Bloody Water (Clay Warrior Stories Book 3) Page 4

  Alerio leaned farther around the tree trunk trying to get a better look at the ship and the pirate leader. As the two banks of oars rose and fell, the sideboards of the ship slid by. There was no sign of the ship’s captain. It was disappointing to be this close and not have a javelin handy even if he couldn’t identify Cetea.

  From Alerio’s left rear, someone shouted. A moment later, a young farmer broke from the trees and ran onto the beach. He held a tree branch and waved it over his head like a club.

  “Come back here and fight, you piece of merda,” the young farmer screamed as he sprinted toward the inlet’s mouth. “I’ll perfututum you up for what you did to my sons.”

  The aft of the boat had just entered the mouth of the inlet and suddenly, the broad shoulders and short brown hair of a man appeared.

  “Skew him,” he ordered while pointing at the charging farmer.

  Alerio recognized the voice and now could put a face to the pirate, Navarch Martinus Cetea.

  Five archers stood up mid-ship, notched arrows and released. The farmer was knee deep in when two arrows plunked into the water on either side of him. Three arrows sank into his chest. He managed one more step before disappearing beneath the waves.

  Occhio inlet had been gorged out of the soft soil along the coast for thousands of years. In those years, the water flowed from the mountains in torrents dragging soil and carving out the riverbed. The river water ate through the soil creating a deep inlet before dissipating into the Strait of Messina. The farmer’s last step put him over the edge of the inlet’s steep channel.

  “Stand down,” Cetea ordered.

  The Illyrian ship cruised from the mouth of the inlet and rocked as it rowed into the swift current of the strait. Behind it, the merchant vessel wobbled as it floated into the same current.

  “I didn’t mean to,” pleaded Cimon. “I only wanted to tell him about his mother and sons. How was I to know he’d charge the pirate ship?”

  It seemed Cimon had followed the Illyrian ship and reported the horror of the night before to the farmers. One of them had reacted rashly to the news. The group of farmers wandered out of the woods to watch the pirates sail away in the soft dawn light.

  “Charybdis has claimed him,” another farmer said. “A horrible way to die; being gulped down by a sea monster.”

  Alerio stared at the waves seeking signs of the farmer. When nothing broke the surface, or bobbed in the waves, he figured a Goddess of the deep had consumed the farmer. Looking up, he watched as the Illyrian ship tracked to the south and set its sail.

  He ran to the beach, blew on the fire pit, and lifted out two flaming sticks. After two of the signals mounds were ablaze, he sat down on the rocky beach to wait.

  Chapter 12 – Beach Landing

  Sergeant Martius’ boat was leading four other patrol boats. The flotilla rounded Point Ravagnese and rowed feverishly toward the inlet. Alerio relaxed. After judging the speeds of the approaching Legion boats, and the under sail retreating Illyrian boats, he decided no sea battle would be fought today.

  Sooner than he expected, the five boats were beached and over a hundred Legionaries swept up the beach. Alerio stood, brushed off his posterior, and saluted as a Centurion broke through the line of Legionaries.

  The officer looked at the dried blood on the armor, helmet, arms and face of the young Legionary. When the Lance Corporal left Rhégion to be the spotter, he seemed fresh faced and eager. Now, he was coated in blood with bags under his eyes.

  “Report,” ordered the Centurion.

  “Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera, Sir. The farmers have an injured Lance Corporal in the tree line,” he explained while pointing up the beach. Then, he pointed out to sea, “The Illyrian ship and the merchant ship have sailed.”

  “Medic to the crop of trees,” directed the Centurion before he shifted back to Alerio. “What happened to you?”

  “The pirates killed the oldest farmers and the babies. They spared the women and children to sell as slaves,” Alerio said. “I couldn’t let the Illyrians take them and destroy the farming community. There are dead pirates are at the grain storage building and the fields above it.”

  “You sound like a farm lad,” suggested the Centurion.

  “Yes, Sir,” admitted Alerio.

  “As am I. So, thank you,” the officer said before turning to a Legionary NCO. “Sergeant Cletus. Take a squad to the village and be sure the Illyrians didn’t leave any surprises for the community. Especially, in the well.”

  “Yes, Centurion. Lance Corporal Eligius. Take Sixth Squad to the village,” the Sergeant ordered. “I’ll be joining you. Corporal Domitian. Put two squads around the village, send another to the grain storage area, and keep two on the beach.”

  While the Sergeant was organizing the distribution of the squads, their Centurion crossed the beach to another officer. They spoke a few words and by the time the Centurion returned, two of the patrol boats were launching. From the woods, a Medic accompanied a stretcher. The injured Legionary was loaded on the fourth patrol boat under the watchful eye of the crippled Sergeant.

  “Sergeant Martius. I’m keeping Sisera with me for the day,” the Centurion said as he approached Sergeant Cletus and Alerio. “You can have him back tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Martius replied before turning to his boat crew. “We have an injured Legionary, five miles of rough seas, and we are tired. If it was you laying in that stretcher, what would you want your oarsmen to do?”

  “Row like my oversized cōleī were on fire,” a rower responded.

  “That’s what I’d want as well. Fall in,” Martius ordered.

  They pushed the boat off the beach and the twenty oarsmen, the Medic, and the Sergeant climbed into the boat.

  “Stroke, stroke,” Martius shouted as the patrol boat headed out for the trip around Point Ravagnese.

  Act 3

  Chapter 13 - Well, Well Duty

  Lance Corporal Eligius motioned for Alerio to join him as the Sixth Squad marched up the beach.

  “The name’s Ovid Eligius. You look a mess,” the squad’s Lance Corporal said as they reached the tree line.

  “Alerio Sisera. And you should see the other guys,” replied Alerio.

  “We’ve been seeing more activity from the Illyrians in the past few months,” Eligius said as they entered the small grain field. Looking ahead, the Lance Corporal shouted at his two leading Legionaries, “No more than a two-shield distance. If someone gets between you, it’ll be a bad day.”

  The Legionaries angled inward and touched the edges of their shields together. They hadn’t broken stride, but now there was less space between them. Following behind, the six members of the squad adjusted so if attacked they could quickly form a shield wall.

  “As I was saying, the Illyrians have become more active and bolder,” Eligius stated. “They’ve never attacked this far up the strait. Something has them riled up. Have you been in the village?”

  “No, Lance Corporal. Last night I did all my work across the inlet at the grain storage building,” Alerio said. “Is there something unique about the village?”

  “Call me Ovid or Eligius. Save the Lance Corporal for ceremonies,” Eligius directed. “Not that I know of, it’s just I’ve never been to this village. Until three weeks ago, I was the Right-Pivot for First Squad, Third Century.”

  “Congratulation on your promotion,” Alerio commented. “Whose squad did you take over?”

  “No one’s. The Senate decided to finally add squads to the Southern Legion,” Eligius said. “We’ve been three under strength Centuries for as long as anyone can remember. Now they suddenly allot coin for additional squads bringing the Centuries up to what a Century should have.”

  “Why now?” asked Alerio. “Is there an increase in rebel activity?”

  “Not that I’ve seen and I was with the Bovesia Garrison until last year,” Eligius replied. “There’s a big river, not the fiumare like here, a good-sized trading town and farming commu
nities. If there were rebel activity, it would be at Bovesia. No, I don’t think it’s rebels. But something has the Senate nervous and I don’t think it’s only the Illyrians’ raiding.”

  The squad stepped out of the grain field and started the climb up to the first terrace. Alerio finally saw the rows of green plants and stakes for the beans crop in daylight.

  “There’s a trail on the right side,” suggested Alerio.

  “Lead element, angle right,” ordered Eligius. “Follow the trail.”

  Two terraces later, the land flattened and low buildings came into view. They were constructed of mud, ill formed bricks, and rough wooden planks.

  “Not much to look at,” observed Eligius.

  “I agree,” said Alerio. He pointed across the inlet to the grain fields stretching out far beyond the right bank of the waterway. “That’s their treasure.”

  A group of women and older children were brushing through the grain stalks. Leading them was a squat farmer swinging a gladius.

  “Is he a problem?” asked Eligius.

  “That’s Marcissus. He helped me free the hostages last night,” Alerio said.

  “Is that where you picked up the stains on your armor?” teased Eligius. “How many pirates did it take to accumulate that much grunge?”

  “Six at first,” stated Alerio.

  “At first? How many in total?” Eligius asked. Before Alerio could reply, the Lance Corporal bellowed, “Sixth Squad, form on line and halt.”

  “Eight by the time they recalled the war party,” Alerio said.

  One of the Privates turned around, and with his opened mouthed, stared at Alerio.

  “If a horde of barbarians came charging at you from behind those buildings,” Eligius said to the preoccupied Legionary. “The man on your right and left would die because you weren’t ready to set the line.”

  “I’m sorry Lance Corporal,” the Legionary offered.

  “Don’t apologize to me,” Eligius said. “Apologize to the man on your right and left because that’s who died because your shield wasn’t there. Do it!”

  The Private turned to his right and mumbled a few words. Next, he faced the man on his left and apologized. Afterwards, he stood stiffly in line looking straight ahead.

  “Squad, stand by,” Eligius ordered.

  “Ready,” replied the squad as they stomped their right feet into the dry dirt of the village.

  “This is a house to house search,” Eligius commanded. “Pair off by twos, and keep an eye on your partner. Call out if you see anything dangerous, interesting, funny, or perverted. Especially perverted so we can all enjoy it. Draw. Forward march.”

  As the eight Legionaries split apart and began going through the houses, a noise behind Alerio drew his attention. Coming up the trail was Sergeant Cletus and the Centurion.

  “Alerio, a word,” ordered the Sergeant. “The farmers said you had a conversation with the pirate Captain. Is this where you talked to him?”

  “No Sergeant. He was standing at the edge of that hill,” Alerio said while indicating the top of a steep slope off to the side of the village.

  “And, where were you?” asked the Centurion.

  “I was over there, Sir,” replied Alerio holding out a finger and aiming it at a tall brick and mud dome. “Where the bodies are.”

  Even at the distance from the trail to the grain storage building, they could clearly see six corpses. Five of the dead were sprawled on the ground between two closely space torches. It wasn’t the dead pirates that caused the Centurion to wince. It was the raw wounds on four of their necks, one with dried blood on his ear, and another with a chest and foot wound.

  “You left two throats intact,” observed the Sergeant.

  “I already had the pirate leader’s name,” Alerio replied. “By then my hand was so wet, it was easier to stab.”

  The Centurion cocked his head and studied the fresh-faced Lance Corporal. There was something not-quite-right between the look and manners of the young Legionary and his actions. Despite the incongruity, the Centurion asked.

  “What is the Illyrian Captain’s name?” he inquired.

  “Navarch Martinus Cetea,” answered Alerio. “Tall man, well built with short brown hair.”

  “Navarch? You said Navarch?” stammered the Centurion.

  “Yes, Sir. Navarch Martinus Cetea, that’s what he said,” confirmed Alerio.

  The Centurion turned his head and looked into the distance. From the hill, the waters of the Straits of Massina reflected the morning light and further in the distance, rose a hazy view of the mountains on the island.

  “Sisera. Navarch isn’t a name. It’s a title,” explained Centurion Narcissus. “In Greek, Navarch means leader of many ships. Who you spoke with wasn’t simply a pirate Captain. He was an Illyrian Admiral.”

  “Sir, if Martinus Cetea is an Admiral, where are his other ships?” asked the Sergeant.

  “That, Sergeant Cletus, is the question of the day. Where were his other ships?” repeated the Centurion. “For the ships, I haven’t a clue. Or why he left?”

  “Left, Sir?” asked Sergeant Cletus. “They took the merchant ship and, according to the farmers, a chest of coins. Seems like a pretty good day’s work.”

  “Navarch Cetea chanced attacking a garrisoned inlet to capture a rich foreign merchant. Why?” offered the Centurion. “How much coin is it worth for war between the Republic and the Illyrian Kingdom. We’re missing something.”

  A shout rose from the village followed by a call from Lance Corporal Eligius.

  “Centurion. Sergeant. You’ll want to see this,” the squad leader shouted.

  Alerio trailed behind as the officer and the NCO marched toward the largest hut in the village. They passed a water well. Standing beside the well was the Legionary, who had been distracted and out of line. He stood with a rope tied around his waist.

  “It’s easy. We drop you in the well and you feel around for anything foul,” another Private explained. He held the other end of the rope. “After you check, we pull you up.”

  The well was a dark hole in the center of the village with a single course of stone ringing it. It was just a little bigger than the width of the Private’s shoulder.

  “Who would poison a well?” asked the Private. “Can’t we just pull up a bucket, look at the water and sample it? That should tell use if it’s clean.”

  “Carcasses rot over time,” another Legionary explained. “Right now, it may be drinkable. In a week, you’ll pull up a bucket of fur and maggots. In you go.”

  Two Legionaries held him upside down. Five others fed rope out hand-over-hand until the Private’s hobnailed boots disappeared below street level.

  Alerio cringed at the Private’s claustrophobic duty and rushed to catch up with the officer and the NCO.

  Chapter 14 - It’s Greek to Me

  “Having the grandest house in a rural farming community was like having two deaf and blind oxen,” thought Alerio. “It sounded good, until you saw the results.”

  Lance Corporal Eligius stood on the porch of the shabby structure with a wide grin on his face.

  “This better not be another display of debauchery like the last time,” warned Sergeant Cletus as he approached.

  “You’ve got to admit those portraits were extraordinary,” Eligius replied. “Nothing salacious in here, Sergeant, unless you’re a scholar.”

  Ducking through the goatskin door covering, Alerio followed the officer and the NCOs. Scattered around the dirt floor and over the rickety table and chairs were unrolled scrolls and pieces of parchment.

  “What’s this?” asked Cletus. “It’s parchment. So, what?”

  Eligius strutted to a scattered stack and snatched up a piece of parchment. As he walked back, he held it out so the Sergeant and the Centurion could see the writing.

  Alerio looked but couldn’t make out the language. His written Latin was good thanks to his mother and he spoke a spattering of other languages. Mostly learned
from friends of his father as he grew up. But this script made no sense to him.

  “I don’t know what it says,” admitted Eligius. “But I know symbols. On the bottom is the imprint of Ra, the Egyptian Sun God. However, the writing is Greek. I think.”

  “Egyptian officials writing to the Greeks. A merchant ship with a large coin chest,” the Centurion summarized. “Being chased into a Republic port by an Illyrian Kingdom ship. All right Sergeant, I want every scrap of parchment stacked and carefully bundled up, water tight, for transport back to Fort Rhegium. Let’s see if Planning and Strategies can make sense of this.”

  A short time later, the goatskin door had been repurposed as water tight wrapping for the sheets. During packing, the Centurion noticed the parchment in the corner was pasted to the dirt floor with blood. Even though these pages were barely legible, they were packed separately and tossed in the big package.

  “Sisera. Take charge of the documents,” ordered the Centurion as he handed over the bundle. “We’ll assign two squads to row you to Rhegium. Report to Planning and Strategies, give them the package, and tell them what you know.”

  “Yes, sir. What happened here?” asked Sisera.

  “It seems Navarch Martinus Cetea isn’t a reader. Or he got preoccupied and just forgot those,” the officer replied while poking the bundle with his finger. “In any case, he’s left us clues and we’re going to figure it out. Now get to the beach.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Alerio said as he stepped through the door frame.

  Outside, Alerio noticed the Legionary who’d been lowered into the well was back on solid ground. Bent over and dripping wet, the man was vomiting volumes of liquid.

  “I take it the well-dive didn’t go well,” ventured Alerio to Lance Corporal Eligius.

  “It served a purpose,” Eligius replied. “Poor lad got dunked by his squad mates. They thought it hilarious when he began to scream. It wasn’t until he was up that they found out, when they dunked him, he came face-to-face with a dead man.”

  “Are you going to get him out?” asked Alerio.