by Brown, Nick
You’ve had worse. Get up.
He reached for the sword. It took a while to make his fingers work but he held it and pressed the tip into the sand to help him stand. Up on one knee, then on both feet. The sky swirled around him. The pain swirled around his head. He staggered but stayed upright.
He looked along the beach. They were coming back towards him, a thrashing tangle of red and bronze, arms and blades. He tried to move towards them but almost fell again.
Stop. Breathe. Long, deep breaths.
‘Come on, man! You can do better!’
Carnifex. His name’s Carnifex.
Somehow, Indavara found himself on his knees again, though he had kept hold of the sword. The fingers of his left hand were in a pool of icy water. He bent over, cupped his hand and flicked the water on to his face. His vision began to clear again, though he could have sworn someone was still hammering the back of his head with that rock. He looked up.
Eborius was forcing Carnifex – who had somehow lost his shield – back along the shore. The younger centurion launched a prodigious swing over his head. The older man blocked the blow but the impact sent him back several feet.
‘That’s the way!’ roared Carnifex. ‘Come on!’
Indavara gripped the sword handle tight. At last his body seemed to be doing what he told it to. Resting his other hand on the rounded pommel, he put the blade in the sand again to help him up. Eyes closed, he waited until he was steady on his feet. Then he opened them. Eborius and Carnifex were even closer.
With his height and a reach perhaps even longer than his foe’s, Eborius now seemed to have the advantage. Mouth set in a snarl, both hands on his sword, he swung again. This time Carnifex didn’t block, but stepped neatly to his left and watched the tip of the blade fly past his chest. With Eborius momentarily unbalanced, Carnifex plucked his dagger from his belt and jammed it deep into Eborius’s right arm where the armour had been cut away.
Carnifex left the knife there and retreated.
Indavara felt thick, warm blood oozing down the back of his neck.
It seemed to take Eborius a moment to realise what had happened. As he stared dumbly at the dagger handle, Carnifex heaved his sword at his head. The helmet absorbed most of the blow but Eborius was reeling.
Indavara started towards them but in the next instant he was down again.
Eborius’s sword fell from his hand; the arm was useless now. Carnifex knew he had him and he wasted no time. Three swift hacks made a mess of the mail shirt, and as Eborius tottered backwards, hundreds of the little metal rings rained down on to his boots. He was still looking at them when Carnifex reversed his sword and jabbed the solid bronze handle between his eyes.
Stunned, the big officer fell to his knees.
Carnifex lowered his blade and reached under the younger man’s chin to undo the strap. He then wrenched off the helmet and threw it away. Eborius’ eyelids were flickering, his head lolling to one side. Carnifex ran a hand though his curly black hair, then gripped it and tilted his head up.
‘I killed you, Eborius.’
‘I fought you, Carnifex,’ Eborius gurgled through the blood running down over his teeth.
Indavara tried to blink away the double vision.
Get up. Move.
A casual swing of Carnifex’s blade took two inches out of Eborius’s neck. The lifeless frame crashed forward onto the sand.
‘That you did, lad,’ Carnifex said as he turned. ‘That you did.’
Indavara was back on one knee.
Get up or he’ll kill you. Get up!
Carnifex wiped his mouth, boots squelching in the sand as he walked towards him. ‘Your turn again, One Ear.’
The broken, crumbling concrete was agony for Annia and Noster. Cassius had to try to help them both and progress was maddeningly slow. He wanted to stop and look back but he forced himself not to turn round.
They were still fifty feet from the end of the breakwater when Asdribar brought the Fortuna alongside. Korinth and Desenna made daring leaps up on to the concrete and held the ship in position with two lines. Simo made his way on to the side-rail and clambered up between them. Cassius heard Asdribar shouting at Clara, telling her to stay onboard. Squint was the only other sailor on deck; the others were manning the oars.
‘Get them aboard!’ Cassius told Simo.
‘Lad, take this!’ yelled Squint, flinging a short sword up on to the breakwater. Cassius let it land, then picked it up and ran back towards the shore.
Carnifex was five yards away when Indavara got to his feet. He retreated towards the warehouse, mainly to give his head more time to clear.
The sweat running down Carnifex’s face was loosening more of the burnt skin. He touched his brow and a strip of it peeled off in his hand. Indavara ran his eyes over the old centurion for signs that Eborius had caught him but there was little damage to his armour and no marks anywhere else. Only that slight limp and the gnarled left knee.
Grinning, Carnifex forced Indavara back with a few half-hearted but well-aimed thrusts. Indavara found he could barely get his weapon in the way, let alone think about mounting an attack. The throbbing at the back of his head seemed to be seeping forward again.
‘Even slower now, boy,’ said Carnifex before launching a scything blow that knocked Indavara’s blade high and away from him. He followed up with an arrow-straight kick that landed in Indavara’s midriff.
The blow sent him flying backwards. His left foot gave way and he fell sideways into the timbers of the warehouse wall. As he slumped to the ground, splintering bolts of pain shot across his left shoulder; he knew instantly he had dislocated his arm.
‘Oh,’ said Carnifex, observing the strange angle at which the arm now hung. ‘That’s not going to help. Think it’s broke, One Ear. Best get this over with.’
Carnifex thundered forward and heaved the sword down at his head. Indavara brought his weapon up in a horizontal block and set his right arm. The blades connected six inches above him with a shuddering clang.
A moment of silence. Indavara looked down and saw the shattered remains of both blades lying in the sand. He and Carnifex were holding handles with only a few jagged inches of metal attached. The centurion gave a surprised grunt.
Indavara pushed himself up the warehouse wall. He threw the broken sword to the ground, reached over and tucked his left hand into his belt. The arm just hung there, burning. He reckoned if he hadn’t had the wall behind him he might have fainted.
I feel no pain. No pain.
He formed a fist with his right hand and took a single step forward.
Carnifex – standing no more than three feet away – glanced at the crippled arm and gave an approving grin. ‘Ain’t ever seen that before. Always did like you, One Ear. You a soldier?’
Indavara shook his head. ‘Gladiator.’
‘Well then that explains it. Don’t think I ever killed me a gladiator.’ Carnifex threw his sword to the ground. ‘But I reckon I’ll do all right against a man with one arm. Ready for your last fight, boy?’
Indavara answered by darting forward and swinging his leg straight into Carnifex’s left knee. He caught it with his shin but the pain barely registered when he saw the old centurion grit his teeth to stop himself crying out. Indavara sidestepped to his right, away from the wall.
Carnifex turned towards him, snarling.
This time Indavara came at him from the left. Ducking under the centurion’s swinging right hook, he lashed out a kick and hit the knee with the reinforced front of his boot.
Carnifex’s leg almost buckled yet he straightened himself and raised his fists. But it was a show of strength. A show.
‘Slow, old man. Very slow.’
Carnifex was ready this time. He reached down to grab Indavara’s boot but the kick was a feint and he was struck only by a short punch that caught him on the nose. Not the hardest of blows, it nonetheless froze him for a moment and a moment was all Indavara needed. He shifted right and pounced,
smashing another kick into the old centurion’s knee.
The thin layer of flesh over Indavara’s shin was ablaze but he knew he could take it; knew he could take more than Carnifex. He reckoned Carnifex hadn’t been hurt like that for a long time.
Indavara just kept on kicking. The centurion swung wildly at him – a glancing blow that did more damage to his hand than to Indavara’s jaw. Then Carnifex tried to lurch clear, but at the sixth blow his knee finally gave way. A final sweep from Indavara into his standing leg and he fell flat on his back.
Carnifex’s last attack was a desperate kick of his own, but Indavara stayed clear of the sharpened studs. There was little point striking the cuirass, so he stamped straight down into his groin. That ended any remaining resistance.
Indavara’s next swing of his boot hit Carnifex’s helmet so hard that he almost fell over. He drove his foot into that horrid pink face again and again, only stopping when there was no sound or movement from below. Then he looked down.
The helmet’s angular cheek guards had been pushed deep into Carnifex’s face, not that you could really call it a face now. The eyes had disappeared under riven flesh and pooling blood. Indavara spat into the mess.
Ship. Harbour. Walk.
He took three steps and pitched forwards on to the sand.
As Cassius reached the end of the breakwater, he saw a young Maseene on the other side of the causeway. The tribesman looked in his direction, then ran back under the arch towards the square. Somehow Cassius forgot all the weariness and pain as he sprinted along the side of the warehouses.
All three men were lying on the ground but only Indavara was moving. He opened his eyes as Cassius crouched down next to him.
‘By the great gods. Can you move?’
‘Left arm’s screwed.’
Cassius helped him to his knees. ‘We have to go. The Maseene. Can you walk?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my legs.’
Cassius didn’t think it wise to tell him what state his right shin was in. Once Indavara was on his feet, Cassius glanced over at Eborius. Even though he was lying face down in the sand, motionless, he wanted to go over to him.
Indavara shook his head. ‘He’s gone.’
There was no need to ask about Carnifex; the old centurion’s face resembled something from a butcher’s slab.
To Cassius’s astonishment, Indavara managed a kind of limping jog. He kept hold of him as they ran, blood leaking from the bodyguard’s head on to his arm. By the time they reached the breakwater, dozens of Maseene were coming across the causeway.
Indavara almost fell with his very first step on to the concrete. Throwing the sword aside, Cassius grabbed his belt and kept him upright. In doing so he knocked the dislocated arm, prompting Indavara to unleash a vicious stream of curses.
‘Sorry.’
Cassius looked back over his shoulder. The Maseene seemed to be racing each other to reach them first.
‘We need to hurry up.’
Indavara turned.
‘Don’t look back,’ advised Cassius.
Indavara ignored him. Seeing the Maseene, he somehow sped up.
The two of them stumbled and scrambled on as best they could until they were close to the Fortuna. As Simo came forward to meet them, Indavara caught his left foot and would have gone down if Cassius hadn’t grabbed a handful of tunic.
‘Indavara, you can do it. Almost there.’
Korinth and Desenna were waving them on and shouting encouragement.
‘Oh Lord,’ said Simo.
Cassius wasn’t sure if he was more concerned about Indavara or the pursuing tribesmen.
‘Watch his arm,’ he told the Gaul as they helped Indavara the last few yards. Once they reached the Fortuna, the bodyguard’s last surge of energy seemed to fade. His eyes rolled and his mouth dropped open; he looked about ready to pass out. Korinth and Desenna threw their lines aboard and leapt down on to the ship.
Cassius looked back. The closest warriors were a hundred feet away, bounding across the concrete with great leaps.
With Squint on the helm, Asdribar came to help as Cassius and Simo lowered Indavara on to the side-rail. Cassius held his right hand as long as he could, then let go. Simo kept hold of Indavara’s tunic but lost his balance and fell on to the deck. As Indavara collapsed into Asdribar’s arms, Korinth and Desenna were already pushing the ship away from the breakwater.
‘Get on, lad,’ yelled Squint.
‘Sir, look out!’ shouted Simo.
Cassius was about to jump but he turned and saw a javelin flashing through the air towards his face. He threw himself to the side, yelping as he landed on a sharp concrete edge.
He looked up to see a dozen Maseene coming at him. The Fortuna was already three yards clear of the breakwater; too far to jump from a standing start.
‘Master Cassius!’ cried Simo.
Cassius got to his feet and set off for the end of the breakwater, doing his best to emulate the long, loping strides of the tribesmen. He heard a javelin whoosh past his right ear and saw it hit the water. The oars were out on the port side of the Fortuna but hadn’t been lowered yet. He took a deep breath.
Cassius’s last step took him straight off the end of the breakwater. He doubted it was the most graceful dive of his life but he got his arms out in front of him and arrowed deep into the cold, choppy water. Without even waiting for his eyes to clear, he turned towards where the ship would be and kicked out hard. Broad strokes took him deeper. He saw the Fortuna’s hull sliding past and oars striking the water above him.
He put in a spurt then let himself rise, hoping not to catch a javelin or an oar in the head. As he surfaced about ten feet from the rudder housing, something splashed into the water behind him. He snatched another breath and dived under again. One of his boots came loose and fell away as he made for the ship. He stayed as low as he could until he was in front of the rudder housing, then came up again. The top edge of the housing was two feet above him and the timbers slimy and wet, but he reached up and held on.
‘… is he?’ came the shout from above.
Cassius’s first attempt to speak came out as a gurgle. He spat out salty water and tried again. ‘I’m here. Go!’
‘He’s there!’ cried Simo.
‘Oars in,’ ordered Asdribar. ‘Pull away.’
‘Hold on, sir!’ added Simo.
‘I intend to!’
Unable to see anything other than the hardwood an inch in front of his face, Cassius heard the oars hit the water behind him, then felt his legs being pulled towards the stern as the Fortuna picked up speed. All the strength seemed to have drained out of him once more and it was all he could do to retain his grip.
After what seemed an unnecessarily long time, the splashes of the oars ceased and the ship began to slow. Cassius managed to turn his head to the right. They were well away from the harbour. He could see the fisherman’s hut, the two doors still open. A few Maseene on the Via Cyrenaica had stopped their horses to watch the ship.
The rudder housing shook as boots thumped down on to it and the scarred face of Korinth appeared above. ‘Think you might enjoy the trip better on deck, sir.’
‘Just pull me up, man,’ Cassius replied, spitting out more water. Desenna appeared and the two of them took a hand each and hauled him up on to the housing. Korinth then gave him a leg-up and he clambered over the side-rail.
Simo was waiting there with a blanket, which he wrapped around Cassius. The Gaul beamed as he rubbed his master’s shoulders, then anxiously inspected his nose. Had it not been for the others aboard, Cassius would have gladly embraced him. He settled for patting him on the chest.
‘Nicely done, Officer,’ said Asdribar. ‘Welcome back.’
‘Thank you, Captain.’
Asdribar plucked a Maseene javelin from the deck and examined the tip.
‘I trust we’re out of range now,’ said Cassius.
‘Indeed we are.’
Cassius looked back a
t the breakwater. The tribesmen were already returning to the shore, but hundreds more had gathered in the harbour. Cassius gripped the blanket and gestured for Simo to go and help Indavara, who was sitting by the hatch, cradling his left arm. The back of his tunic was wet through with blood.
Sitting on the steps just below the hatch were two women. Others peered out from behind them, all looking back at the town. Before Cassius could ask who they were, he saw Annia. She was lying on the floor just inside the deckhouse door. Clara had wrapped her in a cloak and was offering her some wine.
Opilio shouted from below. ‘Oars in again, sir?’
Before Asdribar could reply, Noster spoke. The veteran was by the port side-rail, looking back at the harbour. ‘By Jupiter. He’s still alive.’
‘Who?’ said Cassius, hurrying over to join him.
‘Who else?’ replied Noster.
Cassius couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Carnifex – still with the half-crested helmet on his head – was up on his feet and staggering past the warehouses towards the dock. Indavara arrived next at the side-rail, ignoring Simo’s protestations that he sit back down.
‘It can’t be—’
Then the Maseene saw Carnifex. With whoops and cries that carried across the water, the tribesmen surged towards the centurion.
‘They’ll tear him to pieces,’ said Noster.
‘That’s about the only way to be sure you’ve killed him,’ added Indavara.
The first javelin was thrown from some distance and struck Carnifex’s cuirass. As he lurched sideways, a warrior drew his arm dagger and leapt on to his back. A second man stuck a knife deep into his throat, then was lost from view as the other Maseene closed in.
The last trace of Carnifex they saw was the crested helmet as it was tossed from warrior to warrior. Finally one of them threw it into the harbour. It floated for a moment, then sank.
‘We leaving?’ asked Asdribar.
‘Yes,’ said Cassius.
The Carthaginian gave the order. Within moments the oars were in the water and the Fortuna was under way.