Clay Warrior Stories Boxset 2 Page 6

  “The Goddess Morta has severed the threads of life freeing the Commander of Gurges Legion from his pain,” announced the doctor. “Quintus Fabius Gurges, Co-Consul of the Republic, Senator, General, loving father, and faithful husband is dead.”

  Sergeant Meleager and the Centurions, men experienced with death, did not react. The older man did.

  “What are we going to do?” he cried out. “This was supposed to be a short expedition. Now, we’re surrounded by barbarians and the General is dead. Tribune Griffinus, you’ll assume command and we’ll march back to the Capital. The sooner the better.”

  The wounded Tribune gulped and look over at the younger Tribune.

  “Lieutenant General Silenus Eduardus, you are now general of the Legion,” Peregrinus pointed out. “I’m elected to control the camp, but you are now our commander.”

  “Armenius Peregrinus. You are too young to be in charge of anything. I’ve apprentice lads older than you,” observed Silenus Eduardus. “Gentlemen, I’m a simple wine merchant. I extended a loan to Gurges to pay for this army and he suggested I take a commission. In no way am I qualified to be a general. My expertise is in business not in military matters.”

  Silenus Eduardus bobbed his head up and down as if he’d delivered a profound statement. Then he strolled to a chair, sat down heavily, and a mug of vino. Waving a hand in a dismissive manner, he announced.

  “Tribune Griffinus, define the problem. Discuss possible solutions with your staff. When you’re done, bring me the best ideas. The process has served me well in business and I can’t image it wouldn’t for military problems.”

  The staff officer who had tossed out the Legionary and lectured the Centurions on speaking with common soldiers stood stiff and unmoving. As most young men from noble families, Tribune Griffinus was trained to know what shouldn’t happen to maintain the status quo. However, he had no concept of what should happen to gain control of a complicated situation.

  Sergeant Meleager felt sorry for the young man and he began to speak. Then he noticed the faces of the Centurions. In the Legion men often had to perform distasteful tasks. Universally, the men showed their opinion about the orders by putting on a blank face and keeping their mouths shut. Meleager caught on and clamped his lips closed and relaxed the muscles of his face. No help would be offered to Tribune Griffinus.

  ***

  “Maybe we should plan on defensive patrols in the morning,” offered Peregrinus.

  Coming awake at the one suggestion, Griffinus stated, “No. We will not. In the morning, we’ll march for the Capital. Centurions, prepare the Legion to march.”

  The three Centurions dropped their chins and stared at the map. Only senior Centurion Seneca responded to the Tribune Griffinus’ order. He cocked his head to the side as if listening to a faint and distant noise.

  “I said we will march out in the morning. Prepare the Legion,” shouted Griffinus. When none of the military professionals in the tent responded, the Tribune turned to Silenus Eduardus. “Lieutenant General, I’ve issued a command. I order you to instruct these men to follow them.”

  “Tribune Griffinus. Did you discuss the idea with your staff? That’s the first step in the process,” the merchant instructed. He took a sip of vino, looked down into the mug and back at Griffinus. “Come to think of it, your family owes me for a shipment of excellent wine that I delivered last spring.”

  Griffinus clinched his fist and tightened his jaw. Before he could unleash the building anger, Peregrinus pointed to the young nobles’ leg.

  “Griffinus. You are bleeding all over the command tent’s rug,” Peregrinus stated.

  “I’ll bleed wherever I choose,” the Tribune yelled. “My family can buy a new rug. My family can buy…Get off me, cūlus.”

  And Tribune Griffinus collapsed into the arms of Sergeant Meleager. The NCO had recognized the signs of physical distress, raced across the room and grabbed the nobleman.

  “Doctor, please escort the Sergeant to the medical tent,” instructed Centurion Seneca. “I believe Tribune Griffinus’ bandages have become unraveled.”

  “Well, that was interesting,” commented Silenus Eduardus. “Who is in charge now?”

  Centurion Seneca hammered his fist in a crossed chest salute and bellowed, “Tribune Peregrinus. Orders, sir?”

  “Now I see. The Centurions do have a choice in leadership,” the wine merchant said as he took a sip of vino and stood. “My experience with teamsters and shipping managers is to get out of their way when there’s a dispute. Please informed me of your decision.”

  Silenus Eduardus bowed to Peregrinus and strolled to a side tent flap. Once he was gone, Peregrinus lifted both arms in a sign of helplessness.

  “I wouldn’t know where to start,” he admitted.

  “You start with the security of the perimeter. Then the wellbeing of your Legionaries. You form your plans from there, Tribune,” suggest Seneca. “Once we have the camp under control, we’ll talk about defensive patrols in the morning.”

  “That sounds familiar,” teased Peregrinus.

  “Yes, sir. A good commander allows his men to express their ideas,” replied Centurion Seneca. “Even if it’s the Commanders idea to start with.”

  “I suppose there’s no chance of breaking camp and marching south?” ventured Peregrinus.

  Another Centurion cleared his throat and spoke up.

  “No, sir. We have too many wounded to transport. And a large force of barbarians to fight,” he described. “However, we have enough Centuries to push them back.”

  “What good would that do?” asked Peregrinus.

  “We’ll keep the path to the river open for fresh water,” the Centurion stated. “Plus, it’ll let the Centuries get a little revenge. Defeat is a bad thing to sleep on. Better we draw some blood and improve the Legion’s morale.”

  “It really is about the men,” Peregrinus exclaimed on his new-found insight. “No matter how often you beat them to maintain discipline. Or how hard you march and train them, it comes back to the care of the common Legionary,”

  “Tribune. There are no common Legionaries. Every one of them has passed a series of difficult tests. At the end, they won the honor of standing and dying in a shield wall against the enemies of the Republic,” explained the Centurion. “I’d put our heavy infantrymen against any army in the world. Spartan, Athenian phalanxes, or Qart Hadasht mercenaries, the Legion will beat them all because of the individual Legionary.”

  “Let’s not take on the world just yet,” declared Peregrinus. “I’m more concerned with the Insubri right outside our gates.”

  “As you should be Tribune,” admitted Seneca. “And getting a message out before the snow gets much deeper.”

  “What does the depth of the snow have to do with getting a messenger to the Capital?” asked Peregrinus.

  “Our Legionaries from this region tell me a spring snow will only stay on the ground for a week,” Seneca explained. “We could wait a week to send the message or we send it out tonight before the snow finishes falling.”

  “I’m confused. What does the depth of the snow have to do with the message?” demanded the young Tribune.

  “The Insubri riders can spot and track a messenger’s footprints in the snow,” Seneca clarified. “He wouldn’t get a quarter of a mile before they chased him down.”

  As they talked, Sergeant Meleager pushed into the command tent letting in a cold wind and a flurry of snowflakes.

  “Sergeant. Please retrieve Lance Corporal Sisera,” instructed Seneca.

  “Right away, Centurion,” Meleager replied.

  ***

  “What do you mean, he’s not here?” demanded Meleager.

  “Cimon said he went with you, Sergeant,” the camp guard for Seventh Squad’s area pleaded. “I haven’t seen Lance Corporal Sisera since dinner.”

  The Sergeant stomped off. Where would he go if he was a young Lance Corporal again? Volsinii? When Meleager was a young Legionary, he slipped int
o an enemy town for a little vino and company. But the siege had been just outside the walls and half the town supported the Republic. No, Sisera wouldn’t have gone to Volsinii.

  Heading for the stockade walls, he planned to have the men on guard duty pass the word. It was quicker than him walking the Legion camp. Plus, it would test the Legionaries stationed around the perimeter to assure they were evenly spaced and awake.

  The street he was on ran directly to the eastern wall. It was as good a place to start as any.

  ***

  Sergeant Meleager strolled confidently towards the embankment where the sentry would be walking his post. He left the last squad tents and campfires behind and began to cross the dark transport road. At five paces across, a figure reared up from the dark and tackled him.

  Before he could bellow his outrage, a hand clamped over his mouth.

  “Sergeant. Be quiet,” whispered a Legionary as he removed his hand.

  “What’s going on?” the Sergeant demanded.

  “I heard digging sounds outside the wall,” explained the sentry. “Lance Corporal Sisera woke two squads and they’re collecting barbarians.”

  “Collecting what?” inquired Meleager.

  Before the sentry could reply, a Legionary came out of the dark with a body over his shoulder.

  “Give him to Thirty-First Century, First Squad,” the sentry instructed, “One road over, third group of tents on the left.”

  The Legionary walked away with his load and Meleager pushed to his feet. It was dark near the stockade wall as it should be to preserve the sentry’s night vision. A noise sounding as if a melon had been thumped with a shovel reached him. Shortly after, a Legionary passed by carrying a load over his shoulder.

  Meleager eased forward and as he came closer, his eyes adjusted to the dark. A half circle of Legionaries crouched facing the logs. Silently, a figure appeared from under the stockade wall. A Legionary put out a hand as if to help the person clear the trench. Once the two joined hands at the writs, the Legionary jerked the barbarian up onto the hill. Another Legionary clotted the barbarian over the head with his gladius. In one swift movement, the barbarian was hoisted onto the Legionary’s shoulder and totted away.

  The Sergeant had organized a lot of military operations over the years but never one where enemy warriors simply walked, or in this case crawled, into captivity.

  “I think that’s all of them. Collect some stakes and seal the hole,” Lance Corporal Sisera whispered. “Nice work lads.”

  “We’ll put extra watchers on this post,” offered a squad leader.

  “I’ll find Sergeant Meleager and check the rest of the posts,” Sisera said as he walked towards the transport road.

  “Would you mind telling me what that was?” asked Meleager as he fell in beside the Lance Corporal.

  “After leaving the command tent, I was wide awake. So, I went to check the guard posts,” Alerio explained. “One heard digging. After waking up two nearby squads, I sent a Legionary looking for you and another to warn the other posts.”

  “How many Insubri made it into camp?” asked the Optio.

  “Twenty. It got a little busy for a while,” admitted Alerio. “but we managed to get them all.”

  “Why didn’t you sound the alarm?” demanded Meleager.

  “I figured if we woke everyone, the noise would drive off the raiding party,” Alerio said. “After what they did to us, I wanted to take as many as possible.”

  From down the road, they heard the unmistakable stomp of Legion units on the run. Shortly after, four fully armed squads turned a corner and jogged towards the Optio and Lance Corporal. Out front and running ahead of the squads were Centurion Seneca and Tribune Peregrinus.

  “Report, Sergeant Meleager,” Seneca requested as he and Peregrinus came to a stop.

  “Lance Corporal Sisera and two squads have captured a raiding party of twenty,” Meleager replied.

  “Where are they?” asked Peregrinus while peering around at the campfires and the empty road.

  A scream rose from two streets over.

  “They’re in the custody of scattered squads,” Meleager informed him. “I think we should collect them soon if we want to have any left to question.”

  “Optio. Gather the Insubri and put them in a stock pen,” instructed Seneca. Then turning to Peregrinus asked. “If that’s alright with you, Tribune.”

  “That will suffice, Centurion,” Peregrinus replied.

  From back in the quick reaction force, a Legionary called out, “Tribune. What if one is too ugly to live?”

  Peregrinus whipped around and looked over the four squads for a long while. Long enough for Centurion Seneca to worry if the power of command was going to the young nobleman’s head. Long enough for snow to settle on the Legionaries. Finally, Peregrinus slowly shook his head in an exaggerated manner.

  “I’ve given it a lot of thought,” the Tribune announced. “In my opinion, they are all too ugly to live. However, they need to be questioned by command staff. Afterwards, I’ll need a lane of wooden crosses outside the gate. Can you do that for me?”

  “We’ll put them up on the wood in straight lines for you, sir,” another Legionary called back. “Just give us the word.”

  “Thank you,” Peregrinus replied. “Lance Corporal Sisera. Accompany Centurion Seneca and me to the command tent.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alerio said as he fell in behind the Tribune and the Centurion.

  “If you have an Insubri, bring him to me,” yelled out Sergeant Meleager.

  A street over, someone shouted back, “But he bleeds so pretty. Can’t we keep him.”

  “I know you lost a lot of friends today. Don’t be selfish. We’ll all enjoy it when we crucify them tomorrow,” Meleager replied. “Now! Bring me, my prisoners.”

  Chapter 11 – Cold, Exhausted and Wet

  “The solution is to get a messenger on the way south before dawn,” Centurion Seneca explained. “The problem is how to get him past the Insubri on the riverbank and those patrolling the hills.”

  Alerio leaned over the map, reached out with an extended finger, and traced the course of the Tiber river.

  “Take the river down passed the foothills,” he suggested. “But, once the messenger comes ashore, there will be prints in the snow. Unless the barbarians are drawn away, they’ll find the footprints quickly.”

  “Wouldn’t they be expecting something from the raiding party?” asked Peregrinus.

  “They only sent twenty warriors,” Seneca stated. “Not enough for a major attack. More than likely, they had specific targets. I’d guess the Legion command area and the main gate.”

  “If they are staged and waiting for the gates to open, why not open them?” Alerio offered.

  “You want to open the gates?” Silenus Eduardus asked in horror.

  He’d wandered in and stood beside the Centurion. The wine merchant hadn’t said anything until the possibility of opening the gates was mentioned.

  “I believe what the Lance Corporal is suggesting is we open the gates and greet them with several Centuries,” Seneca explained. “Isn’t that right, Sisera?”

  “Yes, Centurion. They are gathered to the west so why not give them a fight,” Alerio said. “It’ll serve three purposes.”

  “There are reasons to open the gates?” inquired Silenus Eduardus. “Other than blood lust.”

  “Yes, sir. A quick fight will put the Insubri on notice that we are not beaten. And it’ll be good for the Legionaries to get some revenge,” Alerio listed. “In addition, a fight at the gate will draw the southern warriors away from their posts.”

  “Giving the messenger a head start,” blurted out Peregrinus. “By the time the Insubri break off from the gate engagement, he can be on shore and jogging south.”

  “Lads, I know I’m not a military man, but scheduling, using my resources to gain an advantage and attention to details have made me a rich man,” Silenus Eduardus announced. “There are issues with sending
a messenger. How does he get to the river? How does he survive the cold water? And, who does he deliver the messages to for the quickest response?”

  Everyone stared at the map as if an answer would emerge in glowing letters. But no revelation appeared on the map. Long moments later, Tribune Peregrinus straightened up.

  “I need to deliver the message,” he announced. “We need someone who can get an audience with Consul Vitulus and the Senate. A Legion courier will simply deliver the messages to the first Centurion he finds. To speed up the response, you need a nobleman to deliver the message.”

  “That was unexpected,” Silenus Eduardus admitted while bowing his head to the youth. “But, like an amphora of fine vino, transporting the merchandise undamaged to the customer is just as important as making the wine. How do you, Tribune Peregrinus, get to the Capital undamaged?”

  “Sisera, you were with the Raiders. How does the Tribune get to the Capital?” Seneca asked. “Undamaged as Lieutenant General Eduardus put it.”

  A strange expression crossed the wine merchant’s face. In all his years of crawling to the pinnacle of business, he never thought he’d one day be acknowledged as Lieutenant General Silenus Eduardus. While the honor wouldn’t last beyond the Legion camp, for this moment in time, he relished it. So, lost was he in his own thoughts, he almost missed it when the Lance Corporal began speaking.

  “Four barrels lashed together,” Sisera described. “Oiled goatskins for our gear and our legs to protect from the dampness and the cold.”

  “Excuse me. I missed the first part,” insisted Silenus Eduardus. “Who needs barrels?”

  “Lance Corporal Sisera has offered to guide me,” Tribune Peregrinus stated. “Apparently, we are rafting down the Tiber.”

  “We’ll use the skirmish at the gates to cover your exit,” advised Centurion Seneca. “It makes sense for unengaged units to sweep around the camp. You can use them as cover to reach the Tiber. Lieutenant General Eduardus, did we miss anything.”

  “Tribune Armenius Peregrinus and Lance Corporal Sisera, may the god Kratos give you power for the endeavor. And his sister, the goddess Bia, grant your bodies the strength to survive,” Silenus Eduardus pronounced. “I’ll have my slaves empty four wine casks. Centurion Seneca, ready the Legion.”