by George Green
Severus looked steadily at Serpicus and then nodded slightly. Brutus growled agreement. Serpicus looked at Decius. The young man hadn’t spoken. He’d spent more than half of his life in Rome. Germany must be a distant memory for him. There was no way of knowing what returning would stir up in him, and no point in worrying about it. Serpicus leant over Severus’ map.
Severus’ plan was simple. The pursuers didn’t know where the expedition was going, so they must be staying fairly close and following the tracks. All Severus’ men had to do was stop and wait for their pursuers to catch up, then slaughter them at will.
‘I like it,’ said Galba. ‘It’s simple, it’s brutal, it’s unimaginative.’ He looked around, his gaze lingering just long enough on Brutus. ‘I suspect that’s probably going to become the theme for this trip.’
They left at dawn and marched along the road until they were at the bottom of a narrow gully that rose in an even gradient for a five-minute climb. Shale-covered slopes rose sharply on both sides. Large rocks were scattered amongst clumps of tough bushes along the gully floor. There was a slight indentation in the cliff to their right, a high thin flake of rock wide enough to hide perhaps six men. If, that is, the enemy kept walking and didn’t look back. The other ambushers would have to use the rocks and small trees that dotted the ground.
Severus stroked his chin. ‘Plenty of cover.’ His men looked at the bushes rather dubiously but said nothing.
‘Not much height advantage, though,’ murmured Brutus. ‘Not when there are more of them than us.’
‘Enough though. The main problem will be to concentrate the two halves of our force quickly enough.’ He turned to the men and indicated that they should stand close to him. ‘Listen. There are a bunch of cut-throats on our trail.’ Serpicus saw several men glance involuntarily back the way they had come. ‘They probably outnumber us, but they are a gangrenous rabble with no discipline and no spirit. So we’re going to stop here, ambush them, cut a few hearts out and try and find out what they’re up to. So don’t kill all of them, all right? Take prisoners.’ He looked at them confidingly. ‘Break their heads by all means, just don’t kill them, all right?’
The men smiled grimly and returned to checking their weapons.
Severus turned and beckoned to Scipio and Soldi, the legionary with the broken arm, who followed Severus around like a dog. Brutus had protested mildly at the choice of a man who couldn’t actually lift a sword to lead a band of soldiers, but Severus had refused to discuss it beyond asking if he had the right to choose his own lieutenants without reference to anyone else. When he was assured that this was the case, he walked away before anyone could put a ‘but’ on the end of the sentence.
Serpicus felt a hand on his forearm. It was Snake. The Cretan drew him to one side.
‘We talked to Cato, the new recruit, last night.’
‘And?’ The Cretan paused. ‘If you have something, give it to me.’
The Cretan shrugged. ‘The others were happy enough, he knew what he was talking about. I just don’t trust him.’
‘Any particular reason?’
‘No. Just a feeling.’
‘Fair enough. Keep an eye on him and let me know if you come up with anything more definite.’
The Cretan nodded and went after Scipio, who was striding off to carry out Severus’ instructions. The plan was simple. Half of the men, including Serpicus, Galba, Brutus and Decius, would go to the top of the hill and hide. The remainder, under Severus’ command, would conceal themselves at the lower end of the gully. When the pursuers were safely inside they would be caught between the jaws of the attack. Severus retraced his steps a few hundred paces so that he could check how far back the men behind the rock would have to go so as not to be seen.
‘Of course,’ Galba mused to himself in a way that everyone could hear, as they prepared to follow the group heading up the gully, ‘there are a number of assumptions here that don’t necessarily follow.’
‘And now you’re going to cheer us up by telling us what they are,’ muttered Brutus, bending to pick up a branch to use as a staff.
‘Indeed. For example, we’re assuming that they do not outnumber us significantly.’
‘Anything else you have to tell us that might make us feel that we might just last the day?’
‘Yes, actually. We’re assuming that we’re better soldiers than they are.’
Brutus stopped in his tracks and pointed with his sword back down the hill to where Severus was returning. ‘See that old man down there?’
‘Severus? Of course.’
‘Well, I’ll give you a choice.’
‘What?’
‘You can go down there and tell him that his plan is doomed to fail, partly due to his incompetence at planning and partly because he hasn’t trained his men properly.’
Galba frowned. ‘Bad idea. What’s the alternative?’
Brutus leant forward until his face was almost touching Galba’s. ‘Shut the fuck up, all right?’
The brisk climb didn’t take long but most of them needed a short time at the top to recover. They then watched as Severus and Snake ran up the hill to where they were waiting. Severus stood without any sign of breathlessness in the centre of the small group and gave out orders.
‘If they know what they’re doing, they’ll have scouts out in front of them, and they will be looking for you so stay well hidden. Everyone stays put, no sound, no attack. Let the scouts go past us. Once the scouts have signalled back to the main force that it’s clear, the men at the top of the hill will grab them as quietly and as efficiently as they can. Remember, we need them alive. Don’t go for them too soon or you’ll be seen, and then you’ll have to kill them so they can’t warn the others.’ Galba opened his mouth. Serpicus kicked him hard. Galba closed his mouth and sulked. Severus didn’t notice the kick or the expression, or didn’t show it if he did.
‘Once the main body is near you at the top, we’ll come out behind them and get their attention. They’ll probably attack us.’
‘You think?’ said Galba with a smile.
Severus didn’t reply, but he looked at Galba for long enough and in such a way that Galba stopped both the smiling and the talking. Severus continued.
‘You lot at the top let them come back down the gully, and once we’ve engaged them and got their attention you will attack them from behind.’ He looked around.
‘Clear?’ Everyone nodded. ‘Any questions?’ Galba cleared his throat in a respectful way.
‘What if they don’t attack you?’
‘Then they’ll come pelting up the hill to get away from us, in which case it’ll be your job to stop them until we get up here to help you.’ Severus looked around and the trace of a sardonic smile hovered on his lips. ‘Remember, timing is important. If they see you too early, we’ll lose the element of surprise and they’ll massacre us.’
‘And if we leave it too late they’ll massacre you anyway.’
Severus’ smile hardened into reality. ‘That’s the size of it. So mind you get it right.’
‘Or we’ll come back to haunt you,’ said Snake, running his thumb along the edge of what looked like a butcher’s knife.
‘We won’t need to,’ said Severus. ‘Get it right or we’re all fucked. End of story.’
There was no more to say.
Severus trotted back down the hill. Brutus and Serpicus scrambled to the far end of the gully and sent the Cretan ahead over the brow of the hill. There were fewer large rocks for cover, but plenty of thick vegetation. This was mostly sage bushes, which sent up their scent of smoke and trodden grass when anyone pushed past them. The men dispersed themselves and hid. Serpicus walked up the end of the gully, trying to imagine himself a scout for the approaching force. Apart from a foot belonging to Cato, he couldn’t see any trace of an ambush. He left it to one of the soldiers to explain to Cato what would happen to his foot if it gave them away, and they settled down to wait.
The sun was just sta
rting to sink when one of Severus’ men came stumbling up the slope and burst through the sage-brush towards them.
‘They’re just coming up the hill to the gully,’ he panted, kneeling beside them.
‘How many?’ said Brutus.
The soldier hesitated. ‘Twenty-five in the main group, more ahead of them scouting.’
Outnumbered, maybe two to one.
‘Arms?’
‘Side arms, a few spears. They don’t look much like soldiers.’ Serpicus got the feeling the man’s pride was hurt.
‘Let’s hope they aren’t,’ Brutus said quietly. ‘Right, everyone ready.’
Serpicus looked around. Every man was in a crouch, ready to move. Several of them were smiling at the thought of combat. He made a mental note to make sure that a couple of these smiling men were in front of him when they all ran back down the hill. Given their enthusiasm it seemed only fair to let them have first crack at the enemy.
Brutus peered around the side of a large rock at the head of the gully. ‘Here they come,’ he called softly, looking around him with a fierce expression. ‘Get your bloody heads down.’ Several men withdrew behind their bushes.
‘What do you see?’ Serpicus whispered.
Brutus lay on the ground so that he wasn’t silhouetted against the horizon and peered round the side of the boulder. ‘The good news is that they aren’t soldiers, that’s for certain. Just a bunch of wharf rats, fit for shoving knives between drunken men’s ribs in the dark and sneaking up on sleeping people.’ He sat back behind the cover of the rock and looked at the edge of his sword meditatively.
‘What’s the bad news?’ Serpicus asked.
Brutus hissed to the man who had come up the gully from Severus’ group. ‘Soldier?’
The man looked up. ‘Sir?’
Brutus held up both hands, with a thumb and forefinger held down on one hand. ‘How many fingers?’
The man looked uncomfortable. ‘Five, sir?’
Brutus sighed. ‘Thought so. Can’t bloody count.’ Serpicus put his head carefully around the rock and looked down the hill. Two scouts were walking carefully on either side of the track towards him, looking from side to side. Perhaps forty more men were a good spear-throw away behind the scouts, coming towards them in a ragged but menacing group, led by a big man wearing some sort of chest armour and carrying a large sword. He looked familiar but Serpicus couldn’t place him.
None of them had looked back yet and seen the ambush. The setting sun was in their eyes, which probably helped.
‘Get ready,’ Brutus said.
Like most plans, it started well. The scouts walked past the hiding men without seeing them. The scouts were both small wiry men with skin burnt dark by the sun and dried by the sea-wind. The sun reflected back at them off their drawn swords. Serpicus pressed himself back behind the bushes. He could just see Cato curled into a ball on the ground like a hedgehog, every extremity tucked in. Whatever the soldier said to him had worked.
Seeing nothing, the scouts turned at the summit, waved to those behind them and then disappeared over the hill.
‘I hope the Cretan is still awake,’ whispered Brutus.
As if in reply they heard two quick sounds, like someone hitting a horsehair mattress hard with a fist, followed by the noise of a soft weight hitting the ground. There was a sharp metallic scrape and then silence. Brutus looked at Serpicus and made a thumbs-up. ‘If he’d caught the sword before it hit the ground, perfect,’ he said.
They could hear the main group of men coming up the gully towards them. The pursuers were making no effort to keep silence. For a moment Serpicus thought something had gone wrong, that Severus thought they were not as far up as they really were, and that his fifteen soldiers would have to jump out and attack all forty of them on level ground. Then, just in time, a fearsome yelling started from the foot of the gully.
The pursuers turned in confusion, milling like startled animals. Not soldiers, or very poor ones. Some raised their swords and yelled obscenities back down the hill, while those closest to the rear pressed back, trying to get away in case of arrows. The big man with the breastplate pushed his way down the hill through them. He took in the small size of Severus’ force in a moment and issued a volley of orders. Whatever he was now, he at least had once been a soldier. He snapped instructions at his men and took about two thirds of his force with him at a run back down the hill. The remaining third was detailed to stay behind to prevent an attack from the rear, the very thing the ambushers were intending.
‘Shit,’ muttered Brutus.
Serpicus could see why. If they attacked the men left behind, the ambushers would be taking on a force the same size as their own, whereas Severus was heavily outnumbered. The rearguard could hold them up while the larger force dealt with Severus, and then the two could combine again to finish off Serpicus.
Serpicus hesitated, knowing he had to charge, but knowing also that to do it too soon would doom the strategy to failure.
Then the rearguard did the one thing that made their defeat certain.
If they had been soldiers, accustomed to taking and obeying orders, they would have stayed where they were told. The ambushers would have charged them, and – at best – would have been badly mauled right there even if they had broken through. But they were wharf rats and cut-throats. They saw nothing threatening them at the head of the gully, their scouts had given no warning, and their comrades were attacking an inferior force. They were missing an obvious victory, losing easy pickings. With shouts of encouragement to each other they charged back down the hill after their friends.
Brutus jumped up. ‘Come on,’ he called over his shoulder.
‘No more than four against one,’ muttered Galba, getting to his feet.
‘About right odds against those idiots, I’d say,’ growled a soldier as he pushed past Serpicus. It was one of the two who had had his nose broken by Severus on the first day. The other one was right behind him.
In a moment all of them were moving down the hill after Brutus. The ambushers were under strict orders not to make unnecessary noise as they approached, in the hope that they might be almost upon the pursuers before they realized they were there. As Serpicus ran down towards them with his blood pounding in his head he could see that they were going to need the surprise. Severus was heavily outnumbered and already in trouble. His men were stood in a tight defensive circle. They were doing a lot of damage, but they were taking punishment too. As Brutus and his men stumbled down the hill Serpicus saw one of Severus’ men go down, and then another. Then one of the pursuers spun round to avoid a blow. He saw the reinforcements and for a moment was frozen in surprise. Then he let out a yell.
‘Run!’ yelled Brutus, and flung himself headlong down the slope.
Several other men turned as Brutus, by now running flat out, crashed into them. The man who had seen them first threw his sword away and started to scramble up the side of the gully. The loose shale shifted under his feet and he slipped back down on his back to where the broken-nosed soldier who had shoved Serpicus aside was waiting for him.
Any soldier knows that the true test of a fighting force is when it is pressed hard on one front and is then attacked from behind. A centurion will justify the seemingly aimless days of marching and drill by pointing to the trust it creates. The only hope for survival in such a situation is that the front rank will continue fighting while relying on the rear to turn and defend their backs. An undisciplined force will not trust those around them. They will immediately resort to every man for himself. This was Severus’ plan. His numerically inferior force fought as one unit, whereas the superior numbers fought as individuals. Unless one of those individuals is Hercules, the unit will always win. Although, like rats trapped in a corner, if the individuals have no path of retreat, they will not give up without a fight.
The ambushers were still outnumbered two to one, and Serpicus’ portion were sprinting straight at him. The faster of the two, a tall thin man wit
h a shock of black hair, held his sword high as he ran and brought it down at Serpicus’ head with a roar of defiance. Serpicus deflected the impact on his shield and swayed to his left, allowing the man to overbalance, and slashed at him as he went past. The end of his blade caught the muscle of the thin man’s right shoulder, and he dropped the sword with a howl.
The other man, fatter and slower, was more cautious. He came at Serpicus crouching down low with a short spear in his hand, and Serpicus had to jump sideways to avoid the thrust. His left foot came down on a sharp rock and he stumbled onto one knee. The fat man’s face contorted in a grimace of triumph and he leapt after him. Serpicus swung without real hope of hitting anything. The fat man pushed the blow aside and lifted the spear. Serpicus made himself as small as possible behind the shield and waited to see what he would do.
The fat man’s head snapped back and a fountain of blood leapt up from the side of his throat. Brutus pulled his shield away from the dying man’s neck and bashed the man’s head again with a sideways swing, knocking him to the ground. Blood sprayed from his torn mouth. Brutus picked up the spear and tossed it to Serpicus, indicating behind him with a pointing finger. Serpicus swung round and thrust upward with the spear into the guts of the man whose shoulder he had cut. The thin man dropped the knife held in his left hand and made a choking sound. His hands clawed at the spear as if pulling it into himself, then he fell sideways and lay still.
Brutus and Serpicus stood back to back and looked around. Serpicus saw Decius on the ground, with a helmeted man above him with his sword raised. Decius was scrabbling frantically for a shield lying nearby, but he wasn’t going to get to it in time. Then a figure jumped onto the helmeted man’s back, holding his wrists and dragging him backwards. They crashed to the ground with the helmeted man on top. The man on his back was pinned down, but still held onto his wrists and prevented him using his sword. A moment later Decius was onto him, hitting him over and over again with a large stone. The helmeted man jerked convulsively and then lay still. Decius hauled the prone body to one side and helped his rescuer up. Serpicus thought the man looked like Cato.