‘I’m with you,’ Felix replied, unscrewing the top of one of the urns.
Pavo fumbled in his purse – two flint chips, still dry, worked their way into his hand and he pulled them out and set to work, chapping them together until they began to spark. ‘You ready, sir?’
‘Hold me back,’ Felix growled, holding his prepared arrow over.
One more strike of the stones and the arrow burst into an orange blaze.
‘And this one,’ Felix held the second bow over the flame.
Just then, a voice roared out from below. ‘You’re trapped! Stay up there and you’ll just make things worse for yourself!’
Backs pressed against the nest wall, Pavo and Felix shot each other a glance. ‘Ready? Ready!’ They nodded in unison, before leaping up to hold their nocked bows high.
‘Back off, or your fleet will light up the seas!’ Felix yelled as his blazing arrow roared in the lofty breeze.
The I Dacia legionary’s face dropped, eyes wide. ‘You’ll die in the flames too,’ he stammered.
‘Worth it to see your face when you realise you’re trapped here – then when our reinforcements come you’ll be powerless to stop them landing!’
‘There are no reinforcements! You and your legion are already dead!’
‘Bollocks to you!’ Felix roared, stretching his bowstring.
Pavo followed suit, tilting his bow to the bank of triremes further up the harbour. ‘Sir, are we really going through with this?’
Felix shot him a now all too familiar glare, but before he could reply, the voice from below boomed out.
‘Perhaps you’ll see sense now?’ A patter of footsteps was accompanied by the swearing of an all too familiar Thracian voice.
‘Sura!’ Pavo gasped, glancing down to see his friend thrashing in between two Hun spearmen.
‘We’ll gut this one here and now. You’ve got till I count to three.’
‘Sir?’ Pavo fretted.
‘One…’
‘Er…stay strong, Pavo,’ Felix mumbled.
‘Two…’
‘Oh, bugger,’ the optio moaned as he lowered his bow. ‘This isn’t going to save anyone.’ He turned to Pavo with a tired look. ‘Any other ideas?’
Pavo sighed, his limbs slackening as he smothered his flaming arrow. ‘Suppose we’ve got to face their leader then? It buys us some time, at least. I don’t know how much, but while we stay alive, there’s always a chance.’
Like starving wolves, Hun warriors scrambled up the mast and were upon them in moments. Pavo’s eyes widened as the first sent a crunching blow with both of his fists into the back of Felix’s neck, dropping the optio like a stone. The second smiled a cavernous yellow-tombstone grin before thrusting his spear shaft into Pavo’s face.
Chapter 58
The gentle bleating of a distant mountain goat filtered into the stone hall where the bulk of the legion had set up their beds for the previous night – a cramped but sheltered dorm. An amber sliver of sunlight explored the hall through the cracks in the rotting shutters as the morning sun began to peek over the hills to the east. The men of the legion lay in a thick sleep, and the morning buccina call roused barely half of them. What precious sleep they had managed had been rudely interrupted by the briefly terrifying and coarse braying of a straggle of pack mules, the few who had lagged behind before the Huns fell on the main mule train and had subsequently wandered to the hilltop. After much swearing and grasping for weapons, the legionaries managed to forgive the petrified animals, who brought with them a pair of prefabricated ballista parts and bolts, a handful of tents and a pack of salted meat.
Gallus rolled his legs out of his hastily arranged cot – a pile of foliage and his cloak. His body screamed of the previous day’s battle. He hobbled to his tunic and threw it on along with his boots, which burned into his raw, blistered feet. As the rest of the legion rose, he shuffled to the barrel of grimy water in the centre of the hall and scooped a double handful of it, lashing it across his face. It jolted him as if it had washed over his heart and he gasped, running the remaining liquid through his hair. He slipped on his mail vest – stinking of dried blood – and then looked around at the still slumbering numbers and grimaced.
‘Make haste, ladies! Have you forgotten the situation we are in?’ He boomed. ‘I want you out there and alert right bloody now!’ The centurion’s voice worked like a thousand buccinas and suddenly the shuffling legionaries became sprightlier and those asleep were jolted from their cots.
He fastened his sword belt and then slid on his horsehair crest helmet. Buckling his cloak he visualised the iron shutters closing in again. These men need you to lead them, he repeated to himself as he strode out into the courtyard of the fort. Already, those that remained of the first cohort were all present as far as he could tell. He gave them nothing but a firm nod. Zosimus, Avitus and Quadratus waited on him at the front, the trio looked haggard and even grumpier than usual for an early morning, but they were there for him, and that was what mattered. He gathered them into a small circle.
‘We are safe from the south side,’ he nodded to the edge of the fort overhanging the sheer drop, ‘so that’s in our favour at least. Harvest whatever timber we can find – get us set up with ballistae on the walls,’ he pointed to the northeast and northwest corners of the mossy bulwark penning them in. ‘Catapults, rocks, anything we can cobble together and fire down their throats, we do it.’
‘Sounds good, sir.’ Zosimus grunted.
‘Quadratus – how did the watch go?’ Gallus turned to the Gaul.
‘Quiet – too quiet. They’re all around us down there and they’ve men to spare, to say the least.’
Gallus thought of Felix. Defeat crawled across his mind, but he pushed it firmly to the side. ‘Then there’ll be all the more for us before reinforcements come!’ The three optios smiled, and Gallus allowed his eyes to sparkle wryly.
Finally, the three cohorts and the auxiliaries were formed up. Gallus eyed the ranks and suddenly felt more alone than he ever had. Barely a thousand men stood before him. Many of those hobbled on crutches and those who stood freely wore bandages or coughed roughly, spitting blood into the dirt.
‘I hope you’re all feeling refreshed, because last night may well have been your last rest for quite some time. We are safe for the very short term up here, but if you haven’t noticed, there are no cattle or olive groves up here for us to feast on. In short, we’ve got to make what we have last.’ Gallus paused for a moment. ‘As you all well know, we lost a lot of our brothers yesterday.’ A solemn silence hung in the air as the wind whipped up dust around the legion. ‘We’re short on men and we’re short on food, but when it comes to Roman endurance and cold, hard skill with sharpened iron – we are kings!’ Gallus paced evenly in front of the legion. ‘A detachment has been sent out to call for a relief force. I’m talking of true Romans here, not of the treacherous whoresons down there, willing to sell their honour to animals.’ The legion rumbled in exhausted agreement. ‘But let these animals come,’ Gallus whipped his hands up to either side. ‘Let them come, for we will be waiting, like a lion waits on its prey. For the empire, men…for the empire!’
Suddenly, the air was alive with the hoarse cries of the thousand. Punching the air, rattling swords on shields.
‘Cut down what timber you can find, we need artillery, we need arrows and bolts. Pile rocks on the battlements, find urns that we can heat sand in and pour from the walls. I want you to busy yourselves today by building this place into a real Roman fort – to be a testudo for us to defend until a relief force comes.’ Gallus heard the words if a relief force comes echo in his head as he spoke, but simply acknowledged it and showed his stiff jaw to the legion as they broke up to set about their tasks.
‘Is this really all there are left?’ Avitus sighed when the cohorts were out of earshot. ‘A thousand men against twenty times that. Sir, you know we don’t stand a chance, don’t you?’
‘We can’t win, Avitus, fa
ir enough. But we don’t have to. The relief force is our lucky dice.’ Gallus saw the unconvinced gurn the three new optios wore, and dropped the rhetoric. ‘Okay, it’s looking bleak, but those men need to believe,’ he swept a hand back over the tattered legion. ‘Stay with me, men, I need you.’
Chapter 59
Pavo sat up with a start, chains clanking and biting at his wrists. Dank didn’t even begin to describe the filthy dungeon he found himself in. Illuminated in a semi-gloom from a portcullis entrance, high above, a stench of mould and rotting meat insistently clawed at his nostrils. With a retch, he realised he had been lying semi-submerged in a green-brown pool of something. He ignored the thundering pain marching through his head and tried to focus on the shapes on the floor around him
‘Welcome to my lair,’ a voice croaked from the darkness.
‘Sura! What happened?’
‘Seems like they want to get a bit of inside information on the XI Claudia.’
‘What in Hades…’ another voice croaked as a shape beside him sat up. The gloom outlined the short form of Felix. ‘Feels like I’ve been sleeping in a bath of turds? Oh bloody heck…I have,’ he yelped, wiping the murky slime from his face. ‘Well, we’ve got the time you were after, Pavo. Let’s start thinking.’
Pavo held up his shackles, as thick as his wrists and nearly rust-free.
‘Forget it,’ Sura cut in. ‘Believe me, I’ve tried – nearly broke my wrist in the process.’
‘How long have you been in here – how long have we been in here?’ Felix snapped.
‘You’ve been out cold for the best part of a day – as best as I can tell.’
‘A day?’ Pavo yelped.
Felix dropped his head into his hands. ‘We’ve screwed it up.’
‘What are they waiting on out there? Why don’t they torture us or kill us – what use are we to them in here?’ Pavo muttered.
‘What use are we to anyone in here?’ Sura mumbled in agreement.
‘Right, how’s about we start shouting?’ Felix offered.
‘What, to get attention? That’ll work, but it’ll likely be in the form of a spear shaft in the face…again!’ Sura mused, rubbing his fingertips on the angry red welt around his eye.
‘Sod it, we’ve got to do something,’ Pavo reasoned.
All three fell silent for a moment, and then in unison, they filled their lungs.
‘Come on then!’ They cried. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Their echoes bounced from wall to wall until they were breathless. Pavo’s head thumped in protest as they fell silent, slumping back down in despair.
Then a roar of iron grating filled the stairwell above.
Four shapes filled the dim light at the top of the stairs and then thundered down to the dungeon floor.
‘All right you pigs – you want what’s coming to you?’ Festus sneered, his three I Dacia legionaries grinning in unison. ‘Ah, Pavo,’ he cocked an eyebrow, ‘it’s going to be doubly painful for you, I can assure you.’
Chapter 60
Gallus padded the battlements, wringing his fingers as he clasped them behind his back. Night had fallen, but the legionaries still swarmed around the walls. Probably more to give themselves less time to think of their predicament than anything else, he mused. Certainly, the day just past had stretched on forever for him as he supervised the proceedings. He examined the blistered, raw patches between his fingers. All the men, officers and ranks had mucked in and made a fine job of it though. Rudimentary ballistae had been hewn from every scrap of timber which they could harvest from the fort. Mounted every twenty paces along the wall were catapults; two of them had been put together and were now being bolted onto the courtyard, one facing northeast and one northwest. Spears, plumbatae and bows were piled at every second crenellation. A fragile but lofty timber watchtower had been erected in the middle of the courtyard, giving them an eagle-eye view of every area of the wall. Zosimus and Avitus had filled the designated supply rooms and cistern to their limits. How effective all this would be remained to be seen. In his mind, Gallus saw it as a dam of twigs waiting on a tidal wave.
He blinked and gritted his teeth. The injuries and shock from the initial battle with the Huns had settled. Eight hundred and seven fighting fit men remained. Just over seven hundred legionaries – enough to line the walls with a few hundred in reserve should the gate collapse.
‘Quadratus,’ he yelled across the courtyard, seeing the hulking Gaul about to set off on his inspection of the guard. ‘What’s the latest?’
‘No change, sir. Think they’re happy to sit in and starve us out.’
Gallus felt the slightest tinge of satisfaction. In a sustained siege, they would survive in the short term, but it was effectively a stay of execution. His only hope remained as fragile as his army – Felix, Pavo and Sura; if they could slip away undetected, the Huns might fancy waiting it out and letting the Romans starve. He scanned the sea of torches swimming around the base of the hill below and sighed as the balance of play grated on his exhausted mind.
‘Give the current watch full rations. If a mosquito farts, I want to know about it.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Quadratus saluted.
Chapter 61
Pavo stumbled to his skinned knees again as Festus rammed a sword hilt into his back, driving the breath from his lungs. He spat a mouthful of steely blood onto the floor.
‘On your feet, you little turd!’ Festus chuckled. ‘You’ll be wishing that pussy Spurius had finished you back in Durostorum, because you’ve got a whole world of pain to live through now.’ He raised his sword flat and made to swing it down on Pavo’s face.
‘Hey Festus, I hear your mother is giving the troops in Constantinople a bargain two for one?’ Sura croaked from the darkness behind him.
Festus stilled and then turned, striding across and swinging his boot full force into the shadows with a crack. Sura could only whimper.
‘Think you’re a big shot, do you, Festus?’ Felix snarled. ‘You’re just a runt recruit – one of the poorer ones if I remember rightly. Enjoy your moment of power, because it’ll be short, and after that…you’ll be executed for this!’
‘You’ll not be around long enough to worry about that,’ Festus snarled, then turned to his three legionaries. ‘Get them moving!’ At once, the three tumbled out into stark morning sunlight, staggering forward into the flagstones of the town square. The light burned at Pavo’s eyes, reflecting from the pale flagstoned square and limestone of the surrounding buildings. All four sides of the square were packed with jeering Hun warriors, women and children. His eyes swept around their snarling, baying features until he spotted the sneering face of Tribunus Wulfric. Bile rose inside his chest.
‘You treacherous whoreson!’ He cried, lurching forward from his captors only for a sword-flat to smash into his shoulder. He tumbled onto his knees and gazed up at the sky as another thick chorus of jeers rained down on the three. Then stones began to smack down around them. Pavo felt one skate from his crown but he barely blinked. Then all at once, the crowd was silent. Up front, a tall Hun, laden with animal teeth trinkets and wearing mottled animal skins, stepped up onto the wooden platform in front of them, and then settled down on a simple carved bench. Resting his bearded chin on his wrist, he burned holes into Pavo’s heart with his stare.
‘I didn’t tell you about this bit,’ Sura wavered. ‘Balamber, he’s their leader.’
Pavo looked his friend in the eye – fear danced there. Never before had Sura showed anything but foolish bravado in the face of danger. He glanced at Felix. ‘What’s the plan, sir?’
‘Buggered if I know…defiance to the last,’ Felix grumbled.
Balamber raised a hand and clicked his fingers. At once four Hun warriors shuffled from one side of the square, heaving a steaming cauldron with them. Festus roared with laughter and the crowd of Huns erupted again in excitement.
‘Is that…bronze?’ Felix stammered.
Pavo gulped at the optio�
�s face – pale and wet with perspiration, and then he turned to his friend. ‘Sura, what’s going on?’
But then the cauldron was slapped down in front of them. Glowing red like the depths of Hades, metal swirled as liquid. Black char formed on the surface as the air tried in vain to cool its rage. A thick iron ladle hung from its side.
‘Now, my Roman guests,’ Balamber spoke smoothly, ‘your brothers of the I Dacia have cooperated with me – look at them now; they have more gold than a lifetime as a soldier would pay. I hope you will be as cooperative?’
Pavo glanced up at the Hun’s eyes and then down at the hand of the warrior by the cauldron as he lifted the ladle clear of the molten metal. The warrior held out a petrified vole. The creature pulled and tugged with all its strength at the warrior’s leather glove, but to no avail. The ladle moved over the poor creature’s head, and tilted.
Legionary Page 33