Читать книгу The Emperor Series Books 1-5 - Conn Iggulden - Страница 18

It very nearly ended before it had begun. As Renius had thought, the wild-looking slaves that streamed up to the estate walls had little idea of how to overcome armed defenders and milled around, shouting and screaming. Although it was a perfect opportunity for bowmen, Renius had shaken his head at Cabera and Lucius, who watched with arrows ready and cold eyes. There was still a chance the slaves would look for easier targets, and a few arrows might fan their rage into white-hot desperation.

‘Open the gates!’ someone shouted from the mass of torchbearers. In the flickering light, it could have been a festival if it were not for the brutal expressions of the attackers. Renius watched them, weighing options. More and more came from the rear. Clearly there were already more than a small estate could support. Rogue slaves from Rome swelled the ranks with nothing to lose, bringing hate and violence where reason might have won the day. Those at the front were pushed forward and Renius raised his arm, ready to have his two lonely archers send the first shafts into the crowd. They could hardly miss at this range.

A man stepped forward. He was heavily muscled and sported a thick black beard that made him look like a barbarian. Probably, only days previously, he had been meekly carrying rocks in a quarry, or training horses for some indulgent master. Now his chest was splashed with someone else’s blood and his face was a sneer of hate, his eyes glimmering in the flames of his torch.

‘You on the walls. You are slaves like us. Kill those who call themselves your betters. Kill them all and we will welcome you as friends.’

Renius dropped his arm and Cabera put a feathered shaft through the man’s throat.

In the moment of silence, Renius roared at the crowd of slaves: ‘That is what you will get from me. I am Renius and you will not pass here. Go home and wait for justice!’

‘Justice like that?’ came a scream of rage. Another man ran to the walls and jumped for the high ledge. The moment had arrived and suddenly the crowd howled and came forward in a rush.

Few had swords. Most were armed, like the defenders, with whatever they could find. Some had no weapons except their frenzied rage and Renius dispatched the first of these with a slick blow to his neck, ignoring the quivering fingers that scrabbled at his breastplate. All along the line, screams rose above the crash of metal on metal and metal into flesh. Renius could see Cabera drop his bow and raise a wicked-looking short knife, with which he stabbed and leapt away, letting the bodies fall back on their fellows. The old man stamped on fingers that gained easier and easier holds on the wall as the bodies of the dead served as props for new attackers.

Renius grew slightly light-headed and knew his shoulder had torn again, feeling the sudden warmth from the bandages accompanied by a blistering pain. He set his teeth against it and slammed his gladius into a man’s stomach, almost losing the weapon in the slimy grip of his guts as he toppled backwards. Another took his place and another and Renius could not see an end to them. He took a blow from a length of timber that left him dazed for a second. He staggered back, reeling, trying to find the energy to lift the sword to meet the next one. His muscles ached and the exhaustion he had felt fighting Marcus came back to hit him once again.

‘I am too old for this,’ he muttered, spitting blood over his chin. There was a movement to his left and he swung to meet it, too slowly. It was Marcus, grinning at him. He was covered in blood and looked like a demon from the ancient myths.

‘I am a little worried about the speed of my low guard. I wonder if you could observe it for me? Let me know where the trouble is?’

As he spoke, he shoulder-barged a man as he tried to straighten. The man fell badly, toppling backwards onto his head with a yell.

‘I told you not to leave your position,’ Renius gasped, trying not to show his weakness.

‘You were going to be killed. That honour is mine – not to be given away lightly to motherless scum like these, I think!’ He nodded over to the other side of the gate, where the man Caecilius, known to most simply as Cook, was grinning hugely, cutting around him with abandon.

‘Come pigs, come cattle. I will cut you to pieces.’ Underneath the fat there must have been muscle, for he waved the enormous cleaver as if it were made of light wood.

‘Cook is holding them without me. In fact, he is having the time of his life,’ Marcus went on cheerfully.

Three men breasted the wall at once, leaping from the pile of bodies that was now half as high as the top. The first swung a sword at Marcus, who slid his own into the man’s chest from the side, letting the wild lunge carry the man onto the cobbles of the yard below. The second he dispatched with a reverse cut that caught the man at eye-level, cutting into meat and bone. He died instantly.

The third whooped with pleasure as he closed on Renius. He knew the old man for who he was and in his mind was already telling the story to friends as Renius brought his sword up under his guard, ripping into his chest.

Renius let the man fall, and the sword slid clear. His left arm was hurting again, but this time it was a deep ache. His chest pulsed with pain and he groaned.

‘Are you hurt?’ Marcus asked, without taking his eyes off the wall.

‘No. Get back to your post,’ Renius snapped, his face suddenly grey.

Marcus looked at him for a long moment. ‘I think I’ll stay a while longer,’ he said softly. More men surged over the wall and his sword danced, licking from one throat to the next unstoppably.

Gaius’ father barely noticed those who fell beneath his sword. He fought as he had been trained: thrust, guard, reverse. The bodies piled most thickly at the foot of the gate and a little voice was telling him they should have broken by now. They were only slaves. They did not have to pass this wall. Why didn’t they break? He would have the wall raised to the height of three men when this was over.

It seemed as if they threw themselves onto his sword, which wetted itself in their blood, drenching the wall and gates with the gushing fluids, drenching him. His shoulders ached, his arm was leaden. Only his legs were still strong beneath him. They must break soon and look for easier targets, surely? Thrust, guard and reverse. He was locked in the legionary’s rhythm of death, but more and more were climbing the piles of flesh to get into the estate. His sword had lost its edge on bone and blades and his first cut only scraped a man leaping at him. A dagger punctured the hard muscle of his stomach and he grunted in agony, whipping his sword through the man’s jaw and dropping him.

Alexandria stood in the yard, in a pool of darkness. The other women were crying softly to themselves. One was praying. She could see Renius was exhausted and was disappointed when the boy Marcus stepped in to save him. She wondered why he had done it and widened her eyes at the contrast between them. On the one side, the grizzled warrior, veteran of a thousand conflicts, slow and in pain. On the other, Marcus was a smooth-moving murderer, smiling as he brought death to the slaves that met his sword. It did not matter if they had swords or clubs. He made them look clumsy and then took away their strength in a slice or a blow. One man clearly didn’t realise he was dying. His blood poured from his chest, but he still kept hacking away with a broken spear shaft, his face manic.

Curious, Alexandria strained to see the man’s face, and she caught the stricken moment when he felt the pain and saw the darkness coming.

All her life she had heard stories of men’s strength and glory and they seemed to hang over this butchery like golden ghosts, not quite fitting the reality. She looked for moments of comradeship, of bravery in the face of death, but, down in the shadows, she could not see it.

The cook was enjoying the fight, that was obvious. He had begun to sing some vulgar song about a market day and pretty maids, thumping out the chorus with more volume than tune, as he buried his cleaver in skulls and necks. Men fell from his blade and his song grew more raucous as they dropped.

On her left, one of the defenders fell into the yard from the walkway. He made no attempt to protect himself from the impact and his head smashed on the hard stone with a wet sound. Alexandria shuddered and grabbed the shoulder of another woman in the darkness. Whoever it was, was sobbing quietly to herself, but there was no time for that.

‘Quickly – they’ll be coming through the gap!’ she hissed, pulling the other along with her, not trusting herself to do the job alone.

As they moved, there was another crunching thud from a different section of the wall. Screams of triumph sounded. A man scrambled down, hanging for a moment, before letting go and falling the last couple of feet.

He spun, a wild, bloody nightmare, and as his eyes lit up at the lack of defenders, Alexandria rammed her blade up into his heart. Life escaped him with a sigh and another man hit the cobbles nearby. The snap of his ankle was audible even over the baying from outside the walls. The matronly Susanna, usually so careful over the exact setting of the master’s table at banquets, slipped a skinning knife across his throat and walked away from him as he shuddered and spasmed behind her.

Alexandria looked up at the bright ring of torches above. At least they had light! How awful it was to die in the dark.

‘More torches here!’ she yelled, hoping that someone would answer.

Hands grabbed her from behind and her head was wrenched to one side. She tensed for the agony that would come, but the weight on her shoulders fell away suddenly and she turned to see Susanna, her knife hand freshly covered in red wetness.

‘Keep your spirits up, love. The night’s not over yet.’ Susanna smiled and the moment of panic passed for Alexandria. She checked the yard with the others and barely winced when another defender fell, this time screaming as he hit the yard. Three men came through the gap he had left this time, with two more visible as they struggled up over the slippery bodies.

All the women drew their knives and the torchlight caught the blades, even down in the yard’s blackness. Before the men’s eyes could adjust to the gloom, the women were on them, gripping and stabbing.

Gaius came awake with a start. His mother Aurelia sat by the bed, holding a damp cloth. Its touch had awakened him and, as he looked at her, she pressed it to his forehead, crooning gently to herself. In the distance, he could hear screams and the clear sounds of battle. How had he remained asleep? Cabera had given him a warm drink as the evening darkened. There must have been something in it.

‘What is going on, Mother? I can hear fighting!’

Aurelia smiled at him sadly.

‘Shhh, my darling. You must not excite yourself. Your life is slipping away and I have come to make your last hours peaceful.’

Gaius blanched a little. No, he felt weak, but sound.

‘I am not dying. I am getting better. Now, what is happening in the yard? I should get out there!’

‘Shhh, shhh. I know they said you were getting better, but I also know they lie to me. Now be still and I will cool your brow for you.’

Gaius looked at her in disbelief. All his life, this shambling idiot had been coming to the fore, dragging away the lively, quick-witted woman he missed. He winced in anticipation of the screaming fit that would follow a wrong word from him.

‘I want to feel the night air on my skin, Mother. One last time. Please leave so that I may dress.’

‘Of course, my darling. I’ll go back to my rooms now that I have said goodbye to you, my perfect son.’ She giggled for a moment and sighed as if she carried a great weight.

‘Your father is out there getting himself killed instead of looking after me. He has never looked after me properly. We have not made love in years now.’

Gaius didn’t know what to say. He sat up and closed his eyes against the weakness. He couldn’t even hold his hand in a fist, but he had to know what was going on. Gods, why wasn’t there someone around? Were they all out there? Tubruk?

‘Please leave, Mother. I must dress. I want to sit outside in my last moments.’

‘I understand, my love. Goodbye.’ Her eyes filled with tears as she kissed his forehead and then the little room was empty again.

For a moment, he was tempted simply to fall back on the pillows. His head felt thick and heavy and he guessed the drug Cabera had given him would have kept him under till morning if his mother hadn’t had one of her ideas. Slowly, he swung his legs out and pressed his feet against the floor. Weak. Clothes. One thing at a time.

Tubruk knew they couldn’t hold much longer. He ran himself ragged trying to cover a gap where two other men had once stood beside him. Again and again, he spun barely in time to meet the attack of those who were creeping up on him as he killed those in front. His breath came in wheezing gasps and, for all his skill, he knew death was close.

Why would they not break? Damn all the gods to hell, they must break! He cursed himself for not arranging for some sort of fallback position, but there really was none. The walls were the only defence the estate had and these trembled on the brink of being completely overwhelmed.

He slipped in blood and went down badly, the air rushing out of him. A dagger punched into his side and a dirty bare foot tried to crush his face, pressing his head down. He bit it and distantly heard someone scream. He made it to one knee too late to stop two scrambling figures dropping down into the yard. He hoped the women could handle them. Gingerly he felt his side and winced at the trickle of blood, watching it for air bubbles. There were none and he could still breathe; though the air tasted like hot tin and blood.

For a few moments, no one came at him and he was able to look around the walls. Of the original twenty-nine, there were fewer than fifteen left. They had worked miracles up on the wall, but it wasn’t going to be enough.

Julius fought on, despairing as his strength flowed from his wounds. He pulled the dagger out of his flesh with a groan and instantly lost it in the chest of the next man to face him. His breath was burning his throat and he looked into the yard, seeing his son come out. He smiled and the pride felt as if it would burst his chest. Another blade entered him, shoved down into the gap between his breastplate and his neck, deep into his lung. He spat blood and buried his gladius into the attacker without seeing or knowing his face. His arms dropped away and the sword fell from his grasp, clattering on the stones of the courtyard below. He could only watch as the rest came on.

Tubruk saw Julius collapse under a mass of bodies that spilled past him over the narrow walkway and down into the dark. He cried out his grief and rage, knowing he couldn’t reach him in time. Renius was still on his feet, but only Marcus’ care kept the old warrior from death, and even that blinding whirl of blades was faltering as Marcus bled from wounds, his life dribbling away in a score of gashes.

Gaius climbed up beside Tubruk, his face white from the effort of dragging himself up the steps to the wall. His gladius was out and he swung it as he reached the top, cutting into a man levering himself up over the dark bodies. Tubruk slid his blade into the man’s ribs as Gaius swayed, but still the slave wouldn’t die. He flailed with a dagger and cut Gaius across the face. Gaius hammered another blow at his neck and then the life was gone. More faces appeared, shouting and cursing as they struggled onto the slippery stones.

‘Your father, Gaius.’

‘I know.’ Gaius’ sword arm came up without a quiver to block a spear, relic of some old battle. He stepped inside its reach and took out the man’s throat in a spray of bloody wetness. Tubruk charged two more, making one drop over the edge, but falling to his knees in the sticky mess of the floor as he did so. Gaius cut the next down as he reversed his blade to plunge it into Tubruk. Then he staggered back a pace, his face white under the blood, his knees buckling. They waited together for the next one up to the edge.

The night suddenly became brighter as the feed barns were set alight and still no new attacker came to end it for him.

‘One more,’ Tubruk swore through bloody lips. ‘I can take one more with me. You should go down, you’re not fit to fight.’

Gaius ignored him, his mouth a grim line. They waited, but no one came. Tubruk edged closer to the outer wall and looked over, at the mangled limbs and broken carcasses that were piled beneath the ledge, sprawled in slippery gore and glassy expressions. There was no one there waiting for him with a dagger, no one at all.

The light from the burning barns silhouetted leaping figures as they capered around in the darkness. Tubruk began to chuckle to himself, wincing as his lips split again.

‘They’ve found the wine store,’ he said and the laughter could not be stopped, despite the wrenching pain it brought.

‘They are leaving!’ Marcus growled, amazed. He hawked and spat blood at the floor, wondering vaguely if it was his own. He turned and grinned at Renius, seeing how he sat slumped, propped against two carcasses. The old warrior just looked at him, and for a moment Marcus began to remember his acid dislike.

‘I …’ He paused and took two quick steps to the old man. He was dying, that was obvious. Marcus pressed a hand made black with blood and dirt onto Renius’ chest, feeling the heart flutter and miss. ‘Cabera! Over here, quickly,’ he shouted.

Renius closed his eyes against the noise and the pain.

Alexandria panted as if she was in labour. She was exhausted and covered in blood, which she had never imagined would be as sticky and foul as it actually was. They never mentioned this in the stories either. The stuff was slippery for a few moments, then gummed up your hands, making every surface tacky to the touch. She waited for the next one to drop into the yard, walking around almost drunkenly, her knife held in a stiff arm by her side.

She stumbled over a body and realised it was Susanna. She would never cut a goose again, or put fresh rushes down in the kitchens, or feed scraps to stray puppies on her shopping trips in Rome. This last thought brought clear-water tears that ran through the mud and stink. Alexandria kept walking, kept the patrol going, but no new enemies appeared, landing in the yard like crows. No one came, but still she staggered on, unable to stop. Two hours to dawn and she could still hear screaming in the fields.

‘Stay on the walls! No man leaves his post until dawn,’ Tubruk bellowed around the yard. ‘They could still be back.’

He didn’t think they would, though. The wine store held the best part of a thousand wax-sealed amphorae. Even if the slaves smashed a few, there should still be enough to keep them happy until sun-up.

After that final command was given, he wanted to climb down himself to cross quickly to where Julius lay among the dead, but someone had to hold the place.

‘Go to your father, lad.’

Gaius nodded once and descended, bracing himself against the wall for support. The pain was agonising. He could feel that the operation incision had ripped open, and touching the area left his fingers red and glistening. As he dragged himself back up the stone steps to the defenders’ positions, his wounds tore at his will, but he held on.

‘Are you dead, Father?’ he whispered as he looked down at the body. There could be no answer.

‘Hold your positions, lads. It’s over for now,’ Tubruk’s voice snapped across the yard.

Alexandria heard the news and dropped the knife onto the cobbles. Her wrists were being held by another slave girl from the kitchens, saying something to her. She could not make out the words over the screaming of the wounded, suddenly breaking into what she had thought was silence.

‘I have been in silence and darkness for ever,’ she thought. ‘I have seen hell.’

Who was she again? The lines had blurred somewhere in the evening, as she killed slaves who wanted freedom as much as she did. The weight of it all bore her down to the ground and she began to sob.

Tubruk could not resist any longer. He limped down from his place on the wall and up again to where Julius lay. He and Gaius looked down at the body without words.

Gaius tried to feel the reality of the man’s death. He could not. What lay on the floor was a broken thing, torn and gashed, in spreading pools of a liquid that looked more like oil than blood in the torchlight. His father’s presence was gone.

He spun round suddenly, his hand coming up to ward something off.

‘There was someone next to me. I could feel someone standing there, looking down with me,’ he began to babble.

‘That would be him, all right. This is a night for ghosts.’

The feeling had gone, though, and Gaius shivered, his mouth set tight against a grief that would drown him.

‘Leave me, Tubruk. And thank you.’

Tubruk nodded, his eyes dark shadows as he limped down the steps into the yard. Wearily, he climbed back up to his old place on the wall and looked over each body he’d cut down, trying to remember the details of each death. He could recognise only a few and he soon gave that up and sat against a post, with his sword between his legs, watching the waning flicker of fire from the fields and waiting for the dawn.

Cabera placed his own palms over Renius’ heart.

‘This is his time, I think. The walls inside him are thin and old. Some are leaking blood where there should be none.’

‘You healed Gaius. You can heal him.’

‘He is an old man, lad. He was already weak and I …’ Cabera paused as he felt a hot blade touch his back. Slowly and carefully, he turned his head to look at Marcus. There was nothing to reassure him in the grim expression.

‘He lives. Do your work, or I’ll kill just one more today.’

At the words, Cabera could feel a shift and different futures came into play, like gambling chips slotting into position with a silent click. His eyes widened, but he said nothing as he began to summon his energies for the healing. What a strange young man who had the power to bend the futures around him! Surely he had come to the right place in history. This was indeed a time of flux and change, without the usual order and safe progression.

He pulled an iron needle from the hem of his robe and threaded it neatly and quickly. He worked with care, sewing the bloody lips of slashed flesh together, remembering what it was to be young, when anything seemed possible. As Marcus watched, Cabera pressed his brown hands against Renius’ chest and massaged the heart. He felt it quicken and stifled an exclamation as life came flooding back into the old body. He held his position for a long time, until the etched pain eased from Renius’ expression and he looked as if he were merely asleep. As Cabera rose to his feet, swaying with exhaustion, he nodded to himself as if a point had been confirmed.

‘The gods are strange players, Marcus. They never tell us all their plans. You were right. He will see a few more dawns and sunsets before the end.’