‘Consider it done,’ and, without another word, he had gone.
Aegis, Muto, Thulius and Gnaeus had succeeded in appearing dead, as the black riders passed by, though in truth the opportunity for a close inspection was not possible. The riders stayed in the trees and wanted to keep the pressure on the convoy. So the dead lay undisturbed, until four ghostly figures rose voluntarily and quickly melted into trees, unobserved by the riders who were too concerned with an enemy to its front. Aegis picked his way through the undergrowth. He had taken the lead, signalling to his men when to hide and when to advance. They moved without sound, the black riders who were once the hunters had, unbeknown to them, become the hunted.
The trees thinned slightly and less than twenty paces ahead a group of three black riders appeared in front of Aegis. He surveyed the area and became aware of a further rider, ten paces in front of the initial three. The riders were cautious, allowing only one man to move forward whilst the rest looked for men charging from the convoy or helped to pin point targets. The furthest rider loosed his arrow. It arched into the air and then gradually began its downward journey. It embedded, with a thud, into a wagon. The shooter cursed his luck, for the huge warrior who had been giving orders to the rest of the men scurrying around the wagon had only just moved from the spot the arrow now occupied. He turned, expecting ridicule from his comrades only to be shocked by the fact that they were nowhere to be seen. The curse which he had begun to utter was never heard, for a huge black hand clamped around his mouth. His brain had little time to register the panic, before a blade smashed through his back tearing all before it.
The second group of riders fared no better, all succumbing to the stealth as lethal warriors arrived without warning. Aegis moved onto the third group. There was no time to dawdle for his comrades on the convoy were dying and it was not long before his skill at tracking found the next small group of riders. Because of the position of the riders the chance of getting close without being spotted was unlikely and so the timid approach was abandoned. Aegis and his men charged, sounding their battle cry as they went. Three of the riders fell easily, the shock of the enemy emerging from the trees causing them to hesitate, a hesitation which would see them slain. Gnaeus however had stumbled on a tree root and his enemy had fired an already notched arrow. It took Gnaeus in the right shoulder and, before he could react, his enemy had drawn his sword and slashed at him. The blow hit Gnaeus and his throat erupted, turning the world around him into shade of scarlet. The rider though had little time to celebrate his victory for Aegis wrenched him bodily from his horse, the warrior landing a huge fist into the riders face. The dazed rider looked up from the ground to see three enemy standing over him, swords drawn. He smiled weakly trying to ingratiate himself with them.
‘Seems your day is not going to improve,’ Aegis threw down his sword as he spoke and pulled a razor sharp dagger from his belt, the rider's eyes widened in terror.
The deadly shafts continued to rain in. Burying into any exposed flesh, be it man, horse or oxen although the oxen seemed to have been largely left alone. On the whole Spartacus could only guess these men in the woods wanted to take anything of value and to do so they would need the wagons. Spartacus had worked out the riders were working in six groups, two from behind and two on each flank. However, the arrows coming from the rear had gradually slowed and now they seemed to have stopped altogether. He wondered if that was the work of Aegis and his men, or simply whether the riders were re-positioning so they could cause more carnage. All he could do is hope, for up to now six men had been killed with a further nine injured and two of those would not see another sunset.
Suddenly a terrible scream filled the air. It came from the flank of the convoy, and it was swiftly followed by many more. Clearly the riders had heard the same screams, for the arrows at first slowed and then came to a total halt and it was clear that they were investigating the sounds. Spartacus smiled, he hated missile warfare. If you fought you should fight looking your opponent in the eye and not cowardly hiding behind a bush. He just hoped that Aegis and his men made it back to the convoy safely, for it was in need of good men.
Sometime later Aegis and his men came into the camp calling out first to ensure they were not mistaken for the enemy. He approached Spartacus and Cassian, a broad smile on his face. Blood covered his torso and limbs.
‘You are injured?’ Cassian inquired.
‘No my lord the blood is that of our enemies and unfortunately that of Gnaeus our man who has not returned with us,’ Aegis replied, his smile faltering as he spoke of a fallen comrade. ‘The riders have gathered further back to lick their wounds, but fourteen of them shall never again raise arms against us.’
‘You have done well,’ Spartacus said, ‘but I fear it will not be long before they return to torment us with more of those damned arrows.’
‘The men we took down had only limited amounts of missiles. Soon they will need to meet us face to face.’
‘You see Spartacus, as I said the advantage begins to change.’ Cassian spoke without arrogance, it was merely a statement of fact.
‘I pray you are correct but for now they still get to choose when and where to fight, that is advantage enough. I suggest we send out scouts and pinpoint where they are exactly, for we need to reach the bridge soon, so both man and beast can rest.’
The scouts were sent and it was not long before they returned with news. The riders had moved up ahead of the column, tracking its movement from a safe distance, obviously unsure of their next move. Every once in a while a rider would come within bow range and lose a couple of arrows towards the convoy, but the woods had thinned now and the riders could be seen as they drew closer. Men had time to take cover and before long no arrows came. It was clear the enemy would need to be closer from now on. They clearly had no intention of charging in and, as the day marched on, they moved further away from the convoy, even slipping behind it to a point where the scouts had to move further away from the convoy and the rest of the men could relax.
The convoy ambled on up the dusty track until, just as the sun was beginning to dip in the sky, the small bridge came into view. The men who had been sent ahead had already made camp on the far side. The smell of roast rabbit wafted across the water and Spartacus could almost taste it. He glanced behind to ensure no last gesture was being made by the black riders and was happy to see the track clear.
The heavy carts rumbled across the bridge, it creaked like a ninety year old man rising from a favourite chair. Eventually, a safe distance from the bridge was attained and then the fires were lit. It took a while for the heavy embers to take light but eventually the bridge erupted into flames, lighting up the night sky. It lit up the opposing bank where what was left of the enemy rested. They arrogantly made camp and even acknowledged Spartacus’ men with a casual wave. The sentries were set but it was clear to all that enough men had died this day and it was time to rest.
The rabbit was good, succulent from first to last bite and the wine quenched the dry, bitter thirst that all had endured that day. Surprisingly the men were in high spirits, they had survived, and although they mourned those lost, soldiers could not afford to dwell too long on the fallen for it would numb the senses to the dangers which still lay ahead. The ghosts of the past would have to wait until simpler and safer times gave the respite from immediate dangers. Cassian sent a messenger on his way with a dispatch which he later explained was addressed to a local land owner with whom Cassian had dealt with many times. The man owed Cassian certain debts which should guarantee the man's services and obedience, despite the gentleman in question being positively the most vulgar individual Cassian had ever had the misfortune to meet.
Later, Cassian, Spartacus and Aegis sat huddled by the fire and discussed the losses of the day. Twelve men had died in all and two of the wounded would soon join them. Another two would take no further part in the mission, although Spartacus was pleased to see that Cassian had assured them that the wealth promised t
o them would be theirs when the mission was completed. So the band had lost nearly half its number. Seventeen men remained to see out the rest of the mission. Spartacus was starting to dislike the odds. Sensing this Cassian moved to reassure him.
‘That will be the worst of the land journey, the rest of the tracks run close or through friendly owned land. Those riders will need to travel two days to cross that river and they will find little help along the way. The majority of Crassus’ agents have been, shall we say, convinced to be quiet.’
‘I pray you are right, at this rate we will be pulling the carts ourselves,’ Spartacus replied.
‘I do hope not, this is a new tunic.’ Cassian joked.
The three men burst out laughing because, the usually immaculate Cassian, literally looked like he had been dragged around the Colosseum. His entire figure was a mix of blood, dirt and dust. Spartacus remarked.
‘Finally Cassian you know what it is to be a soldier.’
Chapter 6
The night passed without incident. The enemy riders still lazed the morning away when Spartacus and Cassian strolled through the camp. All of the survivors had remained within the camp meaning the previous day's exploits had not stirred the thought of flight within them. The two mortally wounded had not lasted the night and they were buried quickly without too much fuss. Cassian seemed not to want to upset the upbeat feeling within the camp. Fires were stoked and the morning meal was taken. A drop of wine went a long way to cheer the men even more. Shortly after the last of the plates had been hungrily cleared of food, news came from the scouts that riders were approaching the camp. However, they were not approaching from the river side, instead they approached from the track which the convoy was to follow. Nine riders were dressed in all the finery you would expect from a wealthy Roman landowner, the tenth was the messenger Cassian had dispatched the previous night. He still looked filthy and had obviously not been treated as an honoured guest by one of the nine others who Spartacus could only guess was the man Cassian had spoken of previously. They reigned in alongside Cassian. A few of the men had to scamper quickly to the side to avoid being trampled under hoof.
‘Cassian, by the Gods look at the state of you man!’ The words were spoken by a toad like man, who it seemed to Spartacus did not really suit his clothes. Here, he thought, was a man who dressed in the finest clothes the world could offer and yet still looked like a giant horse turd.
‘Crannicus,’ Cassian replied, ‘your journey went well I hope?’
‘Better than yours I dare say,’ he replied and continued, ‘you there,’ gesturing towards Spartacus, ‘help me down.’ It was not a request, but an order, an order from a man who was used to giving them.
Spartacus didn't speak but simply helped the overweight lump of a man from his horse, no easy mission in itself as, despite the power and strength possessed by Spartacus, both nearly went sprawling to the dirt. As Spartacus straightened, the man let out a loud belch which was only matched in volume by the terrible odour it produced. Spartacus almost gagged and thought of the Roman ballistae. Breathing their balls of fire was preferable to being within range of this man's bodily functions. He glanced to Cassian, who seemed to be secretly trying to give his apologies without alerting Crannicus. He then addressed Crannicus himself.
‘You received my list of the items I require?’
‘I did, all are ready at my villa at no small cost to myself may I add,’ Crannicus said sternly.
‘You will be well rewarded for any materials we need.’
‘That's all very well and,’ Crannicus paused to again let lose a titanic belch, which seemed to scare the birds from the trees, ‘good but I had plans for those wagons,’ he had continued without missing a beat.
Cassian, on the other hand, was constantly trying to stay up wind of the man and, as such, his conversation was becoming stunted.
‘Like I said, you will be very well paid and I need not remind you of certain other matters.’
‘You need not, I am well aware of those matters. The items are ready and may I suggest while you are at my villa you and your men take a bath, for you are quite disgusting.’ His last words were spoken as he casually scratched at his genitals.
‘Errrmmm, yes that would be most kind of you,’ Cassian stumbled by way of reply.
With that Crannicus returned to his horse and was helped aboard by the ever eager Plinius, who was rewarded by Crannicus breaking wind, the noise of which resembled a thunder clap which hit poor Plinius directly in the face. The group rode away, with Crannicus simply nodding to Cassian as he left.
Spartacus approached Plinius and slapped the boy on the shoulder.
‘Did I not tell you this mission would deliver to us untold dangers?’
‘Give me the black riders any day. I once cleared the dead from a battlefield, it took us two days but I have never smelt anything as bad as what comes from that man's arse,’ Plinius replied.
Bull who was standing to the side erupted into side splitting laughter and, struggling to speak, managed.
‘Your eyes are watering.’
Even Cassian was struggling to contain his amusement.
‘Maybe I should raise the payment for this mission, for even I did not realise its true dangers.’
The convoy moved away shortly afterwards. The mood was light but all the men took a nervous glance back towards the black riders on the opposite shore. Still they slumbered. Cassian noted this to Spartacus, surprised at the lack of movement from the enemy.
‘They will not follow our path.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘For dead men follow a different track.’ Spartacus said it with such finality that Cassian knew it to be true.
‘But how?’
‘I have always been a fine swimmer, my mother taught me as a boy. The guards were looking towards the bridge and I simply worked my way around and took each one in turn. I think they had allowed too much drink to be consumed for they never stirred from their dreams.’
‘Then why not tell the men?’ Cassian asked, whilst trying to hide his amazement at the actions of the man before him.
‘Because these men have to be on the edge, it will keep them alive. If they believe danger is lurking at every corner they will be on their guard. If not, they will die and I will do my damnedest to make sure that does not happen.’ As Spartacus spoke he moved away, wishing to be alone. For all his bravado about protecting the men, he knew it was a forlorn hope on this mission and, as battle hardened as he was, he could never truly reconcile himself to killing sleeping men. Sometimes he thought the simplicity of the arena was easier to deal with.
With the wagons moving at their usual slow pace and a wagon smashing a wheel, it was nearly nightfall before the convoy pulled into the courtyard of Crannicus’ villa. The man may have been fit only to sleep with swine but, by the Gods, he knew how to show off. The villa was a picture of opulence. Fantastic mosaics adorned the walls. Marble statuettes, mainly of beautiful women, gave the gardens that other world feeling where nymphs were common place. The gardens themselves were amazing, so vibrant with all the colours imaginable, making it a spectacle to behold. Even in the poor light Spartacus doubted he would ever see a place more beautiful. It confused him how a man who clearly took so little time over his own presentation could create such a place. Cassian seemed to read Spartacus’ mind and attempted to bring clarity.
‘You wonder about the compatibility of the home and the man?’ It was said as a question, but delivered more as a statement.
‘It had crossed my mind.’
‘You see Crannicus has two major gifts as a man. The first is he loves big business, the thrill of the success, and the second is the woman he chose to be his wife.’
‘She is responsible for this?’
‘Oh yes. She is named after the Roman goddess Flora who, if you were not aware, was the goddess of flowering plants and spring. It seems her parents could not have chosen a better name for her and, as her plants,
she seems to lighten the heart of whoever looks upon her.’ Cassian seemed to be lost in thought as he spoke.
‘So beautiful?’ Spartacus smiled at Cassian. He almost felt the urge to tease him, for he obviously had feelings for the woman.
‘You misunderstand me, she is attractive in a simple way. It is more the vigour for life she brings to a room when she enters, you will see for yourself,’ Cassian answered, a slight red flush upon his face.
Spartacus could not help but be intrigued. Any woman that could disarm a man such as Cassian merely by entering the room would indeed be worth meeting because, so far, there had been little to distract the man.
The hall was full of splendour as was the rest of the villa, to the point that Spartacus felt a little self conscious. He had seen lavishness before when back at the ludos. Batiacus had thrown lavish parties to win favour with important guests and at such parties the best of the gladiators were often put on show, like prize beasts. However, even Batiacus would have stumbled over his usually silken tongue at such beauty. Crannicus rose and hailed his guests, saying that his home was theirs and quickly called for more wine for his honoured guests. As he did so a female entered the hall waited on by two maidens. Crannicus turned to acknowledge her.
‘Ah Flora, my dutiful wife. Please come meet our guests, I believe you know my friend Cassian.’
‘Of course! Cassian, my dear friend, it has been too long since we last talked of politics,’ she replied. There was no usual proper nod and acknowledgement, and instead Flora launched herself and hugged Cassian as a long lost friend would do. Crannicus seemed annoyed at this show of emotion.
‘As you see Cassian, my wife still struggles to adhere to the proper protocol on such occasions.’
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