Uncertain Honor Read online

  The wheels of a wagon slid in the dirt as it careened onto the main street. Snapping a whip over a team of terrified horses, the driver shouted and hopped up and down on the bench. Beside him, a pudgy man held onto the bench seat with both hands, a look of terror on his face that rivaled those of the horses.

  At the sound of the yelling, the gate guard spun and leveled his spear. But the panicked horses ignored the lone sentry’s call to halt. And the driver guided the pair directly towards the center of the ramp and the guard.

  “Phobos,” Alerio bellowed while jerking the reins up and over the steed’s ear.

  In response, the great horse reared up on his hind legs and screamed a challenge at the draught animals. Had they been aggressive beasts, they might have replied. Being a matched pair of docile wagon horses, they angled for the side of the ramp while attempting to avoid the angry stallion.

  The team brushed by the sentry, jumped off the side of the ramp, and leaped over the defensive trench. The wagon however, bumped off the boards and crashed into the ditch. In the collision, the hitch broke, freeing the horses. Behind the fleeing team, the driver and passenger sprawled on the ground where they landed.

  “Nobody in or out,” Alerio informed the injured men. “You will respect my sentry’s instructions.”

  The gate guard, still shaking from nearly being trampled, gawked at the Colonel. In his haste to obey the Senior Centurion, he failed to notice the Battle Commander’s shoulder scarf.

  “Sir, I didn’t see, notice, ah, please come in,” the sentry finally got out the words.

  “I’m good,” Alerio said absentmindedly.

  He was distracted by the luggage and cargo in the back of the wagon. Beyond the silver plates and several bronze statues, a chest had broken open. Gold and silver coins were spread over the wagon bed.

  Nothing sounded as frightening, or reassuring, as armor and shields clanging together while Legionaries sprinted into formation. A squad ran to the gate and fell in around the sentry.

  “A little late, but appreciated,” Alerio remarked.

  “What’s going on here?” the squad leader asked the sentry.

  “The Battle Commander waved his hands and sent the wagon and the team off the side of the ramp,” the gate guard whispered as if talking too loud would up set Alerio. “He saved my life.”

  All ten Legionaries gawked at Alerio in open mouthed wonder. They had been told their new Colonel was a fighter and had been on the beach with the Marines. But no one warned them that he was a sorcerer.

  Senior Centurion Agoston and two combat officers raced from around the side of the stockade. They stopped and surveyed the situation.

  “Colonel Sisera. What are you doing out there?” Agoston questioned.

  “Following the directions of the sentry. And seeing as Jupiter wasn’t available, I had to wait for you,” Alerio replied. He indicated the injured men from the wagon and ordered. “Bring those idiots and their luggage to me. And send the cavalry after the horses.”

  “Yes, sir,” Agoston replied. “I apologize for the sentry overstepping his boundaries.”

  Alerio mounted Phobos and scanned the ruined wagon before saluting the gate guard.

  “We want Legionaries who will hold their ground. We don’t need hot heads who want to initiate attacks or seek glory in the fight. Battles are won by Legionaries who, even if beaten and hard-pressed, are ready to die at their posts,” Alerio proclaimed. “Find a reward for your gate sentry. Because Senior Centurion, he did everything right.”

  With a kick, Alerio sent the stallion up the ramp. Surprised by the speed of the horse, the infantrymen scattered to let Phobos through. Alerio rode directly for the command tents.

  Behind him, the Senior Centurion saluted, but not in the direction of the Colonel. Rather the honor went to the Legionary who stood his ground while guarding the main gate.

  “Let’s gather the trash and get them to the Battle Commander,” Agoston ordered afterward.

  As the infantrymen and officers dropped into the ditch to begin unloading the wagon, the gate guard stated, “I never expected a Colonel to say after nearly killing two men, you will respect my sentry’s instructions.”

  “Welcome to a real Legion where honor is certain,” Agoston told him. “Oh, and Legionary, before you kill anyone else, the gate is open for traffic.”

  ***

  Alerio walked through the empty planning room. Other times he’d been in one, the room held senior commanders, and he was but one face in the crowd.

  “Colonel Sisera?” a man inquired from a side entrance.

  “Yes. Who are you?” Alerio questioned.

  “Invisum, sir. I’m the planning and strategies staff officer,” the Tribune replied.

  “The location of this camp,” Alerio suggested, “it’s pretty nice.”

  “Sir, I hate to disagree, but from this side of the lake,” Invisum told him, “we can’t respond to a counterattack.”

  “Where should we be?” Alerio asked.

  “There’s a hidden pass fifteen miles southeast from here,” Invisum informed Alerio. He unrolled a map and pointed at a familiar section of rolling hills behind a large mound and tucked in between high steep inclines. It was the same location Grear Keoki indicated on his rough map. “Legion North should be defending this area. And another Legion should be guarding the northern approach.”

  “Why doesn’t the light infantry have this map?” Alerio challenged.

  “Colonel Haedulus would not allow any of the Legion maps out of the command tent,” Invisum responded. “And he restricted who could see them.”

  “I want copies made and passed out to the cavalry, the heavy infantry, and my skirmishers,” Alerio directed. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No, sir. It’ll be my pleasure,” Invisum agreed. “Except copies might be hard to come by. Your cartographer ran off with your quartermaster.”

  “In a wagon with a matched pair of horses?” Alerio asked.

  “Yes, sir. How did you know?”

  The tent flap opened and Griffinus Agoston marched in. A parade followed the Senior Centurion. Two combat officers carried the broken coin chest, three infantrymen hauled the statues, and several others held bags. Behind the goods, four men acted as stretcher bearers for a limp body, and finally, two Legionaries supported a fat Centurion into the command tent.

  “Is that my map maker?” Alerio asked.

  “Yes, sir, that’s Centurion Lophos,” Invisum stated. Looking at the stretcher, he pointed and informed Alerio. “And the dead man was your quartermaster.”

  “Good,” Alerio declared. Everyone in the tent snapped their head around and stared at the Colonel. Seeing the shocked looks at his dismissal of the dead man, Alerio told them. “The Goddess Nenia saved me from having him thrashed and crucified. And saved him the pain of the ordeal. Now, Centurion Lophos let’s talk about drawing maps for my units.”

  Act 9

  Chapter 25 – The Dagger Wound

  Sentiments around the amphitheater ranged from angry to worry. While some talked, other members of the Special Branch listened and nodded their agreement. Finally, the floor speaker stood and rapped the tiles with his staff.

  “Gentlemen. Silence please,” he called out. “We have business that demands our attention.”

  Both Suffetes were in attendance. The Domestic Suffete because the Republic forces were pillaging farther and farther in land and hurting commerce. Which as it happened was the reason for convening the session of the Special Branch. The Republic had invaded the Qart Hadasht homeland. Usually, the Military Suffete used the Branch to advise him on rulings concerning past activities by Empire Generals. For this meeting, they would review and sanction actions to defend their lives.

  “We will now bring in the Generals,” the speaker directed.

  A pair of soldiers bracketing the entrance saluted and turned. After a few words spoken through the doorway, the sentries faced the amphitheater. One signaled to t
he speaker that all was ready.

  “The Special Branch welcomes the Supreme Commander of the Qart Hadasht homeland forces, General Bostar,” the speaker proclaimed.

  The oldest and most experienced of the Qart Hadasht military commanders appeared in the doorway. General Bostar marched in and acknowledged several members of the Special Branch. He took a seat on the end of the marble bench facing the tiers.

  “And we welcome Admiral and the Commander of the Qart Hadasht forces on the islands of Sicily, Sardinia, and Corsica, General Barca, The Elephant's Trunk, Hamilcar,” the speaker announced.

  In other times, the mention of the General’s nickname would elicit cheers from the members. But after Barca Hamilcar’s scathing remarks to the Special Branch where he unloaded the reason for the naval defeat on the members, he entered to silence. Hamilcar took a seat on the opposite end of the bench from Bostar.

  “And finally, we welcome a Commander from our homeland fleet, General Hasdrubal Gisco,” the speaker exclaimed.

  Last to enter the chamber, the younger Gisco appeared uneasy to be there. While he had been invited, his father, Hanno Gisco had been excluded from the proceedings. Although not officially blamed, most members of the advisory council harbored feelings that Hanno’s actions had resulted in the fleet’s loss to the Republic. Hasdrubal Gisco selected a spot on the bench between Bostar and Hamilcar.

  “Generals, thank you for coming. During today’s discussion, we will not entertain conversations or speeches about the Battle of Cape Ecnomus,” the speaker warned. “Any member or guest who disregards this rule will be ejected from the theater.”

  Grumbling ran through the assembly as a few of them wanted the opportunity to vent about the losses to their fleet. But most agreed, the damage was done. With the Legions landed, they needed to save Qart Hadasht and the Empire, not rehash the defeat.

  “If I might have the floor?” Bostar inquired while standing.

  “The assembly recognizes General Bostar,” the speaker acknowledged.

  “We know each of their four Legions are composed of two thousand eight hundred and eighty heavy infantrymen, eight hundred light skirmishers, three hundred cavalrymen, and a command staff,” the General described. “To our benefit, the four Legions are spread out over a lot of land. Meaning we can stab them with targeted dagger like focused attacks.”

  “Our territory has been invaded. Our homeland desecrated,” a member complained.

  Another added from the opposite side of the amphitheater, “The territory of the Empire trembles. What are we going to do about it?”

  “Please gentlemen, allow the General to finish his thoughts,” the speaker pleaded.

  When the theater quieted, Bostar continued.

  “Your military leaders understand the frustration,” the old campaigner assured the assembly. He used a hand to indicate both Hasdrubal and Hamilcar. “We also fear for our homes and our families. As I said, the Legions are dispersed over a broad area. That is an advantage for us. We can focus on one area and one Legion.”

  “What good will that do?” another member of the Special Branch decried. “We need to drive them all, every last one of the invaders, into the sea.”

  “And we will. But first we must gather and train a large enough force. And for that we need time,” Bostar explained. “Our dagger like attack will cripple one Legion and hurt the Republic’s forces in two ways. We will significantly reduce the number of their fighting men. And the attack will put fear in their leaders. After witnessing our resolve, they’ll slow their advance and give us time to collect and equip our army. Just like a bully in a schoolyard fight, bloody their noses and they won’t be as aggressive.”

  “Well spoken, General,” the Military Suffete praised Bostar. “But where will you inflict the dagger wound? And just as important, who will have the honor of leading the operation?”

  “General Hamilcar and I are required to train the separate elements of our expanding army,” Bostar replied. “Lightning strikes into enemy held territory is a young man’s game. And thank Melqart, the God of Qart Hadasht, we have such a vibrant leader in our midst.”

  Bostar indicated the younger Gisco.

  “General Hasdrubal Gisco stand and tell the Special Branch of your plan,” the Suffete requested.

  “We, or rather, I have studied the positions of the Legions,” Hasdrubal responded. “A local tradesman from that area told me of a path through the Eastern Range. Probably unknown to the Legion, it’s my way to stab into the Republic’s heart and deliver our ultimatum.”

  “And what size force will you take?” the Suffete inquired.

  “Five hundred mounted tribesmen and five hundred warriors,” Hasdrubal answered. “It’s the largest force I can successfully sneak through the secret mountain pass.”

  ***

  The Optio dropped to a knee and stabbed upward. Slicing across the face of the shield, the tip of his gladius cut a deep furrow in the wood. His opponent cursed at the damage to his scuta, lifted his blade high, and smashed it downward. The NCO ducked and rolled out from under the plunging gladius. In a single summersault, he came up beside the Legionary and dropped an elbow on the man’s exposed neck. The infantryman dropped to his knees and steadied himself. Placing a foot on the middle of the man’s back, the Sergeant shoved the Legionary face down into the sand.

  “Accept it graciously,” Optio Donatas suggested. “Or the next move will hurt.”

  “Fine. I submit, First Optio,” the infantryman agreed.

  “I’m not First Optio any longer,” Donatas reminded the man as he helped him off the ground. “Now, I’m just. Well, I don’t know what I am.”

  The crowd around the sword fighting sandpit was divided. Half cheered their winnings while the others mourned the loss of their coins. Behind the crowd, Alerio and the Legion’s Senior Centurion watched the semifinal match from horseback.

  “I believe I know what to do with Sergeant Donatas,” Alerio declared.

  Seeing the adoration for the former First Century Optio and the wine passed to him by a crowd of well-wishers, Agoston felt a knot in his stomach. When a Colonel had a legitimate complaint against a man, he could have him whipped, put up on the boards as a punishment or as a death sentence, beaten until crippled, or stabbed to death. And no one would question the orders of the Battle Commander.

  “What’s that, sir?” Griffinus Agoston inquired.

  “He appears to be popular,” Alerio observed. To the Senior Centurion the comment held a tone of jealousy. And Colonel Sisera confirmed it. “I’m not happy he’s enjoying life.”

  “Sir, he was only following orders when he led you to that tent,” Agoston defended the NCO. “He says he didn’t know about the attempted murder.”

  “Nevertheless, Optio Donatas’ days of living off the Legion stop tomorrow,” Alerio decreed. “In the morning he’s to assume the duties of Weapon’s Instructor for the Legion.”

  The tension drained from the senior combat officer.

  “Thank you, Colonel,” he remarked.

  “Don’t thank me,” Alerio warned. “I’ve been the Weapon’s instructor for a Legion. I went to bed every night bone weary with bruises, cuts, and the angry words of the last Century I trained ringing in my ears. And in the morning, I got up and did it all again. Senior Centurion, I expect my infantry to be the best trained in the expedition. Make that clear to Weapon’s Instructor Donatas.”

  “Sir, I absolutely will,” Agoston assured Alerio.

  “And Senior Centurion, tell him it was your idea,” Alerio instructed. “Leave me out of it.”

  Before Agoston could protest, Senior Tribune Cancellus, the Legions right flank commander, rode up.

  “Colonel Sisera, the foot races are ready,” the senior staff officer advised. “They need you to start the events.”

  Looking down at the four infantrymen standing guard around him, Alerio alerted them.

  “First Century, I’m moving to the starting point of the foot races,�
�� he related.

  “We’re moving to the foot races,” the NCO called to the outer ring of defenders.

  As one of the Marines on the beach, the Optio thought a staff officer would be a burden. He’d learned that Senior Tribune Sisera required no help in a fight. But as a Battle Commander, Sisera’s habit of being everywhere, was a burden.

  Legionaries were shoved back to allow the Colonel free passage. Alerio and Cancellus walked their horses through the tunnel of humanity. Normally, only a couple of bodyguards accompanied the Battle Commander. For today’s festivities however, the First Century was out in force to keep over exuberant Legionaries at a distance from Sisera.

  “I will never get accustomed to this,” Alerio remarked.

  “I don’t know sir,” the flank officer replied. “It took me a long time to cross the field to reach you. Going back is, well, we’re here.”

  A short track, The Stade, measured six hundred and seven feet long. Next to it were the start of several circuits for longer races. One starting point had a line of men stripped down to loin cloths and sandals.

  “What do I do?” Alerio questioned.

  “Pull your gladius, hold it over your head,” Flank Commander Cancellus directed. “And shout go while slicing downward with the blade. No offense sir, but didn’t you race in school?”

  “No, I did not. Ready,” Alerio bellowed as he drew his gladius and raised the blade high into the air. He swiped it downward while calling out. “Go.”

  The racers sprinted away from the starting line. Alerio sheathed his gladius. He didn’t explain to Cancellus that he wasn’t raised as a nobleman. Rather than games, Alerio worked the land alongside his father’s laborers.

  “You kept your word,” Grear Keoki exclaimed as he rode up. “But it took you a week and two moves of the camp.”

  “We got it done,” Alerio boasted. Around them, games were in progress, sacrificial meat was being consumed, and wineskins emptied. “It wasn’t my fault that ‘planning and strategies’ wanted us near the mountain pass.”

  “Colonel Sisera, it’s your Legion. Need I remind you that everything done by Legion North is your fault,” the Senior Centurion offered.