It was around midday when the ships appeared on the horizon, twelve of them, all single-masted vessels being powered by oars as the wind had almost died away. They were different from the vessels that had delivered the iron and bronze on previous occasions, but I thought nothing of it. The sea was as flat as a table and within an hour the ships were at the shoreline. In fact they ran aground on the beach, their iron-plated rams at the bows cutting a channel through the soft sand. I strode forward to the line of ships as the crews folded their sails and the rowers rested their oars in the water. Gangplanks descended from the bow of each vessel. I saw the haughty, gaunt face of the eunuch standing at the bow of one vessel, who beckoned me over to him.
‘Prince Pacorus,’ he shouted in a high-pitched voice, ‘I trust you have the silver.’
‘I have, but I want to see the goods first.’
‘Of course, of course, please come aboard.’ He pointed a pale, thin hand at the gangplank. I ascended and jumped onto the deck. The vessel was sturdy, broad-beamed and in the centre of the deck sat some sort of cargo, over which had been placed a large canvas cover secured in place by ropes. At the stern was a cabin, the doors to which were shut. The eunuch ordered a group of sailors to remove the canvas cover, to reveal wooden crates filled with mail shirts. I pulled one of the shirts out and held it up. It was a waist-length, armless garment comprising alternating rows of riveted and ‘solid’ rings (links with no riveted join). It had overlapping shoulder sections to provide two layers of protection for the upper body. Though I could not be precise, by its feel I put its weight at fifty pounds, maybe less. I picked up other shirts and found them to be of the same high quality.
‘Is everything in order?’ asked the eunuch.
‘When we have checked your inventory, I’m sure it will be,’ I replied, before waving to my men on the beach to board the other ships and begin checking their cargoes. The wagons containing the silver were driven onto the beach and up to the water’s edge. The eunuch scuttled down a gangplank and insisted that the chests be opened, one by one. I signalled my approval and his narrow eyes lit up as he caressed the silver bars, counting them meticulously then counting them again. Two of my men came aboard and we began counting the mail shirts. The eunuch came back on board and scuttled past us, heading towards the stern. I noticed that suddenly myself and my two soldiers were the only ones on the deck and instinct told me that something was wrong. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and so I told the two men to stop what they were doing. The eunuch had also disappeared. Time seemed to slow as the cabin doors at the stern flew open and Roman soldiers burst out, legionaries with short swords in their hands. They wore no helmets and carried no shields, though they were wearing mail shirts. We wore tunics and leggings and carried only our swords. The Romans ran towards us and I screamed to my men to get off the boat. They never made it. One tried to stand and fight but was slashed, stabbed and felled by three legionaries. The other tried to run but tripped on the canvas sheeting, stumbled and had a sword rammed through the back of his neck. I drew my sword, raced down the gangplank and jumped onto the sand. I turned just as the first Roman following caught up with me. I feinted to my left and let his momentum carry him onto my extended blade, which went through his mail shirt into his sternum. I yanked the blade free and swung it at a second Roman behind me, slashing his face with the edge of the spatha. I saw more legionaries jumping from the other ships, surrounding and then killing my men where they stood. We were being slaughtered one by one. There was no time to try to form a line as the Romans were swarming all around us. Within seconds I too was surrounded, three legionaries circling me menacingly.
‘He’s mine,’ came a shout from behind one, and he stepped aside to reveal Titus Sextus, garrison commander at Thurri, advancing towards me, sword in hand. His white face was red with rage and his eyes burned with hate as he charged at me, slashing at my head with his gladius. I deflected his blade and circled him, but he turned, faced me and then thrust straight for my belly. I jumped aside but he slashed sideways with his sword and gashed my left forearm. He then delivered an arcing strike, which I ducked under and stabbed him in his right thigh. He yelped with pain and then launched a frenzied attack despite his wound, aiming blows at my head and neck. I managed to block his strikes but was forced back as I did so. He moved his sword across the front of his body, alternating forehand and backhand strikes with dexterity, strikes that I was able to block with difficulty. But in doing so I stepped back, lost my footing on the sand and dropped my sword. Then Sextus was standing over me, ready to thrust his blade into my chest. A look of satisfaction, akin to pure joy, briefly flashed across his face. Then the arrow struck him.
The arrowhead went through his mail shirt and into his left pectoral muscle, and within seconds a large red stain appeared around the shaft. He coughed and dropped his sword, looking down in abject misery at the wound that was draining his life blood away. Then he collapsed backwards onto the sand. I pulled my dagger out of my right boot and rammed the point down hard through the left foot of the legionary standing behind me. He screamed and fell to the ground as I drew the dagger out of his foot and thrust it at the groin of the soldier standing to my left, who was gaping at his commander lying in front of him. He didn’t make a sound as I drove the blade between his legs, but his face was contorted in agony as I retrieved my sword and, with the dagger still embedded in his genitals, ran him through the stomach. I turned to face my last remaining opponent, but his eyes were glazed and he merely collapsed face down in the sand, an arrow in his back. Horsemen were now flooding onto the beach, firing their bows from the saddle and cutting down legionaries and sailors alike. Nergal rode up to me with Gallia by his side. He looked at my arm covered in blood.
‘Are you hurt, highness?’
‘Nothing that will not heal. Don’t let any get away,’ I ordered.
He saluted and rode away to instruct his company commanders. He must have brought his whole dragon, as the beach suddenly seemed a very crowded place. Gallia dismounted and pulled off her helmet, her blonde hair plaited and her expression one of grim determination.
‘Nice shooting,’ I said, walking over to a dead Roman and retrieving my bloody dagger from his groin. Just a few feet away, his chest covered in blood, but still breathing, lay Titus Sextus. I stood over him, his eyes still full of hate for me.
‘And this, my sweet,’ I said to Gallia, ‘is Titus Sextus, garrison commander at Thurri and a man who violated our trade agreement. What should I do with him?’
Gallia walked over, bow in hand and sword at her hip. ‘Kill him.’
The killing all around us seemed to have stopped as Nergal’s men rounded up the surviving legionaries and placed them under guard. Some of the sailors had jumped onto the beach and had attempted to push their ships back out to sea, but they had been killed by arrows and so their companions surrendered, shuffling off their boats with their arms raised and sitting in sullen groups on the sand. My men went aboard all twelve ships and searched them thoroughly, but only the vessel I had boarded contained any supplies. The rest had piles of sackcloths heaped under canvas covers to give the appearance of bulky items. When my men had gone onboard to inspect the goods, they had been killed immediately. So much for the word of a Roman.
I told Nergal to search all of the vessels thoroughly for weapons, clothing and anything else that might be of use to us, including the mail shirts that had been used to deceive me, and then to take all the oars from each ship and stack them on the beach. There would be a funeral pyre for our fallen comrades, so treacherously murdered by the Romans. The oarsmen, legionaries and other crew members were then herded back onto their ships and secured below the decks with chains. Gallia bound my arm while this was going on, while Titus Sextus gurgled bubbles of blood.