The next rock bounced off a shield but all six had slowed.
‘Forward!’ ordered Gutha.
One of the men pointed along the road and shouted back at him.
‘He’s telling them we’re farther away,’ explained Mercator.
‘We must use the distance,’ said Indavara, detaching the quiver from his belt. ‘Take out as many as we can before they get close.’
Nobus’s fourth throw hit a man on the head. The Arabian lurched into the wall then slumped to the ground, body inert.
From the top of the cliff came a triumphant cry.
But the five remaining men didn’t lose heart. They marched down the slope to the bottom, split into two groups and continued along the edges of the road.
Nobus turned his attention to the second rank. He threw the rocks at a faster rate, forcing the warriors to look up and take evasive action.
Gutha watched him and the mess he was making of his advance. If he got hold of the little shit he would chop his head off. For now, he just had to get the men moving.
‘Second line, get after those shields.’
‘Here they come,’ said Mercator, javelin at the ready.
Ignoring the two shield-men now only sixty feet away and trotting towards his position, Indavara fired at the second rank. The arrow hit a warrior dead centre, rippling his tunic and knocking him off his feet. The men with him paused, now fearful of the bows once more.
Gutha reached the rise and shouted at the hesitant warriors. ‘After the others. Charge!’
Indavara watched them speed up. He put the bow down and drew his blade.
‘Itys, hit the second rank! Mercator, you too. I’m going for the shields.’
Indavara sprang to his feet and bolted towards the pair on his side of the road, who were still keeping their heads down.
Several of the second rank saw him but they were busy avoiding Mercator’s javelin and Itys’s arrows.
Indavara leaped over a cluster of boulders and went for the man to the left. Still covering themselves, the Arabians were caught completely by surprise. Indavara grabbed the top edge of the shield, hauled it down, then swept straight into the warrior’s neck. The blade went in just above the ear. The warrior’s jaw dropped and the rest of him swiftly followed.
The second man had lowered his shield to see what he faced. He got it back up just in time. Sparks flew as Indavara’s blade caught the bronze boss.
With no time to tarry — and his foe again unsighted — Indavara darted forward and swung his right leg. His boot caught the Arabian just above his ankle, sending him tottering backwards.
Indavara took his chance, swinging as soon as he had something to aim at. The blade ripped across the warrior’s forehead as he slammed into the sand, unused sword clattering against his shield.
Having checked that the arrows were still keeping the second rank at bay, Indavara sprinted across the road.
The other three Arabians were only yards from Andal, Pelagius and Itys.
As they suddenly noticed the new threat, one lowered his shield. Itys’s arrow thudded into his face. He teetered on his heels then fell, screaming.
Andal and Pelagius rushed one of the others. The third man was already coming at Indavara in a solid defensive crouch, shield close to him, sword at the ready.
Indavara couldn’t see a quick way of putting him down. Fortunately, he didn’t need it.
Having dropped his bow, Itys flew past the others and stuck his knife into the warrior’s back. Shock froze the Arabian’s face. His legs buckled and he collapsed onto a boulder.
Pelagius cried out as the last man’s blade caught his elbow but the Arabian had made his last attack. A double-handed heave from Andal almost severed his arm. The enraged Pelagius barged his shield aside and finished him off with a drive into his flank.
Indavara was already on the move. ‘Cover! Back into cover!’
‘Who is this bastard?’ bawled Gutha. He had lost five more men and these determined sons of bitches still had their bows. ‘Charge! Everyone charge!’
The sight of him and the last four men on the move galvanised the second rank into action.
Once back across the road, Indavara dropped his sword and took the bow and an arrow from Mercator. Three of the second rank were coming for them; three for the others. They were no more than forty feet away. Indavara drew and aimed at the middle man. Twenty feet. Ten.
The string suddenly broke. Indavara dropped the bow and the arrow fell harmlessly to the ground.
Seeing what had happened, Mercator darted in front of him. ‘Come on!’
Bucoli followed his optio.
The first Saracen slowed but threw all his strength into a scything sweep. Mercator’s blade sang as he blocked.
Indavara dared not look down as his scrabbling fingers reached for his sword. Bucoli’s wild swing missed its target by a foot. Unbalanced and exposed, he was struck by both the other men, one blade going into his ribs, the other into his chest. The auxillary was dead before his body struck the sand. The larger of the two warriors grinned manically.
As the first man pushed Mercator back towards the rock wall, the others came at Indavara. The big one kicked Bucoli on the way past. He was powerfully built, with a barrel chest and arms bulging out of his tunic. The other warrior seemed content to stay behind him.
Indavara forced himself to block out the sounds of the other clashes; he knew there was again no time to tarry. He had the mail-shirt — only a heavy blow would do him serious damage. He took one step back, then rushed forward.
The Arabian obviously also knew he would need power to go through the mail. So he drew the blade back over his shoulder — nothing like quickly enough.
He had barely begun his swing when Indavara slashed up at his forearms. The blade sliced deep into one and grazed the other. The dropped sword bounced off Indavara’s head as he jabbed the iron hilt of his own into the Arabian’s nose, breaking bones.
Leaping past him before he’d hit the ground, Indavara’s next sweep smashed into the second man’s blade with such force that it flew from his grasp. Heaving back the other way, Indavara caught him under the chin, carving his neck open. The last noise he made was a whimper.
Indavara was all set to help Mercator but the optio had just driven his sword down into the prostrate warrior at his feet.
He checked the position of the German and the last four. They were twenty feet away and had just slowed to a walk.
On the other side of the road, only two men were still standing: Pelagius and one of the Arabians. They were grappling with one another, neither able to bring his sword to bear. Indavara was already on his way when Pelagius managed to get his leg behind the Arabian and trip him.
As the man hit the sand, the auxiliary swung down, slashing across his chest until the warrior stopped moving.
Indavara halted in the middle of the road.
Pelagius reached for his stomach. Only then did Indavara see the tears in his tunic. Strangely calm, the auxiliary dropped his blade then sat down and examined his wounds.
As Mercator walked over, Indavara noticed his sword was in his wrong hand. The optio was clenching his right fist, from which thick drops of blood were colouring the sand.
‘Looks like you two are all that’s left,’ said a rumbling voice in Greek.
The German dwarfed the four men with him, though Indavara could see that they too were not be underestimated. None seemed perturbed by the demise of his fellows and each one had taken up a shield.
Indavara spied Nobus climbing down from the cliff. He was moving swiftly but would be too late to make any difference.