Saviour of Rome

XV

Or, as it turned out, not gone. What remained hung by the anchor ropes from their side of the gorge. Serpentius looked over the edge and his head spun at the sight of the sheer drop to a foaming stream far below where the jagged rocks stood out like fangs. No question of climbing down. They could keep running east, but he could already hear the spine-chilling howl of the dogs. It was only a matter of time before their pursuers hunted them down.

His companions slumped on the ground in despair, but Serpentius continued to study the chasm. The far side and safety were so tantalizingly close. He tried to imagine a horse leaping the void, but each time it ended up smashed to red ruin on the rocks below. Serpentius reckoned the gap at something like seven paces, maybe a little more. Say twenty-one or -two feet as the Romans measured it. He’d seen acrobats in the arena make some prodigious leaps, but this far? Yet the more he considered it, the more it became the only option. And if, given wings by the gods, he made the jump, what then? Clitus might be persuaded to try, but none of the others had a hope. Look at them, already beaten. Dead men, but for the formalities and the pain that would precede it.

He looked down past the shattered remnant of the bridge. Did he even have the courage in the first place? A strand of fluttering rope caught his attention and new hope flared within his breast. ‘Clitus?’ he barked. ‘Get Felix and Gentilis and haul the bridge up here. I’ll need as much rope as you can salvage from it.’

Clitus just looked at him. Serpentius stamped across to where he lay and hauled him to his feet by the front of his tunic. ‘Do you want to die?’ he snarled into the other man’s face. ‘You and you, help him.’

They did as he ordered and Serpentius untied his sword belt and stripped off his tunic to leave himself naked.

‘You’re mad,’ Placido whispered as he realized what Serpentius intended. ‘No man can jump that.’

‘It can be done,’ Serpentius assured him, studying the chasm again and thinking Placido was probably right. ‘The alternative is to sit here until the dogs find us and then cut each other’s throats.’

‘But even if you get across, what then?’

‘You’ll see.’ The sound of snapping wood signalled that Clitus and his helpers were breaking up the bridge. ‘Get me enough sound rope to cross the gap and back,’ he called. A sudden increase in the dogs’ howling made them all stare at the trees. ‘Quickly!’

Within moments Clitus approached with a coil of rope. It looked old and frayed, but it seemed strong enough. Serpentius tested the strands and nodded. He tied one end round his waist, knotted it firmly and tossed the other end to Clitus. ‘Put three good men on that and for Fortuna’s sake don’t let go. If I end up on those rocks I’ll make a special trip back from Hades to strangle you with your own guts. The rest of you bastards,’ he spat at the men still lying on the ground, ‘get off your arses and pick up a sword. If the dogs get here before the auxiliaries you’ll have a chance of fighting them off.’

Serpentius turned and walked to the edge of the gorge counting his paces and testing the ground with every step. His last pace brought him perhaps a foot short of the edge. With infinite care he retraced his steps and repeated the exercise, trying to still the pounding of his heart and deafen his ears to the increasingly loud barking from not so very far away.

He retreated for the last time and stared at the yawning gap that seemed to get wider every time he looked at it. His whole being concentrated on the far edge of the narrowest point. It was only seven paces wide. Surely a man could leap that far? He took a deep breath. Only one way to find out.

With a roar of defiance Serpentius threw himself towards the gorge, arms pumping and his pace increasing with every stride. The drag effect of the rope surprised him, but it was too late to worry about that now. He willed every ounce of strength into his legs, bounding towards the precipice at a furious, breakneck speed. Three paces. Two. One. The Spaniard used the last step to catapult himself up and out, soaring across the gap. He kept his eyes fixed on the far edge where a low bush marked his landing point, but already he could feel the drop pulling at him. His heart froze at the knowledge he’d miscalculated. The roar of defiance turned into a scream of frustration. He’d hoped to touch down with a foot to spare. Instead, he was a foot short. His knees, braced for the landing, crashed into the crumbling rock and his chest slammed against the lip of the gorge. At the very last second he’d pushed his arms forward and as his weight began to pull him down he scrabbled for a hold. He clawed with his fingers at the rock-hard ground. A sear of agony as a nail tore away. Then his left hand felt something solid beneath it. A tree root. Slim and narrow, but strong enough to arrest his momentum for a heartbeat. It was all Serpentius needed. He managed to get both hands to it and used the purchase to flip himself sideways, throwing one knee on to solid ground. A moment of agony as he hung there between this world and the next, before, by sheer strength of will, he managed to transfer his weight on to the welcoming earth.

He lay with his back on the ground and stared at the cloudless blue sky. He was alive. His legs shook like winter reeds as he forced himself to his feet, but there was not a second to spare.

‘Tie your end of the rope to the strongest of the posts,’ he called across to Clitus, unknotting the loop from his waist. ‘And throw me my tunic and weapons.’ He’d hoped to find the remains of similar anchor posts on this side, but the only evidence of their existence was two holes in the ground. Fortunately, a clump of thorn bushes grew nearby and proved strong enough to hold the rope.

‘What now?’ Clitus’s voice shook with fear. The others gathered around him on the far side of the chasm, staring at the sagging single strand of thin rope.

‘Now you cross one at a time.’ Serpentius tried to sound confident. ‘It’s simple. But you have to be quick. They’re coming.’

‘On that?’

‘It held the bridge, it can hold you.’

Clitus shook his head.

‘It’s this or die,’ Serpentius urged him. Still the other man didn’t move.

The Spaniard closed his eyes. Logic said he should leave them, but logic hadn’t made a promise to himself. He dropped to the ground at the cliff edge by the rope and took it between two hands, testing the anchor point on the far side. It looked feeble, but he was certain it was strong enough. Gritting his teeth he lowered himself so he was hanging by two hands and then swiftly pulled himself hand over hand to the far side where Clitus helped pull him up.

‘See?’ He met the men’s eyes one by one. ‘It’s easy. Just get into a rhythm and whatever you do, don’t stop.’

He dropped on to the rope again and made his way back. ‘You first, Clitus. I’ll be here to help you up.’

Clitus glanced at the thin line to safety, then at the trees. He dropped to sit by the rope then tentatively lowered himself. Serpentius saw a line of blood dribble down his chin where he’d bitten through his lip. A momentary hesitation before Clitus’s face set in a scowl and he launched himself forward like a swimmer hauling himself through a heavy sea. By the time he reached Serpentius sweat was pouring from him and when the Spaniard took his hand it shook uncontrollably.

Serpentius looked up. On the far side the rest were staring at each other in consternation. At first he thought nobody would move, but Floro, a thin balding man, dropped to take his place on the rope and hauled himself across with smooth easy movements.

‘That’s the way,’ Serpentius encouraged. ‘Who’s next?’

A dog howled not too far away, and suddenly there was a rush for the rope.

‘One at a time,’ the Spaniard warned. ‘Or you’ll all end up down there.’

Placido fought his way to the front and quickly hauled himself across, but the next man, Elius, was slower and the two remaining escapees, Gentilis and Felix, screamed at him to speed up. They were among the weakest of the former prisoners and Serpentius belatedly realized he should have seen them over first. His eyes scanned the tree line and his heart fell as a group of men emerged into the open. They halted for a moment and he saw them crouch down before two grey blurs streaked across the flat earth.

Wolf hounds. Big and rangy with lithe sinuous bodies and long legs that covered the ground in great bounds. Gentilis let out a scream of fear and fled along the lip of the ravine. Felix leapt for the rope and it bowed alarmingly as he began to cross in a faltering hand over hand movement.

‘Hurry,’ Clitus shouted at Elius, but Elius had felt the lurch as Felix’s weight fell on the rope. Now he looked over his shoulder and howled in terror, losing his rhythm and finally stopping to hang in the air just out of reach of the companions.

The dogs had swerved to follow Gentilis and Serpentius winced as he saw him bowled over and heard the shrieks as the savage beasts tore at him with their fangs, mercifully silenced when one closed its jaws over his windpipe. By now the hunters had been joined by a squad of auxiliaries who emerged from the trees led by a single horseman and trotted towards the makeshift crossing with their spears at the trail.

‘Get back.’ Serpentius ordered his men out of range, while he crouched by the clump of bushes that anchored the rope. ‘Just two more holds, Elius,’ he encouraged. But fear had frozen Elius in place. He hung, sobbing, with his eyes closed as Felix gained on him, screaming for him to move.

Serpentius heard a shout and looked up to find the auxiliaries on the lip of the gorge. There were around a dozen, with more on the way, and they studied the two men on the rope as if they were flies wriggling in a puddle of honey. Felix tried to work his way past Elius, but Elius found one last burst of strength to fight him off. The horseman dismounted and stood for a moment with his hands on his hips before calling out an order. One of the auxiliaries hefted his spear, took a second to judge the distance, and hurled it at the two struggling men. The point took Felix in the spine and he let out a piercing shriek of agony. At the same time his arms closed in a death grip around Elius’s neck. For a moment they hung, swaying gently in the silence, before the extra weight of Felix’s body broke the grip of first Elius’s left hand, and then, an agonizing moment later, the right. Dead and living dropped away accompanied by a wail that seemed to last for ever.

The auxiliary commander stared at the little group of men standing just out of range of his spears and knelt to test the rope. Serpentius, still partially hidden by the bush, knew the calculations that would be going through his mind. Could he cover the far bank with his spearmen long enough to get a small party across? The men he could see weren’t soldiers, they were the filth of the mines. Yet all it would take was one or two determined defenders and he’d suffer casualties. He’d already lost one man to these vermin and he didn’t want to lose more.

He was still tugging at the rope when one of his men caught a glimpse of Serpentius and called out a warning. The officer stood up and Serpentius rose out of hiding to face him. A spear fell in a swooping arc towards the Spaniard. In the space of a heartbeat Serpentius transferred his sword from right hand to left, stepped out of the spear’s flight and flicked out his right hand to catch the shaft in mid-air. It was a simple arena trick, the fruit of many hours of patient exercise in hand and eye coordination, but it never failed to impress. He spun the spear and made as if to return it towards the officer. The man took a step back, but Serpentius halted the movement in mid-throw and grinned at him.

Another auxiliary raised his spear, but his leader shouted an order and he lowered the weapon. The commander advanced to the very edge of the gorge and stared at Serpentius with pitiless basilisk eyes filled with hatred.

‘I have heard of you, the one they call the Snake. Well, Snake, be assured you cannot run for ever. The First Parthorum will hunt you down, and when we’ve finished with you the mine overseers have something special waiting for you. A black hole has been dug in the deepest part of the mine, where you will be walled in and left to starve to death or drown in other men’s shit, whichever comes first. You will die screaming, Snake, and I will visit you every day to listen to your descent into madness.’

‘A mouse’s fart holds more threat than you do,’ Serpentius laughed. He pointed to the rope. ‘Why don’t you cross and we’ll see who dies screaming.’ He flicked his sword into the air, so it spun five times before the hilt settled back into his hand and his eyes never left the Parthian. ‘I’ve killed Parthians and it gave me almost as much pleasure as slaughtering Romans. Bring any four men you like.’

The auxiliary officer spat into the gorge. Serpentius took a step to his right and drew his sword edge down to sever the rope so it flopped to fall down the wall of the Parthian side. He backed away to join Clitus and the others.

‘My name is Claudius Harpocration, prefect of the First Parthorum, remember it. We will meet again,’ the officer shouted.

‘I will count on it,’ Serpentius assured him.