‘Left,’ Fronto said as decisively as he could manage, though even he noted a tremor of uncertainty in his tone.
‘Lovely place,’ Arcadios noted sourly. ‘How do you know where you’re going?’
‘Luck and guesswork,’ Fronto replied honestly. ‘Any time now I won’t even know what’s up and down, let alone what’s north or south.’ With the others behind him, Fronto pushed past Aurelius and ran to the left even as the sounds of fighting reached them from Pulcher and his men holding off the locals. The centurion was one of the toughest Fronto had yet encountered, and his men were all grizzled veterans, but against a superior force of the best the king could raise, even he would not hold them off for long.
‘Come on.’
At the end of the alley he turned right – south, he believed – and was foxed a moment later as he hit a T-junction, both branches of which angled slightly back to the north again , in more of a ‘Y’ shape . ‘Oh, for the love of Dis, what next?’
The squeaking of a passing bat sent Aurelius scurrying to the side of the alley, where he pressed against the timber wall, wild eyes rolling upwards to the narrow strip of night sky visible between the projecting thatch eaves.
‘ I can’t even see eno ugh of the sky to make a guess, ’ Fronto grumbled, increasingly aware that he was running out of time.
As he was contemplating how lucky they were not to have encountered a small force in the alleys, and assuming that most of the population would now be close to the north walls in the open , a door opened a few paces away and several men ran out with swords brandished , proving him at least partially wrong . Aurelius, his bat issues taking second place to immediate deadly danger, launched himself at them, and two of the legio naries managed to pass Fronto and r a n over to join him. There was a short, brutal struggle in the narrow confines of the alley, with the legate fretting about the delay all the while, glancing this way and that and wondering where best to move next . As if reading his commander’s thoughts, Arcadios ended the last struggles of the fight swiftly by nocking an arrow to his bow and pinning one of the last two enemy warriors to the house wall by the neck. The three soldiers dealt with the other man quickly and efficiently, and Arcadios hurried over to retrieve his arrow. As he examined it and gave up, unable to save the missile as it had buried itself too deep in the timber, he gave a slow smile.
‘You don’t need the sky, Fronto.’
‘What?’
Arcadios was examining the wall, and then scurried to the next building. ‘They look different. That bui lding is untouched timber, I reckon, but look at the weathering on this timber? It faces east, up the valley. I reckon the winds blow mostly east to west down from the peaks . Look. Every timber facing that way is weathered.’
Fronto joined the grin. ‘Gods, you’re right. Well done, that man. Alright, we go left again for now and try to peel back round to the right , keeping our eye on the weathered boards . ’
Armed with this new information, Aurelius and Arcadios rushed ahead with the two legionaries, and Fronto followed them, four more legionaries bringing up the rear. A cry in the distance announced the heroic end of Pulcher – a hoarse shout: ‘ Legate … they come!’
‘Hurry,’ Fronto said, and the small group picked up their pace as they twisted this way and that through the narrow ways of the fortress. At one point they passed a heav y grey structure of stone and timber, twice the size of the surrounding buildings, with a raised granary beside it, and what looked like it might be a temple on the other side. Almost certainly the king’s house, Fronto thought to himself, considering attempting to commit the location to memory and then chiding himself for the ridiculousness of the notion, given that in this maze he’d be lucky to find his own backside twice. Still, they had to be relatively close to the south gate now.
By his estimate they had been in the maze of alleys for less than a quarter of an hour before they suddenly emerged into an open stretch of ground that lay between the south wall and the houses . Despite the fact that the sky was still largely covered with scudding clouds and it was around midnight, the area before the south rampart felt like the brightest, most spacious and clear piece of ground Fronto had ever encountered after the narrow gloominess of the streets. The south gate was a little way off to their left, but they had been almost spot on, and Fronto made a mental note to thank Arcadios properly when this was over. The archer ha d almost certainly saved them from blundering around aimlessly in that warren for at least another quarter hour.
The situation was still dire, though. A moment ’s quiet confirmed that there was no longer fighting back across the fortress, which told him in no uncertain terms that the attacking century had been obliterat ed back at their point of entry and that Fronto’s small nine-man party was now the entire Roman presence in the fortress . A small group of half a dozen enemy warriors stood beside and above the south gate, with a single man atop the walls at each corner nearby. Almost one on one, then, but the sounds of approaching horns back across the settlement suggested tha t the entire population of the fortress were now descending on the south rampart, having removed the threat at the north. Fronto and his friends had been inordinately fortunate in having moved through empty alleys due to all the warriors having rushed to the walls at the initial warning. Now, however, hundreds – maybe even thousands – would be moving to stop any further trouble here.
‘Loose your arrow,’ he said to Arcadios as the small party started to jog across the open space toward the small knot of warriors.
‘The gate’s still shut.’
‘Loose the bloody arrow. I’m not holding that gate open for half an hour while Atenos brings the men close r . They need to be moving now. ’
With a nod, the Cretan archer dropped out of the running cluster , drawing he special arrow from his belt, where it had been sheathed separately from the others in his quiver , and jammed it in the ground temporarily . With practised efficiency, he pulled a small fire-fungus from his belt pouch and unwrapped it. He could feel the heat of the glowing ember deep within, which had been a warm and comfortable thing to carry this high in the mountains. Discarding the wrapper, he carefully pulled the two halves of the fungus apart and blew on the core. Immediately, a slender coil of smoke rose from it. A few more puffs with his hands wrapped around it, and tiny orange sparks came to life. Bending, he collected the arrow and removed the protective binding just behind the steel head. The acrid smell of pitch bloomed in the night air and Arcadios gently touched the tinder fungus to the stinking wad. It took moments only for the flammable missile to take, and the soaked flax burst into orange life. Casting aside the fungus half, the Cretan retrieved his bow, nocked the arrow, hissing at the warmth of the flame so close to his knuckles, the tilted the weapon high and released. The blaz ing arrow shot high into the air, leaving a bright gold trail across the inky night followed by a long winding tail of black smoke.
Fronto and his small force ran at the gate, their pace picking up as they left the archer behind until they were running full pelt. Shouts of alarm had gone up in the moments they had burst from the houses and the two men on the walls and those above the gate were converging on the portal itself . The shouts from back across the fortress were getting worryingly close.
‘It’s going to be tight,’ puffed Aurelius as they ran.
‘Mark your man,’ Fronto shouted, ‘it’s one on one.’
The pounding feet of the Roman force took them full tilt into the braced defenders gathered before the gate . The warriors were big, bearded bears of men, roughly half of them armed with swords, the rest with spears , yet their eyes widened at the age, ferocity and sheer mettle of the soldiers running at them, snarling. After all, to have emerged from within the fortress had to add something to the shock. Two of the Arenosio had the wit and reactions to turn their spears and lower them at the charging Romans, and one took a legionary in the gut, the other knocked contemptuously aside with a sword . Fronto caught a glance of the stricken legionary and what he sa
w brought a lump to his throat. There was pain in the man ’s face, and shock, but no fear… just determination. The legionary pushed on, heaving himself along the pole that transfixed his middle, his guts leaving dark, wet smears along the wood behind him. The warrior gripping the spear stared in disbelief and let go of the spear with one hand, reaching down to draw his sword, but the dying legionary reached him first and slammed his gladius into the Arenosio, killing him. The soldier then fell, agonised, on top of his victim and started to try and heave the spear out of himself. He would be dead in moments, but his resolve humbled Fronto.
Similar unsought and simple heroism was being played out across the fight. Aurelius was battling a huge man, at least a head higher than him and much wider in the chest, and was slowly wearing the man down. Other legionaries were killing men with brutal efficiency. T hen the lega te was at the man he had marked – a tall, narrow warrior with a long sword and a helmet that gleamed bronze in the dim light. The warrior shouted something unintelligible and thrust with his sword. It was a clumsy blow and Fronto simply twisted aside f rom the lunge, then struck back with his gladius lancing out twice like a viper’s tongue, once into the V of his collarbones, the other into his extended arm. The man’s sword fell, forgotten as both his hands clutched his throat and the jet of crimson that bubbled out of the hole. Neither strike had carried much strength, but that had been Fronto’s intent. Some killing strokes required a great deal of weight, driven in deep, but with tendons and the soft matter of the throat sometimes the tip of a blade would do enough. Such had been the case, allowing him the speed to strike twice before the warrior could fight back, and simultaneously negating the possibility of the blade sticking in the wound.
Aurelius’ voice called for Fronto to duck and the legate did so, trusting the judgement of his friend without question. He felt a blade sweep through the air just above his head, and twisted to face that direction. A warrior with a slow-bleeding wound had dispatched the legionary facing him and had turned to Fronto. Still crouched, Fronto found that he was level with the surprised warrior’s waist. The native wore a mail shirt that hung to his thighs, and his lower legs were criss-crossed with wraps down to his boots, but his knees were protected only by wool trousers.
In a trice, Fronto was on him, his sword sweeping round behind the man. Even as he dragged the sharp edge of the blade across the back of the knees, he used his free hand to push at the man’s waist. The warrior shrieked and fell backwards, his hamstrings snapped by the wicked edge of Fronto’s blade. His father had always maintained that a keen edge to a gladius was unnecessary, as they were to be used for thrusts around a shield. But then his father had never fought in close combat, and Fronto knew the value of flexibility. Rising once more, he realised the enemy were all down, and so were four soldiers, though one of those was still alive, trying to rise on a crippled leg .
‘Get the gate open,’ he bellowed to Aurelius, who grabbed another legionary and ran to the heavy locking bar.
‘Fronto!’
The legate turned at the shout to see Arcadios running toward him and repeatedly drawing arrow s from his quiver, turning and loosing behind him as skilfully as any Parthian archer in the world. Enemy w arriors were flooding out of the heart of the fortress and along both ramparts. In truth there would be less than a thousand, he was sure , but it felt like millions of them from the point of view of the six remaining Romans .
Come on, Atenos .
* * *
Another legionary hurried to help Aurelius with the ba r and between the three of them the gate was quickly unfastened and pulled inwards. Fronto, readying himself for what looked like certain death running at them from the heart of the fortress , spared a moment’s glance through the aperture.
Atenos and the legion had crested the rise on the far side of the gulley, the wooden bridges between giving them ample access to the fortress as long as the gate stayed open. But even at a run, they were further from the gate than were the Arenosio. The six Romans would have been cut down long before the first legionaries burst through the gate, and there was every chance the gate would be shut again by then too . Once again, Fronto cursed the influence Arruntius’ blunt approach to war had gained on the legate’s strategic mind. He’d never have come up with such a rash scheme in the old days. T hen again, it had been the Arenosio king who had forced this action. It was rather saddening to realise he could have perhaps met that king on the ramparts to the north and killed him there. The fortress would have remained secure and the legion would have been crushed by the reserve force of Convenae, of course, but at least maybe the king would be dead.
‘What do we do?’ Arcadios gasped between breaths as he fell in alongside them, still fumbling for his last three arrows and loosing one into the crowd running at them.
‘We hold the gate as long as we can and pray that Atenos and his men’s ’ feet have grown wings!’
Regretting the fact that they had left their shields in the camp, the six man unit braced themselves, swords out and ready, most men with their dagger s also drawn and gripped in their left hand s . Arcadios loosed another arrow, then dropped his bow behind him and drew a Greek-style xiphos sword, joining the others. Fronto frowned at the single arrow still clattering around in the archer’s quiver.
‘Saving that?’
‘Never use every arrow, sir. You just can’t know what the F ates might throw at you.’
‘Nigh-on a thousand howling Aquitanii not enough for you?’
‘Ha,’ Arcadios snorted without humour and flexed his arm a little.
‘Would you mind stepping aside, L egate,’ a voice grunted. ‘You’re blocking the gate for my lads.’
Turning in surprise, Fronto could see a figure in a centurion’s transverse crest silhouetted in the gate, a century or so of armoured men approaching behind him.
‘Arruntius?’
‘Seemed prudent to have some men in place, sir,’ the old centurion grinned. ‘I’ve been slowly sneaking men across the bridge and up to the walls all night, ever since you left.’
‘You cunning old bastard,’ Fronto laughed as the fresh, fully-equipped legionaries rushed past him and braced into a shield wall in the space in front of the gate. More legionaries poured in behind them, bracing to form second and third row s . The howling of the barbarians turned from hunger to frustration at the sight of the new arrivals, but quickly bled back into violent lust as they realised that there were no more than a hundred Romans there, and they might still defeat them and secure the gate before the rest of the legion arrived.
Fronto, now protected by the rows of men, turned to see Atenos’ century approaching the bridge at the bottom of the gulley, more ranks of legionaries crossing the ridge behind him. The Arenosio were mistaken. The gate would hold now, and Fronto fel t himself sag with relief at that realisation. Arruntius was peering intently at him with narrowed eyes.
‘You have an odd look, L egate. Reassure me that you’re not about to run through my men screaming curses and launch yourself at the natives?’
Fronto chuckled. ‘Frankly, right now, I’m happy having a rest. The past hour’s been quite exciting enough, thanks.’
Arruntius nodded and said something, though his words were completely lost in the din as near a thousand howling tribesmen hit the shields of a hundred steadfast and angry legionaries. The din of battle began instantly. The centurion took a few steps closer and shouted in Fronto’s ear.
‘Woul d you and your men care to step up to th e walkway and command the fight? ’
Fronto smiled at the old centurion. It was an order phrased as a question in the same manner as Fronto had often used in his time to send senior officers out of his way.
‘Alright, Arruntius, I’m going. But I’ll warn you, once they break I’m heading into the middle of the place . I’ve seen the king’s house and I want to meet this man personally.’
‘I can have him dragged before you, sir.’
‘Honestly, Arruntius, I don’t thi
nk you can. He’s planned and played us every step of the way, and I doubt that if t he bastard had really wanted us kept out, we’d ever have got over the walls into the fortress in the first place . He wants me inside , though probably not accompanied by the rest of you, so that’s something of a win for us . He must be rather frustrated that he missed me at the north walls. He was so clearly coming for me personally, but Pulcher held him at bay and bought me the time we needed. Be assured that this king is expecting Caesar , and he won’t let himself get caught until that happens, so I intend to go and meet him and find out what it is that’s driving him .’
The centurion looked for a moment as though he might argue, but he was clearly getting used to Fronto, and he simply shook his head in exasperation and turned to join h is men. Fronto called after him ‘There’s a big house in the middle – the king’s house. No one goes in there until I’m on the scene.’
There was no acknowledgement from the centurion that he’d heard, which was quite possible given the din. Fronto and his companions who’d taken the gate staggered up the embankment to the walkway on the parapet and wandered along above the gate. The fight was in full swing now, and the legionaries were taking heavy casualties, slowly being pushed back into the gate, but Atenos’ men were mere heartbeats away now, closing on the walls. Even as Fronto watched them arrive, units of legionaries peeled off the main force, hurrying up the bank and along the ramparts, securing the walls, while the bulk hurled themselves into the hard-pressed century of Arruntius, slowly pushing back against the enemy, gaining ground one booted step at a time.
Marius' Mules IX: Pax Gallica Page 26
