Chapter 26 – Legion Tritons

  Sinebe, Centurion of Horse, twenty cavalrymen, and Jace Kasia watched from the foredeck as the warship entered the harbor at New Carthage. Traveling light, they left their warhorses, armor, and lances at Marçà. The mission required speed and stealth more than equipment for a cavalry charge.

  “We’ll pick up horses, provisions, and leave immediately,” Jace told the Centurion. “I’d rather not have spies tailing us all the way to Carmona.”

  “Why Carmona?” Sinebe inquired. “On the map, Fuentes de Andalucía looks like an easier approach.”

  “It’s the approach to Andalucía that worries me,” Jace told him. “Why camp your army on flatland dotted with farms and drainage ditches and streams? That leaves us channels to attack Gisco and limits his lines of retreat. We’re missing something.”

  “Maybe we’ll see why when we get closer,” the Centurion offered.

  The warship u-turned and backstroked to the shoreline. Once the keel was high and dry, Jace and the cavalrymen marched down the ramp to the beach.

  “Five of you secure horses. Five of you get waterskins and dried meat,” Sinebe instructed. “And five of you collect bread and vegetables.”

  “What about us?” a cavalryman in the last group asked.

  He and the four unassigned riders stood in a line looking dejected.

  “Let me think,” Sinebe murmured. “What else would a mounted patrol need?”

  “Grain for the horses,” a cavalryman suggested. “If we need to run and don’t have time to graze, the mounts will need feed.”

  “You may be officer material,” Sinebe teased. The Centurion dismissed the last five cavalrymen and addressed Jace. “Colonel, do you really believe we can find a weakness in the defenses of two Carthaginian armies?”

  “We’re not probing for weaknesses,” Jace explained. “Look at Andalucía, we’ve already identified the weaknesses. But it doesn’t help General Scipio.”

  “Because we don’t know why Gisco picked the location,” Sinebe mentioned. “If not weaknesses, sir, what are we looking for?”

  “A way in, Centurion,” Jace revealed. “Get behind their walls and open their gates. An open gate is the weakest area of any defense.”

  “And that’s why we start with Carmona,” the Centurion concluded. “It’s the one with multiple gates.”

  “And now you know what I know,” Jace told him. “So, let’s go find a way in.”

  They strolled towards the five cavalrymen coming from the Legion stables, leading twenty-two horses.

  ***

  Ten days later, Sinebe and a cavalryman sat on branches in a tree on top of a cliff. To their left, the plain of Andalusia stretched into the distance. Three days ago, dark clouds rolled in, and rain drenched the area. The clouds cleared off and yesterday they saw the roofs of Fuentes de Andalucía. Even from the heights, they were too far away to make out any of Gisco’s army. Today, neither was looking to their left but to the south. At another part of the cliff, a far-off stone wall dominated the lower plain, and closer in, a wooden bridge spanned a shallow stream. In the center of the defensive wall, a gate of iron and oak secured the northern exit from the city of Carmona.

  According to early reports, part of the Carthaginian army, mostly high-ranking officers, and guard units, were camped in the city. The rest of Mago and Hanno’s army bivouacked on the far side of Carmona.

  “You attack up that road,” the cavalryman offered, indicating the wagon trail that twisted and turned up a flattened part of the cliff, “and your warhorse will die alone.”

  “How can the horse die alone if you’re riding it?”

  “Well, sir, halfway up the road, you’d be dead from a spear thrown by a defender,” the cavalryman told him. “But a good warhorse will continue to charge up the road with the squadron.”

  The Centurion of Horse worked with the man because his stories irritated the other cavalrymen. And while Colonel Kasia and five men rode around the Andalusia plain trying to untangle the mystery of Gisco’s defensive posture, and the rest of the cavalrymen probed the walls and army camps around Carmona, Sinebe had to listen to irrational tales.

  “It’s going to rain hard this afternoon,” the storyteller announced.

  Sinebe searched the sky. Except for a few clouds on the horizon to the south, it was blue. He didn’t want to fall for the bait. Yet, curiosity compelled him to ask, “How do you know it’s going to rain hard?”

  The Centurion expected another simplistic answer. But the cavalryman pointed at a spot to the right of the city gate.

  “They’ve opened the flood channel, sir,” he answered.

  Although Sinebe searched, without a stream of water coming from the opening, he couldn’t locate the hole.

  “Explain that,” Sinebe ordered.

  “The other day, I saw water gushing out of the wall and figured it was a clay pipe. But a moment ago, something, possibly a sliding door, was removed, and I saw light through the stone wall. And, sir, it’s bigger than a drainpipe.”

  “Big enough for a man to crawl through?” the Centurion questioned.

  “Yes sir, but it’s only opened when it rains,” the cavalryman reminded the Centurion. “He’d need to be part fish to swim upstream through that.”

  ***

  At dusk, Jace and his patrol rode into a grove of trees and dismounted. After handing the reins of his horse to a cavalryman, he headed towards their camp. An exuberant Centurion of Horse met him halfway.

  “We’ve found our way in,” Sinebe boasted. “But there is a problem.”

  “A problem, I can deal with. Unfortunately, we’ve discovered why Gisco’s heavy infantrymen are camped on the plain,” Jace reported. “They have couriers riding between fortified towns. If General Scipio bypasses Andalucía and attacks Carmona, Gisco’s army will come together and counterattack.”

  “And if we attack Andalucía?” Sinebe asked.

  “Gisco will retreat to his forts,” Jace answered. “And while General Scipio besieges them, Mago and Hanno will come out of Carmona and attack our rear.”

  “Then we’ll take Mago and Hanno off the battlefield,” Sinebe offered.

  “How, in the name of the Gods, can we do that?” Jace questioned.

  “Not Gods, sir, just one,” the Centurion informed him. “The God Triton.”

  “Triton, the Greek God of the deep sea,” Jace pointed out. “He’s half man with the tail of a fish. How can he help?”

  ***

  Cornelius pushed the Legions. Not because he was in a rush to fight. General Scipio hoped to arrive before the Carthaginians had a chance to prepare. In his mind, they were lax and partially off guard while in winter quarters.

  The grind had taken its toll on men, animals, and transports. Left in the wake of the Legions were hobbled Legionaries, lame horses, crippled mules, and broken axles. Yet, General Scipio kept the rest periods short and the day’s marches long.

  Weary and stiff jointed, the Legions plowed onward, their minds numbed by the continuous movement. When, Bolt Legion’s standard bearer bellowed, it startled First Century, and the staff officers.

  “Riders coming forward, General.”

  Quintus Trebellius’ rough voice rattled the Tribunes and servants. A few jerked their horses away from the officer in charge of the Legion’s banner. Cornelius, as usual, maintained an air of dignity. Behind him, Sidia had half drawn his gladius before realizing the battle roar had been a simple announcement.

  “Riders coming forward, sir,” Quintus Trebellius proclaimed again.

  “I heard you, Centurion Trebellius,” Cornelius assured him. “Thank you.”

  Five riders appeared at the vanguard. In moments, they reached the staff officers. But First Century tightened the security band around the General, stopping Centurion Sinebe.

  “General, greetings from Wings Legion,” the cavalry officer declared. “And welcome to Andalusia.”

  “I expected Colonel Kasia to be here,” Cornelius mentioned.

  “Sir, he’s been detained,” Sinebe informed him.

  “How long will he be detained?”

  Sinebe glanced at the sky, searched a few clouds on the horizon, and answered, “At least three days, sir. But he sent me to show you where you’ll set up the marching camps.”

  “He did? Suppose my planning and strategy staff takes affront to the suggestion?”

  “Then, General Scipio, to quote Colonel Kasia, you’ll ruin the surprise,” Sinebe divulged. The Centurion of Horse produced a scroll from a fold in his shirt. He passed it forward and advised. “If you don’t follow the plan, sir, you’ll end up fighting on two fronts.”

  ***

  Late in the afternoon, Cornelius sat on his horse gazing across farmland at the walled town of Fuentes de Andalucía. A slight shift to the north, and he scanned the fortified city of Écija.

  “My backside is exposed, and this isn’t a public bath,” he complained. “We’re setting up our marching camps ten miles from two walled towns surrounded by elements of Gisco’s army. What’s to keep them from coming forward and converging on us?”

  None of the staff officers had an answer. Cornelius twisted and pointed southwest. Far in the distance, rain clouds gathered on the horizon.

  “And if I understand it right, Hanno and Mago’s armies are camped twenty-two miles from here at Carmona. What’s stopping them from riding over, joining Gisco, and annihilating us?”

  Again, nobody spoke up. How could they? Only Centurion Sinebe had firsthand knowledge of Colonel Kasia’s strategy. Thus, the General focused on him.

  “Sinebe. Can you shed light on why I’m positioning my Legions between armies of my enemies?” Cornelius asked the Centurion of Horse. “What am I supposed to do besides stay up all night pacing the floor of my pavilion?”

  “Sir, I only know you’re supposed to wait for it to rain,” Sinebe replied.

  “Then get wet, I know,” Cornelius scoffed. “Sidia. Is your cousin mad, or am I for following his directions?”

  “General, Jace is mildly touched,” the bodyguard allowed. “But tactically, he sees things most people miss. Of course, he has been known to be wrong on occasion, sir.”

  “Is that a diplomatic way of dodging the question?”

  “Would I do that, General Scipio?” the bodyguard inquired.

  “Every time,” Cornelius stated. “There is one consolation, you’ll be with me in the rain. What do you think Colonel Kasia will be doing when it starts pouring?”

  “Truthfully sir, I have no idea,” Sidia ventured. “But considering his history, he’ll probably be getting just as wet as us.”

  The statement wasn’t exactly accurate.

  ***

  At the eighth turning of the camp’s sandglass, the duty Optio in the General’s pavilion heard the first drops. It put him in a quandary. If the rain stopped, he’d look like a fool for sounding the alarm. If the drops were a precursor to a storm, his hesitation to wake the General, and the camp in the middle of the night, could ruin his career.

  From the back of the tent, a voice asked, “Is it just passing through?”

  Jumping up from the campstool, the veteran NCO saluted.

  “General Scipio, I didn’t see you.”

  “Rain, Optio. Is it coming or not?”

  Before the NCO could answer, the tapping on the goatskin tent increased until the downpour resembled the pounding of fists on the material.

  “Never mind, we have our answer,” Cornelius proposed. “Roll the infantry out of their tents. And order the cavalry and Velites to their assembly point.”

  Drums were useless in rain, but not trumpets. Brass had no problem with moisture. Although the men, awakened by the horns in the middle of the night and ordered by their officers to dress in their combat gear, certainly did.

  And while the Legionaries complained and grumbled out loud, twenty-two miles to the south, a small detachment didn’t have the luxury of protesting their situation. As a matter of fact, in a perverse way, they appreciated the arrival of the bad weather.

  ***

  On dry days, the stream flowing under the wooden bridge was barely visible through the tall grass. Closer to the base of the slope, the course remained a single ribbon of wet. Then, the stream split into several channels that snaked up the grade, giving the appearance of muddy trails between the tall weeds.

  From the top of the defensive wall of Carmona, the drainage ditches resembled brown scars on the earth. As a result, none of the sentries paid attention to the slope below the wall. Consequently, the officers thought nothing of it, when on stormy nights, their guards took shelter. The rain and the darkness, after all, cut the view from the top of the wall to nothing. Unwatched and invisible from above, the drainage ditches began to swell with water.

  To the right of the gate and partway down the grade, the water washed a layer of mud and handfuls of weeds off a woolen shirt. The shirt shifted allowing water to flow around Jace Kasia’s face. Stifling a cough, he reached ahead and tapped on a buried cavalry boot. From behind, a hand tapped the sole of Colonel Kasia’s boot.

  Dirty, hungry, wet, and chilled to the bone, six men rose from the mud. As if spirits secretly leaving their graves, they remained stooped. After two days of being under a layer of damp soil, none of them wanted to stand erect. They feared losing the little warmth provided by their chests and bellies.

  Jace slipped a coil of rope off his shoulder and rinsed it in the ditch. Then he bent, placed his hands in the rushing water, and began climbing uphill against the current. The five cavalrymen followed his example, staying midchannel so the downpour would wash away any signs of their passing.

  The rainfall increased and all across Carmona water from roofs and streets rushed to gutters. A fair number of the gutters collected in the trench that flowed to a large drainage culvert. From a steady stream, the water leaving the city bubbled up in a pond as it passed through the defensive wall.

  Outside, the six Legion Tritons fought against the flood and prayed for the blessings of the God Triton. Not just for the ascent, but for their passage through the port and the wall of water.

  Chapter 27 – Remember, I Love You

  Huddled against the defensive wall beside a violent churning pond, Jace and his five-man team watched the rise and fall of the surface and the flow out and down the hill. From a spillway to a writhing and agitated pool, the drainage culvert had become a nearly impassible obstacle.

  “It can’t be done, sir,” a cavalryman volunteered. “I swam in angry seas, and on raging rivers where I dodged boulders. But nothing like this. You might as well try swimming up a waterfall.”

  “We have one advantage over a waterfall,” Jace remarked. “We don’t have to swim upward.”

  “Just upstream, sir. And that’s not very inviting. Who’s the first drowning victim?”

  “I’m going first,” Jace informed the group. “Once I’m through, I’ll anchor the rope and send it back.”

  “Colonel, how will we know if you’ve made it or not?” a cavalryman inquired.

  “We’ll know when his body bobs to the surface and washes down the hill,” one offered. “Or when the end of the rope comes through.”

  Jace lifted his jerkin and rapped on his chest.

  “Haven’t you ever been sledding?” he challenged. “I’m going to sled right through the water.”

  “I don’t think it works that way, sir,” one of the raiders stated.

  Jace pulled his wrist shield from behind his back.

  “I’ll need help getting in,” he informed them. “Lift my body and two men push me down against the current.”

  The Cretan Archer put the strap for the wrist shield between his teeth. Partially armored at his face, he allowed himself to be lifted and aimed at the boiling surface as if he was a battering ram. His face and the small shield bounced off the water several times before he lowered his head and plunged under.

  For a moment, the only things holding him in the current were the cavalrymen pushing on his boots. In a mighty effort, Jace extended his arms and located fissures on the sides of the culvert. While pulling against the current, his shirt and trousers ripped off. They washed away and the strong current began scouring his naked flesh. Water forced itself into his nostrils and Jace heaved. Then his mind took flight, fleeing from the horror of the watery grave.

  ***

  From the confines of the drainage port, Jace was transported to a fateful day in Eleutherna. His last happy day with Neysa Kasia and Master Archer Zarek Mikolas.

  “Zarek. Zarek,” Jace called as he ran towards the archer and Neysa.

  He carried two war bows and a pair of quivers.

  “What’s the matter?” Neysa asked. “Is Dryas ill?”

  “No, ma’am, Uncle Dryas is fine,” he answered. Shifting to face Zarek, Jace told him. “There’s a barrel seller on the back row. Uncle Dryas said he recognizes Bettina.”

  “It’s fine, the family is allowed to sell their product at the market,” Zarek remarked. “I’m sure it has no connection to the demise of the Rhodian soldiers.”

  Jace leaned closer to the archer’s ear, “It’s just that Iphis, Bettina’s father, isn’t with his family. Another vendor told me a group of soldiers were here at dawn. They helped Iphis unload his wagon of barrels. Then they escorted him into the city.”

  “Two questions,” Zarek remarked. He reached out, took the quiver, and tied it around his waist before grabbing the bow. “Was he escorted or arrested? And who were the soldiers?”

  “According to the vendor, Iphis was guided into the city by several soldiers from Rhodes.”

  Crowd noises caused them to look around.

  “Should I string the bow?” Jace asked.

  “No,” Neysa replied. “There’s no threat.”

  “Do it,” Zarek told him.

  The Master Archer looped the string around the bow tip then placed that end of his bow behind his left leg. Flexing the bow around his right thigh, Zarek hooked the loop of the bowstring into the opposite bow tip. Jace did the same.