Uncertain Honor Read online

  “Can we get this over with?” Senator Metellus complained. “I have engagements for tonight.”

  “I’m sorry for disrupting your plans, Senator,” Alerio exclaimed. “But based on your presence here and the charges, you are a material witness in this matter. Until all aspects are settled, you’ll be in Ostia for at least a week.”

  “They say you’re rough around the edges,” Senator Centho stated. “Brave to a fault, but no one, Senior Tribune, has ever accused you of being stupid.”

  “I hope I’m not dense, Senator,” Alerio responded. “The reason you will be here for at least a week has to do with the nature of preparing a fleet for launch.”

  “The warehouses are empty,” Ninivita blurted out. “Thanks to your incompetence and theft.”

  “And there is our problem, Tribune of Supply,” Alerio scolded Ninivita. “I had no one to sign the release chits. So, I did them myself.”

  “And according to the fictitious names on these papers,” the Judge tossed in, “you sent supplies to your confederates.”

  “Who here has studied under a Master of Accounting?” Alerio questioned.

  Thanks to Belen and his adopted father, Alerio had been drilled in the talent of balancing diverse columns of numbers. But no one in the room confessed to being trained in the art.

  “This might take two weeks,” Alerio announced.

  “What are you talking about?” the Judge demanded. “What am I missing?”

  “If you will come with me,” Alerio invited.

  He guided the procession out of the proconsul’s suite and down the hall to his office.

  “The reason I asked about accounting,” Alerio revealed, “is I took the ships we were outfitting and crossed matched them with the ships’ Centurions and filled in the supplies they did receive. Those chits, I signed with confidence. I took the chits with the fabricated names and applied them to any unidentified ships that did get supplied.”

  The Senators and the Judge found large pieces of parchment tacked to the walls of Sisera’s office. Each piece was covered by tiny columns of names and numbers.

  “As you can see gentlemen, the story of those scraps of paper are written on the parchment,” Alerio explained. He turned and indicated each piece. “Of course, based on the seriousness of the charges, you will need a team of accountants to decipher my math.”

  “But that should only take a couple of days,” Senator Metellus pointed out. “Yet, you claim that we would be here a week or more. Do you plan to hold us captive?”

  “Certainly not, Senator,” Alerio avowed. He walked to his desk, reached into a pouch, and extracted a scroll. After unrolling the paper, he handed it to the Judge and requested. “Please read this, sir.”

  The Magistrate studied the missive for a heartbeat and frowned before reading it.

  “Let it be known, I, Marcus Atilius Regulus, am the duly appointed Proconsul of Construction for the fleet. However, my duties as a Senator require my presence in Rome. In my absence from Ostia, I and the committee I report to, have charged Senior Tribune Alerio Carvilius Sisera with the responsibility of commandeering high-profile witnesses for things of interest. These witnesses will return to the Capital, once released from duty by the Senior Tribune, to testify before the Senate on the progress of our preparations.”

  “And what is so important that two Senators and a Judge must remain here,” Metellus blustered.

  A knock on the doorway interrupted the answer.

  “Sir. There is a Senior Tribune Triticeus at my desk,” the duty NCO reported.

  “Where is he from?” the Judge inquired.

  “Sir, he is the left flank commander of Caedicius Legion East,” the Optio answered.

  “What is half a Legion doing in Ostia?” Senator Centho asked. “To my knowledge, we’re months away from launching.”

  “The Centuries are here to practice beach landings against fixed fortifications,” Alerio told the group. “Might I add, how pleased I am to have two Senators and a judge as witnesses to our invasion strategies. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to show the Senior Tribune where his troops will bivouac.”

  As Alerio marched from his office, he heard arguing coming from the room. He smiled knowing the naked beast had turned the blades on its own kind.

  Act 2

  Chapter 4 – Failed Invasion

  From atop a wooden stand, the two Senators and the Judge nibbled on fruit, drank wine, and dropped their heads and shoulders in frustration. Alerio didn’t eat or drink or show signs of despair. But he was just as disappointed. Behind the guests, a signalman raised and lowered flags indicating the start and end of each segment of the drill.

  From the sand, the defenders gang rushed the Legionaries wading through waist deep water while trying to keep their shields and helmets dry. Earlier in the day, the attackers and defenders had respected the equipment. But sometime around midday, during their seventh or eighth switch from defending to invading from the transports, the harmony and respect broke down. Soon, throwing the opposing side into the water and holding them down became the norm.

  While the next wave of seven hundred and fifty infantrymen and their officers splashed out and climbed wearily back into the corbita transports, the Judge spoke everyone’s thoughts.

  “I believe we have a major problem,” the magistrate observed. “Not one of the shipboard Legionaries has made it to the beach. Getting off the transports in deep water and practically swimming to shore is not working.”

  “If those were Qart Hadasht mercenaries on the beach,” Senator Metellus added, “the invasion would fail, and we would have a massacre on our hands.”

  “I, for one, am ready to testify that the attack on Qart Hadasht is a lost cause,” Senator Centho offered.

  “Senators. I realize you’re in a hurry to return to Rome,” Alerio stated. “But this is only our first day of practice. The Centuries are still working out the problems.”

  “Your problems appear insurmountable to me,” Metellus exclaimed. “And what is with the cargo boxes? They have loaded and unloaded them over a hundred times.”

  Down the beach and out of the invasion area, Tribune Ninivita, Centurion Illotus, and every supply clerk at Ostia were carrying boxes from a transport to the beach. Under the not-so-tender directions of Senior Tribune Triticeus, they would soon wrestle the boxes out to the transport so they could unload them again.

  “The flank officer is demonstrating the importance of spare equipment, extra weapons, and supplies to a Legion in contact with the enemy,” Alerio explained. “If we can get men onto the beach, they will need supplies while pushing inland.”

  “This is not what we imagined when the Senate voted for the invasion,” Metellus admitted.

  “We’re going to break until tomorrow after the next attack,” Alerio informed his witnesses. “Triticeus and I need to debrief the Tribunes and Centurions about today’s lessons. And the men need to clean their equipment.”

  “The only lesson I’ve learned,” Metellus complained, “is that we’re doomed.”

  “Sir, initially every battle plan has two possible outcomes,” Alerio described.

  “Win or lose,” the Judge suggested.

  “But you said initially,” Senator Centho questioned. “What did you mean?”

  “At the start of any planning session, it is win or lose,” Alerio replied while placing a foot on the steps down from the stand. “After the command staff of a Legion finishes tweaking the plan, it comes down to arguing survival or losing spectacularly. I’m off to find a logical solution that staff officers can’t argue against.”

  “After this demonstration,” the Judge stated. He pointed to the beach where the attacking Legionaries were being half drowned. “I can’t see any logical solution.”

  “At the moment, gentlemen,” Alerio confessed while he was stepping down, “neither can I.”

  ***

  Servants carried fire pots and lit torches along a path. The illuminated trail en
ded at a large temporary pavilion. Inside, more torches were lit in anticipation of the arrival of the commanders from the day’s debacle.

  Eventually, Senior Tribunes Sisera and Triticeus met on the path and marched into the building together.

  “Any ideas?” Alerio asked the other staff officer.

  He filled a pair of mugs with wine and offered one to Triticeus.

  “Not a clue,” the flank officer admitted. “My angle gave me a good look at the attacks. But showed me nothing to counter men formed up and waiting for us to struggle to shore.”

  Shortly after the Senior Tribunes, the five civilian transport Captains and the ten Centurions of warships entered. Each had made sure their vessels were being tended to by their crews before coming reluctantly to the meeting. Their stooped postures reflected their attitudes. The day had not gone well for the Navy and its allies.

  The next to arrive were three Tribunes and the eighteen Centurions of the half Legion. They had supervised the treatment of injuries and given encouraging talks to their Legionaries before marching, as if condemned men, to the pavilion. Like the Navy, the Republic’s infantry did not have a good day.

  Once the thirty-seven officers had found seats, servants walked around filling mugs and laying down platters of sliced lamb with vegetables.

  Alerio stood and tapped his mug on the table. Once the gathering settled, he began a speech.

  “Today reminds me of a saying from two hundred and fourteen years ago,” Alerio said while lifting his mug.

  “Something, I hope Senior Tribune, about getting drunk and forgetting a bad day?” a combat officer called out.

  Alerio lifted his mug in the direction of the Centurion and offered a salute.

  “That might be a better idea than the quote from Socrates I was going to use,” Alerio acknowledged. “The Greek philosopher said, ‘falling down is not a failure. Failure comes when you stay where you have fallen’. But drinking and forgetting the day sounds better. Except, tomorrow we would repeat the boarding, rowing in a circle, and splashing to our deaths again and again, as if we had fallen and remained down.”

  Groans came from the officers at the idea of repeating the catastrophe.

  “Other than consuming vast amounts of vino,” Alerio asked. “Does anyone have an idea for how we can land Centuries successfully on the beach?”

  Before any of the officers could speak up, a commotion arose from the pathway. Moments later, the half Legion’s four Junior Tribunes came through the entrance. Mostly, the other Legion officers ignored the young noblemen unless they carried messages. But the noise level of four teens babbling excitedly about their assignments from the operation was distinct and loud in the quiet pavilion.

  “And the Centurion declared, I could run my five-banker onto the beach,” one teen said as he finished telling a story, “and have my oarsmen step down and slap the defenders. At least, we would do more damage than the infantry.”

  Triticeus jumped to his feet. His face reddened in embarrassment as the young noblemen were his charges.

  “Junior Tribunes, you will shut up and take seats,” he bellowed. With a scowl on his face, the Senior Tribune added. “I will find suitable punishment for you tomorrow.”

  Sheepishly, the four located empty seats and attempted to disappear below the level of the tabletops.

  “Senior Tribune Sisera,” Triticeus addressed Alerio, “on behalf of the left flank of Caedicius Legion East, I apologize for the rude interruption.”

  Alerio stood with the mug dangling from his fingers, his eyes glassy, and his mouth hanging open. As if transfixed by a spell, he remained in the pose long enough for another Centurion to comment.

  “Senior Tribune Sisera, the boys weren’t that offensive,” the combat officer suggested.

  After shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Alerio demanded, “Which ships’ Centurion made that statement?”

  Since the first days of an organized Legion, it has been said merda rolls downhill. In this case, it appeared the mess would indeed roll down from the junior staff officer to coat the warship’s senior officer with its stink.

  “I did, Senior Tribune Sisera,” a ship’s Centurion confessed. “Sir, I was simply…”

  Alerio held up his hand to stop the plea.

  “Socrates also wrote, nature has given us two ears, two eyes, and but one tongue. To the end that we should hear and see more than we speak,” Alerio proclaimed. He pointed at the ship’s officer and challenged. “Explain the reasoning behind your statement.”

  There was fidgeting around the room. No one knew where the senior staff officer was going with the demand. And rightly, they feared for the naval Centurion’s career.

  “It’s the deep draft of the corbitas and their bellies rubbing on the sea bottom. Plus the high free boards that I was thinking about,” the ship’s officer described. “Even if one of the transports could reach the beach, the ship would roll, and the infantrymen would take twice as long to untangle and disembark.”

  “Yes, we understand that,” Alerio confirmed. “It’s the reason we unload the Legionaries in deeper water.”

  “But my warship can easily back onto the shoreline, drop oarsmen, and be away before resistance can form,” the Centurion pointed out. “Sir, I was making a bad joke.”

  From the other side of the room, a combat officer raised a scarred fist.

  “Put my Century on a warship, deliver us to the shore,” he boasted. “and we’ll hold a section of beach until more Legionaries arrive.”

  “You’re talking about Legion Marines,” Alerio offered. “Your problem is you haven’t drilled for dropping from twenty-one feet onto the hard packed sand near the shoreline. A third of your men will break a leg from that height. Nor have you practiced transferring from one ship to another.”

  The Centurion deflated when he thought about the weight of a steel gladius, iron tipped javelins, a helmet, an infantryman’s shield of laminated hardwood, and a Legionary’s armor. That much weight falling from the height of a warship was, without a doubt, a leg breaker.

  “Senior Tribune Triticeus, before daybreak, send me five of your most aggressive Centuries,” Alerio requested. He searched the faces of the naval officers. “I’ll need four ships’ Centurions.”

  “Sir, you asked for five Centuries,” a Tribune pointed out. “But you only bade four warship Centurions to come forward.”

  “No, I have my fifth,” Alerio corrected.

  He leveled a finger at the naval officer who joked about landing and slapping the defenders. In response from a wave of the Senior Tribune’s hand, that ship’s officer stepped forward along with four others.

  ***

  Senators Metellus and Centho, and the Judge walked around the platform, grunting from boredom, frowning in anticipation of another fruitless day, and sipping wine to pass the time. The three dignitaries had been on the platform since just after dawn. As the sun raced towards noon, they studied the fifteen hundred Legionaries and officers sitting or lying on the beach.

  “Am I supposed to be witnessing something?” Metellus demanded. “If so, I’m missing the point.”

  Far down the beach, a horse and its rider appeared as a small figurine. Shortly after, the image grew to a miniature, and finally, Alerio and Phobos came into focus as the Senior Tribune and his steed.

  “Gentlemen, thank you for waiting,” Alerio announced while leaping off the mount. A groom took the bridle while Alerio scampered up the steps.

  “It’s not like we can go anywhere,” Centho remarked.

  “I’m sure this afternoon will more than make up for the delay,” Alerio promised.

  He spoke to the signalman positioned at a flagpole. A flag went up and half the Legionaries splashed into the surf heading for three transports.

  “You’re missing two corbitas and five warships from yesterday,” the Judge noted.

  “They’ll be along, sir,” Alerio assured him.

  Before the Legionaries reached the transpor
ts, the two missing corbitas and the five quinqueremes appeared farther down the shoreline.

  ***

  Off the coast, the tardy transports backstroked and stopped when they came online with the other three corbitas. Infantrymen scrambled from the beach, climbed over the sides, and dropped into the deep cargo holds. After loading, the five corbitas angled out to sea, rowing away from shore. When they met the five Republic warships that circled in a holding pattern, all ten vessels cut a gentle curve in the water and headed for the beach.

  As the small armada rowed towards shore, the five missing quinqueremes appeared on the horizon. They rowed hard and caught up until fifteen ships pressed forward aiming for the shoreline and the defenders.

  “I’ve seen this play before,” Metellus complained. He spun on Alerio and suggested. “The infantry lands, and a wet brawl follows. It’s the same as yesterday. We’ve seen this.”

  “Please keep your eyes on the fleet, sir,” Alerio coached.

  A new twist to the landing occurred when five warships rushed ahead of the fleet and cut across the front of the line. After circling, they straightened and allowed the line of five-bankers and transports to catch up. When five different warships surged ahead, it appeared to be the same maneuver.

  But the charging quinqueremes did not circle back into the line. Rather, they rotated a half circle and began backstroking towards the shoreline. Farther out, the transports lined up with their bows aimed at the sides of the beached warships.

  Suspended around the stern of the five-bankers were platforms. Holding ropes and standing on the boards were infantrymen. When the keels of the warships ground onto the sand, the Legionaries leaped from the platforms. Others dropped from the steering deck to the platforms and, using the boards to break their fall, jumped the final distance to the sand.

  The warships rowed off the shoreline leaving behind five walls of eighty shields. The Legionary defenders charged into those acting as Marines and were stopped. Behind the skirmish lines, the infantrymen climbed over the sides of the transports and slogged unencumbered towards the pushing matches.