Текст книги "The Legion"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

CHAPTER EIGHT

'Sir!' a voice called to Macro. 'They're coming!'

He trotted over to the edge of the tower and saw the figures emerging between two rocks, less than a quarter of a mile away. They came on at a run and Macro quickly saw that he and his men were outnumbered at least three to one.

'What are you going to do?' asked Hamedes. 'There's too many of them. We should get out of here while there's still time. Or surrender.'

'Surrender? To that bastard? Never!' Macro snarled.

'Then let's run.'

'Run? Where? We're on a bloody headland. There's nowhere to run to, you idiot. Now shut up and give me a hand.' Macro moved over to one of the bolt throwers and swivelled it round to face the oncoming attackers. 'Open the ammunition box,' he snapped and pointed at a weathered chest beside the wall. While Hamedes fetched a bundle of the heavy bolts, two feet long with heavy iron heads and wooden flights, Macro wound the handle and ratcheted back the thick tarry cord that stretched between the two arms of the weapon. Once it was ready, he took the first bolt from the priest and laid it in the long groove that passed between the boxes containing the torsion ropes. The first of the renegades was little more than two hundred paces from the tower now and Macro pulled out the elevation pin and then grunted as he raised the bed of the weapon, sighted the bolt thrower on the man, then slipped the pin back in. He straightened up.

'Stand clear!'

He glanced round, then grasped the lanyard that released the ratchet. He gave it a quick tug and the throwing arms snapped forward against the leather buffers with a sharp crack. At once Macro looked over the rail and saw the slender shadow slash through the dawn air towards the oncoming men. It flew over the leading man's head even before he was aware it was there. The bolt flew on, past another man before it hit the ground, sent up a spray of grit and ricocheted up and tore through the leg of one of the renegades, lifting him off the ground and sending him spinning into a small group close behind, knocking them down.

'Ha!' Macro growled with satisfaction, and hurriedly prepared the next shot. 'Bolt!' He held out his hand and Hamedes fumbled for the next round. He dropped it and ducked down to retrieve it as Macro cursed him. Looking up, Macro saw that the attackers had spread out and were picking their way forward more cautiously. That suited Macro well enough. All that mattered was to buy enough time to allow Cato's ships to enter the bay. Three of Ajax's men were creeping forward by the rocks where Macro's party had hidden and he swivelled the weapon round and released the catch. There was another crack and the bolt whirred through the air. This time it struck one of the men cleanly in the chest, hurling him back against a boulder where he crumpled in an untidy heap, the end of the shaft projecting from his tunic.

As soon as Macro began to reload, there was a shout and the men sprinted forward in the interval before the next round was loaded. Macro just had time to lower the elevation and fire one last bolt, which flew over their heads.

'That's it.' He stood back from the bolt thrower. 'It's hand-to-hand now.'

The first of the attackers reached the door and pounded on it. To little effect, as the door was secured with a wooden bar and some meal bags had been piled behind it. By the time Macro had climbed down and joined his men, as they snatched up the shields of the renegades they had killed, the first axe blows were thudding into the aged timber. A moment later a long splinter of wood shot back from the inside of the door. More splinters exploded as axes crashed home. Then a long sliver of wood bent down and the dull edge of the axe head protruded, a finger's width, through the door. When the axe was wrenched free, it left a narrow gap through which Macro could see the men outside in the pale dawn light. More blows smashed through the weakened timber and hands wrenched at the shattered lengths of wood.

'Don't worry, lads,' Macro said evenly. 'There's only one way in. All we have to do is keep 'em out until the prefect gets here.'

He glanced round at the men standing poised in the gloom and noted their expressions. Some looked grim but determined, while a handful of others, younger, had an anxious, fearful look in their eyes. It was a centurion's duty to lead from the front, to inspire his men, and Macro eased himself forward towards the door, sword clenched in his right hand. He drew out his dagger and held it in the other hand. With a splintering crack a length of the door was pulled away, then more pieces, until only a shattered fringe remained. Outside, the renegades closed round. The first man stepped up, then kicked the makeshift barrier of meal sacks over. He carried a spear and he lowered the tip and thrust at Macro with a grunt. The leaf-shaped head stabbed towards his midriff and Macro parried it away as he swung to his left. At once he recovered his balance and lunged at the spearman, forcing him back, out of the door.

'Form up around the door!' Macro shouted. 'Take 'em from the side as they come in.'

As the men hurried into place, the spearman thrust again, hands gripping the shaft tightly and legs braced apart. This time he fully concentrated his attention on the centurion, as if they were paired in a duel. He weighed Macro up with an expert eye, and feinted. Macro flinched for an instant and then he grinned.

'I don't fool that easy. Try harder.'

This time the thrust was in earnest and the point shot forward like a ram. Macro slashed down, just above the man's hand, and the point went down towards the floor. Macro's dagger hand darted forward and stabbed into the renegade's forearm. With a gasp, he released the shaft and Macro stamped down on it, forcing the man off balance. He stumbled forward, inside the doorway, as he strove to regain his balance. One of the legionaries stepped up and punched his sword high into the man's back, driving him to one side. He fell on to his knees and slumped down with a groan as the legionary ripped his blade free.

'First blood to us, boys!' Macro cried out, then beckoned to the faces watching him from outside. 'Come on! Who's next?'

There was only the briefest hesitation before a burly swordsman swallowed nervously and made to approach the door. Before he could reach it, a voice called out.

'Stand aside! Let me through!'

Macro felt a cold shiver ripple down his spine as he recognised the voice at once. The men in front of him drew aside, creating a small open space before the door. Into it stepped a tall, powerful man in his early twenties, dark hair falling to his shoulders. He carried a short sword in one hand and a small round shield in the other. His body was protected by a black leather cuirass, decorated with silver whorls. His lips twisted into a cold smile.

'Centurion Macro. Well, what a surprise. I should have guessed you would try to find me.'

'And now that I have, I'm going to kill you,' Macro replied through gritted teeth.

'Really?' Ajax stepped closer, his eyes fixed on Macro. 'Then why not come out here? Let's settle this, man to man.'

Macro felt a burning compulsion to confront the gladiator. The urge coursed through his veins and threatened to cloud his judgement. He clamped his jaw shut and stared back at the man who had tormented him so cruelly barely three months before.

'What's the matter?' Ajax smirked. 'Are you not man enough to face me?'

Macro took half a step forward, almost to the threshold of the tower's entrance, and checked himself.

'Tell you what, Ajax,' he spoke in a flat tone. 'Why don't you come in here to settle things.'

Ajax chuckled coldly. 'A stand-off between us, then. A shame, since I would have liked the chance to humiliate you in front of your men.' Ajax lowered his sword. 'It seems that we'll have to do this the hard way.' He stepped back and turned to his men. 'Shields to the front!'

A half-dozen renegades stepped up. Three stood together and overlapped their shields. The others stepped up to guard the flanks and then Ajax beckoned to some more of his men and they approached the door.

The time for fancy footwork and swordplay was over, Macro realised. This was about to become a contest of brute strength, and Ajax and his men were as powerful and tough as they came.

'Legionaries, on me!' Macro called out, grabbing a shield. 'Quickly, damn it!'

His men scrambled to his side, forming up, shield to shield and swords held level, as they were trained to do for close combat.

'Ready!' Macro barked the order and then called the time as he stepped towards the door. 'One… two…'

The two sides crunched together just inside the door frame and Macro threw his weight behind his shield as he braced his boots against the grain sacks that had collapsed on the floor. His men pressed in close behind him and Macro could hear the strained breath and grunts of effort all around him as the Romans and the renegades heaved against each other. Those in the front were trapped between the shields and those pushing them from behind. Macro knew that it was a contest between the raw strength of the renegades and the technique of the legions. For a moment both sides pushed with all their strength, and then Macro felt the sacking beneath his right boot begin to give. He tried to adjust his foot, but the sack had split and the loose grain gave little traction. Slowly he was eased back from the door and a gap opened between his shield and that of the man to his left. At once the tip of a sword blade thrust through the gap, mercifully striking nothing but air before it was snatched back.

'Watch it!' Macro warned the others. 'Close up.'

The legionaries heaved forward and pressed the enemy back.

'Come on!' Ajax yelled. 'Push! Sweep them aside, lads. Then kill 'em all.'

Once again the bodies were tightly wedged against each other in the narrow doorway. Macro turned towards one of the men still standing to one side.

'You! Go for their legs, man! Hack 'em!'

The legionary nodded and edged his way round the side of the struggle, then, taking careful aim, he waited until there was a gap and stabbed the point of his sword home, into a calf. The renegade bellowed in pain and instinctively edged back, creating a gap in the shield wall presented to the Romans. Macro pushed forward, driving between two of his enemies and thrusting his own blade out, at an angle, into the side of the man to his right. It was not a lethal blow, just breaking through the skin and catching in the ribs, but the man fell away with a grunt.

Just as the Romans drove the last of their enemies away from the door, there was a shout from down the track.

'General! General Ajax!'

Ajax, in the third rank of his men, glanced back and saw the figure running down the track towards the skirmish. 'Here!'

He pushed his way out and stood, chest heaving from his exertions. 'What is it?'

'There are warships coming, sir. Several of them. Making straight for the harbour entrance.'

'How far away?'

'A mile, maybe less.'

Ajax turned back, seeking out Macro as he frowned in frustration. 'Damn it! There's no time for this,' he snarled. He stared towards Macro in blind hatred before he recovered his poise. 'Fall back, boys. Fall back. Return to the ships. Fast as you can! We have to get out of here!'

Ajax's men scrambled back and Macro felt the pressure lift from his shield and he had to scramble forward a little in order to retain his balance. He crouched, shield up and sword drawn, breathing heavily. His eyes met those of Ajax, some ten feet away. The gladiator thrust his arm out, pointing directly at Macro. 'It isn't over yet! As Zeus is my witness, I'll cut your head from your body with my own sword.'

Then he turned and joined his men as they warily backed away a short distance from the tower and then turned to run down the track. Macro watched him go with a heavy heart. If Cato and his ships managed to reach the mouth of the harbour in time to prevent Ajax's escape then that reckoning might come soon enough, Macro reflected. He waited until the last of the renegades was a safe distance down the track before he stretched up into a standing position and lowered his shield. Turning towards the sea, he could easily make out the ships from the Alexandrian fleet rowing swiftly towards the shore.

CHAPTER NINE

The sun had crested the horizon as the Sobek approached the point of the headland. The coast was bathed in a warm yellow glow which caught the red sails of the warships, intensifying the colour. The trierarch was leaning over the bow and staring down into the water as he tried to pick out any shoals that might threaten his ship. The sea was calm and the lightest of swells brushed up against the rocks on the shore. Cato had dressed in armour and wore his red cloak and plumed helmet in preparation for the coming battle. He climbed up into the turret on the foredeck and surveyed the coastline. For the last half mile of its length the headland was on lower ground and from the turret Cato could see the tops of the palm trees on the far side of the bay. Earlier he had seen the enemy withdraw from the watchtower and had feared that Macro and his men had been overwhelmed. But then his keen eyes had detected the transverse crest of a helmet atop the tower and he knew that his friend still lived.

'Sir!' the lookout cried from his position astride the spar. He pointed across the headland. 'They're on the move!'

Cato turned his head to look, and might have missed it had he not been looking for the enemy ship. A faint sliver of shadow against the haze that lingered across the mainland. The mast of a ship. Then he saw another a short distance behind. Ajax was making a run for it. Looking ahead, Cato saw that the headland bowed out to sea and he realised, with a sick feeling, that Ajax might reach the entrance to the bay before the Sobek.

'Increase our speed!' he called down to the trierarch. Phermon looked up and shook his head.

'Sir, the crew have been rowing flat out for the best part of an hour. They're spent.'

'I don't give a damn about that. Order them to row faster.'

'They can't,' the trierarch replied firmly. 'You've exhausted them, sir.'

Cato gritted his teeth in anger. The trierarch was right. He had been desperate to reach the harbour as swiftly as he could, and now the crew had no reserve of strength to draw on at the critical moment. By contrast, Ajax's men were still fresh and as Cato watched the masts of his enemy's ships, he could see that they were gradually pulling ahead. More galling still, they had the advantage of the inside track as they raced across the bay towards the tip of the headland. He thumped a fist on the rail of the turret in frustration. He took a deep breath and spoke as calmly as he could to the trierarch. 'Have your men do the best they can. One last effort is all I ask of them.'

'Yes, sir.' The trierarch saluted and made his way aft to the main hatch and descended below deck to urge his men on.

Cato turned his attention back to the two masts edging ahead of the Sobek on the other side of the headland. They would soon be abreast of the watchtower and then reach the open sea and make their escape. The Roman ships would attempt a pursuit, but barring a miracle Ajax and his men would get away, Cato realised bitterly.

A faint movement attracted his attention and he saw a thin dark smudge in the air above the watchtower. There was a brief eddy of smoke and then it settled into a steady trail, climbing into the clear sky. Cato frowned at this new development, but Macro and his men were safe enough now that the enemy was on the run. They could afford to let the tower burn. But even as he was thinking this, Cato realised that the smoke was too localised. A moment later there was a bright flare and a thin trail of smoke arced out from the top of the tower towards the two ships approaching from inside the bay. Another trail quickly followed the first before Cato realised what was happening.

'Bolt throwers.' He smiled to himself. 'Macro's using incendiaries. Clever bastard.'

Macro kept up a steady stream of flaming bolts as the enemy vessels approached, and then there was a dark swirl of smoke from over the headland and Cato saw that the ships had changed course, forced to give the headland a wide berth to avoid the weapons shooting at them from the watchtower. One vessel was already alight. Cato gripped the rail of the turret as he continued to watch. Beneath his feet he detected the faintest of lurches as the men at the oars made one last effort. By the time the trierarch had returned to the bows, the point was in sight and Cato knew that the contest was over. Forced aside by Macro, Ajax and his ships could not reach the open sea in time to make a clear escape.

'We'll have them, sir.' The trierarch grinned.

'So it seems,' Cato replied as calmly as he could manage. 'Have the marines stand to.'

The headland dipped down to a small sandy spit at the edge of the turquoise sea and the Sobek continued a short distance beyond before the triearch ordered the steersman to turn directly into the bay. From the turret Cato had a clear view of the two vessels making towards him, less than quarter of a mile away. To the right was the ship Ajax had seized when he fled from Crete. The other was the Thoth, from which smoke billowed from a fire raging amidships. Several men were drawing buckets from the sea and attempting to dowse the flames that threatened the ship. Even so, the crew stuck to their oars and the ship ploughed on, water surging over the ram and down her sides. Cato strained his eyes to see if he could spot Ajax on either ship. There was too much smoke and too many figures dashing around the deck of the Thoth to be certain of picking out a single man and he concentrated his attention on the other ship. A handful of archers stood in the turret on the foredeck and more armed men waited on the main deck. Then, as the distance rapidly closed, Cato saw a figure push his way through to the bows, tall and broad and wearing a decorated black cuirass and a brilliantly polished helmet with a black crest of billowing feathers.

'Ajax,' Cato whispered to himself. His heart hardened pitilessly as he beheld the rebel slave who was the cause of so much death and suffering. Cato thought fitfully of Julia and the humiliation she had suffered at the gladiator's hands. His fists clenched hard as he gave his order to Phermon.

'We'll take the ship on the right. Let the other one burn.'

'Aye, sir.' The trierarch cupped a hand to his mouth and turned aft. 'Steersman! Make for the starboard vessel!'

The steersman leaned into his tiller and the ship came round and steadied on a course bow to bow with the oncoming vessel. Cato stared at Ajax, and then slipped his hand down to the pommel of his sword. It was a shame that Macro was not at his side to take his share of the long-awaited revenge, thought Cato. He had little doubt that Ajax and his lieutenants would far sooner go down fighting than be captured and suffer a lingering and humiliating death by crucifixion.

'Excuse me, sir,' a voice called and Cato looked round as a marine climbed into the turret, clutching a bow and a quiver filled with arrows. Two more men joined him and Cato moved to one side to give them room. On the enemy ship he could see Ajax's bowman fitting arrows to their strings before they aimed their bows high as the two ships ploughed towards each other across the tranquil surface of the bay. They loosed off the first volley of arrows and Cato watched impassively as the tiny specks swept up, high into the air, then seemed to pause briefly before plummeting down towards the Sobek. Most struck the water, twenty or so paces in front of the bow, disappearing with a faint plop and glittering spout of water. One struck the strake at the front of the ship with a loud crack and the flights trembled for a moment before they were still. The next shots would be in range, Cato knew.

'Shall we shoot back, sir?' asked one of the marines.

'No. Save it for when you can't miss.' Cato leaned forward and called down to the legionaries crowded together beside the turret. 'Men! Shields up!'

He glanced back over his shoulder. The next Roman ship was rounding the headland and the rest were close behind as they struggled to keep up with Cato's vessel. The crew of the burning enemy vessel saw that escape was impossible and they turned away from the approaching warships, back across the bay in what seemed a futile bid to escape their pursuers.

A series of cracks snapped Cato's attention back to Ajax's ship. The second volley of arrows had struck home, sticking into the foredeck, the bows of the ship and two of the shields held up by the legionaries. Mercifully no one had been killed or injured. The oncoming ship was now no more than a hundred paces away and Cato could see Ajax and his men clearly as they readied their weapons.

'We'll take them on the starboard side!' the trierarch called to the steersman, who made a small adjustment so that the Sobek edged fractionally away from the other ship's ram. 'Stand by for collison!'

Cato grasped the rail of the turret and braced his feet on the deck. All around him the other members of the crew hurriedly prepared for the impact. There was a last flurry of arrows from the enemy ship and a cry of pain as a barbed point tore through the neck of one of the archers standing in the turret. Cato spared the man a quick glance and saw him crumple on to the floor of the turret, blood gushing from a severed artery. There was nothing that could be done for him and Cato looked forward again.

'Ship oars!' Phermon bellowed and there was a frantic clatter and rumble as the crew fed them back into the hull.

The flared tip of the ram caught the enemy ship on the bow and there was a jarring crash as men stumbled forward. Both rams had struck glancing blows and now the ships began to pass alongside each other. The enemy commander had failed to give the order to ship oars and with a series of sharp shattering sounds the oars on the starboard side were smashed to splinters as the Sobek's bow ground along the length of the enemy ship.

'Lower the corvus!' Cato shouted down to the decurion of marines. 'Quickly, man!'

The marines hurriedly recovered their balance and began to swing the boarding device out and over the enemy deck. The archers in the bow were directed towards the danger by their commander and they hurriedly loosed off their arrows at the marines. Unable to defend themselves while they manoeuvred the corvus into position, they were vulnerable to enemy missiles and two were struck down in quick succession as the arrows whirred across the deck. A moment later Cato saw another man cry out as his arm was pierced through.

'Release!' the decurion yelled as soon as the iron point was over the enemy's deck. His men let go of the rope and it shot up towards the pulley as the gangway arced down. The renegades dived aside to avoid being crushed, or impaled, and with a deep thud the spike pierced the deck. There was a jolt and a groan as the stout wooden peg at the base of the corvus took the strain from the remaining momentum of both ships.

'Boarding party away!' the decurion called out as he drew his sword and scurried across the gangway towards the enemy deck. His men rushed after him, shields raised and swords drawn and ready. The enemy archers loosed more arrows, most of which struck the wooden hoardings that protected the men as they crossed from the Sobek. A few arrows overshot, and missed the ship and crew entirely.

Cato turned to the archers in the turret and pointed out their opposite numbers. 'Shoot those men down!'

The marines hastily notched their arrows, drew back the strings as they aimed, paused and then released their fingers, sending their arrows whipping through the air towards Ajax's men. Cato nodded with savage satisfaction as he saw two arrows strike one of the enemy archers and send him sprawling on to his back.

'Good work!' He thumped his fist on the rail. 'Keep it up.'

Leaving them to their business, he jumped down on to the deck and snatched up the oval marine shield he had taken from the Sobek's stores. He turned to the legionaries standing ready on the main deck.

'Follow me. Take prisoners if you can.'

Cato stepped up on to the gangway and strode forward. There were still a few of the marines at the far end, waiting for space to jump down on to the deck of the other ship. The air was filled with the sharp ring and rasp of blade on blade, together with the thuds of blows blocked by shields. A few men, their blood up, shouted their challenges. Cato flinched as an iron arrowhead burst through the hoarding at his side, but he continued forward, head hunched down to provide a minimal target to enemy archers still shooting from the foredeck. He came up against the back of a marine and glanced past to see that there was no one in front of him. Beyond, the deck of the other vessel was packed with men locked in a vicious melee.

'Move on!' Cato ordered. 'Get into the fight!'

The marine glanced back and nodded anxiously before he clambered down from the gangway and pushed his way into the throng. Cato stepped forward and paused briefly to get his bearings. His eyes swept over the seething mass of men, glittering helmets and swords, and splatters of blood. Then he saw the black crest of Ajax's helmet close to the mast as the gladiator hacked at the shield of a marine. The blows drove the man down, then Ajax kicked the shield aside and drove his sword into the marine's face.

An icy tremble of fear gripped Cato's spine but he forced himself forward, on to the deck, and began to push his way towards the mast. 'Legionaries, on me!'

The burly soldiers forced their way to his side as Cato stepped over a body, and then a space opened ahead of him. A swarthy easterner with long hair tied back stood in his path, a bloodied axe in one hand and a curved dagger in the other. As soon as his eyes fixed on Cato he sprang forward with a snarl, raising his axe. Cato raised his shield and took the blow on the upper rim. The impact drove through the metal trim and cut deep into the wood. The shock of the blow jolted Cato's left shoulder. Before he could strike back, the renegade wrenched the axe free and, at the same time, swung his left hand round, towards Cato's unguarded side. The blade punched into the scale armour and glanced downward, ripping through a fold in Cato's tunic.

'My turn,' Cato said through gritted teeth, thrusting his shield forward. The boss caught the man in the ribs, driving the air from his lungs with a gasp. Cato followed it up with a thrust from his sword. Even though he was winded, the renegade nimbly side-stepped the blow and stood, axe raised and knife held ready, as he struggled to breathe. Then one of the other renegades stumbled into his side, and Cato's opponent was knocked off balance. As he tried to regain his footing Cato charged forward, catching him with his shield and driving him back until his heel caught on a body and the renegade fell on to the deck. Cato drove the tip of his sword down into the man's stomach, and then slammed the bottom edge of his shield on to his throat, crushing the windpipe.

Pulling his blade free, he moved on. Cato glanced quickly to both sides and saw that the legionaries were following up on his flanks. Many of Ajax's men were tough but lacked battle training, and were no match for professional soldiers. The attackers had cleared the aft of the ship and now the fight stretched in a rough line across the deck. Step by step Ajax and his men were being driven back towards the bow. Not one of them threw down his weapons and asked for quarter, Cato noted.

He saw the black crest again, no more than ten feet from where he stood, and stepped forward, blocking a thrust with his shield. The man snatched his sword back and tried again, only to have the legionary to Cato's left smash the blade towards the deck with his sword. Then, swinging the point up in a vicious arc, he stabbed the man in the stomach, cutting deep into his vitals.

There was no time to do more than nod his thanks as Cato thrust a man aside with his shield and then he was face to face with Ajax. The gladiator was wearing a Roman helmet with large cheekguards that obscured much of his face. Dark stubble covered his chin and jowls and his large dark eyes widened as he lunged forward to attack the Roman officer. The edge of his sword swept down towards Cato's head and Cato threw the edge of the shield up to block the blow. Just as the gladiator had expected. The descending sword swept out to the side and cut round, glancing off Cato's shoulder. The change in direction had taken some of the power from the blow, but it still struck Cato hard enough to drive him off balance and numb his arm and fingers so that his grasp of the shield handle loosened.

'Shit…' Cato lowered himself and leading with his numbed shoulder he sprang forward into the back of the shield, carrying it against the gladiator. The man was solidly built and rode with the blow as he absorbed the impact. Then he locked his buckler around the edge of the shield and wrenched it aside. Cato just had time to recover and step back as the other man's sword swished past his face. For an instant, Ajax's right arm was carried on by the momentum of the slashing cut and Cato took his chance and thrust his weapon, catching his opponent in the upper arm and opening up a good ten inches of flesh and muscle. Ajax roared with pain and anger and hacked at Cato with the backswing. There was just time to duck and Cato struck again, into the knee this time, splintering bones and cutting through ligaments. Ajax toppled away from Cato on to his side and one of the legionaries sprang forward and thrust down, deep into the gladiator's armpit. Cato heard a rib snap and a loud grunt escaped Ajax's lips as the blade pierced his lungs and heart. His body stiffened for a moment and then slumped forward, face down. The legionary placed his boot on the back of the cuirass and pulled his blade free and moved on to find his next opponent.