by Brown, Nick
Eborius and Noster returned empty-handed; it seemed the Maseene or other opportunists had beaten them to it. But as the centurion led the group north again they passed through an orchard of fig trees. The few figs left were well past their best but everyone took a handful to eat – all except Annia, who shook her head when Indavara offered her the fruit.
As they pressed on, Cassius found he was struggling to follow Eborius’s request that they all stay alert. In fact he was struggling to do anything other than put one foot in front of the other and keep up. He reckoned it was now well over thirty hours since he’d last slept. His nose was still throbbing, his arms and legs felt leaden, and the light Maseene javelin now seemed as heavy as a cavalry lance. There was, however, one advantage to such utter exhaustion; it stopped him thinking about the horrors of the last few hours and the dangers yet to come.
The sound of horses on the Via Roma reached them before the riders came into view. Though he knew the Maseene might prove as deadly as the legionaries of the First Century, Cassius was relieved it wasn’t Carnifex and his men. Not one of the twenty or so tribesmen took their eyes off the road as they sped south.
Eborius waited for an all-clear signal from Noster then set off. They passed the line of date palms that bordered the southern edge of Darnis and through the gate of a small villa.
‘How long before sundown?’ Cassius asked Eborius, picking his way through a pile of broken roof tiles.
‘Perhaps an hour.’
The centurion, who was carrying his helmet, waited until everyone was inside the villa before speaking again.
‘It gets harder now. We must watch every alley and window and door. And we must move fast if we want to reach the harbour by nightfall.’
‘What if Asdribar has left?’ asked Indavara.
This was an eventuality Cassius had tried not to even entertain.
‘You three will have to make your own choices,’ replied Eborius. ‘But we can wait until dark, then slip away to the west. I have family in a village not ten miles from here. They’ll protect us.’
Eborius looked around at the glum expressions that greeted this prospect. ‘Hopefully it won’t come to that. Noster, you take your bow back. I might need you to clear the way ahead of us.’
The legionary glanced at Indavara. ‘Why not let him keep it, sir? Then I can stay at the rear. I reckon he’s a better shot than me anyhow.’
Indavara knew it would be impossible to move as quickly as he needed to with an arrow drawn, so he kept one alongside the bow in his left hand. Noster’s weaponry was in excellent condition and – apart from the thin twine around the bow’s middle to improve grip – not dissimilar to his own.
Even though it always took time to get used to a new bow, moments such as this made all the hours of practice worthwhile. There had been no real call for archery while he was a gladiator but he’d always been fascinated by the weapons. His long-distance shooting was still developing, but at short range he considered himself passable, and short range was all that would be needed now. The broken little finger wasn’t a problem.
Indavara found the streets of Darnis confusing, but Eborius seemed to know every last corner of the place. Considering his size, the centurion moved with great speed and agility as he led the group towards the Via Cyrenaica. He never covered more than twenty yards of ground in one burst, always found cover for the seven of them, and only ever stopped long enough to check the area immediately ahead.
Indavara’s view of the man had already changed. Whatever his past failures, he had saved them from certain death at that pit and was doing his best to help them reach the harbour. The past day and night had been a dizzying series of reversals and trials, but to Indavara they were already distant memories. He, Annia and Corbulo were alive and his thoughts had narrowed to a single aim: they just had to get to the Fortuna.
‘Now,’ said Eborius quietly.
They scuttled across a courtyard and inside another villa. Eborius stopped a couple of yards beyond the doorway. Indavara passed him so that the others could enter, then saw what had halted the centurion. Lying on the floor were a middle-aged man and woman surrounded by scattered clothes and other belongings. Close to the man was a small, empty iron box. He and the woman had been killed by multiple slashes to their necks.
Eborius – who couldn’t stand up straight in the low-ceilinged room – knelt between the dead pair and gently closed the woman’s eyelids.
‘Oh no,’ said Noster when he saw them. ‘Crotila and Helvia.’
He bent down and picked up a broken javelin-head. ‘This man worked alongside the Maseene for years. Gave jobs to scores of them. Helvia even made him arrange his harvest around their festival days.’
Indavara glanced at Annia and Corbulo, who were still staring down at the bodies.
‘There is no way back from this,’ said Eborius. ‘Not now.’
‘He has been a curse on this town,’ said Noster.
The legionary laid the man’s arms by his side and put a blanket over him and his wife.
‘There’s a little food here,’ said Adranos as he picked up a wicker basket.
‘Take it,’ Eborius told him. ‘Crotila was a generous man.’
The centurion walked into an adjacent room. ‘This way.’
Indavara followed him through to a narrow doorway and waited as Eborius checked the alley between this villa and the next. Over his shoulder, Indavara spied a small (and broken) glass window he recognised. They weren’t far from the mausoleum and Dio’s house, which meant the Via Cyrenaica was close.
Like many of the villas, the dwelling next door was surrounded by a low wall. Eborius held up a hand to indicate Indavara should stay put, then ducked down, crossed the alley and skirted along the wall to the right. Indavara came up to the doorway and heard the others lining up behind him. Eborius crouched at the corner of the wall and looked north, then motioned for Indavara to follow.
Indavara was already moving when Lentellus tugged the back of his tunic.
‘Wait,’ whispered the legionary. ‘Look there – to the left.’
The four tribesmen were on foot, heading south behind the row of villas. Eborius was still looking up the street. Indavara stepped back into the darkened room and waved the others back too, then put an arrow against the bowstring and peered round the doorway.
The Maseene were carrying firewood and seemed to be looking for more. Two were wearing what looked like recently appropriated cloaks and another had an army-issue helmet on his head. Not one was carrying a javelin, though all four were equipped with arm daggers. They stopped at the end of the alley, talking loudly. The warrior with the helmet was older than the others and his matted black hair fell almost to his waist. He nodded along the alley towards where Eborius had been.
Indavara guessed the centurion must have seen the tribesmen and somehow hidden himself.
One of the other Maseene seemed to disagree with the older warrior, who responded by raising his voice and setting off down the alley. Indavara heard the dull scrape of swords being drawn behind him. The other tribesmen relented and followed their compatriot.
Indavara withdrew another step and tightened his grip on the bowstring, wishing he had a sword in his hand.
The four Maseene walked right past the door, two of them laughing about something. Indavara couldn’t hear their bare feet on the ground, but when the voices faded he moved forward.
After a time, Eborius reappeared at the corner, hand still on his undrawn sword.
‘All clear.’
Indavara followed him out of the alley, then left along the front of the villas. The Via Cyrenaica was just up ahead. Indavara looked around; despite the ever-darkening sky, their position seemed dangerously exposed. As if to confirm this, two horsemen trotted into view on the road.
Eborius, Indavara and the others crouched down and pressed themselves against a wall. In a moment the riders were gone but then came the shouts of more Maseene, sounding alarmingly close. Ebor
ius turned left through the next entrance and lifted a timber that had fallen across the villa doorway. Indavara covered the street and was last in behind Noster.
‘By Mars, they’re bloody everywhere,’ said Adranos.
Eborius undid his chinstrap and took off his helmet. ‘I’ll go forward and check the road, see if there’s any way across. I could use someone to watch my back.’
Indavara almost volunteered but knew he should stay with Annia.
‘I’ll come, sir,’ offered Noster.
‘No,’ said Corbulo. ‘Allow me. I want to see the road for myself.’
‘As you wish,’ said Eborius. ‘I think I know where we can get a good view. The rest of you sit tight. We’ll be back soon.’
At the first sight of the Maseene, Asdribar gave the order. Simo had been down below with Clara – helping the townspeople as they settled into the now very cramped hold – but once he heard the shouts from above he hurried up to the deck, arriving just as the sailors cast off.
Korinth, Desenna and two other men gave the Fortuna a final push, then jumped aboard. Asdribar waited until she was clear, then instructed the four men manning the port side to put out their oars and turn the ship round. Even as he shouted orders, the captain kept his eyes on the tribesmen – they had just reached the end of the causeway.
There were perhaps twenty of them, all barefoot and clad in their pale, baggy tunics. A few were wielding javelins; all were carrying bottles or jars, presumably filled with wine. When they saw the Fortuna on the move, half a dozen left the main group and ran past the collapsed dock on to the eastern breakwater. But Asdribar had made his calculations; he knew he could get his ship out of the harbour before the tribesmen reached them.
That didn’t stop the small group of warriors trying, and they didn’t seem overly concerned by the uneven concrete beneath their unprotected feet. Korinth and Desenna each took a bow from the barrel of weapons and positioned themselves by the starboard side-rail.
Once the Fortuna had been turned round, swift, deep strokes from the eight oarsmen sent her cutting through the water towards the entrance. With Squint on the helm, Asdribar moved up to the mast and silently directed the veteran with his hands. As the bow came level with the breakwaters, he shouted down to Opilio and the oars were retracted.
One of the local women and a teenage boy came up the steps to look out of the hatch, but a shout from Asdribar sent them straight back down. As the oars were run out again and the ship picked up speed once more, the Maseene reached the end of the breakwater. Korinth and Desenna drew their bows and aimed their arrows but the warriors had already settled for triumphant jeering. The javelins stayed in their hands and the only object thrown was a wine bottle that plopped into the middle of the Fortuna’s wake. Korinth and Desenna lowered the bows.
Simo looked back over the stern at the town. He had kept up with his prayers but now dark thoughts overwhelmed him. Were they still alive, perhaps even watching the ship depart? Or were they lying somewhere, injured or dead, victims of the Maseene or Carnifex and his men?
‘Keep her heading north,’ Asdribar told Squint before walking over to Simo. ‘You better get below again and make yourself useful – keep those people away from my oarsmen.’
Without a word, the Gaul walked back towards the hatch.
‘Simo,’ said Asdribar.
The Gaul halted at the top of the steps.
‘I had no choice.’
Cassius had expected Eborius to move directly north towards the road but he headed west. As they edged round one of the stone cisterns, Cassius asked him why.
‘I want to see the square too. We’re nearly there.’
‘What about the ship?’
‘You want to make a dash for it without seeing what’s in your way? Go ahead.’
It seemed impossible to move more than ten paces without running into Maseene, and without the gloom of twilight to hide them the short journey might have taken hours. But Cassius was relieved to note the sun still hadn’t quite set when they reached a large villa that faced the square. As he followed the centurion along the overgrown path that bisected the villa’s courtyard, he could hear fires crackling and the victorious cries of the tribesmen.
Eborius paused by the rear door. Cassius rested the butt of the javelin on the ground and took the opportunity to check behind them. For one brief, chilling moment, he thought he could see two men – one with a spear – but he almost laughed when he realised what he was actually looking at. The flames from the square had illuminated a fresco on the courtyard’s rear wall: the goddess Venus reclining on a giant seashell. The ‘spear carrier’ was in fact a nymph holding a fishing rod. Cassius’s aunt had the very same picture at her summer villa.
Eborius tapped him on the shoulder and pointed up and to the right. On the other side of the villa was a small tower, complete with miniature battlements and a conical tiled roof. The centurion led Cassius into the pitch-black interior. Fortunately, the noise from the square was more than sufficient to cover their stumbling, curse-ridden progress through the villa. The tower was accessed by a steep staircase and they eventually emerged into a tiny circular space that seemed to have remained untouched since the residents had left. Though everything was covered with a thick layer of dust, there were floor cushions, a miniature brazier, even a shelf stacked with scrolls and books.
Just below the base of the tower roof were two grilled windows, one facing north on to the Via Cyrenaica, the other west. Cassius put down the javelin and knelt next to Eborius, who was gazing out at the square.
‘By all the gods,’ breathed the centurion.
The fire had been fuelled by the market stalls, of which not a single timber remained. The stack of wood was as tall as two men and just as wide. Thick flowers of flame reached skyward and a heavy pall of smoke drifted high. The tribesmen stood around it in groups of a dozen or so. Cassius estimated there were between a hundred and fifty and two hundred of them. Most were drinking and some were deep in discussion, gesticulating wildly to their fellows. Others idly watched the flames. On the far side of the square, dozens of horses had been tethered, watched over by some of the younger tribesmen.
Cassius thought of the youthful warriors Carnifex had crucified and looked at the southern side of the square. He was surprised to see that the crosses and the bodies remained.
‘Cervidus,’ whispered Eborius.
The centurion was also looking at the crosses. And when Cassius looked closer, he realised that in fact the two bodies were of fully grown men, not youths. One had a white bandage around his ankle. Cervidus: the legionary who’d injured himself at the quarry.
‘You had to leave him behind.’
‘Yes.’
Eborius moved away from the window and slumped back against the wall. ‘Until today I wouldn’t have thought the Maseene capable of such things.’
‘The other man?’
‘Lafrenius Leon. I bet they had their fun with him.’
Cassius watched as a group of tribesmen walked past the crosses. Every one of them took his turn to spit at the body of the dead governor. Cassius looked out beyond the big blaze to the west, along the Via Cyrenaica. There were smaller fires every fifty yards or so. He moved to the other window and looked east. The situation was the same, and he could see dozens of figures close to every fire.
‘Gods, we’ll never get across now.’
Cassius peered towards the harbour but it was too dark to see if the Fortuna was still there. He turned away and sat below the window, opposite Eborius. After a while, he realised the big centurion was weeping. Cassius reached across and touched him on the arm. ‘Manius.’
Eborius wiped his face, so ashamed that he almost seemed to be trying to scrape the tears off his skin. ‘My apologies, Corbulo. I have long since acknowledged my part in what’s happened here, but it is another thing to see the results of it.’
‘You didn’t cause this. The blood of all who have died here is on Carnifex’s hands, not
yours.’
Eborius put his head back against the wall. ‘This is not the first time I have failed in my duties.’
‘You mean your demotion? Being sent back to Darnis?’
‘Even you know.’
‘People talk. I imagine it must have been very difficult, but at least you were assigned to a legion in the first place. I barely scraped through training. If not for the Service, I doubt they would have passed me.’
‘You are a young man. With chances to prove yourself.’
Cassius saw little point in explaining that he thought he’d already had quite enough chances.
‘You have proven much today.’
‘When it’s already too late.’
Cassius’s weary mind couldn’t summon a constructive reply to that. Outside, the fire roared and hissed. Occasionally another cry of victory went up from the Maseene.
‘Much was always expected of me,’ Eborius continued quietly, ‘looking as I do. Sometimes I think that was the only reason I was promoted – just because I looked impressive on the parade ground carrying a standard. When I arrived in Lambaesis, everyone told me I would rise up the ranks. They just piled more and more duties on me, thinking I would … flourish. In the end I think I did well to hold it together for a year. Then one day I realised I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had water in my canteen. Not long after that I was back here.’