Bloody Water (Clay Warrior Stories Book 3) Page 6

  “I suppose if I was station at Bovesia Garrison, I could ask around,” volunteered Alerio. “You said your focus changed. Changed to what?”

  “The Illyrians. The Greeks. And, the Egyptians,” he replied. “Three potential enemies that aren’t even on my map.”

  Chapter 19 – Deception

  Alerio was met in the hallway by the First Sergeant. Without a word, the senior NCO directed him into an office.

  “Good morning, Senior Centurion Patroclus,” Alerio said when he saw who was sitting at a desk.

  “Sit down Lance Corporal,” the office instructed without looking up from a piece of parchment. “Are you familiar with the term deception?”

  “Yes, Sir. It’s when I lower and wobble my left gladius. My foe attacks thinking it’s my weak side,” Alerio stated.

  “Isn’t the left arm weak for all Legionaries?” asked the puzzled Centurion as he finally looked up from the parchment. “I thought we trained everyone to only use the right?”

  “Sir, if I may,” broke in the First Sergeant to shortcut the dead-end conversation. “Sisera is a gladius instructor and is proficient with both arms.”

  “I see. The analogy is a bit basic but it’s germane to the topic,” Patroclus admitted. “The Southern Legion is stretched over seventy-five miles of coastline. Not only are we under strength and drawn out, there are mountains separating our garrisons. We have no direct overland routes to reinforce any of our Posts. On top of that bowl of mush, we have known enemies across the strait and pirates and suspected enemies across the seas beyond it. That’s the cold hard truth of our existence.”

  “Yes, Sir. I understand,” said Alerio.

  “So, to keep our enemies on their heels. As a swordsman, you should appreciate that description. We practice the art of deception,” explained the Senior Centurion. “Centuries and squads are shuffled regularly between garrisons. Frequent rotation leads our enemies to believe we have an abundance of Legionaries. That’s our first deception, but we’re adding another.”

  “What’s the second deception?” Alerio asked.

  “We’re adding a squad early,” the Senior Centurion replied. “Seventh and Eighth Squads will join Third Century within the year. As a bit if deception, we’re activating Eight Squad early. And you are the squad leader.”

  “You’ve been assigned to Tribune Velius for a mission,” First Sergeant Gerontius said picking up the conversation. “He wants you in Bovesia with freedom to move around. We need to appear stronger, so we’ve combined the two. Congratulations Lance Corporal Sisera.”

  “That’s Centurion Narcissus’ Century,” said Alerio. “Aren’t they at Occhio.”

  “Third is moving to Bovesia once First arrives in about four weeks,” Patroclus said. “First Sergeant Gerontius has your orders on his desk. And, Lance Corporal Sisera, I don’t know what you’re doing for the Tribune but watch yourself. You’ll be operating without a squad at your back. Dismissed.”

  Alerio gave a salute, turned and followed Gerontius down the hall to his desk.

  “This is a letter to Sergeant Cletus. He’ll be posting duty assignments for Eighth Squad,” Gerontius instructed as he slapped Alerio’s hand with a rolled and sealed missive. “He’ll have the duty covered with other Legionaries. Just show up, walk the post like a real squad leader, then go be a spy.”

  “First Sergeant, I didn’t ask for this,” explained Alerio.

  “It’s not you I’m angry with,” Gerontius admitted. “It’s the Senate, the politics, and the lack of resources for my Centuries that gets to me. Good luck on your mission and be careful.”

  “I always am, First Sergeant,” stated Alerio.

  “Careful isn’t what I’d call taking on a ship full of Illyrians at Occhio,” the First Sergeant commented.

  “I had acres and acres of grain fields at my back,” Alerio said. “At night, it’s the safest place in the world for a farm lad.”

  “Get out of my office Sisera.”

  “Yes, First Sergeant.”

  Act 5

  Chapter 20 – Mouth of the Kaikinos River

  Five boats lay beached along the right side of the Kaikinos River. Three were large merchant ships and from the brace supports along the hulls, they were laden with goods.

  The other two vessels were smaller intercostal transports like the one delivering Alerio to Bovesia Garrison. Used for moving goods between river settlements, the shallow draft merchants plied their trade up and down the coast. Never venturing far from shore.

  ***

  Long before first light, Alerio had boarded the ship and met Captain Hadrian. The man was just a shadowy figure when they rowed away from Port Rhegium.

  “Your ship seems low in the water,” commented Alerio to Hadrian.

  “We’ve a load of olive oil and those amphorae rest heavy on the old girl,” the Captain replied. “Took them on the day before yesterday at Gioia Tauro. If all goes well, I’ll trade them for furs at Bonamico. If I can add a few more products, by the time I get back to the Capital, the owner will make a tidy profit.”

  “Aren’t you the owner?” inquired Alerio.

  “Very few of the sailors and rowers own their ships,” admitted Hadrian. “I get a bonus if the trip is profitable but I’m like the rowers, just an employee.”

  “Then why do you do this?” asked Alerio. “Surely there are less dangerous ways to earn your coin.”

  Alerio felt the vessel shudder as the rowers fought the northbound current along the shoreline. It smoothed out when they reached center channel of the Messina Strait. Catching the southbound current, the low laying ship moved on its own and the rowers relaxed.

  “Ship the oars and lower the sail,” Hadrian instructed the rowers.

  One of the four rowers climbed the mast and untied lashings. Hemp rope lines hung from the top and the other rowers used them to attach the bottom of the sails to the rails. The wind hit the goatskin material and the ship’s speed increased.

  “Dangerous?” said Hadrian once the crew had set the sail. “No Lance Corporal Sisera, this isn’t as deadly as fighting in a shield wall. Here, hold this steady.”

  The Captain motioned for Alerio to take the rear facing oar. The handle vibrated from the force of water flowing over the submerged blade. Once Hadrian was confident Alerio wouldn’t turn his ship, he stepped to a trunk secured to the deck rail. From it, he lifted an old leather belt with a gladius sheath attached.

  “When I was a young man, I signed up for the Legion,” said Hadrian. “I was just out of training when my Century marched out to face an eastern tribe. Trained by Greeks they were. Imagine me standing shoulder to shoulder with my squad mates and out marches a formed and orderly line of tribesmen. I was shaking in my boots. The squad leader called for a new formation and my Right-Pivot shifted just before our lines clashed together.”

  He stroked the hilt of the gladius and let a slight smile crease his sun-tanned face.

  “The fates deem some for war and others for commerce,” Hadrian said. “I was barely set in the new formation when the tribe reached us. On the first advance, I shoved with my shield, withdrew it, and ran out my gladius. Then things went terribly wrong. A spear smashed into the side of my helmet and this happened.”

  Hadrian gripped the hilt and pulled it from the sheath. The blade was snapped off leaving only a quarter of its original length. He stared at the straight, clean break and shook his head.

  The blade, what was left of it, shined as if newly sanded and oiled. And the old sheath was just as well maintained. Obviously, Hadrian took pride in the weapon.

  “You could get a new gladius,” suggested Alerio.

  “No, Lance Corporal, while I lay on the ground, my squad stomped and pushed forward. When the second line passed over me, I was lucky to avoid their boots,” explained the merchant. “The fates, lad, the fates decided my future right there on the bloody battlefield. The next time I strap on this gladius, it’ll be for my funeral. Now give me back the oar. I
get nervous when anyone but me pilots the old girl.”

  They sailed by Point Ravagnese and Occhio inlet. Later, they left the straits and followed the distant shoreline on an easterly heading. The sun was high, although it was before the zenith, when Hadrian pointed to a town carved and built on hills above the beach.

  “There’s Bovesia. I’ll have to drop you in the water,” announced Hadrian. “I’m not making port here.”

  “Not too deep, I hope,” replied Alerio.

  “You’re a Legionary. You know how to swim,” commented the merchant.

  “Not while carrying my gear,” said Alerio.

  “Oh, you youngsters. Back in my day, in the old Legion, we swam fully armored while holding our javelins in our teeth,” boasted Hadrian.

  “Really?” asked Alerio in amazement.

  “Of course not, but it’s how us old timers like to remember the past,” Captain Hadrian said before shouting to his crew. “Roll the sail and man the oars.”

  Without the sail, the overloaded merchant vessel slowed and began to rock in the gentle waves of the Ionian Sea. Once the oars were dipped and put into use, the ship moved toward shore.

  “Back her down,” shouted Captain Hadrian.

  The four oarsmen reversed strokes and the ship slowed. But momentum allowed it to travel enough that the merchant vessel gently nudged the sandy bottom.

  “Hold water,” he said and the transport stopped before running onto the sloping beach. “That’s as close as I can get you, Lance Corporal.”

  “It’s close enough Captain Hadrian. Thanks for the ride,” responded Alerio.

  Alerio leaped from the bow and landed in waist deep water. Hadrian tossed down a bundle containing his armor, helmet and gladii. As he waded to the beach, he heard Hadrian shout, “Back her down. Back, back.”

  By the time Alerio reached shore, the transport was in deep water and turning eastward.

  ***

  Alerio marched across the sand and gravel to a set of wide steps cut into a rocky hill. Twenty steps later, he came level with the first buildings of the settlement. The rest of the clay brick structures rose as the trading town stepped to higher and higher elevations.

  “Beverage, Legionary?” asked a man sitting at a table outside one of the buildings. “Salt spray dries a man out something fierce.”

  Alerio started to pass by then remembered his assignment. Instead of climbing higher, he rested his armor and helmet package on the table.

  “What have you got?” he asked.

  “Some watered wine and spring water,” the man said. “But the pride of my establishment is my beer. Best in Bovesia.”

  “Sold,” Alerio said as dropped four coppers on the table before sitting down. “Join me.”

  The merchant swung his legs off the table and stood. Alerio almost missed the markings. While the man wore sandals with thin tie straps, his ankles and calves were indented in wide, deep strips like the kind made by heavy military boots.

  The man returned with two mugs brimming with frothy foam. Alerio took a sip as the man dropped into the other chair.

  “Pholus, brewer of fine beer,” the man exclaimed while lifting his mug.

  “That far exceeds any beer we made on my father’s farm,” exclaimed Alerio as he wiped the foam from his upper lip. “Well done, Master Pholus.”

  The Pholus beamed with pride and explained, “Greek copper. Instead of clay or wooden barrels, I brew it in top quality Greek copper.”

  “Is it hard to get?” inquired Alerio.

  The man laughed, pointed out to sea, and rotated his arm a little to the right. “Greece is just over the horizon about seven days rowing and sailing,” he said. “I bought the pot off a merchant and have been perfecting the mash ever since.”

  “Do you get many Greek ships here?” asked Alerio.

  “Legionary. I can tell you’ve never been to Bovesia,” the man said as he took a pull from his clay mug. “Ships traveling up the coast to the east, heading for deep water going west, and those bound for Greece, Egypt, Qart Hadasht and other southern places stop here to resupply. Before heading out on a long sea voyage, or returning to the coast, they all stop here.”

  Alerio thanked Pholus, hoisted his gear and crossed to the next set of steps. He began the climb to the second plaza level. A glance to his right gave him a view of the Kaikinos River. Its murky water ended a short way out into the blue water of the Ionian Sea. Fishing boats were beached on the far side of the river. Their rustic huts of reeds and wood sat back from their fish drying racks on the beach.

  On the next plaza level, Alerio found merchant buildings. Nets, hemp rope, copper and metal goods were on display. He imagined there were other repair items inside. An enclosure holding five mules gave a hint as to how the sold merchandise got transported to the beach.

  ***

  He located the crews from the five beached boats on the third level plaza of Bovesia. It was a mad jumble of activities. Smoke from roasting meat filled the air. Yelling of slightly intoxicated men and cheers from a number of games created a roar. Even a couple of bards, vying for the crewmen’s attention and coin, sang or recited verse.

  Alerio shoved into the crowd and grabbed a man.

  “Where is the Legion garrison?” he asked the oarsman.

  “Over the crest,” the man replied before staggering away.

  Alerio shoved aside a few more sailors, threaded an alleyway, and stepped to the back of the buildings. Down a narrow trail were two buildings and four tents. It was obvious from the indentions in the dirt that not too long ago four additional tents had also occupied the garrison space. A wall of thorn bushes surrounded the buildings, tents, and parade grounds with a few open sided buildings. Spying a Legion banner outside one of the buildings, Alerio headed down the hill.

  Chapter 21 - Bovesia Garrison

  “Corporal. Lance Corporal Alerio Sisera, Eighth Squad, Third Century reporting in,” Alerio said as he stepped up to a desk in one of the buildings.

  “Since when does the Third have eight squads?” inquired the Corporal. “And where are your men?”

  “They aren’t due for several weeks,” Alerio replied.

  “So, what am I supposed to do with you in the meantime?”

  “I’m a gladius instructor,” said Alerio. “It seems obvious to me.”

  “I’m Cephas. We’ll put you with supply in building two,” the Corporal said. “Go and settle in. You can introduce yourself at the morning formation.”

  ***

  While not large, the room in the supply building, behind the quartermaster’s shelves, had a desk, a window and a bed. All the comforts of a barracks, plus a bonus, it was a single. As Alerio stowed his equipment, he realized he was hungry.

  After strapping the single gladius around his hip, he left the building. Beyond the briar bush wall, the trail headed up the hill toward the highest level of the town.

  He noticed wooden stairs on the back of one building. The steps ended at a tall stand on the roof. Three Legionaries stood with their backs to the camp so they could watch over the town and the Ionian Sea beyond the coast. A long trumpet rested beside one of them.

  The festivities were still in full swing as he reached the top of the hill. Picking the least riotous dining establishment, Alerio pushed through the crowd on the broad porch of the Columnae Herculis. Once he located a doorway, Alerio entered the triclinium.

  ***

  “Food in the dining room,” a powerfully built man stated. He easily looked down on the top of Alerio’s head. “You drink outside.”

  Alerio studied the speaker. The man was tall and heavily muscled to the point a comparison with a bull wouldn’t be out of line. From the callouses on his hands, Alerio figured he’d spent a lot of years pulling an oar.

  “Food,” Alerio advised the man.

  “Over there,” the man said indicating a table across the room.

  Instead of escorting him, the greeter walked away. The table was unoccupied and i
t’s other three chairs moved to accommodate diners at larger tables. Not only was the small table empty, it sat between two large tables. The spot was perfect for a man who wanted to fade into the background and listen for information.

  An unordered platter of lamb and vegetables landed on the table.

  “I didn’t order yet,” Alerio advised the muscular server.

  “You want the food or not?” the man asked as he began to pull the platter from the table.

  “Stop. Lamb will be fine,” Alerio relented. “You just caught me by surprise.”

  “Don’t get caught by surprise in Bovesia,” the giant said as he walked to a table near the front. The occupants didn’t notice the man had approached. They were too busy conversing through a window with a rowdy group of people on the porch. “Eat inside,” the server announced as he studied the table full of empty platters and half-filled mugs. “Drink outside.”

  With platters stacked in his big hands, the giant didn’t see the fist. It slammed into the bottom of the platters driving them up and into his face. Two men swung from hip level as the plates fell away. Together, they hammered his grease and scrap covered face.

  Alerio chewed and watched the show. Figuring the big man could handle four sailors, he speared another bit of lamb and popped it in his mouth. His contented chewing stopped when a sailor drew a knife.

  The knifeman circled the melee where his three friends were absorbing blows from the giant. As if to sneak away, the man bent down and crab walked around the fighters. His eyes, however, weren’t focused on the exit.

  Recognizing a man seeking a weak spot on a target, Alerio jumped from his chair and charged at the knifeman. As he approached, the sailor caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. The knife’s point swept around and rose until it was aimed at Alerio’s gut.

  ‘In four steps, the Legionary will be impaled on my blade,’ calculated the knifeman. ‘Then I can cut the big Athenian.’