They reached the mules. Six of the company dismounted and crept up to the tent. At a signal they stabbed their spears through the leather to skewer anyone hiding inside. Finding it empty they returned to the mules and started to untether them. The rest of their comrades circled slowly, keeping the anxious animals in a group, their javelins and bows ready to fell the mules’ minders should they return.
Sabinus kicked his horse forward, yelling at the top of his voice as he broke cover. ‘Get the bastards, boys, don’t let any escape.’
The others followed him at full pelt, in dispersed order, yelling the different war cries of their own people. Within moments they were halfway across the open ground to the confused runaways. Those that had dismounted struggled to find their horses amongst the panicking mules, which dragged their tethers around entangling the legs of men, mules and horses alike.
Baseos and Ataphanes let fly their first arrows. Vespasian forgot to yell as he watched in awe as they drew, released, reloaded and drew their bows again with such speed that they were able to have two arrows in the air at any one time and still maintain perfect control of their mounts with just their legs.
The first shafts thumped into the chaotic crowd, felling two runaways and a mule that went down whinnying shrilly, kicking out at everything around it, causing the rest to start rearing and bucking in panic.
‘I said watch out for the fucking mules, you cretins,’ Sabinus screamed at Baseos and Ataphanes as they wheeled their horses away to the left to pass around the top of the melee.
The mounted runaways had disentangled themselves from the chaos and turned their horses uphill to face the onslaught, releasing their arrows as they did. Vespasian felt the wind of one buzzing past his left ear and felt a wave of panic. He froze as Sabinus, Ludovicus and Hieron hurled their javelins. The momentum of the downhill charge gave added weight to the shots; two slammed into their targets with such force that one passed clean through a horseman’s belly and on into the rump of his mount, leaving him skewered to the beast as it tried, in its agony, to buck its screaming rider off. The other exploded through a horse’s skull; it dropped stone dead, trapping its rider beneath it, spattering him and his colleagues with hot, sticky blood. This was enough for the remaining three, who turned and fled towards the gully that was now devoid of their two companions who had been left there as a rearguard.
‘Leave them to Pallo’s lot,’ Sabinus shouted as he and Ludovicus wheeled their horses back round towards the mules. Vespasian, burning with shame for having faltered, followed, leaving Hieron to deal with the unhorsed runaway who had now managed to pull himself free from his horse. He struggled to his feet, wiping the horse blood from his eyes, only to see Hieron’s blade flashing through the air at neck height. His severed head fell to the ground and was left staring, in disbelief, at his twitching, decapitated body as the last of his blood drained from his brain and with it his life.
Baseos and Ataphanes had been busy. Three more of the runaways lay on the grass, feathered with arrows, and the sixth was making a break for it. Sabinus drew his sword and galloped after him. The slave looked over his shoulder and, although he must have known that he stood no chance of escape, put on another turn of speed – but to no avail. Sabinus was upon him in an instant and, with the flat of his sword, struck him on the back of the head, knocking him cold.
Vespasian looked down the hill towards the gully to see one of the three fleeing horsemen fall backwards off his mount, pierced by an arrow. His companions, seeing their escape blocked and their two erstwhile comrades lying on the ground with their throats ripped open, immediately wheeled their horses left and headed north, along the line of the gully, at full gallop. Vespasian urged his horse into a gallop, realising that they would escape unless he could cut them off. His desire to prevent the two men avoiding justice, heightened by the urgent necessity to redeem himself, produced a strange new sensation within him: blood-lust. The wind pulled at his horse’s mane as he raced diagonally down the hill, closing in on the two riders. He was aware of Sabinus and Hieron following behind him, shouting at him to wait, but he knew that there was no time.
The angle between him and his targets quickly narrowed, he raised himself in his saddle and, with all his strength, launched a javelin at the lead rider. It buried itself deep in the horse’s belly, sending the creature spinning head over hoofs to land on its rider, snapping his back with a sickening crunch. The second man had to check his speed to negotiate a path around the thrashing animal, giving Vespasian the advantage that he needed to draw level. His adversary slashed wildly with his sword at Vespasian’s head. He ducked it and, at the same moment, launched himself at the now off-balanced rider. They came crashing to the ground, rolling over and over each other, trying to find a firm grip on any part of their opponent’s body, an arm, throat, hair, anything. Coming to a stop, Vespasian found himself underneath the runaway, winded and disorientated. As he struggled for air, a fist smashed into his face and he felt a searing pain and heard a sharp crack as his nose was flattened; blood sprayed into his eyes. Two rough hands closed around his throat and he realised that he was fighting for his life; the desire to kill was replaced by the instinct to survive. Terrified he twisted violently left then right in an unsuccessful effort to prevent his assailant tightening his grip. His eyes began to bulge. He peered through streaming blood at the man’s face; his cracked lips tightened into a broken-toothed leer and his rancid breath flooded Vespasian’s senses. Vespasian’s flailing arms slammed wild punches into the side of his head, but still the downward pressure on his windpipe increased. On the point of blacking out he heard a dull thud and felt his attacker shudder. Vespasian looked up. The man’s eyes were wide open with shock and his mouth had gone slack; a bloody javelin point poked from out of his right nostril.
‘What did I say about heroics, you stupid little shit?’
Vespasian focused through the blood and made out Sabinus, on foot, holding a javelin in two hands, supporting the weight of the now limp runaway. Sabinus tossed the body contemptuously aside and held out his hand to help his brother up.
‘Well, now.’ He grinned maliciously. ‘Whatever good looks you may have thought you possessed have been ruined by that little escapade. Perhaps that’ll teach you to listen to your elders and betters in future.’
‘Did I kill the other one?’ Vespasian managed to ask through a mouthful of blood.
‘No, you killed his horse and then his horse killed him. Come on, there’s one left alive to nail up.’
Vespasian held a strip of cloth, torn from the dead runaway’s tunic, over his bleeding nose as he walked back up the hill; it stank, but that helped him to remain conscious. His head pounded with pain now that the adrenalin had subsided. He breathed in laboured gasps and had to lean on Sabinus. Hieron followed behind with the horses.
They reached the mules, which were calming down after their ordeal. Baseos and Ataphanes had rounded up those that had run off and had captured eight of the runaways’ horses. Pallo and Simeon were busy tying the animals together into a column. Only two had been killed; four others had flesh wounds that would heal with time.
‘Not a bad day’s work, eh boys? Two mules down, eight horses up, Father won’t have to take you to court for careless shooting,’ Sabinus chuckled at Baseos and Ataphanes.