They all waited to see what Secundus would say.
‘There’s only one way out,’ he said. ‘And it isn’t by retreating.’
‘Why not?’ asked Fabiola. At least they knew the route that lay behind. Who knew what was ahead?
‘I heard voices back there.’
‘So did I,’ added the oldest of the group.
This was met with uniform scowls.
‘Another group waiting to butcher us if we run,’ said a sallow-faced veteran with pockmarked cheeks.
‘There are more of them than we thought,’ muttered Secundus. Crouching down, he beckoned.
His men immediately huddled closer and, knowing she had to be guided in such situations, Fabiola did the same.
‘We charge the fuckers,’ declared Secundus confidently. ‘Go straight across the barrier.’
‘Just like old times,’ interjected the sallow-faced man.
There were fierce nods of agreement. Faced with death yet again, the veterans felt the familiar thrill of battle. Along with the pumping adrenalin and the knot of fear in their bellies, it felt good. None of them had ever shirked their duty; they would not do so now.
‘Does the first one over the summit get a corona muralis?’ asked another.
Everyone except the two women laughed.
Secundus saw their confused look. ‘It’s the golden crown given to the first man on top of an enemy wall,’ he explained.
‘What shall we do?’ asked Fabiola, keeping her voice as calm as possible. ‘Tell us.’
Docilosa moved closer and clutched her mistress’ hand; alongside Sextus snarled silently.
Pleased by their willingness, Secundus smiled. ‘We’ll form a small wedge. There are few men who can withstand it,’ he said. ‘These dogs will be no different.’
‘We have no shields,’ said Fabiola stoutly. ‘Does that matter?’
Respect filled the one-armed veteran’s eyes. ‘Don’t worry,’ he replied. ‘Both of you will be in the middle.’
‘And on the other side?’
‘We make a run for it. If enough of them are dead, they’ll have lost the stomach for a fight. Otherwise, there’s a small settlement not far beyond the trees which should provide safety.’
‘Should?’ Fabiola enquired archly.
Secundus shrugged. ‘If the gods are smiling on us.’
‘And the slaves?’
Secundus grimaced. ‘They’re untrained and unarmed. Have to take their own chances.’
‘We have no spare weapons. Save yourselves,’ Fabiola ordered the four slaves. ‘Run into the trees when we attack. With luck, they’ll never find you. Head back to Brutus’ house in Rome if you can.’
A couple of them nodded fearfully.
Then mistress and servant stared at each other; Docilosa’s face full of uncertainty.
Another volley of arrows hit the shields of the veterans at the front.
‘Give me a dagger,’ said Docilosa abruptly.
‘That’s the spirit,’ grinned Secundus.
One of his men tugged a pugio from his belt and handed it over.
They did not delay any longer. Keeping their helmeted faces low behind their scuta, the ex-soldiers moved away from the protection of the litter. Fabiola and Docilosa scuttled behind them, with Sextus by their side. The sallow-faced man assumed the lead position, while three others formed each side of the wedge. Ushering Sextus and the two women within, Secundus and the injured veteran closed up the rear.
Cries of alarm rose as their ambushers saw what was about to happen. More arrows flew through the air.
‘Now!’ cried Secundus.
Mud squelched underfoot as they broke into a run.
Twenty paces and the ground began to grow uneven. The wedge’s speed slowed dramatically as each person had to look where they placed their feet. Fabiola concentrated hard on staying upright, knowing that a fall would probably be fatal.
‘Don’t stop!’ yelled Secundus. ‘Keep moving!’
Clambering over rough logs with protruding branches that ripped and tore at their lower legs, the veterans pushed up on to the barrier. They were close enough now to make out the faces of their enemies. In between helping Docilosa find her footing and managing not to lose her own, Fabiola scanned the shouting ruffians, searching for any she might recognise.
Two men hurled themselves at the sallow-faced veteran who led the wedge’s point. The first got a shield boss full in the face and went down screaming. Wary now, his comrade slowed down a trifle. Then he lunged viciously at the ex-legionary’s foot with his curved knife. As the thug bent down, the next man in line leaned over and stabbed him through the chest with his gladius. A gush of blood spattered on to the rocks; now two of their ambushers were out of action.
The wedge advanced slowly up the barrier, arrows and small rocks banging off the shields. Several more thugs slammed into it, trying to reach the veterans. They met swift ends from efficient sword thrusts. All that needed to be done was disable the enemy, Fabiola realised. It was not necessary to kill each one. After a gladius blade had opened a man’s belly or sliced deep into the muscles of his arm or leg, he wasn’t about to pose any further problem. Respect and a little hope filled Fabiola as they continued. It was terrifying, and incredible, to witness. She could easily imagine how an enemy might be punched apart using the ‘V’ shaped formation in a battle.
Then everything became a blur.
A ruffian with long, greasy hair shoulder-charged the smallest veteran on the wedge’s left side. The impact and the uneven ground were sufficient for the short ex-soldier’s caligae to skid on a rock. Stabbing the thug through the chest as he fell, he also collided with the comrade on his left. This in turn caused the last man to stumble, and the wedge broke apart. With more men, they might have managed to haul each other up again, but there simply weren’t enough. Their heavy scuta were now a hindrance rather than a help, leaving the fallen completely at the mercy of their enemies. With roars of triumph, more ambushers swarmed in, spitting the three helpless veterans like boys might spike fallen apples with sticks.
Fabiola’s eyes opened wide with horror. There was no one between her and the ruffians now; the nearest ones were clearly visible. Fabiola recognised none, but was dismayed to count at least six. And there were more attacking the other side. Then Fabiola’s heart stopped. Twenty paces away stood a familiar figure, directing the attack with waves of his long spear. The stocky build, the silver bracelets and four long scabs on his cheek from where she had scratched him. It could be no one else. Scaevola.
Their eyes met.
Making a filthy gesture, Scaevola grinned at her. ‘I wanted to finish our date,’ he shouted.
Fabiola felt sick.
‘Keep going, Mistress!’ Docilosa’s voice hissed in her ear. ‘It’s our only chance.’
Dumbly, she obeyed.
Secundus and one of the others swung around to try and close the gap left by their fallen comrades. Sextus darted forward as well, an over-keen thug immediately dying beneath his gladius. Secundus gave another a great shove in the chest with his scutum, sending him reeling back into the men behind.
At the front, the sallow-faced veteran had reached the top of the barrier. ‘Come on,’ he yelled. ‘We can make it!’
They were the last words he ever spoke.
Scaevola’s spear hurtled through the air, striking him in the neck, below the cheek guard of his bronze helmet. The leaf-shaped blade sliced through the veteran’s flesh to emerge blood-red on the other side. Without a sound, he toppled forward on to the road, ten steps below.
Next to die was the man with the arrow wound. He was followed by another on the wedge’s right side, who was simply overwhelmed by weight of numbers. Secundus, Sextus and just two more were the last men left. Scrambling frantically down over the boulders and logs, the party reached the flat ground beyond. A trio of thugs were waiting for them, weapons raised, while the rest came charging in pursuit.