‘Well now, here’s a scene I never thought to witness. The King of Kings hiding behind a Roman!’
Arsaces stepped forward.
‘My guards will-’
‘Your guards will do nothing at all other than take the blame for your death.’
The assassin stepped onto the grass, sliding the long sword from his scabbard. The polished steel sent reflections flickering across the trees behind him, and Marcus realised that the two Britons had sunk back into the cover of their branches.
‘Even the most fanatical of your priests knows that once blood is spilled it cannot be put back into a lifeless corpse, especially when the army falls in line behind your killer. They will quickly decide to overlook the probability of your son’s involvement in your murder, Majesty, and that of his brother, just as they will have no choice but to forget this!’
He struck with the speed and precision of a warrior trained from infancy, the sword stroke rising and falling in an instant. Artapanes staggered, cleaved from collarbone to navel, then collapsed backwards as the assassin twisted his blade and took a step backwards, ripping it from his body. He flicked the blade, sending a rain of blood droplets across Marcus and the king’s clothing, then dropped back into the fighting stance with the sword held out to one side, ready to strike again.
‘The priest’s close relationship with Ahura Mazda seems to have availed him little. A new cleric will be appointed after your death, Majesty, a more malleable man, although not entirely trustworthy, as Artapanes would have done well to have realised. It was his junior cleric Atardates who informed us that his master and the chief priest had colluded to bring the Roman to you, Majesty, a meeting that can only be presumed was the first step in a further treaty with Rome. Who knows what else you might have ceded to them in your weakness? Clearly it was the duty of the nobility to prevent such an error of judgement, and to remove a man who has become so fallible from the throne. So now, my king, regretfully, your time has come. I will honour your long reign with a swift and merciful death.’
His gaze switched to Marcus.
‘Whereas you, Roman, brought here by such divine providence …’
The eyes that were all either man could see of his face, narrowed with vicious amusement.
‘Your death will be a little more …’
He searched for the right Greek word.
‘… protracted.’
Tensing his body to attack, he faltered as a tumult broke out behind him, stepping back and sweeping the sword forward to deter any attack as he turned to see what was happening.
Martos had stormed out of the trees, launching himself headlong at the nearer of the two archers who still waited with arrows nocked to their bows. The Parthian loosed, but in his panic the arrow flew wide, and the Briton caught him in the mid-section, driving the breath from his body in an explosive exhalation. Rising onto his knees and knotting his fingers together, the Briton drew them back over his head, ready to club the reeling archer into insensibility, but the blow never fell. The second archer coolly raised his bow and put the waiting arrow into his chest, reaching into his quiver for a replacement as Martos tottered for a moment and then fell backwards. The fallen archer nodded his thanks to his comrade, getting slowly to his feet and reaching down to retrieve his bow.
With an ear-splitting bellow Lugos stepped out of the trees’ concealment, taking the hapless man by the neck and pulling him upright, the archer’s struggles helpless against his monstrous strength, then put a hand in the square of his back and threw him bodily at the second bowman just as he loosed. Struck hard by the flying body of his comrade, the archer staggered back, dazed by the crunching impact of their heads, but the arrow he had loosed flew straight, whipping across the short distance between bow and target to embed in the huge Briton’s thick calf. Bellowing again, pain and rage combined as he took one pace forward on the wounded leg, then another, barely able to walk, Lugos staggered towards the felled bowmen, tottering with every step as his intended victims slowly struggled back to their feet. Fumbling for an arrow, the man who had wounded the Briton nocked it to his bow with shaking fingers, failing at the first attempt before feeling the bow’s resistance as the missile’s grooved tail found the string.
Raising the weapon he sighted down the arrow, drawing it back to his ear and raising the bow, ready to shoot at the oncoming Briton, then died as Lugos swung a heavy wooden barrow that he had grabbed by one handle, smashing the hapless archer’s skull with a sweep of the improvised club. Fresh pain shot through Lugos’s body as the other archer sank a dagger into his foot, and he lifted the barrow over his head with an incoherent scream of fury, sweeping it down onto his wide-eyed victim’s face. Battered into the ground, the semi-conscious bowman raised an arm in supplication, staring up glassy-eyed as the giant looming over him lifted the barrow again, then died as the second blow smashed his windpipe flat and severed his spine. Staggering backwards, Lugos fell full length, unable to move for the pain in his leg and foot.
The stocky assassin turned back to Marcus with a chuckle.
‘How conven-’
The Roman was armed, his own eagle-pommelled gladius in his left hand and a guardsman’s longer sword in the right. The Parthian shrugged.
‘As I was saying, how convenient. Your barbarians and my archers have neatly dealt with the problem of witnesses. I’ll deal with your giant once this is done with.’
The second man walked slowly forward to join his co-conspirator, drawing his sword and ranging it alongside the shorter man’s.
‘And now there are two of us. Two of the best-trained warriors in the empire against a Roman aristocrat with only one arm. Give it up now, Roman, and go to meet your ancestors with dignity. I’ll make it clean.’
Marcus crabbed forward, raising the swords with their points aligned.
‘Who said I only had one arm? You’re not the only man who knows the value of seeming to be somewhat less than he really is. Get behind me, Majesty.’
‘Really? You think you can hold us off for long enough that help will come? Help isn’t coming, Roman. By now my brother is already dead, and as far as the rest of the palace is concerned, the King of Kings is already in a place of safety. By the time the priests realise what’s happening I’ll have had long enough to gut you and watch you bleed to death, as you try to push your own intestines back into your gaping belly.’
Marcus danced forward, his blades flickering out to clash with the assassins’ raised swords, forcing them to defend themselves as he stepped around to his left, threatening the taller of the two.
‘You’re the weak point, aren’t you? This one will give me a proper fight, but you, Your Highness …’
He flashed the long sword out in a lightning-swift attack. The taller man stepped back, and his comrade stormed into the attack, charging forward with a shout and swinging his sword in short, chopping arcs that forced Marcus back half a dozen paces as he crabbed around to his right, retreating further from the king with every step. His assailant’s eyes narrowed in fresh amusement as he readied himself to renew the onslaught.
‘See? You can’t back away for ever.’
Marcus grinned back at his attacker.