‘I’m not in the legion, Centurion,’ Callie replied sweetly, with the cheekiest smile she could muster.
Gallo grumbled and ground his teeth, and Scriptor cleared his throat, interfering before the centurion lost his temper.
‘It will be a long journey to Lebena,’ he said. ‘Two days at least. And all we have for comfort is what we’re wearing and the pack rolls that are in here already. And we need to be alert throughout the journey. I suggest we sleep in shifts as best we can, with two asleep and one awake at all times.’
As Gallo nodded his agreement, Marcus shook his head. ‘That’s only three, and there are five of us.’
‘I’m not placing the responsibility of watch on you two,’ the centurion said. ‘As your sister so sweetly pointed out, she’s not in the legion.’
‘But I am, sir. Or will be.’ He caught the angry look in the centurion’s eye. ‘Or hope to be, anyway, sir.’
‘He’s an attentive lad, sir,’ Scriptor smiled. ‘And it would be better to work in pairs. More company anyway.’
Marcus grinned at his uncle, and Gallo sighed and stretched. ‘Alright, then. Pairs. Starting after lunch. Did anyone think to bring food with them? I doubt there’s any in these packs here.’
Potens, standing near the back, lifted the leather satchel he often wore to carry his writing and measuring implements and patted it with a smile. ‘Hardly a feast, sir, but enough to keep us going for now.’
Callie sat back against the side of the cart, shuffling around until she found some position that was remotely comfortable and yawned. ‘I think I’ll have a nap before lunch. Have fun.’
Outside, the officer gave the order to move off and after a moment, the wagon lurched and began to trundle along the street on the way to the port and a ship for Rome.
Chapter Twelve
Marcus continued to scratch irritably on the wooden board at the side of the wagon. It had indeed been a long journey. He had entertained himself, if it could be called that, by counting off the hours as best he could and marking them on the boards with his knife. The collection of small stick men he had drawn was starting to look like a whole century drawn up in battle lines now.
They had left Gortyn by lunchtime and travelled with awful slowness, the wagons having to be moved carefully due to their precious cargo. Two days they had travelled from the city towards the port of Lebena. They had gradually climbed that range of high, brown hills and crossed them over two days. And each night, worn out from the constant bouncing and rattling of the wagon and the need to be ever-aware of their surroundings, they had camped carefully.
Both nights the cavalry had put the two wagons at the centre of the camp and surrounded them with men watching every shadow in the dark landscape, expecting attack at any time. Nothing had happened. And even though the cavalrymen had posted guards, still Gallo had insisted on the five of them keeping watch themselves, not convinced that the riders would be good enough at the job. So Marcus and Scriptor had stayed awake half the night, their ears constantly listening for anything other than the occasional murmur and fart of a cavalryman or the scratching of Dog as he rid himself of fleas, or the breeze whistling through the sparse grass. Nothing. And equally nothing for the other half of the night as Potens and Gallo took watch.
Dog went about his own business, of course, sometimes lying in the wagon with them and sometimes wandering about outside, chasing rodents or exploring and finding something new to chew or wee on.
Callie, of course, simply slept soundly through it all with a contented smile that just irritated Marcus. Whenever he shared his feeling that she was wrong and that this was not going to work, she just patted him rather condescendingly on the arm and told him everything would be fine. The Minoan would make a try before they got to Lebena, because he had to.
Her tight-lipped silence over the surprise she had arranged there was yet another thing that irritated Marcus, almost as much as the mysterious contents of the second wagon, which remained sealed and hidden, even at night. And since the five of them had to stay in their wagon along with those frightening great bronze snakes and the struggling metal men, none of them had had the opportunity to investigate the ‘spare’ wagon.
But it was all immaterial now, because now, just after noon on the third day out of Gortyn, they crested a hill and one of the soldiers called out ‘Lebena ahead.’
‘Halt the wagons,’ called the officer, and a moment later the vehicle they shared with the bronze sculpture ground to a halt at a funny angle, pointing down a hill. Dog, who had been curled up in the wagon, opened one eye suspiciously.
‘Well blow me down,’ said the cavalry officer in a surprised voice. ‘Would you look at that?’
Unable to contain himself any longer, Marcus hurried to the side of the wagon and unhooked one of the loops that held the canvas cover in place. Grunting, he pulled the side up and peered through the gap.
He blinked.
‘By all the gods, Callie, how did you manage that?’
Gallo and Potens hurried over and lifted the canvas, peering out across the shore far below, whistling in disbelief.
Marcus grinned. Now he knew why the Minoan had to try before they got to the port.
In the calm waters of Lebena, within the breakwater, sat a small fleet of Roman army triremes. Their own ship was still at the dockside, as was the Queen of Sheba, which had once been the Argo on which their parents had travelled. But six of the most powerful ships of the Alexandrian fleet also sat in the harbour, a more than adequate escort for the ship carrying the governor’s treasure. Even the wicked pirate ships of the Minoan would be unable to take the prize when it was escorted by them. The Minoan had no choice now. If he had seen those ships, he would know that once the statue boarded a trireme it was lost to him.
‘Simple,’ Callie smiled. ‘I asked the governor how he would protect such a prize and he told me that there was part of the Alexandrian fleet currently at the other port of Matala. As soon as we made the plan, the governor sent a fast rider to Matala with orders for those ships to head up the coast to Lebena. And here they are. The governor’s treasure is quite safe.’
‘Or it will be, when it leaves Lebena,’ Potens reminded them. We’ve got to get it down into the town first. That’s a very windy road. It’ll take us an hour to get down there.’
‘Hades,’ cursed the centurion and pulled the canvas sharply downwards.
‘What is it, sir?’ Scriptor asked, frowning.
‘A whole load of horses about four bends down towards the town. Didn’t look like tourists, either. The sun reflected off them quite a lot, so they were armed and armoured.’
Scriptor dropped to where they had lifted the canvas and raised it just far enough to peer through. ‘I see them,’ he said. ‘About four bends down, yes. I reckon there must be two dozen of them, and very well armoured. They outnumber us then by twenty four to sixteen and that’s enough to be worrying. I know the governor’s soldiers are well equipped and they look good, but they’re just a ceremonial unit, really. They’re not proper legionaries. Never fought a battle like the twenty second has. Probably never did much more than break up a fight at the horse races.’
Gallo nodded. ‘By comparison, the Minoan’s men are ex-soldiers and ex-gladiators. All tough and well-armed. This could be touch and go. I wish we had all our armour and equipment with us.’
‘Everything will be fine,’ Callie smiled. ‘Everything is taken care of. Just sit tight and let them come to take the wagons.’
Centurion Gallo frowned at her again. ‘This is starting to wear my patience thin, girl. What aren’t you telling us?’
‘And spoil the surprise, Centurion?’
Gallo, his face reddening, turned and took a pace towards her, but Scriptor stepped in between. ‘Sir, she’s just a girl.’
‘Oh, I see,’ barked the centurion. ‘When she wants something from me, she’s part of the unit and an invaluable member of the team, but when I want something from her, she’
s just a girl and not part of the legion.’ He turned from Scriptor to Callie. ‘You can’t have it both ways, girl.’
At the sight of her infuriating smile, Gallo went even redder, but their attention was distracted at that moment by the sound of hoof beats drumming along the ground outside and the desperate shouting of the cavalry officer.
‘What’s happening?’ snapped Gallo. Potens went to the back of the wagon and peered out. ‘The cavalry have gone. They’re racing off down the road towards the Minoan’s horsemen with their commander chasing after them.’
Callie’s expression of smug satisfaction slipped for a moment and she blinked. ‘Gone?’
‘Yes. They’re off after the Minoan’s men. The officer’s at the back, trying to stop them but failing.’
‘That wasn’t the plan,’ whispered Callie in surprise.
‘I told you,’ her uncle said, ‘those cavalrymen are just play soldiers, not real ones. They don’t have a clue what to do in a real fight. Nice uniforms but no discipline.’
‘But that’s not the plan,’ hissed Callie. ‘They’re putting everything in danger. They’re supposed to wait here for the enemy to come to us.’
From down the hill came the sounds of fighting, of swords clanging and of horses neighing and men shouting. Callie stared at the others, her confidence suddenly gone. She had been so careful to put her plans into place with the governor’s help, and everything should have worked perfectly. But she hadn’t counted on the cavalrymen going mad and charging into battle with the Minoan’s men. All too quickly the sounds of fighting stopped and were replaced by the sound of horses approaching.
‘Oh no,’ Callie said, frightened. ‘That’s not the governor’s men, is it?’
Gallo, crouching down and peering through the gap, shook his head. ‘No. Nine very dangerous killers on horses, some with swords and spears and some with bows. And the Minoan is with them, too. I think we’re in trouble now.’
Dog stretched as though there were nothing out of place in the world and dropped from the back of the wagon to the dusty ground, scratching himself, having an experimental lick of something brown on the road, and then wandering off in search of something interesting.
‘Open the wagon,’ shouted a voice horribly familiar to Marcus. He had heard the Minoan at Cnossus ruins and would recognise that voice anywhere. Just to hear it again sent a shiver of fear through him. What were they going to do? He had the greatest respect for the three soldiers in the wagon with him, and for a boy yet to join the legion his own sword skills were coming on well. But to face nine professional mercenaries like this was impossible. They were going to lose. And this time, the Minoan would not make the mistake of just locking them up.
‘Open it,’ bellowed the angry man outside. ‘I want to see my prize.’
‘Centurion?’ asked the muffled voice of the wagon driver on the seat out front.
‘You’d better do it,’ Gallo replied.
The three soldiers in the wagon gathered their weapons. They wore no armour or helmets and carried no shields, but all three had worn their military belts over their tunics with the sword buckled to the side, for all the good it would do against nine men.
‘Marcus?’ Scriptor said quietly. ‘And Callie? As soon as anything starts, I want you to run off the road and into the bushes. Make your way down the slope to the town as fast as you can, staying out of sight and off the road, and find the ship. Once you’re on board no one can hurt you.’
‘But what about you, Uncle?’ Callie whispered. Marcus nodded, echoing her worry as he crossed the wagon and grabbed hold of their uncle, wrapping his arms around him. Three years ago they had lost their parents at sea because of the Minoan and his pirates. It was unspeakably unfair to think that now they might lose their uncle – their last known relative – because of the very same villain.
‘I have to do my duty, children,’ Scriptor said, drawing his sword with a grim expression. ‘No matter what the cost, I have to stand by the centurion and Potens and protect that statue. But I can’t do that unless I know you’re safe. Run for the ship as soon as you can and find Secundus.’
Marcus was crying now. He’d not meant to, and it annoyed him because he was sure a legionary recruit shouldn’t cry, but he just couldn’t help it. And so was Callie as she ran over and threw her arms around their uncle too.
‘Open the other wagon,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘My other surprise. It might not save you, but every little helps.’
The canvas cover of their own wagon was suddenly hauled away by the driver as he peeled it back. Marcus and Callie felt cold terror wash over them.
The Minoan, with his wild grey hair and grey beard, sat watching their wagon from his fine horse. His eyes gleamed with delight as the canvas cover was stripped away to reveal the governor’s bronze sculpture of Laocoön and the snakes. The villain’s priceless prize. A new artwork that would form the glorious centrepiece of his new palace where he would live in endless wicked luxury like his ancient ancestor, King Minos.
The man hardly noticed the three armed men or the two children so intent was he on the sculpture, but his nine mercenaries did. Six of them sat on their horses with spears levelled or swords out, menacing. The other three were archers from the lands to the east, armed with a short, curved bow they could shoot from a horse. Each had an arrow in place. If they loosed those missiles, the three legionaries on the wagon could be dead before they had even left the vehicle. There would be no fight. Callie felt hope desert her. They had already lost… unless her surprise might change things?
Marcus, through his tears, saw his sister’s face harden. ‘The other wagon, Uncle,’ she hissed glancing over at the ‘spare’ vehicle. The slaves, who had been traipsing along slowly behind that vehicle, had scattered and disappeared into the bushes now that the soldiers weren’t there to watch them. The five of them on the wagon were alone, apart from the carts’ drivers and the enemy.
Scriptor, his attention divided between the men aiming arrows at him and his insistent niece, turned his head without otherwise moving. ‘Open your wagon,’ he shouted to the other driver. The man didn’t move. He was terrified, his hands raised in surrender, but something was happening nonetheless. The wagon’s cover was moving anyway, without his help.
Scriptor’s hand reached down and pushed Callie behind him, temporarily safe from the arrows. Marcus was there too, behind Potens, as the three soldiers prepared to defend them to the end.
‘Remember what I said,’ their uncle reminded them, still keeping an eye on the archers, even as he watched the other vehicle.
The cover slid from the second wagon.
Scriptor blinked in surprise.
Two Roman scorpion catapults stood on the back of the wagon, already loaded and pointed at the horsemen, each with a two-man crew. A scorpion was a great wooden crossbow on a stand that launched an arrow a foot long with several inches of iron point that could go through a door, so powerful was the shot. Each legion carried sixty of them with them, one for each century, and they needed two men to operate – one to load and adjust, the other to wind and aim. They were a weapon feared by the enemies of Rome from the western sea to the eastern deserts and from the northern forests to the southern jungle.
And that fear was visible in the eyes of the Minoan’s horsemen.
The men at the weapons turned them slightly, keeping track of the enemy as their horses pranced this way and that. The horse archers were now nervous and uncertain, their arrows drifting back and forth, sometimes pointing at the three legionaries, sometimes at the scorpion men.
‘I take it all back about your surprises, Callie,’ Centurion Gallo said loudly. ‘Well done.’
‘They’re the governor’s men again,’ Scriptor noted, looking at the well-dressed soldiers with the great crossbows, ‘but they look like they know what they’re doing. Artillery soldiers have to be well trained.’
‘It would seem,’ the centurion said, grinning a
t the gathered horsemen, ‘that we won’t be quite such easy pickings after all.’
Scriptor gestured to the governor’s men with the heavy weapons. ‘See the man with the silver hair? He’s your prime target, lads. Whatever happens to us, pin that villain and make sure he doesn’t get away.’
Both scorpions turned so that they were pointing at the Minoan, whose face was becoming thunderous with rage. In a single move he had been denied, and his chances of claiming the priceless artwork had just more or less vanished. Still, he was in a strong position, with plenty of soldiers and fast horses.
‘It would appear,’ the villain hissed angrily, ‘that we are at something of a stand-off.’ His soldiers bravely closed in to cover him and protect him from the scorpion missiles, though they didn’t look very happy about it. ‘You may be on your way, soldiers, and I think I shall be about mine.’
Callie felt her heart thumping in her chest as she peered around Scriptor’s side to see the strange, grey haired man disgruntled but satisfied with his decision. He had failed to take the statue, but he would get away, and the only witnesses would be the five of them and the cart drivers. No one official whose word would stand up in the courts. He would go free and continue his wicked life of piracy, theft and oppression. And she would miss the chance to find out about their parents…
The Minoan turned his horse and began to walk it slowly back down the road away from them as though he had not a care in the world. The villain’s archers kept their arrows on the four soldiers at the big weapons. No one pulled a trigger or let go of a string. If they did, people would die on both sides. The tension was incredible.
And suddenly, when it seemed to be over and everything had appeared lost, the Minoan stopped his horse a few hundred paces down the slope from the wagons. Callie tried to see over the crowd of the mercenary horsemen, but she couldn’t quite make out what was going on. Whatever it was, though, it was good, because a wide smile had broken out on her uncle’s face.
Pirate Legion Page 11
