered. “My term as Consul is up. I should be home with my family and sitting in my seat as a Senator. Not here, not as a Proconsul in charge of this expedition, and not at this point in my life. I want this campaign done with.”

  “General, I sympathize,” Alerio stated. “But we need a fallback location. And halfway between where we landed and where we’re going makes good sense.”

  “Eleven years ago, the first time I was elected Consul,” Regulus reminded Alerio, “you were a boy just learning to ride. So, follow my orders.”

  “Sir. When you were first elected Consul,” Alerio corrected the General, “I was a Legion Raider. And I have been at war ever since. Please recognize my military expertise and reconsider your order.”