Spilled Blood, page 17
part #2 of Clay Warrior Stories Series
“No. No. No. Place the weight in the center of the boat,” corrected the builder. “You don’t want her bow or stern heavy. She’s designed to skim the surface so you’ll want to keep the weight balanced. Take off your robes.”
These last words he uttered while pointing a gnarly finger at the rowers. With a nod from Thomasious Harricus, they pulled off their robes. As the builder walked to each, he grasped their shoulders and tested their weight by lifting them off the ground.
“You, front right,” he directed Erebus to a rowing station before selecting another man. “You to the left front.”
The final two were placed at the rear rowing stations and the builder turned to Thomasious.
“Take care of my baby, innkeeper,” the builder said a little sadly. “I’ll expect a room and dinner the next time I’m in town.”
“Breakfast in bed and a pitcher of morning wine will be delivered to your room Master Builder,” Harricus declared as he stepped into the boat.
A gentle shove propelled the custom boat from the ramp and it drifted into the swift current.
“Ready. Stroke,” Harricus said as he lowered the rudder into the water.
The boat lurched to the right as Erebus pulled his oar harder than the other oarsmen.
“Hold water,” directed Harricus.
The rowers placed their blades in a stable position in the water. The bow, aided by the rudder and the current, drifted back to the centerline of the river.
Chapter 52 - The Tiber Run
“Gentlemen, we need to reach the port as soon as possible,” explained Harricus. “We’ll not get there without teamwork. So, on my count, stroke and let it run.”
The four oarsmen dipped their oars once then held them out of the water. As designed, the boat surged forward letting the rowers get a sense of the effect of a stroke.
“Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Let it run,” Harricus directed.
This time with three even rows, the boat picked up speed and the rowers felt their timing improve. They waited with blades hanging above the water.
“Stroke,” began Harricus and this time he continued the command again and again.
As the rowers fell into a rhythm, the Tiber rolled to the left before gently curving into a long right-handed arc. Many powerful strokes later, the mighty river straightened and, almost as if built by Republic construction crews, it ran directly for the sea and Ostia.
Chapter 53 - The Port of Ostia
Harricus turned his head and tried to see over the trees for a view of the hills to the northwest. His attempt was foiled by the riverbank and the tall growth. He feared that somewhere out there a man was rushing to light a signal fire for the Qart Hadasht ships. Returning to his crew of rowers, he continued the mantra of stroke, stroke, stroke to keep them in rhythm.
The sun had risen and he could see sweat gleaming off the taunt muscles of the oarsmen. Although bone weary and breathing like a herd of sacrificial bulls, they didn’t let up as the boat raced for the port.
“Let it run,” he announced as they arrived the mouth of the Tiber.
While the oars hung unmoving over the water, he studied the docks on the ocean side of the left bank. Most of the smaller boats were beached on the shore. Only the large merchant transports with grain and goods to unload used the docks. After running his eyes along the Port of Ostia he located a Legion standard in front of a collection of buildings.
“Stroke, stroke,” he ordered while shoving the rudder over.
The boat veered left and it tracked along the line of the transports. Near the end of the pier, he pushed the rudder a final time, and just before the keel hit the sandy shore Thomasious yelled, “Check. It. Down.”
The rowers reversed their strokes slowing the boat so it beached softly. Harricus leaped from the boat, splashed through the deep water, and once on solid land, ran for the Legion flags. Erebus and the Legionaries jumped into the surf and hauled the boat clear of the waves. After securing the boat, they collapsed against the hull.
“Do you think we made it in time?” asked Demetrius as he inhaled deep gasps of ocean air.
“I don’t see a signal fire,” proclaimed Pontus while puffing and almost choking as he attempted to get a deep breath.
“You can’t see anything while sitting on the beach,” observed Celer who shook as his muscles tried to relax after the strain of the manic rowing.
“Someone should walk up the beach and have a look,” suggested Erebus.
“That’s a grand idea. Who wants to volunteer?” asked Pontus.
Demetrius rose up and the other three looked at him expectantly as though he might go see if there was a signal fire. But he lifted only enough to grab a wineskin from the boat. After snatching the container, he resettled on the beach.
“What? You thought I was going?” the Legionary asked as he drank from a long stream of watered wine. “Anybody else thirsty?”
Three arms that felt as if they were made of lead reached for the wineskin. While the oarsmen sat in exhaustion, Thomasious searched among the Legion buildings for the Century’s Centurion.
“Can I help you?” a Legion Private asked.
The man had come from between two buildings. He was armored but didn’t seem to be on duty.
“Where is your Centurion?” demanded Thomasious.
“He holds office time for merchants in the afternoon,” advised the Private. “No appointment necessary, but you’ll have to wait your turn.”
His duty done as far as he knew, the young Legionary began to walk away.
“Private. I am Tribune Harricus,” thundered Thomasious as he fished in a pouch for the Tribune shoulder epaulet that he’d taken from the closet. “Under direct orders from Colonel Nigellus. You will escort me to the Centurion, no matter where he is. And you will do it now. Move!”
“Sir, my apologies,” the Private responded while coming to attention. “This way sir.”
Thomasious’ throat hurt. While he hadn’t rowed, he had been calling out stroke counts for the entire trip down the Tiber. The outburst at the Private was the final punishment his voice could stand.
They walked past four buildings before arriving at a small villa behind the military structures.
“Centurion Seneca’s residence, sir,” the Private said as he backed away. “He usually sleeps late. By your leave sir?”
“Go and thank you,” Thomasious squeaked out.
Although the words were garbled and barely understandable, the Private took the words as a dismissal, performed an about face and jogged away. Probably to avoid any more contact with the Tribune. Especially, seeing as the Tribune had pushed open the door to the Centurion’s villa and let himself in unannounced.
Chapter 54 - Shifting Sands and Shifting Stances
Thomasious marched down the hallway peering into empty rooms. At the end of the hall, he stepped through an arched doorway and into the master suite of the villa. An older man lay in bed snoring.
“Centurion Seneca,” he said trying to sound commanding.
Instead, his words came out in a horse whisper. Out of frustration, he kicked the bed, reached out and pulled the blanket off the sleeping form. The man sat up quickly with a dagger in his hand.
“What are you doing in my bedroom,” he threatened while aiming the point at Thomasious’ chest.
Knowing he didn’t have the voice to communicate properly, Thomasious whispered one word.
“Nigellus,” he squeezed out while extending the note.
The newly awakened Centurion shook his head. After losing the cobwebs of sleep, he studied the man holding out a piece of parchment.
“Colonel Nigellus,” Thomasious whispered.
To his pleasure, he found if he spoke slowly in a whisper, while it hurt his throat, the words at least were understandable. And the Centurion got the meaning.
“I’ll meet you in the study down the hall,” ordered the Legion Officer.
Thomasious made hurry up motions with his hands and fingers before realizing it looked ridiculous. He stopped flexing his fingers, turned and left the bedchamber.
A short time later, the Centurion appeared. Having changed from a sleeping gown, he now wore a toga.
“You mentioned Colonel Nigellus?” inquired the Officer.
Thomasious saved his garbled words and simply handed the man the note. As the Officer read, Thomasious went to a desk and uncorked the ink container. He began writing and was still at it when the Officer finished reading.
“I am Centurion Seneca. The Colonel said to work with you,” the man stated. “What can I do for you Tribune Harricus?”
For all the writing Thomasious had done over the years, he felt particularly proud of this piece for a couple of reasons. It explained the need to block the Tiber while folding in just enough of the politics to give the reason. Like any good story, it tantalized and informed without preaching. The note was so good, the Centurion read it once and announced.
“Come with me Tribune,” Seneca said urgently.
He guided them out of the villa, across a lawn, and into one of the military buildings.
“Sergeant. Call out the Century,” ordered the Officer. “I want three squads on the beach prepared to repel an attack from the sea. Give them extra signalmen with as many flags as they can locate. I want the Qart Hadasht navy to believe we have a Legion guarding Ostia.”
“We have a squad of cavalrymen in town as well,” the Sergeant informed him.
“Good. Have them mounted and walking behind the infantry as if they were commanders looking over a battlefield,” suggested Seneca. “Then send three squads to the docks. We are about to commandeer the merchant ships.”
“Commandeer sir? As in capture?” asked the puzzled Sergeant.
“No, Sergeant. More like borrowing them,” the Centurion explained. “We have two patrol boats in port. I want them manned and ready to tow the merchants into position.”
“Yes, sir,” the Sergeant said before running out the door and shouting for the Century to turn out.
“Did I miss anything?” asked the Centurion.
Thomasious indicated his note. Seneca handed it over and Harricus pointed to the phrase mentioning the signal.
“Let’s get the blockade done first,” advised Seneca. “Once all the elements are in place, we’ll go to the observation roof and take a look.”
Thomasious’ oarsmen were mostly recovered, yet they’d chosen to stay on the beach. Only Erebus stood. He was scanning the buildings attempting to locate Harricus. His long light colored hair was still damp and hung in wet strands down to his shoulders. The Legionaries’ short cropped hair dried quickly as they dozed in the warm rising sun.
When three squads of heavy infantry marched to the top of the beach, turned and placed their shields in line, Erebus thought nothing of it. Soon, mounted cavalrymen appeared behind the squads. They all seemed to be fixated on the sea and the horizon.
The grating sounds of Legionaries shoving two patrol boats off the beach caused the northerner to look to at the far side of the beach. Turning back, Erebus located Harricus.
The Tribune and a Centurion were marching towards the dock. Following closely behind the Officers tailed three squads of infantry. Using both arms, Erebus waved to get Harricus’ attention.
Harricus missed the waving arms. Unfortunately, Erebus did get the attention of the squads and the cavalry at the top of the beach. Forty pairs of eyes shifted from the horizon and locked onto the barbarian standing bare chested on the beach. Behind him, as if dead, lay three legionaries and a strange shaped boat.
When a half squad broke formation and headed down to the shore line, Erebus glanced around to see what had drawn them. He took in the three limp Legionaries and the exotic boat before panicking.
“Demetrius! Pontus! Celer,” he called out. “A little help here, if you please.”
Dropping to his knees, Erebus locked his elbows over his head and braced for what was coming.
“What is it?” asked Celer through closed eyes. “I was dreaming about sailing through the Straits of Messina on my own ship.”
“I could use…” Erebus didn’t finish.
From his knees, the northerner was hammered to the ground by an infantry shield. He lay unconscious, his breath with just enough force to roll a few grains of sand away from his nostrils.
“Is he a spy?” asked the Legionary who had reached Erebus first.
“No. He is first oarsmen for Tribune Harricus,” Demetrius said as he uncurled from beside the boat and stretched to his full height. “If I were you, I’d get a medic here before the Tribune realizes you’ve injured his number one rower.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Pontus stated as he stood. While not as tall as Demetrius, he was also sculpted with rippling muscles. “I can’t imagine what the Tribune will say or do if he wants to get back to the Capital today.”
“Although Erebus does look rather peaceful laying there,” Celer added as he stood and stretched. “Which one of you five is able to row at top speed for nineteen miles without a break?”
“Come on lads,” Demetrius challenged. “Who’s going to replace him? The Tribune will want to know.”
While the half squad stammered trying to reply, a Corporal walked up.
“Report,” he ordered.
“It seems we’ve knocked out the Tribune’s first oar,” one of the Legionaries replied.
“Has anybody sent for stretcher bearers?” asked the NCO as he shook his head as if to say why me. “Or, called for a medic?”
Tribune Thomasious Harricus stood beside Centurion Seneca as he bullied, pleaded, cajoled and otherwise negotiated with the three merchant captains. None wanted their vessels in the way of a Qart Hadasht warship’s battering ram. Seneca explained that no one would ram their ships, as he’d place the Legion patrol boats in front to take the brunt of any attack. Eventually, each captain agreed and the towing process began.
Thomasious took a second to look at the beach where his boat was located. It looked as if four men were carrying a man on a shield. Following the bearers were his three Legionary rowers. He couldn’t locate Erebus but there was a crowd of shields and armor around the stretcher so he didn’t worry.
The sun was well above the horizon by the time the ships were anchored mid channel on the Tiber. Harricus and Seneca left the dock and headed for the observation roof. On the way, they passed the open door to the Post’s clinic.
Erebus was stretched out in a hospital bed. Sitting around him protectively were his three Legionary rowers.
“What happened?” Harricus asked.
“Your first oar stood up when he should have shut up,” Pontus replied.
“The surgeon said nothing was broken,” Demetrius added. “But Erebus needs to rest for a couple of days before he can handle an oar.”
“Centurion Seneca. If it’s not an imposition, I’ll need my rowers to billet here for a while,” Harricus said. “Also, they’ll require another body to get the boat back to the Capital. And I’ll need a horse.”
“We can handle that,” Seneca replied. “Let’s get to the observation roof and check out the Century’s placement.”
They climbed the steps to the roof. Shortly after reaching the observation platform, three runners and two signalmen joined the Officers. From the vantage point, they peered down on the squads and horsemen lining the beach. At the docks, another three squads stood vanguard on the piers. In mid-stream, the Tiber was blocked by boats and ships anchored and lashed together. Finally, they looked at the horizon.
Far out to sea, the square sails of three Qart Hadasht ships came over the horizon. Mesmerized as the sails grew until the upper decks of the ships came into view, Harricus forced himself to brake from the sight. He searched to the northwest one more time for a signal.
Thick black clouds nineteen miles away hung low over the city in an otherwise clear blue sky. Looking closely, he realized a funnel stretched from the clouds down below the landscape. He shuddered as he realized what the signal was and where it was located.
Chapter 55 - Ballista Love
The Qart Hadasht ships drew closer and Harricus could finally get a detailed view of them. Oars, like tentacles on a sea creature, rose and dipped propelling the large ships at high speeds.
“At that pace, they can punch through the merchant vessels and the patrol boats,” said Harricus. “How many oars are they using?”
“Thirty-one on the top row, twenty-seven in the middle and twenty-seven on the bottom row,” Seneca replied before turning around to the assortment of Legionaries standing behind him. “Signalman. Stand by one and two.”
The man waved two flags and was mirrored by another set of flags. The reply came from a rooftop overlooking the Tiber.
“Release one and two,” ordered the Centurion.
The flags dropped and there were twangs as if a lute player had struck two strings. Except, the strings would have to be as big around as your wrists to deliver the deep bass throb of these strings. Accompanying the sound was a view of two rounded rocks arching high into the sky.
The Qart Hadasht ships adjusted so they were lined up with the Tiber. As if a geyser sprouting water suddenly appeared in the sea, first one of the rocks, then the other splashed down in front of the lead ship.
“We missed,” Harricus complained.
“Those were for range. And, to let make the Qart Hadasht ships understand, we know what we are doing,” explained the Centurion. “Signalman. Ready three and four.”
“Ready sir,” the man replied after another round of flag waving.
“Release three and four,” Seneca commanded.
This time the ships were closer. Before the deep twangs faded, two rocks dropped neatly onto the deck of the second ship. People began running across the deck. Harricus couldn’t tell if they were running to help those injured or were scattering from the sites damaged by the rocks.
“Five and six, ship one. One and two, ship two,” the Centurion ordered.
