by Brown, Nick
Once the column had gone, they saw nothing more of the residents, but by midday half a dozen fires were alight across the town and scores of Maseene warriors rode unchallenged through the streets. One band stopped long enough to pull down the statue of Romulus and Remus, but now they and the rest of the tribesmen had disappeared too. Darnis was silent and empty.
The Fortuna was ready to leave at a moment’s notice: the oars on the starboard side were in the rowlocks, and the foresail shackled to the halyard. A light rain had been falling for about an hour. Simo stood just in front of the mast, his arm round Clara’s shoulder. The poor girl had been praying most of the morning. Despite a double tunic and one of her mistresss’s cloaks, she was shivering. Simo gazed out across the causeway at the square, hoping for some sight of the missing trio.
Asdribar came up next to him and wiped rainwater off his hairless head.
‘I asked for signs from my gods,’ the captain told Simo quietly. ‘They told me I was wrong. They told me we should have gone to find them.’
With plenty of time to consider Asdribar’s decision, Simo had in fact now decided it was the right one. Given how quickly the situation had deteriorated, with no one to guide them they would undoubtedly have run into trouble.
‘It is enough that you stayed, sir. All we can do now is wait.’
‘And pray.’ Asdribar kept his voice barely above a whisper. ‘I’ve seen your books. You are a Christian.’
‘I am, sir.’
Clara heard this, but – to Simo’s relief – said nothing. The girl was conventional in her beliefs, and he’d found it was rarely possible to predict how different individuals would react.
‘What does your one god tell you?’ asked Asdribar.
‘Only that I must not lose hope. My master and Indavara have faced great danger before. I must believe they are still alive.’
‘If those warriors come down to the harbour, we will have to cast off.’
‘I understand, sir.’
‘And I cannot do so at night, not with that narrow entrance. At least the wind and the waves are still calm.’
Clara spoke up: ‘You will wait as long as you can, won’t you, sir?’
‘I will, girl.’
Squint walked over to them and pointed over the bow. ‘Captain.’
A line of people had appeared from an alley in front of the dye works. Leading the way were half a dozen armed men with perhaps twenty women and children behind them. The men were all weighed down with heavy packs and most of the women were carrying woven baskets.
‘Ready the lines, Korinth,’ ordered Asdribar.
The big sailor and his constant companion Desenna hurried over to the port side-rail.
Asdribar turned to Opilio, who was sitting against the mast, hood drawn over his head. ‘Take three others and get ready with the oars. We just need enough to make way.’
‘Sir.’
More armed men were bringing up the rear of the group, looking warily at the square as the others started across the causeway.
‘I doubt they wish to cause us any harm, sir,’ said Simo.
‘They look desperate,’ replied Asdribar. ‘You’d be surprised what desperate people will do.’
Squint caught his captain’s eye and pointed at a barrel he and Korinth had earlier brought up from the hold. It was stuffed with weapons.
‘Go ahead,’ said Asdribar.
The veteran handed out spears and swords to the other sailors and took a bow for himself. Tarkel surreptitiously tried to grab a blade.
‘Back to the stern, you,’ said Asdribar. The lad slunk away empty-handed.
‘Ready to cast off, Captain,’ said Korinth.
As the group continued across the causeway, Simo looked at the fires burning in the town. He had even more reason than the others to be depressed by what he’d witnessed. Africa was a stronghold of the Church, a land that had produced glorious martyrs and influential thinkers. Yet Darnis seemed to him the most forsaken of places, where cruelty and hate had triumphed.
The group stopped when they reached the warehouses. A man close to the front spoke briefly with the others, then lowered his pack and sheathed his sword. He ran past the collapsed dock and started along the breakwater.
‘Captain?’ said Squint, an arrow at the ready.
‘You spoiling for a fight, old man? Calm yourself – and don’t point that thing anywhere near me.’
Asdribar went up to the bow to talk to the man, who was clad in the nondescript tunic and cloak of a middling Roman. He was perhaps fifty, with slate-grey hair and craggy features.
‘Is this your vessel, sir?’ he asked, stopping opposite Asdribar.
‘It is. Sorry, no space for extra passengers.’
‘Why are you still here?’
‘Not your concern, friend.’
Clara nudged Simo and pointed at the group. ‘Do you remember her?’
The daughter of Maro the timber-mechant was standing there with a woman. In her hand was one of her wooden toys. There was no sign of her father.
‘We can pay you,’ the man told Asdribar.
‘I’m already being paid. Well.’
Clara walked past Simo and approached Asdribar. ‘If she were here, Miss Annia would ask you to take them aboard, sir.’
Asdribar looked down at her with a half-smile that suggested both surprise and admiration. ‘I’m not sure she would, Clara, though I’m sure it’s what you want me to do.’
Simo took his opportunity. ‘It is the right course of action, Captain.’
‘The Christian course?’ asked Asdribar rhetorically.
He turned back to the man. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Vivius Reberrus.’
‘It’s November, Reberrus. What makes you think you’ll be any safer at sea?’
‘What I’ve seen in the last few hours. The Maseene are killing our people. Where are you headed?’
‘Apollonia.’
‘That’s good for us.’
‘What if I let you aboard, then another group turn up?’
‘There is no one else left, Captain. The locals have returned to their villages. The others left today.’
‘How much will you pay?’ asked Asdribar.
‘Twenty denarii each.’
‘That’s funny.’
‘Thirty,’ said Reberrus.
‘Fifty,’ said Asdribar. ‘Twenty for the children.’
‘Sir,’ said Simo. ‘You cannot put a price on—’
Asdribar raised a hand. Simo kept quiet.
‘Sir,’ implored Clara. ‘Look at the sweet young girl there. Her name is—’
‘Remember your place, Clara,’ said Asdribar.
‘We can’t pay that,’ insisted Reberrus.
‘Then I can’t help you,’ replied Asdribar. ‘Korinth, ready with the ropes.’
‘All right,’ replied Reberrus. ‘All right. We’ll pay.’
‘Then we have a deal,’ said Asdribar. ‘One more thing – your blades stay behind.’
Reberrus glanced at Squint, who was still holding an arrow close to his bowstring. ‘But we will be at your mercy.’
‘It’s not my mercy you have to worry about,’ said Asdribar, gesturing at the sea. ‘It’s the gods of the deep.’
Simo came forward. ‘The captain is an honourable man, sir. You have no cause to fear him and his crew.’
‘Why do you speak for us?’ asked Reberrus.
‘I …’ Simo turned to Clara. ‘We wish to see you and your people safe.’
‘How touching,’ said Asdribar.
‘I will go and tell them,’ said Reberrus.
‘You can also tell them to have their money ready at the gangplank,’ added Asdribar as Reberrus hurried away.
The Carthaginian turned and winked at Clara. ‘I would have taken them for twenty.’
‘I think you would have taken them for nothing, sir,’ said Clara. ‘You’re a good man.’
Asdribar leaned close to her and whisper
ed: ‘Maybe. But don’t tell anyone, especially the crew.’
‘How long to sunset, sir?’ asked Simo.
‘Three or four hours.’
Simo looked back at the town.
Asdribar nodded skyward. ‘Better keep at those prayers.’
The grass was rough against the skin and six feet of it would have been better than five, but Cassius thanked the gods for the stuff; as long as they kept low, they could stay hidden.
Indavara had a fair sense of direction but Cassius knew his was better, so he took the lead as they crossed the meadow. He reckoned they were at least a mile from the mansion now and by keeping the sun in roughly the same position over his left shoulder, he could ensure they kept heading north. He was still carrying the Maseene javelin. It was a light, well-balanced weapon and – for Cassius – highly preferable to a sword. He’d always been half decent at the throwing disciplines and adhered to the theory that enemies were best dealt with from a distance.
They came eventually to a large tree beside a ditch that ran at right angles to the Via Roma. Cassius squatted next to the tree and Annia sat down on the lip of the ditch, puffing hard. Her arms were laced with little cuts from the grass and bruises where she’d been manhandled by Carnifex and Procyon.
‘Sorry, miss, but we must cover as much ground as we can.’
Cassius took his canteen from his belt, unscrewed the lid and handed it to her. Indavara leant against the tree and looked back at the mansion. While Annia drank, Cassius joined him.
At that distance it was hard to make out much detail, but both shield walls seemed to be intact. The Maseene were fighting on but scores of dead warriors lay on the ground. The tribesmen to the rear were struggling to keep control of all the riderless mounts, several of which had broken loose.
‘I can hardly believe we made it out of there,’ said Cassius, resting his head against the rough bark of the tree. ‘Thank the gods for Eborius and his men.’
‘I just hope they make it out of there too,’ said Indavara. ‘If the Maseene don’t get them, Carnifex will.’
‘We must keep moving.’
Cassius surveyed the flat expanse of land to the north. The only structure close by was the barn where they’d confronted Carnifex.
‘We’ll stay in the grass,’ he added, ‘parallel with the road, then cut towards the bridge when we can.’
They heard a metallic rattle – the canteen lid shaking against the container as Annia tried to screw it back. She didn’t seem to have noticed the blood that had splattered her neck when Procyon was killed.
‘I can do that, miss,’ Cassius said, taking the canteen.
Annia looked at him for a moment, then stared down at the weeds and nettles that carpeted the bottom of the ditch. She hadn’t said a word since collapsing at the pit. Cassius knelt beside her and tried to take one of her shaking hands, but she recoiled and turned away.
Cassius looked over at Indavara, who was examining his broken finger. ‘Bad?’
‘Need to strap it.’
‘With what?’
Cassius felt a hand on his shoulder.
Annia was pointing at the shredded hem of her long tunic. She tried to tear it but her hands were still shaking too much.
‘I’ll do it, miss. If you don’t mind.’
Cassius picked up the javelin and used the blade to cut off a section of the cloth.
‘Thank you, Miss Annia,’ said Indavara as Cassius waved him over.
‘This might hurt.’
Indavara didn’t make a sound as Cassius pushed the broken little finger next to the adjacent one and tied them together. Cassius then inspected the broken skin on Indavara’s forehead. ‘And how’s that?’
‘Sore. How’s the nose?’
‘Very sore. How does it look?’
The expression on Indavara’s face told Cassius all he needed to know.
‘Wonderful. Come on.’
This time Annia took his hand. He helped her to her feet and across the ditch. Indavara retrieved the bow and quiver and fell in behind them.
As they got further from the battle, it became even harder to tell what was going on and soon they could see no more than the scattered Maseene horses and sparks of glinting metal between the barracks and the mansion.
As they approached the track they’d used the previous day, Cassius heard a rustling sound up ahead. Leaving Annia, he took a few steps forward and stopped. The grass in front of him was moving. Something was coming towards him.
The plump brown bird took off at a low trajectory and missed his head by inches. It flapped away to the south, leaving Cassius on his bottom. He blew feathers away from his face. ‘Caesar’s balls.’ He turned to the others. ‘Sorry.’
‘Quiet,’ said Indavara, ten paces behind him. He ducked down and jabbed one end of the bow towards the Via Roma. Cassius peered over the grass and saw three Maseene warriors on horseback. One pointed at their position and the trio guided their mounts off the road. Cassius wondered why they weren’t fighting. Had they fled, or had the Romans broken up the attack? It hardly mattered; they were coming their way.
Cassius and Annia crawled back to where Indavara was kneeling. Cassius looked down at the broad-bladed head of the javelin in his hand. Whichever warrior it had belonged to had looked after it well; the gleaming iron had been tapered to a lethal point.
Considering their horses were walking, the tribesmen seemed to cover the ground quickly. They were in a line, five paces between them, now less than a hundred feet away.
Indavara still hadn’t put an arrow against the bowstring.
‘What are you waiting for?’ asked Cassius.
Indavara grimaced and looked thoughtfully down at the ground.
‘You think they’ll hesitate to kill us?’ continued Cassius. ‘Because unless you’ve suddenly developed the ability to speak their language, that’s exactly what they’ll do.’
Indavara gave a brief shake of his head, then fitted the arrow against the string. ‘We wait until they’re almost on us. The one to the right is yours. Aim for the chest.’ He glanced at the javelin. ‘Know what you’re doing with that thing?’
‘Of course. I was fifteenth in my class with these.’
‘Out of fifteen?’
‘Thirty-two actually.’
Cassius tightened his grip on the javelin and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.
Annia was lying on the ground between them, eyes shut once more.
‘Just listen and keep your head down,’ Indavara told Cassius. ‘We’ll know when they’re close enough.’
Cassius turned himself side-on to make the throw easier. Before long he could hear the horses’ legs brushing through the grass, see dark shapes through the swaying, bright green stalks.
Indavara brought the bow up level with his shoulder and drew the string halfway.
Cassius looked at the point of the javelin, imagined it slicing into the bare skin of the warrior’s chest.
Him or me.
He could see the riders now: their dark, wiry frames; their lean, striking faces.
‘Wait,’ Indavara breathed.
Cassius shifted slightly towards the man to the right. The warrior’s hands were on the reins. Cassius drew back his arm.
‘Ready,’ said Indavara, tightening his fingers on the bowstring.
Him or me. Him or me.
The three Maseene suddenly looked to their left. Cassius realised he could hear horses somewhere behind him. The tribesmen urged their mounts towards the track at a trot.
‘Down,’ Indavara whispered.
Cassius was already down and he watched the closest horse slip through the grass not ten feet away. Had the warrior looked to his right he would have seen all three of them.
Once he was past, Cassius and Indavara lifted their heads and spied four more tribesmen coming along the track from the east. After a brief discussion, the seven of them set off back towards the Via Roma. Cassius lowered the javelin and sat down. ‘I can�
�t take much more of this.’
‘Could have been a lot, lot worse,’ replied Indavara, at last letting the bowstring go slack. ‘What hour do you think it is?’
Cassius glanced up at the sky. ‘Seventh or eighth.’
‘It’ll be hard to reach the harbour before nightfall.’ Indavara pointed towards Darnis. Five plumes of smoke were rising from the town. ‘What do you think that means?’
‘Nothing good. Let’s just get to the bridge and hope Eborius can make it there too.’
‘C-Cassius. Indavara.’
Annia, still sitting on the ground, pushed her lank hair away from her face and looked up at them.
‘I – I’m sorry. Truly. I – I should never have left the ship.’
‘What’s done is done, miss,’ Indavara said after a while.
‘Quite,’ said Cassius. ‘We know you didn’t set out to do any harm, miss. We’re all still in one piece. And once we’re over that track, it’s only a mile or two to the bridge. Mostly olive grove as I recall, which unfortunately won’t hide us half as well as this grass.’
‘Miss, you should take those off,’ said Indavara, pointing at the two silver bangles on each wrist.
‘They’ll catch the sun, miss,’ added Cassius.
Annia set about removing them. Her hands were shaking less now.
‘You can call me Annia, you know.’
‘Yes, miss,’ they said.
Once across the track and into the olive grove, their progress slowed. Without the reassuring shelter of the grass, Cassius felt terribly exposed (especially as he was leading the way), but he soon developed a workable routine: they would stop beside one of the larger trees, check the Via Roma and the surrounding countryside for signs of movement, then dash to the next piece of cover. Five times they had to wait for danger to pass; on each occasion groups of Maseene horsemen. Cassius decided he couldn’t glean much from the direction of their movements; two groups had been on the road heading north, another heading south, and the last two cross-country.
He reckoned an hour and a half had elapsed since their escape when they finally reached a high date palm thirty yards from the bridge. Crouching in welcome shadow, the three of them caught their breath and looked out at the empty Via Roma – the sloping section that ran north from the ridge down to the gorge. The only sound was the shrill cries of the black kites.