Saviour of Rome

XLVII

Valerius and Serpentius waited in the depths of the gully, their mounts skittish beneath them as they sensed the nervousness of the men in their saddles. Around them, the hawkish bearded faces of the Asturians were set in grim resolution as they waited in the growing tension murmuring quietly to their horses or muttering prayers to whichever god they thought would aid them. Valerius was certain the hillmen would do their tasks to the best of their ability. The only question was whether their best would be good enough. Hidden amongst the rocks above, Allius called out the progress of the column, estimating the narrowing gap at every count of a hundred. Valerius could visualize what he was seeing. The head of the snake. It was just as Serpentius had predicted. Melanius, Severus and their Parthian escort had forged ahead of the legionary infantry.

‘They’ve seen the men at the river.’ The hidden informant couldn’t conceal his excitement.

Valerius shifted his grip on the leather-wrapped hilt of the unfamiliar, scythe-like Asturian sword. Beside him, Serpentius sat utterly immobile, his lined features a mask of concentration.

‘They’re talking,’ the disembodied voice announced. ‘Yes. Now the hook-noses are moving into formation. They’ve taken the bait.’

‘Wait!’ Serpentius snarled as one of the riders pushed his mount towards the entrance. ‘Another inch and I’ll take your head off.’

‘How many of the escort have they left?’ Valerius demanded.

‘Not more than twenty.’

Valerius turned to Serpentius. ‘We go the moment Tito retreats across the river.’ The Spaniard passed on the instruction to the others in his own language.

‘Where are they now?’ Valerius’s throat was so dry the words emerged as a croak. The timing of their attack was utterly crucial. He couldn’t afford to allow Melanius and his Parthian escort to get too far past the entrance to the gully. To do so would take them closer to the main cavalry force at the river and risk bringing the two cohorts of the Sixth within pilum range.

‘The cavalry or the fat man and his friends?’

‘Both.’

‘The cavalry are forming line short of the river. The fat man is fifty paces short of the gully.’

A few moments later the distant blare of a cavalry trumpet broke the silence. It was the sound of the charge. If Tito wasn’t retreating across the river by now his little force would be cut to pieces.

‘Now!’ Valerius shouted the order.

The Asturian riders burst from the gully in an untidy bunch, but by the time they’d gone twenty strides they’d formed a ragged version of an attack line. The only sound that accompanied their charge was the rhythm of hooves on the hard-packed earth. Valerius wanted no shouts or screams to alert the enemy. They headed directly for the flank of the little group of riders two hundred paces to their front. Valerius and Serpentius rode a little behind the main line, curbing their mounts to stop their fleeter horses overtaking the smaller Asturian beasts. The plan called for the Asturians to draw the attention of the Parthians and hold it. In the chaos that followed, the Roman and the Spaniard would find a way through to Melanius, Severus and Piso. Valerius glanced to his right where the First cohort of the Sixth were marching down the road four abreast, the long, compact column of legionaries disappearing into the distance. How would Proculus react when he realized what was happening? The best scenario for Valerius was if he perceived a real threat and formed a defensive square. That would keep the legionaries static long enough for his party to do what they’d come to do or die in the attempt.

Still no reaction from the little group of riders. The eyes of Melanius and his Parthian escort must be fixed on what was happening ahead. But even as the thought formed, a shout from Serpentius drew him back to the legionary column. Someone must have seen the riders because the column came to an abrupt halt. Valerius imagined shouted orders as the individual centuries of the cohort began to move smoothly into line. Too quick. It was happening too quickly.

Still no sound but the rush of disturbed air and the thunder of hooves.

At last a shout of warning from ahead. With frightening precision the Parthian escort formed up and moved forward in line to block the attack, clearly undeterred by the odds. As Valerius watched they kicked their horses first into a trot, then a canter.

‘Spread out.’ Serpentius roared the order to the other riders in their own language and felt a surge of pride as they reacted like veterans. If the Asturians bunched to meet the Parthian charge their small ponies would be smashed back by the cavalry horses and the seven-foot spears would sweep them from the saddle. The only way to survive was to use their greater numbers and agility to confuse and confound the enemy. A ripple ran through the Parthian line as the squadron’s commander reacted to the change in formation. Valerius could see gaps between the individual riders and it was to one of these that he set his course, knowing Serpentius would be doing the same.

Two hundred paces rapidly became a hundred. Now the enemy cavalrymen could be identified as individuals, snarling mouths showing pink through the black beards. Dark eyes glaring hatred from beneath heavy brows. A blur of chaotic movement to the left and a shriek as one of the Asturian ponies snapped a leg in an animal burrow and its rider smashed to the ground, rolled three times and lay still. Ahead, Valerius sensed the moment when the Parthian commander noticed the two larger horses and recognized the threat they posed. A shouted order and a pair of spears angled towards him.

Fifty paces.

One of the Asturians veered across his front to engage a particular enemy and he was forced to avoid a collision.

Twenty-five.

He raised his sword to shoulder height. No time to think about the infantry now. One of the Parthians who’d targeted him moved ahead, blocking the other’s attack. The flash of a gleaming metal point aimed directly at his eyes. A mistake, because a flick of the sword drove the point over his right shoulder and once Valerius was inside the spear point the other man was dead. Valerius swung his heavy blade in a vicious back cut that caught his enemy across the upper lip. The weight of the blow and the momentum as metal and bone met jarred Valerius’s arm and drove the blade upwards in a shearing motion that sliced off the top part of the Parthian’s face. He heard a sharp clang as the edge clipped an iron helmet. A muffled shriek and a momentary image of red horror punctured by two disbelieving white eyes and he was past. Around him, screams and anxious shouts, the clash of metal upon metal, but his entire focus was on what lay ahead.

Melanius and Severus and one other were milling in a little confused group, Piso urging his mount back in the direction of the Sixth. Valerius ignored the tribune and kicked his horse on, sword raised and at the ready. He saw stark terror etched on Melanius’s bloated red face. Without warning another horse was shoulder to shoulder with his own, blocking the path to his target. He sensed a blur of bright metal at the very edge of his vision and managed to parry the cut aimed at his neck with a frenzied sweep of his blade. Aurelio. How could he have forgotten Aurelio?

Aurelio fought with a mocking grin on his rat’s face and his sword edge seemed to come from every angle at once. Mars’ arse, but he was fast. But as they tested each other it became clear he’d never fought a left-handed man and that gave Valerius an advantage that outweighed his enemy’s speed. The weight and direction of the Roman’s parries puzzled Aurelio and soon the mocking grin became a frown of concentration. Valerius sensed the pace of his opponent’s attack slacken a little as he tried to work out where his advantage lay.

‘You owe Melanius nothing,’ Valerius gasped as he manoeuvred his mount to gain an opening. ‘If he dies the conspiracy dies with him.’

‘If he dies I have nothing,’ the other man laughed. ‘And you’ll come after me in any case. But if I kill you Piso will take the purple and Melanius will make me rich. So you have to die, Gaius Valerius Verrens.’

The jibe was accompanied by a back cut that was so obvious Valerius was able to parry it with a careless sweep of the blade. But he’d seen Aurelio’s eyes flicker to his left and he was moving even before Serpentius’s warning shout, hauling his horse round and ducking in the saddle. Melanius’s flailing sword flashed above his head so close he could feel the disturbed air as it passed. He slashed at the passing figure and missed, but the razor edge of his blade caught the horse across the rump and as it reared Melanius fell from the saddle with a cry of alarm.

Aurelio was on Valerius before he could recover, driving him back with a flurry of attacks and using his horse to protect the fallen Melanius. The fact that he had half an eye for his master killed him. Valerius tried a cut that Aurelio was able to deflect easily. The Roman allowed his sword to fall away giving the other man an opening. He saw the glint in Aurelio’s eyes as the bodyguard recognized the opportunity and the blade came up. It was only the slightest flick of the point, yet it would have sliced Valerius’s throat open and drowned him in his own blood. But the opening had been deliberate and Valerius was able to divert the thrust with his wooden fist and simultaneously spear the clumsy Asturian sword through Aurelio’s exposed body. He felt the moment the point entered flesh, the jolt as spasming muscles clamped on the intruding iron, heard Aurelio scream in mortal agony. He was barely aware of the automatic twist of the wrist that freed the broad, curved blade and ripped Aurelio’s bowels from his stomach. Aurelio crouched grey-faced in the saddle clawing at his flopping guts and mewing like an injured child. His horse moved away and Valerius found himself staring down at the face of Marcus Atilius Melanius.

Melanius struggled to his feet, his helmet askew and his armour dented by the fall. Somehow he managed to retain an injured dignity in the circumstances that Valerius found quite brave.

‘I surrender my sword and my person.’ The words emerged in a stutter, but he drew himself erect with his head held high. ‘I throw myself upon your mercy and that of Gaius Plinius Secundus.’

Valerius paused to draw breath. He could hear Calpurnius Piso screaming at the men of the Sixth legion to advance. The sound of clashing metal told him that at least some of the men who’d made the charge with him survived to fight on. He could rely on Serpentius to take care of Severus. Melanius’s horse stood nearby, only slightly injured. All he had to do was allow him to get into the saddle and escort him from the field. But what then? He had a vision of the broken creature hanging in chains from the wall of the blood-spattered room in Pliny’s palace.

‘I grant you mercy,’ Valerius agreed. His sword rested on the pommel, level with Melanius’s pleading face. With a single movement he rammed the weapon forward and down so the point took Melanius just above his armour. The broad, curved blade pierced the folds of flesh at the base of his throat and lanced diagonally into his body. Melanius’s eyes rolled up into his head and a fountain of blood erupted from his gaping mouth. Valerius hauled the sword free and the dying man stood shuddering for a long moment until he dropped as if his legs had been cut from beneath him.

But even as Melanius died Valerius knew it had all taken too long.