Muted Implications (Clay Warrior Stories Book 12) Read online

  “This best of friend, grant him an end”

  There were three rules to surviving a shield wall battle. Protect yourself, protect your partners, and never stop moving. The two mercenaries stopped moving when the shield hit them.

  “Goddess of Death”

  Alerio arched his blade from a low position. It raised up behind his back, scraped by his helmet, and dove downward over the top of his shield.

  Coming from overhead, the gladius split the face of the soldier on the right. Then the heavy steel blade swung sideways and crushed the jaw of the mercenary on the left. They fell back. And again, the tension on the center of the Legion line eased up.

  “Allow them to pass bravely, their comrades sing their elegy”

  With the center under control, the stress on the Legionaries to battle adversaries on oblique fronts ended. Focusing on the fight with just the soldier in front of them, allowed the Legionaries to dismantle the front rank of the Qart Hadasht line.

  The battle at the shield wall momentarily paused. But the noise did not diminish, at least on the Legion side.

  “Nenia Dea,

  You hover just out of sight

  But death is called”

  “I need to rotate the front,” Optio Pontus complained. “But I don’t know if Sisera will come off the wall.”

  “This will be the easiest rotation of the day,” Milon suggested. “Let them rotate around the Centurion.”

  “To claim lives

  With gentle hands so light”

  “Second rank< stand by to move forward,” the Optio instructed the rows. When the warning order had been repeated, he barked. “First rank, rotate out. Second, draw and execute.”

  “Take them with care

  As is a warrior’s right”

  The second rank snaked forward and the first drifted back. While the Legionaries shifted, Centurion Sisera stood like a statue of Mars in the center of the Legion line. Sweat dripped from under his helmet and glistened his arms and shoulders. He was momentarily motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply and the movement of his lips. Then his words were drowned out by the full voice of the rotating squads.

  “Goddess of Death, Nenia Dea

  Hear our plight

  As you hover just out of sight”

  After suffering devastation at the center of their assault line and hearing the Latians call to their Goddess of Death, the mercenaries scrambled backward. They did not halt until their squad leaders and officers began beating them. Finally, they stopped and began regrouping.

  While the Empire leaders fought to push their men into formation, the Legionaries quenched their thirst and relaxed.

  “Think they’ll come back for more?” an infantryman asked.

  “They will be back,” Decanus Baccio boasted. “And we’ll feed them more of their own blood.”

  “Rah!” came back the response from the first and second ranks.

  ***

  Once they established order, the Empire officers reformed their mercenaries into files and marched them uphill towards the shield wall.

  Alerio and the front rank, bent at their knees, leveled their eyes over the upper band of their shields. There were only a couple of inches between the shield and the brim of the helmet. An opening large enough to see the enemy approaching but small enough to make the opening a hard target for an arrow or a thrown spear.

  “What do you think, sir,” an infantryman asked Alerio.

  “I think there are less of them coming up the hill then before,” Alerio growled. “And when they crawl back down, there will be fewer still.”

  He had spoken low in a deep threatening voice. But the words of the infantry officer were repeated and passed down the line to the men on the ends.

  “Sir, there is something you need to see,” Corporal Melon said while standing at Alerio’s elbow.

  “I can see all I need to see from here, Tesserarius,” Alerio declared. “I can see the enemy.”

  “Sir, I can appreciate your point of view,” Milon insisted. “But you really have to step away to see this.”

  Alerio was happy in a battle line. Being an officer carried responsibilities and he worked at living up to the tasks. But the duty and troubles never ended. On a combat line, there were the men on either side to protect, and your opponents to the front waiting to die. It was a simple proposition and pleasing to the young infantry officer. However, being the detachment’s Centurion required his presence elsewhere.

  “Close the gap,” Alerio instructed.

  He backed between shields to find Pontus braced with his fists on his hips and a smile on his face.

  “Is something funny, Optio?” Alerio questioned.

  “You said we needed to hold until the Centuries from Centuripe arrived,” the NCO explained.

  Alerio glanced down the hill and across the flat. Then quickly back to the NCO.

  “The Qart Hadasht Companies are still on the march,” Alerio pointed out. “So what?”

  “Sir, please wipe the sweat from your eyes and look again,” Pontus insisted.

  Alerio pulled off his helmet and stuffed it under one arm. With the other he brushed away the sweat. Only then did he look carefully at the trail. The Empire mercenaries were indeed on the march. But they were moving westward, heading back to Enna.

  “What am I looking at, Optio?” Alerio inquired.

  “A retreat, Centurion Sisera,” Pontus replied. “You did it, sir. You delayed them until the Centuries could move up.”

  “No Optio. I did not do it,” Alerio shouted at the top of his lungs. “The Legionaries of this detachment delayed the entire Qart Hadasht army.”

  Cheers rose from the infantrymen. At first Alerio thought it was enthusiasm over his announcement. Part of the reaction might have been, but mostly the celebration resulted from the Qart Hadasht Company marching away from the hill and the fight.

  Then, a cadence unique to the Republic Legion rose from the far tree line. Calls of left, stomp, left, stomp preceded ranks of Legionaries. Unlike Alerio’s detachment, they were all heavy infantrymen with an abundance of javelins. On their flanks rode cavalry and, out front, the vicious wolves of the light infantry roamed ahead begging the Qart Hadasht mercenaries to stop and fight.

  “You owe Nenia Dea and us a sacrifice, sir,” Decanus Baccio reminded Alerio.

  “One I will gladly pay for,” Alerio guaranteed the light infantry squad leader.

  They stood on the hill and watched as the flat plain and gentle lower slopes filled with Centuries. A group of staff officers trotted through the ranks and urged their mounts up the hill.

  “It seems, Centurion Sisera, whenever I have a backdoor that needs to be sealed, you get the job,” Senior Tribune Gaius Caecilius remarked.

  Alerio peered up at the senior Legion Commander in Sicilia.

  “Sir, this time I stumbled on it by accident,” Alerio remarked.

  “I take it Enna is in Qart Hadasht hands?” the Senior Tribune questioned.

  “It is, sir,” Alerio confirmed.

  “Sort out your detachment and get cleaned up,” Gaius Caecilius instructed. “Then present yourself at my tent for dinner.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alerio replied. “A favor, Senior Tribune?”

  “If it’s within my power,” Caecilius promised. “What is it?”

  “Are there any lambs in the staff pantry?” Alerio asked. Then, he glanced at the exhausted men of his command. “Two would be ideal, Senior Tribune.”

  Act 2

  Chapter 5 – Personal Creed

  Seventy miles or so northwest of Syracuse city and just over the edge of Syracusan territory, sat the walled city of Echetla. It rested on the high edge of a gently sloping plain. While the front of its defensive walls loomed over cleared land, the southern portion of the walls extended into woodland. But neither the open acreage nor the forest added to the prosperity of the city state.

  The wealth of Echetla came from the nearby moun
tains. Some in the form of mining operations. The other source of income arrived from the city state of Syracuse. King Hiero II shipped tribute gold to Echetla so the walled city could maintain an army. Although it made King Hiero nervous to fund an army that close to Syracuse, he depended on Echetla to guard the passes through the foothills and the mountains. Without the soldiers of Echetla securing the trails, Qart Hadasht forces could cross the natural barrier from west Sicilia and be at his walls in two days.

  As an ally to Syracuse and, by extension the Republic, Echetla could ask for guidance from the Legion. That military advice was the reason Centurion Alerio Sisera, staff officer Niveus Trigoni, junior cavalry Tribune Morum, and Optio of horse Dactyli traveled from Catania to the walled city.

  Along with the officers, three cavalrymen and four pack mules completed the small detachment.

  “Those fortifications would be difficult to breach,” Tribune Trigoni announced.

  Although at a distance, the ramparts rose majestically over the high ground.

  “Yes, sir,” Alerio remarked. “It’s what we thought the first time we saw Echetla.”

  “A trade delegation, I assume,” Trigoni ventured. “Were the talks fruitful?”

  Alerio cleared his throat to stall while thinking of the proper response. Not only had the talks broken down but, the Legion detachment had to slip out of their marching camp under cover of darkness. It did little good as they fought a rearguard action for the entire twenty-six miles to the crossroads and a fortified Legion bivouac area.

  “The talks did not go as planned,” Alerio informed the Tribune.

  “Well, this time we have been invited,” Tribune Trigoni boasted to Alerio. “I’m sure we can reach agreements and help the Echetla military. I have a talent for these things.”

  Alerio was hopeful until the last part of the speech.

  Tribune Gaius Claudius, the head of the delegation on the first visit, was a good commander and an excellent negotiator. Plus, he carried gold for the Magistrates of Echetla. But the Tribune never had the chance to present the gold. After things got dangerous, Alerio had to break Claudius and a Junior Tribune out of their cells. Then, Alerio created a distraction and snuck the officers out of the city.

  “I am sure you are correct, sir,” Alerio lied.

  The walls grew taller the closer they came. When the trail topped a rise, Alerio glanced to his right at the spot where Gaius Claudius’ detachment had built a small marching camp. Expecting to see only a faint outline of the defensive trench and not much else, Centurion Sisera was shocked to find the marching camp intact.

  The square trench was still deep and clear of weeds, the defensive stakes were newly sharpened, and the bridge at the entrance was roped and ready to be pulled up. Within the perimeter, new tents had been erected to replace the ones burned by the Legionaries before they slipped out of camp.

  “Tribune Trigoni, they maintained Tribune Claudius’ marching camp,” Alerio declared while pointing to the structures.

  Tribune Trigoni, Junior Tribune Morum, and Optio Dactyli snapped their heads in the direction.

  “That’s not good,” Dactyli remarked.

  The Three mounted Legionaries nodded their approval at the Optio’s sentiment.

  “I don’t see the harm in it,” Trigoni dismissed the Sergeant’s opinion. “It’s a tribute to the Legion. Nothing more.”

  There was one consolation, the camp appeared to be empty. Almost as if it was a model for exhibition. But the presence of a Legion staple, even without palisades, at a foreign city, troubled Alerio.

  “That must be our greeting committee,” Trigoni stated.

  Alerio pulled his eyes away from the marching camp and shifted them to the city gates.

  Two columns of spearmen jogged through the portal. Partway downhill, they merged and formed four rows. Maintaining their uniformed ranks, the Echetla soldiers marched to within a spear’s throw from Tribune Trigoni.

  “Sir, we should back out of range,” the cavalry NCO advised. “Or at least, let me untie my shield and offer you protection.”

  The three mounted Legionaries relaxed their grips on the lead lines to the mules and rested their hands on their shields.

  “Nonsense, Sergeant Dactyli,” Trigoni proclaimed. “A Legion staff officer does not cower in the face of danger. And neither should an Optio. We will not show fear.”

  “Yes, sir,” the NCO replied.

  A large man on horseback trotted through the gates. He rode between the ranks of spearmen, eyeing each man. Once the hasty inspection was completed, he walked his mount to the front of the Echetla formation.

  “How do you plan to lay siege to my city,” he demanded. “with so few men?”

  As if to satisfy his curiosity, the big man stretched taller on the horse and peered down the trail as if expecting to see ranks of infantrymen. Shaking his head in disappointment, he refocused on the Tribune.

  “Well?” the Echetla officer reminded the Legion staff officer. “I asked you a question.”

  “I am Tribune Niveus Trigoni, from the Messina garrison, under orders from Senior Tribune Gaius Caecilius,” Trigoni reported. “My mission is to render military assistance as required to the Echetla military.”

  “And I am Sub Commander Ezio,” the big officer introduced himself. “Tell me, Tribune Trigoni, have you had breakfast?”

  ***

  Centurion Sisera kicked at the dirt on the side of the parade ground. Around him the walls of an inner-city fort covered three sides. The fourth blended with a new stone and brick building. It made sense as Alerio had burned the old wooden government building as a diversion to cover his escape.

  Squads of Echetla soldiers drilled on the parade ground forcing Alerio to walk the perimeter. Echetla’s Greek roots showed in the maneuvers as did the tribal warrior heritage of the varied members of the units. They went from the tight shields of a phalanx to an unorganized mob of shield and spear shakers. Apparently, they had no training in formations to cover the transition.

  ‘Excellent,’ Alerio thought. ‘In a battle, the Legion’s flexible maniple lines would chew them into cattle Merda.’

  Alerio maintained a bland outward expression even as he gloated inside.

  “Sisera. Tribune Trigoni wants you in the main hall,” Junior Tribune Morum called from the far side of the parade ground. “Now, Centurion.”

  The staff officers had excluded Alerio from their meal with Sub Commander Ezio. While Dactyli and the three Legionaries went to eat at the garrison’s mess, Alerio wandered out of the compound’s gate and found street vendors.

  “Sure thing, General,” Alerio mouthed as he saluted the junior staff officer.

  Taking the salute as a sign he had been understood, Morum marched back into the building. Alerio picked a slow pace and the long way around. If Tribune Trigoni wanted him handy, he could have requested that the infantry officer be included in the meal. He had not.

  Alerio took his time, critiquing the soldier’s practice while circling the drill field.

  ***

  “Have you been watching my men drill?” Sub Commander Ezio asked in a booming voice.

  Alerio had just entered the large hall where the staff officers dined. Not sure if the question was accusing him of spying or simply an observation, Alerio went for a basic explanation.

  “I went into the city to find food,” he answered. “They had already started the practice when I got back.”

  Ezio faced Tribune Trigoni and leaned forward on the table.

  “I thought you said he was an infantry officer?” the Sub Commander accused. “For one of that profession, he doesn’t seem curious about our methods.”

  “Centurion Sisera is an experienced infantry officer,” Trigoni bragged. “I am sure he noticed the drills.”

  While Alerio was an infantry officer, he was also a weapons’ instructor. The title meant Centurion Sisera had knowledge and skills concerning weapons and tactics. Given those talents, observing a potenti
al enemy would be second nature. Yet, Tribune Trigoni failed to identify him as a specialist. Did he not know or was the Tribune keeping the information to himself?

  “Not all infantry officers possess inquisitive minds,” Junior Tribune Morum offered.

  “That’s true,” Trigoni agreed. Alerio now realized the staff officer did not know the Centurion accompanying him was a weapons’ instructor. “Even so Sub Commander, I’m sure Centurion Sisera can satisfy your requirements.”

  Although they accused Alerio of not being curious, that could not be further from the truth. He was eaten up with the desire to learn what Ezio wanted. At the same time, he dreaded the answer.

  “If the Legion officer can train my soldiers to perform like Legionaries,” Ezio remarked. “I’ll be pleased.”

  Alerio’s stomach knotted. Training potential adversaries on how to defeat the Legion went against his personal code. The idea did not originate with him. The creed came from Tomas Kellerian, a retired Centurion, and a master armorer in the Capital.

  “Sisera? Sisera? Do I know you, Centurion?” Ezio asked.

  The last time Alerio met the Echetla commander, he had been identified as a Captain in order to remain close to Gaius Claudius. Now as a Centurion with the plumb of horsehair on his helmet and better-quality armor, Alerio felt confident in his reply.

  “No, sir,” Alerio lied. It was not uncommon for senior officers to meet and forget people of lesser rank. He relied on that fact and asked a question of his own. “Does the Legion marching camp have anything to do with you wanting to understand Legion tactics?”

  “What you see in this garrison is less than a quarter of the Echetla army,” Ezio bragged. “The rest are stationed at the mountain passes and in an advanced fort. I have reports of your Legions defeating Qart Hadasht mercenaries all over Sicilia. I want my men to also defeat the Empire.”

  “And you believe a marching camp will accomplish that, Sub Commander?” Tribune Trigoni inquired.

  Alerio wanted to punch the staff officer. Asking that question opened the discussion to specifics. And Alerio wanted to avoid detailed orders. Teaching the construction of a temporary encampment didn’t cross any boundaries. However, instructing soldiers in Legion shield wall tactics did violate creeds and personal boundaries.