Текст книги "Swords of Rome"

Автор книги: Christopher Buckner

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“The old man gave us one hour, right?” Maurus asked as he started to fidget some as he noticed that a few of the gladiators had glanced over at them, staring longer than he was comfortable with.

“I know he isn’t as quick as he used to be, but he is coming, right?” Maurus nervously asked again.

“Just shut up and do your fucking job,” Cato bellowed as he stared-down any man who glanced over at him.

Gaius, on the other hand, remained silent. His eyes were fixed on one gladiator who walked with a group of four other men. He then realized this man was the same that had exited the tent, before he had killed the two guards who had originally been posted here.

“Oh no,” Maurus muttered as he watched the man stop in his tracks, and turn towards the three Romans.

“Be calm. I will deal with this,” Gaius uttered under his breath.

“Where are Dougal and Torin? I told them not to leave their posts,” the man called with a rough Greek accent.

The gladiator was very tall, muscular, badly scared and twice Gaius’ age. More imposing was the fact that this man was built like a bear. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat on his body, which had been hardened by decades of battles won in the arena. And for a moment as the man and his escorts neared, Gaius thought that he recognized him as well.

His eyes flashed red when he saw the medallion, knowing what it meant: this man had killed Antony and took the bond that represented a brotherhood of two boyhood friends.

“I said…” the gladiator tried to say, but Gaius roared as he drew his sword and rushed the tall man, whose eyes opened wide with surprise.

Gaius heard between his blood rage the name Calfaxas it was yelled by one of his escorts as Gaius spilt first blood.

Calfax just barely heeded his man’s warning as he stepped back, but not far enough as Gaius’ sword ran across his stomach.

The blade went deep, but not deep enough to cause any serious harm to him. He had worse injuries and in time, it would just be another scar to add to the many hundreds more that crisscrossed his body.

“Bloody hell!” Maurus cried out as he and Cato each drew their swords and rushed forward, joining Gaius as they attacked the four other gladiators who tried to protect Calfax.

As Calfax withdrew from Gaius’ first assault, the nearest gladiator who had accompanied him stepped up. He swung wildly, which forced Gaius to cancel his attack on Calfax.

The second strike came quickly but Gaius easily deflected the gladiator’s horizontal strike that, when his sword, a weaker Greek weapon was pushed aside. Gaius spun in the opposite direction and struck low as the tip of his blade sliced cleanly through the back knee of the first gladiator.

The man screamed as all two hundred and fifteen pounds of him dropped to the ground like a rock. Gaius then easily drove his sword down into the man’s shoulder, angling the blade so it tore through his vital.

The flesh was soft and the iron of his blade easily pierced through the man’s dark skin and as Gaius withdrew his blade, blood gushed out, squirting all over his face, chest and arms. He then turned towards Calfax, who had drawn his own sword, two of them, in fact. He didn’t care that Maurus and Cato had engaged the remaining three gladiators, or that their fight had gotten the attention of dozens of other men, who at first was a little confused to who was attacking their leader.

“You killed him!” Gaius accused as he moved towards Calfax, who now grinned at the younger Roman.

“I’ve killed many Romans, boy, and I don’t bother asking any of them for their names,” Calfax stated.

“His name was Antony, and he was my friend!” Gaius attacked, but his violent blows were blocked easily by the senior fighter.

Calfax didn’t counterattack. He was enjoying the Roman’s rage, seemly feeding on it as Gaius’ abandoned years of training, discipline and careful practiced form. He just wanted blood.

“I will take back what is his!” Gaius bellowed again as he rushed in, swinging his sword in a series of deadly arcs that failed to get through Calfax’s decades of practice, and hundreds of won battles.

“Oh,” Calfax started to laugh uncontrollably as it dawned on him what Gaius was blabbering about. “It is this you are talking about?” He indicated to the medallion that had fancied his eyes at Cannae, the very one he had taken off from Antony’s still warm corpse.

“He was a weak one. Young and suckle. He should have been sucking on his mother’s tits than pretending to be a soldier,” Calfax mocked, which infuriated Gaius even more as he rushed forward, trying to bring the bigger man down with brute force, but Calfax struck, his blade ripping through Gaius’ right upper arm, forcing him to rear back. Stubbornly, Gaius attacked again, and once more Calfax cut him, this time across his back.

The cuts weren’t deep enough to keep him down, but it was enough to further break Gaius’ concentration, weakening what advantages he might have had to stand equal.

A large crowd gathered. They knew that their leader, the best among them would want to deal with the young and arrogant Roman himself, so instead, most turned towards Maurus and Cato, who desperately tried to hold their own against an increasing number of opponents. If the gladiators had rushed they could have killed the two Romans easily, but they thought that the three were only escaped prisoners, so to them this was just another game to play. They would break them down like a pack of wild dog's hunting, waiting for Cato and Maurus to grow tired; their reaction times slower, and then advance for the kill.

Gaius fucked up. He knew it now, and two of his best men were going to pay for his mistake – for his blind rage and momentary madness.

“Your man, he shit and pissed himself as I ran my sword across his throat. I’ve faced better Romans before, but what I’ve seen during recent years, shames me as to how far your kind has fallen,” Calfax taunted as he circled.

“He was no coward, nor were any of my people you slaughtered, slave! They were too young to wear the armor of the legion – they were just boys – boys who childhoods you and your kindred stole when you forced this damn war upon my people.” Gaius’ strength seemed to be failing him, but he found enough to stay on his feet and stand against Calfax.

“Brave words, boy, but Rome is not innocent, nor are its people. Your damn Republic has stolen everything from me and many more like me; our lives, our loves, our honor and dignity!” Calfax’s words grew angrier as he started hacking away at Gaius’ defenses. Each savage blow felt like hammer strikes against Gaius’ weakening arms.

“I will slaughter your men, your women and your children for as long as the gods allow me, until I no longer draw any breath. I will see every Roman dead; your wretched Republic destroyed and every last stone in your filthy city torn down. I will make you allpay for everything you and yours have done for generations, starting with you!”

Gaius’ wrist shattered under the onslaught as he screamed in agony, not so much out of pain, but in knowing he was done – defeated by a man more powerful and skilled than he could ever hope to be.

His sword lied by his side as Gaius dropped down to his knees, cradled his aching wrist. He glanced around him for a moment as all sound seemed to be muffled. He saw the growing crowd of gladiators as they cheered for Calfax, and roared as new opponents stepped up and challenged the two other Romans.

Gaius watched, unable to do anything as one gladiator snuck up behind Cato and thrust his sword through his lower back. His screams were silent even though Gaius could see that his mouth was wide open, but he heard nothing.

Another man attacked Cato from the front, pushing his spear into the Roman’s chest, and then withdrew it only to thrust in once more.

Cato was still alive as he dropped to the ground, his bloodied face staring up at Gaius, seemly calling out to him.

Gaius turned his eyes towards Maurus, his oldest friend within the Sixth Legion. He fought one man, sword to sword, but failed to see the second man in time as he cut into Maurus’ lower back, which sent a stream of blood squirting out from the wound as Maurus turned and jammed his sword into the man’s face.

A second strike came from behind once again, this time piercing into his upper left shoulder. His sword fell from his grip the moment the enemy weapon was withdrawn from his flesh.

Another man rushed forward and kicked Maurus across his face. He fell down to the ground as a group of four men started beating him violently with their feet, roaring with cheers and laughter as they did so. Neither Cato nor Maurus would be allowed to die quickly. Their torment was going to go on as long as the gladiators saw fit.

Gaius then turned back and looked up at Calfax, who was walking over to him as he was rested down on both of his knees. And for a moment as he stared at the old gladiator, he felt as he had when he was a kid, after watching this same man slaughter five other opponents with hardly any efforts on his part. Calfax was born for killing. It was his art, and he was a world-class master.

“You were not the best I’ve fought, Roman, nor were you the worst. I hope that may give you some comfort before the end, my young friend,” Calfax said as he readied to run his sword across Gaius’ neck.

As the end was about to come, Gaius could feel the air changed from the murderous joy of the gladiators, to one of panic. Something was happening, not near enough for him to see, but everyone knew something was wrong as men started yelling, subsequently screaming, and after that, dying in droves as the ground rumbled as five hundred Roman horsemen came charging through the camp.

The gladiators tried to react but most turned and ran the second they saw the first horsemen tear through their ranks, tents and any other object that was set before them. And then, large groups of Romans, the freed prisoners clutching whatever they could find, roaring with rage as, they dog-piled anyone who was unfortunate enough to be in their way.

Calfax was distracted long enough that Gaius acted quickly, and despite the pain, he was in, he leapt to his feet and charged headlong.

Calfax didn’t have time to react as his swords were knocked free as Gaius collided into him, carrying him several feet before the two men slammed against the side of a nearby tent. The supports weren’t strong enough to stand against the two men combined weight and momentum. It collapsed around them, but it was Gaius who was able to get out first.

He quickly staggered back to his feet as the fabric enveloped Calfax, who struggled to free himself.

Gaius frantically looked for a sword, but settled for a spear that was lying nearby. When he grabbed it, his intention was to turn back and run it through Calfax’s body, but he couldn’t as another gladiator ran towards him in a drunken charge – yelling at the top of his lungs.

Gaius impaled the man easily, but under his weight, the spear broke as he dropped to the ground.

Another gladiator was about to attack Gaius, who was now defenseless, but before this man could, he was struck dead-center by a javelin. The force alone threw the man off of his feet as the long iron shaft stuck out of his chest.

Gaius turned as he heard his named called by the Roman, who had just saved his life. The rider tossed him a sword as he snatched it out of the air. By now, however, as he turned back to where he left Calfax, the man was gone. For a moment, Gaius thought about racing after him, but his thoughts quickly returned to the mission at hand.

He ran over to where both Cato and Maurus lay. Maurus was already on his feet, standing over Cato, who was screaming in agony.

As Gaius looked down at his officer, he didn’t know if the man could survive the next hour. So, there was no time to waste as he signaled for a group of riders to come over to him.

Seven in all arrived and quickly dismounted and awaited orders.

“The consul, he and his slave are in this tent. Get both out of here at once. And take both Cato and Maurus with you,” Gaius yelled, relaying his orders over the chaos that had erupted from all around them.

“I am fine. I can stay and fight!” Maurus pleaded, even though he had his hand held over the gash across his stomach, which was still oozing blood.

“No, you are not! And you are not staying here either in this condition. You have your orders. Get the consul out of here – Now!”

Maurus didn’t argue as he was helped onto the back of one horse, while Cato’s body was dropped over the rear of another. A moment later the slave Claudia exited the tent escorted by a Roman, while two other carried Paullus’ body between them.

“Go! And do not stop for anyone until you have made it to our column!” Gaius yelled as the riders reared their horses and galloped back towards where the battle had started from.

Gaius waited, making sure that the riders had gotten out of the camp, or at least as long as he could see them before they were enveloped by hundreds more horsemen and infantry on the ground. Then, he turned towards a group of two dozen men, some freed soldiers, others belonging to his legion and rallied them as he and they ran off, their destination, the cages that held the rest of the captured men.

The battle had been sudden and many gladiators were already dead, but it was far from over.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Valerius stood under the shadow of one of the rolling hills that surrounded the gladiator camp. The full moon was hung behind the encampment. He strained his eyes trying to fix on any one target, but even with the light of the moon and the surrounding torches, it was difficult this late to identify any particular individual. This concerned him. He wondered if it wasn’t just his age catching up to him. He recalled in his youth that he had eyes like a hawk. However, none of his nearby men who also kept an ever watchful eye on the camp could see anything that might indicate that his plan was exposed. The screams of his countrymen could easily be heard. This was the only real indication that his plan had not been foiled.

As Valerius glanced over towards his awaiting men – a hundred horsemen and two hundred heavy infantry, he could see in each of their eyes their desperate anticipation to race down the hill. They had suffered too many defeats and saw many of their countrymen die at the hands of Hannibal’s army. They wanted – no, needed to bloody their swords, and with each new chorus of cries emerging from the camp, Valerius had to urge his men to be patient, just a little while longer.

He saw many horrors in his long life; too many battles and too many wars, death and mayhem were nothing new to the old veteran. This, however, was different. The very thought of fellow Romans, the survivors of Cannae being tortured to death for sport, by lowly slaves, was unbearable. If it were in his power, he would race down the hill on his own and slaughter them all, to the last with his bare hands. However, just getting on his horse some nights was a challenge. He knew that, one way or another, this was his last war.

Finally, Valerius knew it was time. If all went as he had planned, Gaius and the dozen men that went down there with him should have removed the outer guards and made ready the attack from within. If not, he knew, as capable as his men were that they didn’t have the manpower or time to spare to take the whole camp if it were defended. The sun would be rising soon, within the next two hours, and he doubted that there were enough captured Romans down there to keep the gladiators occupied past morning. So time was not on his side.

Now was the time to act.

With only a whisper Valerius turned towards the nearest officer, a boy, too young to be a centurion, and gave the word for the men to mount their horses and make ready.

The message was quickly relayed from man to man.

Slowly, and with as little noise as possible, save for a few words from the horses as they were mounted, Valerius and his single cavalry cohort began their slow and careful march over the hill and towards the gladiator camp, which was under a mile from their current position. They would shock the enemy with speed, while the infantry swept in behind them and slaughtered the stragglers.

He didn’t order his men into a full gallop, not yet. He led from the front, spreading his men out wide. Their horses moved steadily in a parade pace. Always he kept his eyes ahead, expecting every minute the horn to sound, warning the gladiators of his riders approach. However, after the first quarter mile, he heard nothing save for the continuing cheers and screams that carried for miles in all directions.

Within a half-mile, Valerius increased his speed, which was followed by his men. Now the ground started to rumble ever so slightly as the clattering of armor and weapons fill the blackened horizon.

His heart started to race. He felt young again, filled with the anticipation of the charge. He hadn’t done this in so long. This was how his men were supposed to fight – their enemy straight ahead – no tricks or traps, just man and iron.

The outer walls were in sight. As he had hoped and expected, Gaius had not failed in his given task. Not a single gladiator sentry was in sight. The whole camp was undefended.

With a thunderous roar, Valerius cried-out as he drew his spear and kicked his horse into a full gallop. He outpaced the rest of his men for a fraction of a second as the horsemen cried out, drew their weapons and charged at full speed.

A moment later, an alarm did sound as there was no hiding the fact that the gladiators were under attack. Only now it was too late to mount any kind of proper defense.

The low makeshift wall couldn’t stop the horses from leaping over it, or breaking right through it.

Valerius remained out in front of his men, ahead of them by a few yards as his horse leaped feet first over the wall. He was smiling like a boy as he saw his target, a lone gladiator, a dark-skinned man who froze with panic in his eyes as he saw the still screaming Valerius come right at him.

Valerius struck before the slave could do anything to defend himself.

As the man’s head split, the spear rattled terribly in his hand, which nearly caused him to lose it; he held on and continued forward, never stopping as more and more slaves ran out in front of him.

Those he did not kill outright his horse slammed into. With its weight and momentum, dozens of slaves were trampled by the wall of horsemen who followed Valerius.

Blood spattered across his face as his blade cut across another man’s throat. This time, he did lose his spear as the blade, which had quickly become dull and useless stuck as it hit bone.

Quickly, he drew from behind him one of three smaller throwing spears. It didn’t take long before he found another rebel slave as he threw the spear at a woman who had charged at him; a small dagger in hand. His aim was true as the shaft tore between the woman’s breasts.

No sooner than he had thrown the first spear did a second man run up beside him, trying, or more so hoping that he could trip the horse and force Valerius down to the ground.

Valerius thrust, the spear just barely managed to clip the man across his face, tearing deeply into his left cheek. It wasn’t a killing strike, but he went down regardless.

Valerius had his last weapon in hand. Now deeper within the camp the gladiators were starting to rally. The early, easy victories were harder fought as he caught sight of a number of his men go down; either their horses tripped, or they were hit by a well aimed arrow or spear throw. Still, not all the gladiators were willing to fight as large groups were running, most weaponless as they ran in the opposite direction of the Roman horsemen.

He caught sight of one large group of fleeing slaves; a mixture of men and women who raced towards the northern walls, and for a moment, he thought about given chase. He could easily catch them and drop three, maybe even five of them before he had to veer off. However, the group stopped dead in their tracks as a larger party of tattered, beaten and tortured freed Romans ambushed them.

Valerius' smile widened as he watched his countrymen, after having seen their comrades mutilated and tortured for hours, carried out their vengeance on their jailors. Those few with weapons hacked at the wall of panicked bodies while the others dog-piled the rest, beating them down, man and woman alike with their bare hands or whatever they could find on the ground. A few Romans died during the process, but their numbers were too great to be stopped. And across the camp, the scene was repeating as the gladiators soon found they had nowhere to run.

Valerius caught sight of his next target, a lone man who looked more like a child who couldn’t have been older than fifteen. More than likely he was a runaway slave who had joined this army. At the moment, Valerius did not care about the boy’s age or the frightful terror that was in his eyes, as he glanced back, while still running as fast as his young legs could carry him.

Valerius yelled something. He didn’t really know what he had said in the heat of the moment as he took aim while in a slow gallop. It just came naturally. He wasn’t typically a person, at least in his age to taunt his enemies before he killed them. However, in his carelessness, caught up in his youth as he bore down on the running boy, he failed to catch sight of the real threat.

Just as he was about to unleash his spear, Valerius’ grip on his weapon was suddenly knocked free as he felt a very sharp and extremely painful sting hit him right in his arm pit.

The old veteran yelled in agony as he knew from experience that an arrow had struck him just above his armor.

In near full gallop he wasn’t able to hold on the reins of his horse as he fell off his animal and tumbled into the blood-soaked ground where the arrow that stuck out of his armpit snapped from the impact, where the head was pushed deeper into his body.

The pain seemed to be numbed as his face was caked with mud, but as he rolled over onto his back, the moment he tried to move his arm, all he could do was scream out again.

Before the gladiator could hit him again with a second well aimed shot, the man was impaled three times by Roman spears, as a group of riders saw Valerius go down and instantly redirected their attacks to defend their leader.

Two men leaped down from their horses and covered Valerius with their shields without hesitation to the danger they were putting themselves in. Right away, a number of arrows and spears hit their shields. Clearly, they weren’t the only ones that saw Valerius go down. If his men hadn’t acted as quickly as they had he would be dead already.

Soon the two were joined by a dozen more. They created a wall that was impenetrable.

Two men appeared behind Valerius. Worry in their eyes they pulled him out from under the Romans who shielded him. He seemed a bit dazed as he stared up at his officers who continuously called for him. Only then did he realize that they were trying to get him to respond, to gauge how hurt he was. With the arrow shaft broken none could see where he had been hit, and the large cake of mud that covered him obstructed any signs of blood.

One of the officers signaled for a horse and rider to carry Valerius out of the battle. He suddenly felt very embarrassed at his vulnerability. His people weren’t supposed to see him like this and every second they spent trying to safeguard him, they put themselves in more danger as the battle continued around them. More so, however, he felt ashamed. He lost his mind in the heat of the battle. He trained his Wolves for years not to give into their natural desires during combat and remain level headed, but for the first time in many decades, he had returned to his youth – those foolish years of his brash arrogance that had wounded and eventually killed his best friend Julius, Gaius’ father, when he was too stubborn and believed he was immortal. However, he was not young anymore and his slower reaction and diminished senses had finally caught up to him.

He slumped over the horse’s back, barely aware that he was up off of the ground. Another Roman had the horse’s reins tied to his own. A few moments later the sounds of fighting became distant. And a minute more Valerius was unconscious.