Traitors of Rome (Eagles of the Empire 18)

by Simon Scarrow

  There was another shuddering impact as the boat coming upriver struck the bow. A handful of men went down, but the rest managed to keep their balance and resumed their struggle. Cato saw Apollonius rush to the bow, beckoning the nearest crewmen to follow him. As the first of the fresh wave of pirates swung his leg over the bowrail, the agent swept his dagger up and round so swiftly that Cato could barely follow the movement. Blood spurted from the pirate’s throat, then Apollonius punched him in the jaw with his sword guard and sent him tumbling out of sight.

  The bow of the pirate boat ground along the side of the barge, and more men began to climb aboard. Cato saw at once that Apollonius needed help if he and the two crewmen who had joined him were not to be overwhelmed. Slamming his shield into bodies and thrusting with his sword, he fought his way forward. As he reached a clear space on the deck, he saw that there was only one man still aboard the first pirate boat, holding it to the side of the barge with a boathook as he stood beside a small brazier, still alight. Sheathing his sword, Cato pulled a dagger from the hand of a dead pirate on the deck, took the end of the blade between his fingers and thumb and raised it above his shoulder as he sized up the target fifteen feet away. The pirate was busy shouting encouragement to his comrades and only saw the danger at the very last moment. His eyes widened as Cato hurled the blade. It flew end over end and struck the man in the throat at an angle, scoring a flesh wound before it dropped to the deck. But the shock of the blow was enough to make the man release his grip, and the wooden shaft of the hook fell into the water between the two vessels as he stumbled back, clutching at his throat with blood-smeared fingers and knocking over the brazier. Cato drew his sword again and used the point to give the smaller craft a push, and the gap between the two vessels widened. Satisfied, he hurried forward just as a cry of alarm came from one of the pirates, who had seen the boat drifting away.

  Pushing his way between Apollonius and the crewman at his side, Cato raised his shield to fend off a spear thrust and then cut down viciously on the shaft, splintering the wood so that it snapped as it smashed down on the ship’s side. Just below him, he could see perhaps twenty men pressing forward as they tried to rush aboard the barge and overwhelm the defenders. The crewman to his right had armed himself with one of the sweeps and was frantically lashing out with the blade, knocking men down but without harming them. Still, Cato thought, he was disrupting the attack nicely. To his left, Apollonius was using his sword expertly, parrying attacks and striking back with quick, targeted blows, taking out the eye of a pirate who had dared to venture within reach.

  Cato realised they were holding their own for the moment and took a step back to briefly survey the fight across the main deck. The pirates must have realised too late that the passengers aboard the barge presented a formidable challenge. Several of them had fallen, and more were wounded and holding back from the fight. Haghrar appeared to have lost two or three of his men, but Cato’s Praetorians were standing firm in the area around the mast. Over the beam, Cato could see the third boat approaching, still nearly a hundred feet away as it powered forward under oars. There were enough men aboard to swing the fight the pirates’ way.

  A hoarse shout drew his attention back to the deck, and he saw a large bearded man in a gleaming breastplate and oval shield bellowing angrily at the pirates before closing on the nearest Praetorian and feinting with his sword. The Roman moved to counter the blow, but the pirate leader performed a swift undercut and then thrust home into the Praetorian’s chest, driving him back and down onto his knees before kicking the blade free and rounding on the next man as the nearest of his followers cheered him on.

  ‘Apollonius!’

  The agent backed off from the side rail and glanced at Cato as the latter pointed.

  ‘The pirate captain. See him?’

  ‘The bearded oaf?’

  ‘Yes. Can you get him from here?’

  ‘Cover my position, Tribune.’

  As Apollonius withdrew, Cato stepped up and slashed wildly to drive back those who had edged forward. He took a light blow from an axe on the edge of his shield and nearly lost his grip.

  ‘Oh, you would, would you?’ he snarled, and slashed his sword at the axehead, sending sparks flying.

  Behind him, Apollonius wiped the blood from the blade of his dagger on the hem of his tunic before grasping the blade and raising the weapon over and behind his shoulder. He squinted along the deck towards the pirate captain, who now had his back to him as he slammed his shield into Pelius and knocked the optio to his knees. The pirate raised his arm to strike the killing blow, and Apollonius hurled his throwing knife. It flickered over and through the men fighting across the deck and struck home squarely at the base of the pirate’s neck, between his shoulder blades. The captain let out an enraged roar as he let go of his shield and groped for the haft of the knife with his spare hand. Pelius reacted swiftly and slashed his sword at the captain’s left knee, cutting through muscle and shattering bone. The pirate toppled to one side, close to the mast, and at once Grumio and Quintus set upon him, stabbing furiously at his head, arms and chest in a flurry of savage blows. Apollonius nodded with satisfaction and charged into the melee.

  A groan rose from the remaining men of the first pirate boat as their leader went down, and Haghrar seized the chance to order his surviving soldiers and the crewmen to finish off the attackers. They surged across the deck, joined by the Praetorians, hacking at their opponents with fresh determination. Some of the pirates backed to the side, only to discover their craft had drifted some distance off. Smoke rose lazily from its deck, and there was the glint of flames from the fire started by the overturned brazier. The pirates either stood their ground until struck down, or threw aside their weapons and dived into the river. Only the strong swimmers reached their boat; the rest managed a few strokes before their kit dragged them down, arms flailing pitifully before they disappeared under the surface leaving a swirl, then ripples, before there was no trace of them.

  As the last of the pirates still on the barge were finished off, Cato beckoned to Haghrar.

  ‘My lord, bring your archers forward. Hurry!’

  The Parthian shouted to his men as he raced forward and took the sailor’s place at Cato’s side. But just as Cato wounded another attacker in the arm, he was caught in the side by a blow from the rim of a shield and immediately felt a terrible pain across his ribs. He fell back, gasping in agony as he struggled to breathe. At once a nimble young pirate from the second boat leaped over the rail, dagger clenched in his teeth and brandishing a studded club in his right hand. He made a swing at Apollonius, and the Greek had to throw himself aside to avoid the blow, leaving room for the pirates to board the barge.

  Haghrar and the remaining sailor fought to hold their ground as more pirates began to climb over the starboard bow. The man with the club turned back to Cato as he tried to rise from the deck. He took the dagger from his teeth and grinned in triumph as he raised his club to dash the Roman’s brains out. Then his expression twisted into a look of shock as an arrowhead smashed into his face and punched through the back of his neck. He tottered forward before slumping down beside Cato. Even then, he still raised his dagger to strike, and Cato slashed desperately at his wrist, so that the knife dropped harmlessly to the deck as the youth rolled choking onto his side.

  More arrows cut down those who had boarded, and then the archers reached the foredeck and shot down into the throng aboard the second pirate boat as fast as they could manage.

  Cato pointed to the sailor with the oar, and mimed thrusting something away as he croaked, ‘Fend . . . off.’

  The man nodded and positioned his blade against the stem post of the pirate boat, thrusting as hard as he could so that a gap opened. One of the pirates, still bold enough to try to board the barge, was caught with a foot on both craft, and tumbled into the river with a loud splash.

  The archers continued to shoot,
scoring hits nearly every time, so that bodies littered the foredeck of the pirate boat as the gap between the vessels widened, but the pirates had started to shoot back at Haghrar’s men, and now the first arrow struck down the soldier next to the Parthian lord. He waved his men to take cover behind the bulwark, and they bobbed up briefly to shoot before ducking down to prepare their next arrow.

  Meanwhile, Cato had begun to breathe again, but each breath drawn was accompanied by an agonisingly sharp stabbing pain in his side. He stepped over bodies as he made his way towards Apollonius and the Praetorians, nodding a salute to Pelius.

  ‘How are we doing, Optio?’ he asked, wincing.

  ‘Are you wounded?’ Pelius asked anxiously.

  Cato shook his head. ‘Winded. The men?’

  ‘Two wounded and another two killed, sir. Caecilius and Grumio.’

  ‘Grumio?’

  Pelius pointed his sword to where the Praetorian lay face down across the body of a pirate a short distance from the mast. Cato shook his head in pity. Then he caught sight of the third boat approaching and braced himself to cope with the pain as he pointed out the new threat. ‘Praetorians, to the side!’

  His men rushed to the side rail, bloodied swords held ready as they faced the third pirate crew. Cato thrust some of the sailors after the Praetorians until men stood ready in an unbroken line. At the bows, Haghrar had also seen the fresh danger and ordered his archers to shift their aim, and now arrows sped across the narrow gap between the barge and the deck of the remaining pirate boat.

  Cato clutched his ribs tenderly as he looked round. Flames were now spreading along the deck of the first attacker, and smoke billowed into the air. A shouted command caused the oars of the third boat to drop into the water, the rowers holding them in place to slow the vessel as water surged over the blades. The bow came to rest fifteen feet from the barge, and then began to ease away as the rowers reversed course. The pirates’ expressions were grim as they stared towards the flames on the first boat.

  ‘Cowards!’ Pelius shouted at them, punching his sword up. ‘Come and get it, you dogs!’

  But the enemy’s spirit had been broken, Cato realised. The boat backed away steadily until it dissolved into the mist. The pirate vessel that had attacked the bow was now wallowing off the beam, the deck littered with bodies and groans carrying across the water. Cato made his way forward to Haghrar.

  ‘My lord, tell the captain to get us moving. Before those bastards recover and come after us.’

  Haghrar called across to the barge’s captain. The latter nodded and gathered several of his surviving crewmen, who took up the sweeps, and soon the barge was drawing away from the scene of the ambush. Soon all that could be seen of the pirates was the wavering glow of the burning boat accompanied by the anguished cries of those struggling to put out the blaze.

  Cato eased himself down on the edge of the cargo hatch and took shallow breaths to keep the pain from his ribs at a tolerable level. He looked over the deck as Haghrar’s men moved amongst the bodies strewn across the planking, stooping to help themselves to valuables or finish off those pirates still living with a thrust of the blade under the chin and up into the skull. Some of the crewmen not working the sweeps stood or sat in a numbed state as they beheld the carnage, while others attended to those who were wounded, bandaging slashes and puncture wounds with strips of cloth torn from the clothing of the dead. Pelius ordered the Praetorians to start heaving the dead over the side while he dealt with their own wounded. There was a steady series of splashes as the corpses were dropped into the river.

  Apollonius approached and looked down at Cato with a concerned expression. ‘Tribune, you’d better let me have a look at you.’

  ‘I suppose you happen to be a physician along with all your other talents,’ Cato growled.

  ‘Something like that. Stand up.’

  There was authority in his tone, and Cato decided to give the agent the benefit of the doubt. After all, it was Apollonius’s blade that had caused the death of the pirate captain and led to the routing of his crew. Steeling himself, he rose to his feet, undid his belt and lifted the hem of his tunic far enough to expose his ribs.

  Apollonius crouched slightly as he inspected the broad stripe of red, and then glanced up at Cato. ‘Brace yourself, this is going to hurt.’

  Cato gritted his teeth and looked directly ahead as the agent’s fingers touched his side, and then pressed more firmly, tracing the contours of his ribs. A burning sensation increased agonisingly, and Cato’s jaws ached with the effort of keeping them clamped together. At last Apollonius straightened up and indicated to Cato to let the folds of the tunic fall.

  ‘Nothing broken as far as I can tell. At worst you’ve suffered some badly bruised ribs. But you’re in for several days of pain, and you won’t find laughing much fun.’

  ‘Just as well I’m not in a humorous mood then.’ Cato reached carefully for his belt.

  ‘I wouldn’t wear that for a while,’ Apollonius advised, and Cato slung it over his shoulder on the other side of his body.

  ‘Do you think those pirates will try to come after us?’ the agent asked.

  ‘I doubt it. They lost too many men, and may lose one of their boats into the bargain. I dare say they’ll return to their lair to lick their wounds, and vow to investigate their targets more thoroughly before they attack next time.’

  Apollonius smiled. ‘We gave them a nasty surprise all right.’

  Cato regarded him silently for a moment. ‘You fought well. Clearly a man to be reckoned with. I’d think twice before I tangled with you.’

  ‘Then pray you never have reason to. I’ll see what I can do for the injured amongst the crew, and our Parthian friends.’

  Apollonius made his way aft, to where one of the sailors was propped up against the side, trying to tie a dressing around his wounded arm one-handed. Cato watched him speculatively, wondering just what his chances might be if they ever had cause to fight. Then he saw Haghrar approaching him. The nobleman had a strip of cloth tied round his forehead, and a dark stain was already seeping through the material over his temple. He stopped in front of Cato and bowed his head.

  ‘I owe you and your men my thanks, Tribune. If it were not for you, we’d all be dead.’

  There was no point in false modesty, so Cato nodded. ‘Roman soldiers fight hard, my lord. That is why they are feared across the known world.’

  Haghrar thought briefly before he conceded the point. ‘Truly spoken. It is a pity they are often so poorly led.’

  Cato began to chuckle, then winced painfully.

  ‘You are injured, Tribune?’

  ‘A few bruises, that’s all, my lord.’

  He realised he was still holding his sword, and that his men were still armed. He flipped the weapon, catching it by the flat of the blade and offering the handle to the Parthian noble. ‘You’ll be wanting this back.’

  Haghrar looked down at the sword for a moment before he shook his head. ‘You and your men can keep your weapons. I owe you that honour. Provided you give me your word that you will not use them unless I give the command.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Cato agreed. He reversed his grip with both hands and let the sword hang down. ‘After all, who knows what further dangers lie ahead of us?’

  Haghrar stared at him intently as he replied. ‘Who indeed?’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  As they reached the crest of the ridge overlooking the road leading down to the bridge, Macro reined in and surveyed the scene. Most of the men assigned to the engineer detachment were busy driving fresh piles into the riverbed a short distance upriver. The posts had sturdy screens fixed to them, like arrowheads, and were arranged in an overlapping chevron in order to divert any more logs away from the bridge and up against the bank, where they could be hauled out. More legionaries were deployed in forage parties, cutting down pi
ne trees on the slopes either side of the bridge. A handful of men stood guarding the bridge itself. There was no sign of any wagons from the baggage train, nor of the Syrian auxiliaries. Macro had been half hoping that Orfitus might have abandoned his independent advance and returned to the bridge, thereby relieving him of the burden of tracking him down.

  His attention shifted to the bridge itself. One of the trestles had been replaced, but the second was still missing, and the gap in the middle span had only been bridged by a narrow strip of boards with a rail on either side. Wide enough for a man or a horse perhaps, but certainly not able to bear the weight of a wagon. He sighed as he realised that it would be many days before the bridge was repaired and supplies could flow across it to reach the column besieging Thapsis.

  He clicked his tongue and tapped his heels in to urge his mount to advance, then waved his arm forward to signal Decurion Spathos and his cavalry squadron to follow him. Optio Phocus edged forward to ride at his side as they descended the track to the bridge.

  ‘I imagine it will take us two or three days to catch up with Prefect Orfitus, sir.’

  ‘I imagine so,’ Macro replied. ‘Assuming we can get the horses across in one piece.’

  Phocus stared at the slender walkway stretching across the current rushing beneath the bridge. ‘That ain’t going to be easy.’

  ‘You think?’ Macro responded wryly. ‘Thank you for pointing that out, Optio.’

  ‘Sorry, sir.’

  As the slope evened out and they approached the bridge, they were greeted by the centurion commanding the detachment, who had turned away from the camp desk where he had piled the wax tablets bearing his plans and calculations.