Death Caller (Clay Warrior Stories Book 13) Page 15

  Alerio’s view of the battle shrunk to the back of a man on the third row, and the Legionaries in his peripheral vision.

  “Keep your blades high for three rotations,” Alerio described to the pairs of Legionaries flanking him. Then, he drew his gladius and called to Optio Modus. “Rotate us in.”

  “Eighteenth Century stand by to rotate,” the NCO bellowed.

  Repeating the alert, the Decani passed the order onto their squads. A response returned, “Standing by, Optio.”

  Alerio and his four-man team of strikers turned sideways and squeezed between the third and then the second rank. They waited momentarily in spaces between legs and raised shields.

  “First rank, advance, step back, rotate out,” Modus ordered.

  Echoes of ‘advance, step back, rotate out’ ran through the eighteenth Century. On the front row, shields shot forward, gladii sliced and, as the rank stepped back, they continued backward, flowing between the second and through the third row. Rested Legionaries replaced them along with Tribune Sisera and his four blade-specialists.

  Alerio popped to the front and the brim of his helmet and the top of his shield reduced his vision to a narrow bar. While his field of vision minimized, the horsehair comb on the helmet flew as if a flag, helping to identify him as a Legion officer. And although Tribune Sisera could not see beyond the soldiers to his front, a flock of Celtic warriors noticed him.

  “Do you have a death wish, Tribune?” the Legionary on his left inquired.

  “If it’s my time,” Alerio replied, “I hope Nenia takes me quick.”

  “I heard she was your…”

  ***

  The words were crushed under the war cries and growls of Celtic warriors. They fought each other, crowding in, and attempting to kill the Legion officer.

  “Gladius drills, three rotations, high,” Alerio shouted.

  The five blades cut left twice, then backhanded to the right once for a single rotation. On the second series of the drill, the Noricum Celts at the front countered the blades with their shields and hacked with their swords trying to cut the Legionaries and their officer.

  Without a doubt, the elevated heartrates, blood lust, and fear clouded men’s thoughts. In a shield wall fight, the mind searched for comfortable patterns, such as the one defined by the Legion gladius drill. By the third repetition of the drill, the Celts anticipated the two hacks from the left and easily blocked the return slash.

  “One drill low,” Alerio shouted.

  And the shields of the Celtics dropped to stay even with the downhill dip of the gladii. At knee height, the blades swung inward.

  In a moment of confusion, the Noricum warriors defended low with their shields while reaching forward to cut over the Legion scutums. With their swords descending from overhead and their shields positioned at their knees, the pose left their faces and necks exposed.

  “Javelins,” Optio Modus ordered.

  Usually, the weapons were thrown. Typically, a delay accompanied the use of the pilum as it flew to the target. Not so when five thick shouldered Legionaries shoved the iron tips into the eyes and breasts of the Noricum Celts.

  “Hold them up,” Alerio instructed.

  As they came up, Alerio and his four Legionaries balanced the weight of three dead and two injured Celts on their shields.

  Noricum soldiers attempted to pull their dead and wounded comrades off the javelin tips. A tug-of-war developed when the Legionaries holding the shafts of the javelins pulled back. Trapped on the barbed heads, the dead flopped back and forth, and the two still alive screamed in agony.

  “Kick their swords behind us,” Alerio directed.

  Five heels hooked the five dropped Noricum swords, dragging the blades back to the second rank.

  “Are we done here, Death Caller?” one of his gladius experts asked.

  His eyes were on a Celt who screamed when he was pulled back to the extent of the thorny iron tip. And cried out for mercy when the javelin slid in deeper as he was tugged in the other direction.

  “No, they haven’t learned to respect us. Yet,” Alerio informed his team. “Break them loose.”

  The five stood and used their shields to push the dead and dying away. Then by lifting their shoulders, they pried the javelin shafts from the hands of the Legionaries in the second rank.

  With the release of resistance, the Noricum Celts tugging on their fellow warriors fell back with the bodies. They tumbled into their third rank. Warriors tripped and the bodies flopped to the ground.

  “Same drill,” Alerio told the four men of his team. “Stand by.”

  “Standing by, Tribune,” the team replied.

  Chapter 24 – Noric Steel

  Major Vinzenz bellowed when his Noricum warriors funneled to the center of their attack formation. He could make out the horsehair comb on the helmet behind a Republic shield and recognized the prize. But he also saw the trap of everyone wanting to kill a Legion officer. Bunching up reduced the pressure on the shield wall by his front rank and made each of his Celts less efficient. Then, five of his best rose above the shoulders of their fellow Noricums and began flopping back and forth.

  “Captain get in there and unclutter that rubble,” Vinzenz barked to a senior officer. “Pull us back until we can coordinate our attack.”

  The Noricum Captain used his arms to push and pull men aside as he waded into the formation. By the time he reached the center, the third rank lurched when the second rank stumbled.

  “Pull back, pull back,” the Company commander ordered. “Check with your Lieutenants and regroup.”

  Almost as if daring the Noricum warriors to come and get him, the Legion officer lowered his shield. Exposed, the Republic commander resembled a lamb offering his neck to a pack of jackals.

  “Sir, the Legion officer is right there,” a Noricum Lieutenant pointed out.

  “I see him,” the Captain admitted. “Fall back and form up your men. We will get him when we break the Legion’s formation. But first, we need to restore discipline.”

  The warriors of the two Noricum Companies adjusted their lines as the bodies of the five dead warriors were carried through the formation. Although the tips of the javelins were bent so the shafts rested on the torsos to prevent further mutilation, the effect angered the Celts. Every warrior bristled and fought the urge to run at the Legion shield wall and kill Legionaries.

  Then, with the disgruntled attitude in the ranks at its peak, Captain Barekbaal charged up. The Qart Hadasht commander glared at the Noricum Major.

  “Vinzenz why are your people pulling back?” he screamed. “Are your warriors that weak of heart? Short on courage? I am ordering you to get back into this fight.”

  The outburst drew the ire of the Celtic warriors. Most restrained themselves but several felt the insult to their Noricum pride. The offended gripped their swords more tightly.

  “Barekbaal, keep your voice down,” Major Vinzenz instructed. He checked the expressions on the faces of the warriors closest to them. “and keep a civil tongue in your head.”

  “You and your mountain herders should remember who I am,” Barekbaal advised. “My Empire rules the world. Qart Hadasht pays you to do my bidding. Now, order your oversized cows to fight, before I have all of you punished.”

  Between the tone and the verbal abuse, a hot-blooded warrior boiled over and lashed out. The tip of his sword slashed a gash in Barekbaal’s thigh.

  The Qart Hadasht officer assumed the wound was a precursor to an assassination attempt and panicked. While Noricum warriors wrestled the attacker to the ground, Barekbaal kneed his mount and raced away from the Companies.

  “Aren’t you going after him, sir?” a Lieutenant asked. He held up a treatment bag containing ointments, needles, thread, and bandages.

  “It wouldn’t do any good with that one,” Major Vinzenz offered. “His head is so far inserted into his own cūlus, he has to open his mouth to see daylight.”

  ***

  One of the sel
ected gladius experts leaned over and spoke to Alerio.

  “I don’t think they want to play with you, sir,” he announced. “For the life of me, I have never seen an orchestrated public execution spontaneously held between shield walls.”

  “I don’t blame the Celts for backing off,” another of Alerio’s flankers reflected. “You are a caller of death, sir, that is a demonstrated fact.”

  Alerio glanced to his right and left. Along the combat line, the other mercenaries, having seen the Noricums back away, followed the Celts’ example.

  “I think we have installed the proper amount of fear in our foes,” Alerio stated. “Rotate back.”

  “Are we done, sir?” another of his team inquired.

  “The left side of Second Maniple came to Porto Botte to prevent mercenaries from boarding their ships-of-war,” Alerio lectured. “We are not here to hold a parade formation on the beach. No, we are not done.”

  Rolling back, his four blade experts slipped through to the third rank. Alerio paused at the second row.

  “Good work with the javelins,” he offered to the wide shouldered Legionaries. “Your timing saved my life and I appreciate it.”

  “Just doing our job, Tribune Sisera,” one beamed.

  “If you need muscle, we are your guys, sir,” another of the powerful Legionaries added.

  “I’ll remember that,” Alerio promised.

  Then he shifted through the third rank.

  “Orders, sir?” Optio Modus requested.

  “I’ll leave that up to your Centurion,” Alerio responded. He was three steps beyond the NCO when he scooped up one of the Celtic swords and stopped. Turning, Alerio raised the sword over his head and shouted. “Eighteenth Century of Paterculus Legion West. It was my honor to fight with you.”

  “Rah!” the Legionnaires responded.

  Alerio saluted with the foreign blade. Then he marched to their Centurion.

  “I’m glad you are back, sir,” the combat officer exclaimed.

  He did not look at Alerio but continued to scan the Legion formation and the mercenaries beyond the shields.

  “I believe we solved the mystery of the enchanted blades,” Alerio offered.

  “Magic, sir?” the Centurion questioned.

  “No, just great steel,” Alerio explained. Pulling his dagger, he tapped the Celtic blade. It rang like a bell while bouncing the dagger off the hard surface. “This metal is excellent. I’d give my right hand for a gladius made of this steel.”

  “But then you couldn’t use the gladius,” the Centurion cautioned. “Remember Tantalean’s punishments.”

  Alerio was studying the mouth of the bay and missed the officer’s point.

  “Excuse me,” Alerio begged.

  “Tantalean, sir. He was punished by standing in a pool of water with the branches of a fruit tree overhead. When he reached for the fruit, the branches moved and when he tried to drink the water receded,” the combat officer explained. “It is a cautionary tale about those who have good things but are not permitted to enjoy them. If you lost your right hand, you could not use the new gladius.”

  “That’s true,” Alerio acknowledged. “Return to your Century. We need to get back into this battle before some other maniple comes along and claims our victory.”

  “Another maniple, sir?” the Legion officer questioned.

  Alerio indicated the mouth of Sulci Bay and the line of Legion warships rowing to engage the Qart Hadasht fleet.

  “Did we do good, sir?” the Centurion asked.

  Alerio peered up the beach. For as many Empire ships-of-wars that adjusted to meet the Republic fleet, just as many were sunk or still on shore.

  “We did make a difference. But we are not done,” Alerio declared. Raising his voice, he asked. “Centurion Pashalis. Are Legionaries paid to stand around looking pretty?”

  “Tribune Sisera, we have our fair share of Narcissus worshipers,” the experienced Centurion respond. “But not one of them is pretty enough to pose for a travertine statue.”

  “Then get us moving,” Alerio instructed, “because I know we get paid to fight.”

  ***

  The attack had gone on long enough for fearful oarsmen to have run away. Those dedicated began searching and finding vessels in need of their services.

  Admiral Hannibal Gisco and a few Captains were directing stray rowers and groups of mercenaries onto ships-of-war.

  “Admiral, we need to get you on a ship and out of Sulci Bay,” a ship’s officer advised.

  “Not until Major Vinzenz and his Companies arrive,” Gisco said into the Captain’s ear. He whispered so other mercenary units didn’t know he favored the Noricum officer and his warriors. “Did you send the runner?”

  “Yes, sir, the Major and his soldiers should be here shortly,” the Captain reported. “Will you board now?”

  “Put them on those two ships,” Gisco directed, indicating a pair with oarsmen but no soldiers. “I need to return to my quarters for a few personal items.”

  “Sir, you should leave now,” the Captain begged. “I will go and collect your things.”

  “No. I am in command here,” Gisco stated. “Keep launching the ships. But save one for me. I will be back shortly.”

  Gisco nudged his horse around and walked the beast through groups of detached oarsmen and mercenaries. When he reached the top of the beach, he kicked the mount and galloped away from the chaos, leaving his bodyguards behind.

  ***

  The path to his headquarters had small groups of fleeing oarsmen going towards the mountains.

  “Admiral, Admiral,” a voice shouted from behind.

  A peek over his shoulder showed Captain Barekbaal racing towards him.

  Gisco passed a group heading in the opposite direction. An old man, lean and frail looking, reprimanded five healthy, young men as they walked back.

  “Run away will you,” he scolded. “I am old. I do not want to die on Sardinia. We need to be on a ship if we are to get…”

  A cry of pain followed by shouts of outrage, so strong, they caused Gisco to rein in his horse. Behind him, the old man lay twisted and still on the path. Barekbaal’s horse galloped away from the dead man, obviously having trampled the ancient oarsmen.

  Without thinking, the Qart Hadasht commander walked his horse back to the five men.

  “Who was he?” Gisco inquired. “I’ll make a sacrifice…”

  “Admiral, the Noricum are revolting,” Barekbaal complained as he brought his horse back to the scene of the accident. “Look, I’ve been wounded.”

  A long scratch, with only a few drops of blood, stretched down the Qart Hadasht Captain’s leg.

  “I was asking about…” Gisco advised while pointing at the ground.

  “Him? He is no one,” Barekbaal sneered. He almost spit on the crushed body. “I am talking about mutiny. I…”

  The rock came from one of the old man’s escorts. It clobbered the Captain in the temple. He toppled off his horse. Lucky for him, he fell away from the thrower. Unfortunately, Gisco sat erect on his horse making an easy target for the young men’s anger.

  A second and third rock knocked Gisco off his mount. Both horses, frightened by the ungainly dismounts of their masters, trotted away.

  “He was our grandfather,” another of the five youths yelled before throwing the next stone.

  Gisco and Barekbaal curled into balls, tucked their heads, and attempted to protect themselves. But the rocks kept coming. Bigger, faster, and harder until the two Qart Hadasht officers lay as still and broken as the old man.

  One of the youths walked to Admiral Hannibal Gisco, bent down and freed Gisco’s sword belt.

  “What’s that,” his brother questioned.

  “A good belt and sheath,” he replied while drawing the blade and examining the weapon. “And a sword made from Noric steel.”

  Act 7

  Chapter 25 – Spoils of Sulci

  The six Centuries of the Second Maniple fought and
pushed the mercenaries back. Without the Noricum warriors to brace up the defense, the Legionaries were able to fight their way forward. Their success was partially due to the lack of a Qart Hadasht officer. Without a commander to unify them, the Empire units battled in separate and isolated groups.

  “The big Celts are escaping,” the Centurion of the fourteenth notified Alerio.

  With his Century being divided to cover the flanks, the officer travelled from one side of the formation to the other. On this trip, he paused to point at two ships-of-war that had just left the beach.

  “Do you hunt lynx barehanded?” Alerio asked the combat officer.

  “I don’t understand, Tribune,” the Centurion remarked.

  “I would put my coins on Legionaries against the Noricum warriors in a one-on-one fight,” Alerio explained. “But when we landed, we faced odds of more than two-to-one. Even now, the mercenaries outnumber us.”

  “You are saying catching a lynx without gloves and weapons would not go well,” The Centurion ventured. “Just as fighting the Celts while holding off the other mercenaries wasn’t favoring us.”

  “We got mauled badly,” Alerio pointed out. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Back there are the casualties of the mismatch.”

  “The next time we’ll have the Legion to handle the other mercenaries,” the Centurion commented, “while we introduce the Noricums to Deimos.”

  “If it is the will of the God of Dread and Terror,” Alerio submitted. “Good job protecting our flanks.”

  “Thank you, Tribune,” the least experienced of Alerio’s Centurion responded.

  ***

  Tribune Sisera watched the two Empire ships-of-war. The pair cut across the water to the opposite shoreline before swinging seaward and rowing for the mouth of Sulci Bay. One Republic warship turned to give chase. But the distance proved to great and the Legion quinquereme veered off to find easier prey.

  Alerio pulled his gladius and compared it to the Noricum sword. Nicks and folds along the edges marred the blade plus a little piece of tip was missing from the Legion sword. A professional grinding and sharpening were required to keep it serviceable. In comparison, the sword made of Noric steel only needed honing to bring the edges back.