Fortune Reigns Page 13
“Get Lance Corporal Sisera out here, now,” the First Centurion ordered.
Turning to face the camp, the sentry shouted, “Get Lance Corporal Sisera over here.”
“Can’t do that,” a guard on the other side of Southern Legion’s area called back.
The guard turned to face the First Centurion, raised his arms as he shrugged and announced, “Can’t do that, sir.”
“Was I not clear?” Faustinus blustered. “Get Sisera over here now.”
A youthful Centurion and an older Sergeant pushed aside a flap on one of the command tents. They marched to where the First Centurion stood in front of his squads.
“What can Southern Legion do for you?” asked the line officer with a yawn.
‘What kind of an outfit are you running here, Centurion?” demanded Faustinus.
“One that was on the shield wall all day,” responded the Southern Legion Centurion. “My Legionaries have earned a night’s rest. If you had any manners, you would have asked for me before disturbing my people. Now, I asked you again. What can the Southern Legion do for you?”
“Senior Tribune Eutropius is missing and I’ve been tasked with locating him,” replied the First Centurion.
“Optio. Have you seen the Tribune?” the officer asked his Sergeant.
“No, sir,” the NCO replied.
“Sorry, Faustinus. We haven’t seen him,” the Centurion reported. “And so, it’s not my problem. But you rousing my Legionaries is a problem. So good night.”
“I demand to speak with Lance Corporal Sisera,” Faustinus threatened. “Which squad is he in? I’ll have my men drag him out of the tent.”
The rattle of armor and the snap of javelins settling in on top of shields came from deep in the camp. Then, two squads in battle formation marched from between the tents.
“What’s this? Are you looking for a fight?” asked the First Centurion.
“Stand down,” the line officer instructed the two Southern Legion squads. “First Centurion. Lance Corporal Sisera is not here. If you had asked me to start with, I would have told you he is at the Medical tent.”
“Malingering, no doubt,” offered Faustinus. “I witnessed his assault on the staff officer. Out of uniform and hiding from his duty, he was probably drunk as well.”
“Be careful of your words, First Centurion,” cautioned the young Centurion.
“My words?” stammered Faustinus. “I’ll say what I want when I want, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“It’s not me, First Centurion,” replied the Southern Legion line officer. “Just a word of advice. Don’t threaten Death Caller.”
“Who?” questioned Faustinus but he didn’t wait for an answer. “Squads left face forward.”
As the Headquarters squads marched away, the Sergeant glanced at his Centurion.
“Why didn’t you tell him, sir?” asked the NCO.
“He wouldn’t have listened,” the line officer replied. “Let’s check our sentries and try to get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir,” the Optio said agreeing with his Centurion.
***
Even in the middle of the night, the Medical tent bristled with activity. Legionaries moaned or cried out from pain and Medics gave sips of water, bathed feverish foreheads, or poured vinegar on wounds to prevent the rot as they changed bandages.
The worst aftermath of a shield to shield fight lay in three ward tents. All the surgery was done for the day. Now it was up to the individual Legionary to heal or die. The surgeons had turned in for the night because tomorrow there would be amputations for the men who contracted gangrene. As all of the Medics were Privates or Lance Corporals, none were prepared to face an impatient First Centurion.
The goat leather flap popped against the tent’s side as Faustinus strutted into the ward.
“Where is Lance Corporal Sisera?” he demanded.
Medics and injured Legionaries, those cognizant enough to care, peered at the First Centurion. But, no one replied.
“I asked a question and I will have an answer,” announced Faustinus. “If you are hiding him, I’ll have you on the punishment post for insubordination.”
“First Centurion. Go through surgery and out the slit in the back,” instructed a Medic holding up a blood-soaked bandage. “But keep your voice down.”
“Do not tell me to keep my voice down,” Faustinus thundered. “I’ll speak anyway I choose.”
As he marched out of the ward and into the quiet of the surgery area, he fumed at the night. Trying to find a lost Senior Tribune was bad enough. But having a junior officer and a Medic tell him to be cautious and to keep his voice down tried his patience. He was a veteran and the officer in charge of keeping General Caudex safe. To be hushed as if he was a school lad, was an insult to his position.
The noise of the ward faded and, in the silence of the surgery area, he heard words mumbled. As he rounded a butcher’s block, as most Legionaries though of the surgery work surface, words became distinguishable.
See the man is broken
For him, others have spoken
Although not a proper temple
Yet a hero lays
In a modest Legion chapel
Recognize this man
Dying wasn't his plan
His face is clean
You can see
Gaze peacefully
Goddess of Death
See the man is broken
First Centurion Faustinus stepped halfway through the slit and stopped. An awning blocked the moonlight, and he waited for his eyes to adjust to the unusual darkness. While he listened to the sound of trickling water dripping into a bucket, a ragged voice chanted.
Nenia Dea
You hover just out of sight
But death is called
To claim his life
With gentle hands so light
Take him with care
As is a worthy man’s right
Goddess of Death, Nenia Dea
Hear our plight
As you hover just out of sight
The Centurion’s eyes finally adjusted to the dark and he saw men sleeping in rows. One figure kneeled beside another, running a wet rag over the sleeping man’s face.
“Lance Corporal Sisera. Wake up, I will have words with you,” Faustinus boomed.
He glanced around expecting Legionaries to stir from their sleep at the order. When none moved, he stepped fully through the slit and the odor reached his nostrils. The aroma of fresh corpses caught him by surprise and he involuntarily stepped back.
As the First Centurion recovered his balance, the kneeling man dipped the rag in a bucket and turned to wash another face.
Reach out for my brother
His light fades as do others
Ease his struggle to survive
As his strength wanes
Pacing steadily to his demise
Grip his hand in yours
Take him from this plain
Free his soul
Cease his pain
Goddess of Death
Reach out for my brother
First Centurion Faustinus shook off the surprise assault on his senses and he opened his mouth to demand that Lance Corporal Sisera identify himself. Before he could utter the words, an old, yet robust, Centurion appeared at the edge of the awning. He held a lantern over his head. In the light, Faustinus could make out scars on big arms that identified the Centurion as a veteran.
“First Centurion, do not disturb Death Caller,” growled the grizzled line officer. “If you want conversation, join us. If not, go the Hades away, quietly.”
“I am…” then the First Centurion stopped his sentence as the large Centurion’s gladius leaped from its sheath and appeared in the man’s big fist.
“I asked you nicely,” advised the old Centurion. “Say another word and Lance Corporal Alerio will be washing your face and calling Nenia for you.”
Nenia Dea
You hover just out of sight
But death is called
To claim his life
With gentle hands so light
Take him with care
As is a worthy man’s right
Goddess of Death, Nenia Dea
Hear our plight
As you hover just out of sight
First Centurion of Headquarters Century Faustinus had never backed away from a fight in his life. But here, in the murky darkness as if in the shadows of the Death Goddess herself, a chill ran down his spine. He glanced at the Lance Corporal for a moment and when he looked up the old Centurion had sheathed his gladius. As he followed the ancient campaigner, he heard the kneeling man’s gravel voice chant.
Sense beyond the shell
Yes, he has been through hell
Feel beneath his genocide
As the spirit thrives
Trapped in the ruined outside
Embrace his essence
In your arms, we ask
Release him
From this task
Goddess of Death
Sense beyond the shell
They walked around a wagon to a campfire. Another line officer sat and stared into the flickering flames. Strangely, the chanting faded as they approached the fire.
“My apologies, First Centurion,” the large man explained. His voice coming from deep in his chest in a low baritone. “That’s my Optio being washed by Death Caller. He is a fierce and competitive man and a terror in the battle line. A Syracusan spear through his chest and out his back fell him near the end of the fighting. The surgeon showed me the bones coming through the hole and explained he couldn’t live much longer. But he is a fierce and competitive man. As if waiting for all the Legionaries to go first, my Sergeant lingers. I couldn’t have Death Caller disturbed until the last hero of the battle passes.”
“And so, you sit late into the night waiting for your Optio to leave,” ventured Faustinus. As he sat and warmed his hands by the fire, he questioned the other line officer. “And you Centurion?”
“The Lance Corporal of my First Squad took a sword slash to his shoulder,” he answered. “As he drew back, a spear reached under his shield and ran the iron head through his gut. He is a stallion of a lad. First to help and first to volunteer to fight. Unfortunately, the spirit that drives him, won’t let go of his body. When I came to check on him, the Medics had already placed him under the awning. That’s the second time I witnessed Death Caller work.”
“You mean Lance Corporal Sisera,” corrected Faustinus.
“Yes. He’s been here, washing faces and chanting since the first fatal casualty was placed under the awning,” explained the younger Centurion. “There are two holding onto life and Lance Corporal Sisera has vowed to stay until Nenia Dea comes for the last one.”
“We were fifteen around the campfire at sundown,” offered the large Centurion. “Now we are two as there are two dying and waiting for the Goddess to release them.”
“You said this was the second time you’ve watched Lance Corporal Sisera work,” inquired Faustinus of the younger Centurion. “Do you mean him chanting to the Gods?”
“No, not chanting. I’ve seen Death Caller fight and send scores of Syracusans to the dirt to wait for the Death Goddess. At least some of them, the others he killed without waiting for the Goddess’ permission,” described the Centurion. “I believe Lance Corporal Sisera has a special relationship with Nenia.”
“As do I,” added the old Centurion. “No one that young should have the scars of a veteran and be alive. He is truly blessed by death herself.”
“What scars?” inquired Faustinus. He’d only seen the Lance Corporal in a tunic and by lamplight. “Do you mean the punishment welts?”
“No. During the day and earlier, Medics came to change Sisera’s bandages and clean the wounds from the whip,” the old Centurion informed him. “He has knife, sword, gladius and arrow wounds on his body. During the time he was treated, he didn’t whimper, but continued to chant.”
“If he’s been here all day and evening, I don’t need to interrupt him,” declared Faustinus. He stood and, as he rounded the wagon heading for the front of the medical tent, he heard the strained voice still chanting.
Allow him to pass bravely
His comrades call his elegy
We sing Memento Mori
For this man’s end
remembering we will all die
Release this Legionary
This son of man
This best of friend
Grant him an end
Goddess of Death
Allow him to pass bravely
***
The First Centurion marched into the Citadel, passed through the great room and entered the conference room.
“General. Senior Tribune Eutropius has vanished,” he reported.
“Do you mean you can’t find Tribune Eutropius?” asked General Caudex.
“We’ve searched and sent runners to all of our positions,” explained Faustinus. “He didn’t report to any of them. Also missing are two of my Privates who accompanied him, sir.”
Caudex’s face paled and he clenched his fists. The General really didn’t care what happened to Maris Eutropius but he couldn’t let the feeling be known. Maris’ father was a big supporter of Senator Caudex and losing the man’s support would cost him politically.
“Colonel. As soon as the assault on the Qart Hadasht army is over, I want every pirate from the Sons of Mars lined up,” instructed the General. “And every tenth man killed until one of them confesses. If none do, we’ll start at the head of the line and start over again.”
“Yes, sir. The decimation of the Sons of Mars,” Requiem assured him. “Now, General. As I was saying, we’ll attack at dawn. Maybe catch the Qart Hadasht mercenaries asleep before they realize we’ve climbed over their wall.”
“I thought the men were exhausted? When I suggested this earlier, you had a pouch full of reasons against it,” complained the General.
“Sir, that was before King Hiero pulled back,” the Colonel informed him. “We had to withhold assault Legionaries to guard our southern defensives. In light of the new information, cavalry and skirmishers are adequate to the task.”
“Show me how this is going to work,” demanded Caudex.
Colonel Requiem handed his stick to junior Tribune Castor Ireneus. It was an honor for the young nobleman who had suggested the dawn attack.
“Explain our strategies to the General,” instructed Requiem. “This was your idea.”
General Caudex sat up and smiled at the very young Castor Ireneus. The Colonel had just handed the briefing off to the son of the powerful Ireneus family. Maybe he wouldn’t miss Maris after all. But, he would still punish the Sons of Mars.
Chapter 14 – Assault at the Wall
The chill of predawn and the exhaustion from yesterday’s fight weren’t the things bothering the Legionaries. It was the low visibility in the darkness making the silhouette of their squad mate indistinguishable from other squads causing the frustration. Stumbling around in the dark was the opposite of their usually precise maneuvering. Helping, although not fast or efficient in the dark, were the Centurions, Sergeants, and Corporals shoving, grabbing and questioning Legionaries to locate and position their men.
“Squad leaders, Pivots, say your unit’s number,” urged Centurion Sanctus Carnifex in a hushed tone. “Line them up in columns of twos.”
All he could see were javelins jutting into the night sky held by a shifting mass of shadowy clumps. When the mass congealed and the javelins became wavy lines, he called out.
“Requiem Division, First Century, First Squad, on me,” he directed. Two shapes of lines of Legionaries stepped in front of him and he began walking down the corridor checking to be sure all the squad members were present and in the correct unit. “First Squad? First Squad? Good. Second Squad? Second Squad, good.”
The Centurion located the start and ends of the First, Second and Third Centuries. They w
ould make up his first maniple. Then, he called for the Eleventh Century and walked the line through them and the Twelfth and Thirteenth, his second maniple. As expected, when he called for the Twenty-fifth Century, they were having difficulty sorting themselves out.
“Requiem Division, Twenty-Fifth Century, First Squad, on me,” he directed. And slowly, his least experienced Centuries began to form columns. “First Squad? Good. Second Squad, good.”
At the tail end of the Twenty-Seventh Century, Centurion Carnifex marched to a man sitting on a horse.
“Senior Centurion Valerian. Your maniples of three Centuries each are formed and ready to march,” Carnifex reported.
Valerian turned and addressed the mounted shape behind him, “Colonel. The assault force is standing by awaiting your orders.”
“It is ordered, take them out,” Requiem instructed.
“Yes, sir,” Valerian responded. Turning back to the front he said. “Centurion Carnifex forward your maniples.”
“Yes, First Centurion,” Sanctus Carnifex acknowledge. He turned and marched back through the seven hundred and twenty heavy infantrymen of his assault force. Along the path as he marched between the squads and the Centuries, he repeated. “Stand by. Stand by.”
At the head of the First Squad, First Century, he located a man standing off to the side.
“Senior Tribune Claudius. We are ordered forward,” Carnifex reported.
“Lead them out, Centurion,” directed the staff officer. “And good luck to you.”
***
Centurion Sanctus Carnifex walked the boards placed over the trench and down the steep hill. At the bottom, he strolled through the dale and climbed the shorter hill before descending to the narrow plain. As quietly as men try, armor, shields, and sheaths rapped and squeaked and hobnailed boots kicked rocks and scraped the ground. The Centurion heard the sounds and cringed, knowing eventually the Qart Hadasht sentries would also hear the racket.
Far across the open ground, a shape materialized from the dark and fell in beside him.
“I’ve stationed my Velites at the marsh and at positions across our line,” the skirmisher Centurion reported. “Your Legionaries are loud.”
“They’re supposed to be loud. They’re heavy infantry,” Carnifex explained as he continued to walk through the tall grass. “It scares the enemy.”