The Leopard Sword

by Anthony Riches

  The other man eyed him dubiously.

  ‘And yet what?’

  A trumpet sounded from the south, a long wailing note followed swiftly by another, and then a third. The guard shifted from his lounging position, leaning out over the parapet and craning his neck in an attempt to see what was happening around the wall’s curve. ‘Sounds like some sort of signal.’

  He shuddered as Tornach’s sword slid up into the sleeve of his mail coat, the point stabbing deep into his left armpit with expert precision. Leaping back from the wall he put a hand to the hilt of his own weapon, his eyes wide with shock as he swayed on his feet for a moment with blood pouring down his left side, then crumpled helplessly to the wall’s stone walkway. Tornach stared dispassionately down at him, nodding as the truth dawned in the dying man eyes.

  ‘And yet one man inside these walls might change all that in an instant.’ He wiped the sword’s blade on the dying man’s tunic, a mixture of crimson blood and the whetstone’s blue residue staining the cloth a dark purple, then sheathed the weapon, spreading his arms as if taking the salute of a baying arena crowd. ‘All I have to do now is open the gate and my task is complete.’

  The guard shook his head weakly.

  ‘Needs . . . four . . . men . . .’

  Tornach smiled again, reaching into his pack and pulling out a coil of rope.

  ‘So it does. And here they are.’

  Several miles to the west, the reunited Tungrian cohorts were storming up the road towards the city with Scaurus at their head and the legion’s cohort struggling in their wake. No longer heedful of the effects of such a long march on his men he was setting a murderous pace at the front of the long column of soldiers, while behind him the three cohorts’ centurions encouraged, cajoled and simply threatened their men to keep them moving at the required pace. Silus had ridden far enough to the east to watch Obduro’s army making their approach to the city, further darkening Scaurus’s mood and goading him to greater efforts in leading his men’s increasingly painful double-pace forced march. Labouring alongside him, Frontinius glanced back down the column to the legion centuries, grimacing as he turned back to the road stretching out into the dusk before them.

  ‘Our lads are grinding along well enough, but the legion centuries are having a bad time of it. Perhaps we ought to call a rest halt? Apart from anything else we need to work out how we’re going to recognise the bandits in the heat of a night battle. It might be best to have that worked out before it gets dark?’

  Scaurus nodded.

  ‘We could get the torches lit too. Very well, First Spear, we’ll take a few minutes to work all that out.’

  The soldiers slumped exhaustedly at the roadside where the column came to a halt, their centurions trotting tiredly up the road to cluster round the First Spear, while the chosen men and watch officers pulled torches from each century’s mule cart and readied them for lighting. Frontinius waited until the last of the legion officers had reached him before starting his briefing, ignoring the fact that Tribune Belletor had yet to make an appearance.

  ‘Time isn’t on our side, gentlemen, so I’ll keep this brief. Decurion Silus’s reconnaissance confirms that we’ve been taken for fools, and decoyed away from the city in order for Obduro to have the time and leisure to smash his way into the grain store and make his escape with enough corn to keep his men fed for the best part of a year. And we can’t allow that to happen. On top of that, the emperor’s gold is also in the city, and whilst I expect Julius has enough presence of mind to see off any gang interest, several hundred bandits would be a different matter. So after we get the men back on their feet we’re going all the way back to the city at the double, and there won’t be any time to issue orders.’ He looked around the cluster of serious-faced men, now barely visible as darkness crept over the landscape. ‘So you’re going to have to use your initiative, and we’ll depend on sheer numbers to do the job for us. Once we’re within sight of the city I’m going to blow one long blast on my whistle, which will be the signal to halt the march and form up for the attack. Use the torches of the men in front of you as your guide, and we’ll keep it simple, given that it’ll be pitch black by then. Odd-numbered centuries will deploy to the left, even numbers to the right. Find the end of the line and anchor your century onto it. I want one long line and no gaps, or we’ll have men blundering about in the dark in no time. A one-cohort front ought to be wide enough, so we’ll have the Second Cohort lined up behind the First, and the legion behind them. I don’t care if they run to the east, but any man trying to escape through us dies. And the tribune’s put a bounty on the head of their leader. There are ten gold aurei waiting for the man that brings me the head of this man Obduro still wearing his helmet.’ Eyebrows were raised around the circle of men at the size of the reward on offer. ‘Yes, he wants the man dead badly enough to offer a year’s pay to the man that can deliver it. And we want to avoid half of our men killing the other half, so we’ll use the watchword system to minimise the chance of mistakes. The challenge will be “Mithras”, the response “Unconquered”. Any man that doesn’t know the response should be considered an enemy, but make sure your men use some sense. The lads in the grain store won’t know the response, and neither will Julius’s men. Dismissed!’

  Tribune Belletor, who had walked up to the group while the first spear had delivered Scaurus’s orders, stepped forward with a serious look on his face as the centurions dispersed back to their men.

  ‘Colleague, I fear my horse has gone lame.’

  Scaurus nodded, his expression unreadable in the twilight.

  ‘As I thought it might. It’s been favouring one foot for most of the day.’

  Frontinius realised that Belletor’s voice lacked its usual bombast, and folded his arms in expectation of what was coming.

  ‘So I’m clearly going to have to walk. Perhaps you could reduce the pace a little? I doubt I’ll be able to . . .’

  Scaurus shook his head, reinforcing the almost invisible gesture with an extravagant sweep of his hand.

  ‘Absolutely not. You’ve got men depending on us to push through the pain and come to their rescue before it’s too late, and I’ll not be jeopardising their chances because you’ve neglected your own physical conditioning. Keep up for as long as you can, and if you have to drop out keep a tent party with you for safety, but don’t expect the column to stop.’ He turned away from the glowering Belletor and beckoned Frontinius closer, waving his thanks as a soldier with a newly lit torch stepped near to illuminate their discussion.

  ‘Time to be on our way, First Spear. I wish you good fortune in the battle to come. Perhaps this time you might stay behind the line of your men? You know as well as I do just how confused a fight can get at night, and I’d hate to lose you to one of their spears, much less one of our own.’

  Frontinius chuckled dourly.

  ‘I’ll stay close to you, Tribune, but for exactly the same reason. Someone has to make sure none of these idiots puts his iron through you by mistake.’

  The two men clasped arms, nodding at each other in recognition of the risk they were about to take in throwing their men into the confusion of a night battle. Frontinius turned away and tapped his trumpeter on the arm.

  ‘Sound the advance! Let’s go and see just how good Obduro’s Treveri are in the dark.’

  ‘First Spear!’

  Sergius ran up the steps onto the grain store’s wall in response to the summons, staring out onto darkened ground between store and city. Barely a hundred men were left of the original cohort strength that had been at Obduro’s back as he’d confronted the defenders moments before, their ranks illuminated by torches.

  ‘Where are the rest of them?’

  ‘That’s why I called you, sir! The rest of them have split to either side of the store.’

  The first spear turned back to the men waiting behind the wall with lit torches, and barked an urgent command.

  ‘They’re going to come over the rooftops.
Get ready to kill them as they hit the ground!’ The legionaries and soldiers spread out, their spears held ready to strike, but after a few moments’ wait it became apparent that the expected threat wasn’t materialising. Sergius stalked across the store’s empty interior, waving both his own chosen man and Julius’s to him. Julius, who had been sitting on the ground outside Felicia’s improvised surgery with his wounded leg stretched out straight, climbed awkwardly to his feet and hobbled across to join them, using a spear shaft as a makeshift support for the weakened limb. He grimaced at Sergius, who nodded his head to recognise their shared understanding.

  ‘Smart boys. They know we’re waiting for them so they’re going to hack their way into one of the granaries and then fight their way out as a group. Get your lads to listen quietly and you’ll soon find out where they’re working at the walls.’

  The soldiers spread out throughout the store, opening the individual granary doors and listening for any sign that the bandits were attempting to dig their way through the thick brick walls. A man standing outside a granary on the store’s western side waved his torch up and down to attract the officers’ attention, and Sergius ran across to the spot, followed by his hobbling Tungrian colleague. The sound of men hacking at the granary’s exterior brickwork was clear enough with the wide wooden doors unbarred and opened, and the two centurions exchanged a significant glance. Sergius gestured a tent party men forward, pointing into the store.

  ‘As we discussed it, get your shoes and belt order off, and get in there. And remember, the second they put a hole in the wall you get out and make sure you leave the doors open. After that all you’ve got to do is run for your lives . . .’

  ‘It seems we’ve lost your colleague already, Tribune.’

  Scaurus turned his head to look back down the column’s length, following the first spear’s pointing hand to see a small cluster of torches falling behind the last legion century. He laughed bitterly through the pain of the stitch that was torturing his stomach, his face contorted by the stabbing pain.

  ‘I’ve a fair idea how he’s feeling.’

  Frontinius patted his labouring tribune on the shoulder.

  ‘You’ll get through it. And you have to; they’re all watching you . . .’

  A voice from behind them spoke over the din of the soldiers’ hobnailed boots rapping on the road’s rough surface.

  ‘Which side of your body hurts, sir?’

  Scaurus looked back at the men following him, finding in their faces the same agony he was enduring. In the wavering torchlight he saw that one of them, a twenty-year veteran from the look of him, had his eyebrows raised in question.

  ‘It’s in my right side.’

  Even the words hurt, and for a moment he found himself wrestling with the thought of falling out of the line of march, the prospect of blessed relief from the pain mixed with the certainty that the column would disintegrate into chaos were he to stop marching. The hard-faced veteran smiled encouragingly at him, nodding his head vigorously, and while the tribune knew that his first spear would be poised to intervene, and tell the soldier to mind his own business, Frontinius was clearly holding back his instinctive retort.

  ‘I gets the same thing every time we marches this quick! If you breathe out hard as your left boot hits the road it’ll go away soon enough.’

  Scaurus nodded at the soldier, consciously exhaling as instructed, and after a hundred paces he found the nagging pain was starting to diminish, only slightly at first, but then more swiftly, as the soldier’s trick took greater effect. Able to speak without agony again he turned to Frontinius with a growing sense of relief that the overwhelming urge to stop marching had passed.

  ‘I don’t know what difference it makes, but that man’s trick seems to have worked.’

  The first spear pointed forward into the darkness beyond the small circle of illumination cast by the column’s torches. As they crested a shallow ridge the city had come into view, still two miles distant but clear enough through the clear night air; the watch fires burning on its high walls were flickering pinpricks of light. Beneath the walls a cluster of lights were gathered around the spot where he estimated the grain store must stand, and the tribune’s mouth tightened as he realised the depth of Obduro’s ambition.

  ‘You were right, First Spear. I can only curse myself for throwing the entire force west to chase shadows while leaving the city unprotected.’

  Frontinius grunted, his attention fixed on the scene before them.

  ‘Not entirely undefended, Tribune. We’ll have to hope that Sergius and Julius can give a good account of themselves.’

  Tornach pulled the last of the three climbers over the city wall’s parapet, then led them down the stone stairs that took them to the city’s west gate. Mounting the steps built on either side of the gate, two men on each side, they lifted the higher of the two weighty bracing bars that prevented the heavy doors from opening, dropping the wooden beam to the ground before repeating the action with the other. Dragging the beams away from the gateway they heaved the doors open, then stepped back to allow their leader to enter the city. Walking slowly into the city at the head of half a dozen men, Obduro stared about him with evident satisfaction.

  ‘Close the gate!’ He waited while the bracing bars were dropped back into place, securing the entrance and isolating the city from any external aid. ‘And so I return. If only I had the time I could make this excrescence of a city into a name that would echo down the ages for the terror of my revenge.’ He sighed, shaking his head. ‘The horror that we could visit upon this place, given a day and a night in which to celebrate our worship of the goddess. The streets would run with the blood of these unbelievers.’ Reaching for the cavalry helmet, he pulled it down onto his head and lowered the face mask. ‘No matter. While the inhabitants of this cesspit cower in their houses we have business to conduct. Let’s see just how pleased our colleague Albanus is to be liberated from his captivity, shall we?’ He turned and spoke quietly to Tornach while his deputy stared into the face mask’s impassivity. ‘And you, my brother, you have excelled in your actions, sending that fool Scaurus away on a fruitless chase to the west and opening the city for our entry. The time is coming when we’ll have no more need for deception and deceit, when we can openly rule the forest in the goddess’s name, but I need one more thing from you. Go and prepare our exit from the city while I gather the prize that will set us free from this empire and its restrictions.’

  Marcus and Arabus stood together a mile from the city, watching the lights swarming around the grain store from the vantage point where the Roman had watched for Qadir’s signal earlier that day. Their ride from the bandit fortress had been uneventful, and the duty centurion at Mosa Ford had allowed them across the bridge once Marcus’s identity had been proven, albeit with looks of undisguised enmity at the tracker sitting behind the centurion.

  ‘You want to watch that one; he’ll slit your throat and—’

  Marcus had overridden his warning with an uncharacteristic lack of patience.

  ‘I’ve no time to bandy words with you, Centurion. There are hundreds of bandits attacking Tungrorum and my place is there, not listening to your prejudices, no matter how well founded they might be. And you might want to consider the sturdiness of your gate, and your men. This is their most likely escape route back into the forest, I’d say.’

  Night had fallen by the time they had reached the spot from which they were now watching the attack on the city, and all that Marcus could see were the bandits’ torches clustered around the grain store.

  ‘Just as he planned it. A diversionary attack to keep the defenders pinned down, and with the possibility of capturing enough grain to keep them fed for months, while Obduro himself attends to the main business of the night. All of the gates will be shut and barred, and whichever way he gets in isn’t going to stay open once he’s inside. We’ll just have to hope that the only other way in is still open.’

  ‘That’s close enough
.’

  Sergius put a hand on the arm of the soldier standing next to him, restraining the man’s urge to move nearer to see what was happening inside the granary. Dimly lit by the flickering light of the soldier’s torch, the men inside were working frantically, half of them slitting the grain bags and upending them onto the stone floor in streams of golden corn, while others threw handfuls of the grain up into the air. The enclosed space was already thick with a fog of choking dust, and the soldiers were starting to labour at their task, slowing down as exertion and the effect on their lungs began to tell in fits of violent coughing, despite the scarves tied across their mouths.

  ‘Is that sufficient, do you think?’

  Julius stared hard at the scene for a moment.

  ‘Send fresh men in. We need to get as much dust into the air as we can if this is going to work.’

  The work party staggered out into the fresh air at Sergius’s command. They were wraithlike figures, their skin and clothing coated in white dust and their bodies wracked by heaving coughs. The first spear ordered another tent party into the store, and had the stricken soldiers dragged clear. One of them got to his feet and addressed his centurion, his voice a wheezing whisper.

  ‘Won’t be long . . . First Spear . . . I could hear . . . their voices . . . through what’s left . . . of the wall.’

  Sergius patted him on the shoulder and turned back to the soldier who was waiting behind him with a spear gripped in one hand, a rag tied about its iron head.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  The legionary nodded, bracing his massive body at his centurion’s question.

  ‘Yes, First Spear, the legionary is ready as instructed!’

  Sergius smiled wryly back at him.

  ‘Good. Now relax. You’re the best man in the century with a thrown spear. You know it, your fellow soldiers know it, and, most importantly, I’m convinced of it. All I need from you is one very simple thing, something I’ve seen you do a thousand times in weapons drill. I need you to put your spear through the doorway of that granary, clean through it and into the building, mind you. If you can do that for me I’ll make you an immune, and you’ll never have to clean out the latrines again. Does that sound good to you?’