The Emperor's Exile (Eagles of the Empire 19)

by Simon Scarrow

  The side gate shook under the impact of blows from outside. One of the riders galloped across to it and dropped nimbly to the ground before lifting the locking bar and casting it aside. The gate swung open and his comrades raced past him.

  As soon as the decurion reached the entrance of the villa, he stopped and turned, chest heaving. His men formed up around him, shields raised, swords and spears angled towards the enemy. Those slaves who had been outside the villa rushed past them to the safety of the large building. Some were too slow and were cut down in the open ground. The decurion could hear shouts from inside as Claudia gave her orders, and there was the scraping of furniture and the crash of shutters being closed and barred. As the last of the fugitives pressed through the ranks of the Germans, he saw a group of the enemy forming up twenty paces away, preparing to attack.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘Inside!’ the decurion called out to his men in their tongue, and the small force backed up and hurriedly closed and bolted the doors before dragging a heavy chest against them and then adding other items of furniture.

  ‘Stay here!’ he ordered, and hurried off to find Claudia. She had already got the door to the garden closed and bolted and was supervising barricading the shutters of the lower windows along the front of the house. He could see at once that the enemy would make short work of such obstacles.

  ‘My lady, we can’t stop them getting in. We need to fall back to a room we can defend.’

  ‘The kitchen,’ she suggested. ‘There’s only one door leading into the corridor and one to the outside, and the windows are set high in the wall.’

  The decurion recalled the arrangement of the room and nodded. ‘That’ll have to do. Get everyone in there and barricade the outside wall. I’ll hold the front door and we’ll fall back if it gives way or we hear them getting in elsewhere.’

  She nodded. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘We’re going to need it, my lady.’

  Claudia turned away to shout instructions to the house slaves, and they scurried down the corridor to the kitchen, terror etched into their expressions. She checked the rooms on the ground floor to make sure they were clear and then hurried after them, passing the atrium, where she saw the broad backs of the Germans as they stood a short distance from the door. Already the air was filled with the sounds of axes hacking at the timbers, and the first splinters flew inwards as she continued down the corridor.

  ‘Steady, boys!’ the decurion called out calmly as he tightened his grip on his sword. His shield and armour were still in his room, but there had been no time to fetch them. He glanced round and saw that he and his men were alone. More splinters shot past his head, and then there was a shattering crash and the doors burst in to reveal several of their attackers, holding the horse trough they had used as a battering ram.

  ‘Get ’em!’ the decurion yelled, and rushed the enemy, who had dropped the trough and were reaching for their weapons. He thrust his sword into the face of the nearest raider, smashing through his teeth and tearing through the top of his throat and the spine beyond. The man gave a guttural cry and staggered back as the decurion tore his blade free and hacked at the arm of the next man. The Germans crashed into the attackers outside the entrance, using their bulk to knock their foes back with their shields and slashing at them with their swords and axes, striking down several raiders in the first few heartbeats. The decurion felt a searing pain in his left arm as a spear tore at his bicep and pinned it to his chest. He swung his sword at his attacker and cut through the man’s wrist, and the pressure of the spear against his ribs eased.

  ‘Hold your ground!’ he shouted to his men. ‘Defend the entrance!’

  He pulled back through the ruined door and sheathed his sword before grasping the shaft of the spear. With gritted teeth he pulled the point out of his chest and back through his arm, and cast it aside as blood pulsed from the wound. He took the strip of cloth he had been using as a headband and bound it tightly over the wound before tying it off with the aid of his teeth, then drew his sword again. He saw that the Germans had been pressed back. Only five remained on their feet and the body of one of their comrades lay across two of his enemies, his skull caved in by a sword blow. Beyond, the enclosure was filled with at least fifty more of the attackers, most of whom were running to join the fight for the entrance to the villa. The odds were massively against the Germans and the decurion knew they must retreat to the kitchen, where there was a better chance of holding the enemy off.

  ‘Fall back! Fall back to the kitchen!’

  He backed away into the corridor as his men unleashed a last series of blows, accompanied by full-throated roars, to encourage the enemy to recoil for an instant. Then they turned and ran, following the decurion along the corridor towards the kitchen door. He saw Claudia in the opening, beckoning to them frantically. Behind them, the attackers surged through the entrance and chased after them, accompanied by the sounds of hoarse breathing and bare and booted feet slapping and grating on the flagstones. Claudia ducked aside as the decurion was first through the door, instantly turning aside as the Germans rushed in and turned to defend the doorway. The attackers were ten paces back, racing towards them. One of the Germans grabbed the door and slammed it shut, throwing his weight against the sturdy timbers as Claudia slipped the key into the lock and turned it. The door shook under the impact of the first of the enemy to reach it, their weapons hammering against the far side.

  ‘Get that table up against the door!’ the decurion snapped, pointing to it with his sword. The Germans soon had the bulky kitchen table on its end and thrust the scored surface against the door. A bench followed to wedge the table in place before the decurion was assured that entrance was denied to the men hacking at it from the other side.

  He looked round. The kitchen was some sixty feet long by twenty wide. The ceiling was high and rose into a cone where the smoke from the ovens and griddles in the centre of the room could vent to the outside. Three windows, high up and covered with iron grilles, looked over the garden and afforded light during the day. Small braziers attached to the walls provided illumination at night. At the far end was a door leading out to the garden. It had been closed and barricaded with another of the tables, with heavy grain jars leaned against it to hold it in place. Besides his surviving men and Claudia, there were some forty others, household slaves and servants, some wounded, all looking to him for reassurance.

  He cleared his throat and spat to one side. ‘We’re safe in here for now,’ he called out, loudly enough for all to hear over the din of the pounding on the door.

  It was a lie. It wouldn’t take the attackers long to realise that the trough they had used to batter down the villa’s entrance could as easily be deployed against the kitchen door. The decurion saw sacks of grain and flour lining the wall beneath the windows and sheathed his sword before he pointed them out.

  ‘Get those over here and pack them against the table as tight as you can. Hurry!’

  The harshness of his tone snapped the slaves out of their stupor and they got to work piling the sacks against the back of the table and over the bench, deadening the sound of the pounding on the door. A moment later the other door shook as the enemy set to it, but there was no immediate danger of them breaking that one in either, and for a moment the decurion dared to hope that they might yet get out of the precarious situation alive.

  Abruptly the blows against the door to the corridor ceased, and shortly afterwards, the same happened at the garden door. Those in the kitchen looked at each other questioningly.

  ‘Why have they stopped?’ asked Claudia.

  The decurion shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Perhaps they’ve given up on us. Maybe they want what loot they can take from the villa.’

  Both strained their ears for a moment, and then they heard orders being shouted from the direction of the garden.

  ‘Help me with that table over there,’ the decurion ordered one of his men, and they dragged the
last of the unused tables over to the gap that had been made when the sacks had been removed. It was beneath the middle window, and the decurion clambered onto it and saw that he was still a foot below the bottom of the window. He turned and looked round, then pointed. ‘Bring me that stool!’

  As soon as he had positioned it against the wall, he carefully climbed onto it and reached up with his good hand to steady himself against the grille as he looked out. The light was fading, but he could see groups of raiders in the garden tearing up the wooden trellises and running to and from the timber store. He could hear voices close by, at the foot of the wall outside the kitchen, and he guessed their intent.

  There was a shout, and he saw that one of the enemy carrying a bundle of logs had stopped twenty feet away, letting them tumble to his feet and raising an arm to point at him. A moment later, something streaked out of the gloom and struck the edge of the window, sending flecks of plaster into the decurion’s face. He shut his eyes instinctively and ducked down as another arrow shot through the grille and across the kitchen to ricochet off the ceiling and drop to the floor. He released his grip and stepped off the stool, then jumped off the table.

  ‘What did you see?’ Claudia demanded. ‘What are they up to?’

  He steered her to a corner out of earshot of the others and lowered his voice. ‘I fear they mean to set fire to the villa, my lady.’

  Her eyes widened in fear. ‘What’s the point of that? Why not just take what they can loot and leave us?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ The decurion was equally puzzled. It made no sense to go to such an effort to kill them this way if they were just after the riches of the villa and the horses that Prefect Cato had left behind. Why take the risk of setting the villa on fire and alerting everyone for miles around to their presence?

  Those in the kitchen could hear the sounds outside as the wood was piled up.

  Then a voice called out to them from the garden, just below the window.

  ‘You inside! Open the door and come out.’ The words were in Latin, but crudely accented. ‘If you come out and surrender, I will let you live. Even those big hairy bastards who slew some of my men.’

  Claudia exchanged a look with the decurion. ‘What shall we do? Can we trust them to keep their word?’

  ‘They didn’t look too merciful when they attacked the entrance. They were out for our blood. I wouldn’t trust them. Why would they want us alive? If they’re prepared to burn the villa down and us in it, the only reason to get us to surrender is to make it easier and quicker to kill us.’

  ‘What’s your decision?’ the raider demanded. ‘I will not ask you again. Come out now, or we’ll burn you alive.’

  One of the slaves gasped in horror and clasped her hands to her head. Over by the garden door, a male slave was already pulling back one of the benches braced against the barricade.

  ‘You there! Stop that!’ the decurion shouted. He ordered two of his men to stand by each barricaded door, then turned to the slaves now huddled against the windowless wall. ‘I’ve told my men to kill anyone who attempts to remove the barricades. Stay where you are and keep quiet. I’ll deal with this.’

  ‘How?’ one of the slaves demanded, taking a step towards him. ‘You heard him. They’ll burn us to death if we don’t surrender straight away. I want to live. We all do!’ He turned to the other slaves. ‘Ain’t that right?’

  Some nodded. The bolder amongst them called out their support for him. The decurion strode over and raised his sword.

  ‘Silence! One more word from any of you and I swear I’ll cut you down where you stand!’ He glared at them, defying any to oppose him.

  ‘Open the doors now!’ the raider outside shouted. ‘Last chance.’

  The decurion held his sword at eye level to the slaves and slowly moved it from side to side as he hissed, ‘Stay where you are.’

  The raiders wasted little time in setting light to the combustibles, and the first wisps of smoke curled around the barricades. The tops and sides of the window arches glowed red, and there was the crackle of kindling and logs as the flames took hold.

  ‘Fire!’ one of the slaves cried out. ‘The villa is on fire!’

  ‘For pity’s sake.’ A young woman sank to her knees in front of the decurion. ‘Don’t make us stay in here, master! Don’t make us die. I beg you.’

  He backed off and brandished his blade. ‘Quiet! Be quiet! Let me think.’

  Claudia had observed the confrontation from the corner of the room, and now she approached the decurion and spoke gently.

  ‘If we stay in here, we’ll all die. Choking on smoke or perishing in the flames. If we give in, they may spare us. Most of us perhaps.’

  He looked at her and shook his head. His eyes were drawn to the first flicker of flames at the middle window, and the roar of the blaze was clearly audible. ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ she said firmly. ‘We can use the wine from the jars to pour over the flames outside the door. Enough to extinguish them and give us a way out.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re supposed to guard me. Protect me. I’m giving you an order, Decurion.’

  He gave a sad smile. ‘You don’t understand, my lady. My men and I were sent here not to protect you but to make sure you didn’t try to escape. I was also told that I might receive orders from Rome to kill you.’

  She stared at him for a moment, and then replied calmly, ‘I see. Then do you intend to kill me, rather than let me try to save our lives?’

  ‘I hoped the day would never come . . .’

  ‘If I am to die, let it be by the hand of those men out there. Better that than fire.’

  ‘You don’t know what they will do to you.’

  ‘It’s my choice, Decurion. I choose the chance to live over certain death. And so, I imagine, does everyone else here.’ She gestured towards the slaves watching them with terrified expressions.

  The decurion clenched his jaw and thought quickly, then nodded. ‘Your choice then . . .’

  At once Claudia turned to her slaves. ‘Get those wine jars by the garden door! You men, take the barricade down. Decurion, tell your men to help.’

  As the smoke curled round the barricade blocking the corridor and began to billow in through the windows, the room grew warmer and sweat coursed from those removing the sacks and tables from the garden door. The decurion and his men choked on the smoke coming from underneath the barricade, and as they removed the last table, flames flared and drove them back from the blazing door.

  ‘The wine!’ Claudia urged, her voice catching as she breathed in smoke. ‘On the flames . . .’

  The decurion snatched up the first jar and pulled out the stopper. A familiar aroma reached his nose, and he muttered, ‘Fucking waste of a decent Falernian . . .’

  He approached as close as he could get before the stinging heat felt as if it was burning his skin, then began to slosh the wine over the door. The liquid sputtered on the hot surface and turned to steam, but some of the flames went out.

  The decurion tossed the empty jar aside. ‘Hand me another!’

  Jug by jug he doused the flames, and at length there were only the charred timbers of the door left. He reached for the top bolt and snatched his hand back at once, his fingers seared by the heated metal. ‘Shit . . .’

  He drew his sword and used the tip to work the bolt free, then leaned down to do the same for the lower bolt as more smoke and flames began to work around the frame of the door and the cracks in its surface. The smoke coming through the windows was starting to fill the room, and those within covered their mouths, though the smoke still caught in their throats. Above, lurid red lines glowed between the beams supporting the ceiling as the fire spread to the roof, and the first bits of burning debris – laths and reeds used for lining beneath the tiles – began to fall onto those within. A young boy screamed as his hair smouldered, and one of the Germans snatched up a rag from the floor and smothered the flames before using his bod
y to shield the boy.

  The second bolt snapped back and the decurion sprang away from the heat. ‘It’s done!’

  ‘Then get it open,’ ordered Claudia. ‘Before the roof falls in!’

  The decurion took a shield from one of his men, sheltering behind it as he approached the door. The flames outside shone brightly in the gaps burned through the timber as the decurion drew the shield back and punched it against the door. He heard a crash and some of the charred surface gave way. Again and again he smashed it until the door was shattered, revealing the burning logs heaped outside.

  ‘More wine!’ he shouted. ‘Quickly!’

  His men rushed forward, emptying the contents of the jars onto the flames, damping them down until the decurion could see into the garden beyond, where the enemy stood waiting, some fifty feet from the building.

  ‘My lady.’ He took Claudia’s arm. ‘Get your people out. I’ll follow with my men. Go!’

  She stood by the ruined door and beckoned to the slaves. ‘Outside. Now!’

  The nearest man hesitated, and she thrust him towards the gap. He shielded his head with his arms as he crouched and ran through the doorway, between the flames still burning on either side, and on towards the attackers waiting silently.

  ‘Next!’ Claudia pointed to a woman clutching two small children at her side. ‘Hold their hands and run!’ The woman took a deep breath and rushed forward, the children crying in terror as they scrambled to stay on their feet.

  Claudia continued to send them out one by one for fear of causing a panicked crush around the door. At length there were only a handful left besides the decurion and the Germans. Suddenly there was a resonant crack from above and a section of the ceiling collapsed in a shower of blazing debris, dust and smoke, half burying one of the Germans.

  ‘Get out!’ the decurion shouted. ‘All of you, go! Run!’

  Claudia snatched up some discarded sacking to protect her head and stood by the gap as the last of her slaves squeezed past and fled from the burning building. She turned to see the decurion and another of his men trying to clear the debris off their buried comrade while the others held their shields up to protect them from the steady shower of burning material and falling tiles from the collapsing roof. Claudia braced herself and darted through the gap, feeling the stinging heat as the flames raged around the exterior of the kitchen. The hem of her stola began to smoulder as she ran on towards the slaves, who stood at a safe distance, surrounded by the men who had attacked the villa. She removed the sacking from her head and beat out the small flame on her stola where it had started to burn.