“Find a way out of here,” Marcus roared at Indus. Then, as the first of their pursuers came storming up the stairs, Marcus lunged forwards with his sword, stabbing the first man in his head and kicking his dying opponent back down the stairwell. The crash of the corpse tumbling backwards down the stairs was met with a howl of rage, but on the stairs below him no new faces appeared.
Grimly Marcus glared down the narrow twisting staircase, as behind him he heard a sudden splintering crash. Snatching a glance over his shoulder, he saw that Indus had managed to kick down a door and enter one of the apartment rooms as he did the Batavian cried out in his native language; “Marcus, window - out onto the roof.”
“Get Ahern out onto the roof. Then yourself. I will follow,” Marcus roared in the Batavian language.
Below him he could hear men swearing and shouting. It would not be long before they worked up the courage to storm the stairs again.
Behind him Ahern’s screaming ended abruptly, as if someone had slapped him hard across the face. Marcus gritted his teeth as he waited. The seconds ticked on by and below him the furious outraged voices were growing louder and bolder. He couldn’t wait much longer.
“Marcus, come, we’re outside,” Indus roared suddenly.
Wrenching himself away from the stairwell, Marcus raced across the landing, passed the broken door and into the apartment. The single room was deserted and smelt of stale piss. Catching sight of the window, he flung himself at it, banging his knee painfully on the window ledge. Groaning and grunting, he forced himself through the opening and out onto the steeply-sloping, tiled roof. For a moment he clung to the tiles unable to move. Far below him the ground seemed to hover forwards and backwards. Then with savage determination, Marcus forced himself on all fours to clamber up to the top of the sloping roof where Indus and Ahern were lying desperately clinging to the red-roof tiles. Ahead of them the roof of the building seemed to connect with the neighbouring apartment block.
“Stick to the top of the roof,” Marcus hissed, gesturing for Indus to start leading the way. “Follow it as far as it goes.”
Below him, a head suddenly poked itself out of the window, first looking down towards the ground and then twisting to look up at them. With a snarl of rage Marcus yanked a roof tile free and flung it at the man’s head - but missed.
“Start moving,” Marcus roared at Indus.
Chapter Eight – Leadership
Stiffly and awkwardly Marcus clambered down the wooden scaffolding, landing on the ground with a relieved thud. His shoulder and arm muscles ached and his knee was badly bruised from when he’d struck the windowsill. Startled, Marcus realised that he was exhausted. There had been a time when the desperate flight across the roof tops would have been no problem, but now he could feel the toll it had taken on his body. If they would have to do that again he wasn’t sure he would be able to do it. Indus and Ahern were pressed up against a door, hiding inside the cover of a vestibule. Indus had strung his bow, but down the stinking alley nothing moved. Quickly Marcus glanced up at the roof of the building from which they’d just come, but there was no sign of pursuit. The mob must have given up the chase. Maybe they had decided they had better things to do.
“Are you all right Sir?” Indus whispered loudly as he glanced over at him.
Marcus nodded as he sought to steady his breathing. In the vestibule Ahern was still clutching his knife and was peering down the alley.
“The money in your pocket,” Marcus hissed at last, as he stared at the youth; “what the hell were you thinking? You nearly got us killed.”
“I thought it may be useful,” Ahern snapped back. “I thought maybe I could bribe my way out of trouble. I am sorry. It was an unfortunate accident.”
Marcus grunted. He couldn’t tell the youth off. Regarding the money - he’d had the same idea before leaving his home on the Janiculum.
“See to it that you do not have any more accidents,” Marcus snapped, as he shifted his attention to the alley.
He was just about to start out down the alley, when a high-pitched scream rent the peace. Marcus stopped in mid-movement. The scream came again. It sounded like a woman and it was coming from further down the narrow twisting passageway. Gesturing for his companions to follow him, Marcus drew his sword and started out towards the noise. As he drew closer the woman screamed again and this time Marcus heard men’s voices cursing. Pausing at an intersection with another alley, Marcus snuck a quick peek around the corner. In the doorway of a ransacked shoemakers, three men were in the process of raping a young woman. Pressing his back up against the passage wall Marcus swore. It was none of his business. He had a job to do. He should pass on by. This was not his problem. Then he swore again. What if that young woman had been Elsa?
“Three men. They are raping a woman,” Marcus snapped, glancing sideways at Indus who was clutching his bow.
Then without another word, Marcus went around the edge of the wall and down the alley straight towards the rapists. Catching sight of him, one of the men cried out in warning. A split second later an arrow buried itself into the man’s chest sending him staggering backwards and onto the ground. The second man was still in the process of pulling up his undergarments and gave a startled shout, as he saw Marcus bearing down on him. Dropping his pants, he clumsily lunged at Marcus with a knife. Evading the lunge, Marcus calmly buried his sword into his opponent’s chest and flung him backwards against the wall. In the doorway the half-naked woman was screaming as she wrestled with another man, who was still lying on top of her. But before Marcus could react, Ahern jumped forwards and clumsily rammed his knife into the man’s neck. With a viciousness and a frenzy that took Marcus by surprise, Ahern stabbed the man again and again until he was no longer moving. On the ground the woman was still screaming, her face, clothes and arms covered and smothered in the man’s blood. Hastily Marcus knelt and slammed his hand over the woman’s mouth, muffling her screaming.
“Be quiet for fucks sake. We’re not going to hurt you lady,” Marcus hissed, staring down at her. “But you must be quiet. Be quiet. Don’t draw attention. There may be more of these arseholes about.”
The woman was staring up at him with large, terrified eyes. Slowly Marcus released his hand from over her mouth and straightened up. On the ground the woman remained silent, as she gazed up at him. Then abruptly her expression changed and scrambling to her feet, she snatched up one of her attacker’s knives and furiously started to hack away at the corpse. Marcus stepped back and watched the woman silently and viciously mutilate her attackers. At his side, Ahern lent backwards against the alley wall. He was breathing heavily and quickly, his eyes wide open as he gazed at the corpses lying splayed out across the blood-stained paving stones.
“We can’t stay here Sir,” Indus called out softly, as he pointed his bow down the alley. “We need to keep moving. The Colline gate is not far. The quickest way is to re-join the Vicus Longinus. It’s that way.”
On the ground the young woman cried out and gave one of the mutilated corpses a final furious kick. Then she dropped her knife and staggered backwards against the narrow alley wall and tried to wipe some of the blood from her face.
“The Colline gate,” she gasped. “There is a gang. They have closed the gates. They are controlling who comes in and out of the gate. They are forcing people to pay if they want to leave the city. You won’t get out through the Colline.”
“How many of them are there?” Marcus asked.
Slowly the woman shook her head and closed her eyes. Her hand was trembling as she tried to scrape the blood from her face.
“I don’t know. Many, many,” she replied in a croaky voice. “And avoid the Vicus Longinus. There are groups of looters about. You won’t get far without being spotted.”
Marcus nodded and was just about to say something, when Ahern beat him to it.
“I can get us to the Colline gate without using the Longinus,” the youth said quickly. “We can use the back-street alleys. I kno
w the way.”
***
Marcus leaned against the wall beside the window of the third-floor apartment and cautiously peered out into the street below. The Colline gate, set into the massive, solid, thirty-feet high Servian city walls, was indeed closed. Beyond the walls, Rome’s suburbs stretched away northwards along the via Salaria and the via Nomentana. A plume of smoke was rising upwards into the sky. Just to the east and outside the old city, Marcus could see the Castra Praetoria, the huge rectangular fortress of the praetorian guard. Carefully his gaze swept along the battlements but atop the wall there was no one about, nor was there any sign of the squad of urban guards who should have been on duty. Down below however, in front of the city gates, a group of armed men and women were hanging about around a barrel of wine, which they’d dragged out into the street. They were laughing as they dipped their cups into the barrel. Turning his attention to the streets leading up to the gates, Marcus could see that they were deserted. Leaning backwards Marcus nodded at Indus, who was watching him closely. In response the burly Batavian stepped forwards, raised his bow, took careful aim and released. The arrow thudded straight into a man’s chest. A shocked cry rose from the street below, as Indus swiftly moved back out of sight, notched another arrow to his bow, then stepped forwards, took aim and released again. In the streets outside a cacophony of outraged and alarmed shouts broke out, as once more Indus hastily slipped away from the window and into cover.
“Move,” Marcus snapped as he hastened out of the doorway of the room and up the stairs to the fourth floor. Behind him, Ahern and Indus followed. On the top floor of the crumbling apartment block, someone had broken through the poorly constructed wall that separated the block from the neighbouring tower. Marcus ducked as he scrambled through the jagged hole of broken masonry and leapt across the small gap, separating the two tower blocks. Pausing beside the window of the abandoned room, Marcus risked a peek down at the gates from his new vantage point. The gang of armed men and women were in cover, or what they thought was cover - pressed up against the gatehouse. They were shouting at each other as they tried to spot the archer, who had felled two of their number. The bodies of their comrades lay moaning and writhing on the ground where they’d fallen. No one had bothered to drag them into the cover.
“Shoot them,” Marcus hissed. Quickly and silently Indus took a quick peek out of the window. Then, raising his bow with a smooth professional movement, he took careful aim and released, before slipping back into cover. Outside beside the gates he was rewarded by a shriek.
“One, two, three, four,” the Batavian counted in his native language. Then notching another arrow, he raised his bow, turned to the window, took aim and released again before swiftly moving away from the window.
“Move,” Marcus snapped, as he turned towards the doorway that led out of the room. Hastily and as silently as possible Marcus went down the stairs of the tall, tower block until he reached the first floor. Most of the doors to the rooms on the floor were closed and barricaded from the inside. On the small landing, Marcus paused to listen. In the street outside, he could hear panicked yelling. Taking a peek down the stairwell, Marcus saw that someone had tried to form a barricade, for the narrow entrance leading up the stairs had been filled with broken chairs, a table and debris of all kinds. No one would be coming up that way without them hearing it. Turning away from the stairwell, Marcus launched himself at one of the doors hitting it with his shoulder and nearly taking the door off its hinges. As he barged into the room, a woman squealed in fright and a man held up his hand in a pitiful gesture. The two adults were nervously backing away into a corner of the single-room apartment desperately trying to protect a couple of young children.
Marcus raised his finger to his mouth in a gesture for the family to be silent, as he staggered painfully towards the window. A moment later he was joined by Indus and Ahern. Without having to be told what to do, Indus snatched a hasty glance out of the window at the gateway that was just across the street from the building. The position offered a perfect view of the remaining gang members. Some of the gang were still pressed up against the gatehouse, yelling at each other as they frantically searched the windows of the tall tower blocks. They had still not spotted the threat. On the ground in front of the gates, four of their number lay on the ground with Indus’s arrows sticking out of them.
“Shoot them,” Marcus hissed.
Without hesitating Indus notched an arrow, raised his bow, stepped forwards, took aim and released. The distance was short and unobstructed. As his arrow struck a woman in the shoulder, she screamed and slithered to the ground. But this time Indus didn’t move away from the window and, notching another arrow he swiftly shot another woman. As a seventh person tumbled to the ground, the remaining gang seemed to have had enough and in panic they scattered, fleeing pell-mell down the streets and leaving the gates unguarded.
“Let’s go. Hurry. They may be back,” Marcus grimaced, as he quickly turned to the door, rubbing his shoulder.
***
The gates into the formidable looking fortress were open but, blocking Marcus’s way into the huge praetorian barracks was a large group of urban guards and officers, clad in legionary armour and holding spears and shields. The riot police were staring at him suspiciously.
“Where is the guard commander? Where the fuck are your prefects?” Marcus cried out in an annoyed voice. “I need to speak to them at once.”
Amongst the heavily-armed riot troops no one answered back. Then at last a man pushed his way through the crowd towards Marcus. He was clad in a fine horse-hair plumed helmet and cuirassed armour, over which he was wearing a red cloak. The officer looked around fifty. He examined Marcus carefully.
“I am the commander of the First Cohort,” the officer said. “Who are you?”
“I am the prefect in charge of the grain supply to the city of Rome,” Marcus replied quickly. “And I have just come from the temple of Saturn. Why are your men not trying to restore order? The whole city is rioting. Haven’t you heard.”
For a moment the officer did not reply as he looked past Marcus and in the direction of the city walls. Then calmly he turned his attention back to Marcus.
“So, this mess is your fault, prefect,” the officer replied coldly.
“Yes,” Marcus snarled, giving the policeman a dirty look. “But you haven’t answered my fucking question. Why are your men not out there trying to stop the rioting and looting? I have a plan to regain control of the city, but I need your help. So, for the last time, why are you sitting here on your arses?”
“I have not received any orders to leave the barracks,” the officer snapped back. “There is a chain of command and I haven’t received the proper notification. That’s why we are still here.”
Marcus stared at the officer in silence, struggling to control his temper. The man was hiding behind protocol. He was behaving like a coward. This however was not the time to lose it.
“Similis is five days march from Rome and the prefect of the night watch has been murdered,” Marcus growled, fixing his eyes on the officer. “We don’t have time to wait for the urban prefect to return. So, I am ordering you and your men out of your barracks. We must regain control of the city and we must do it now. For fucks sake, people are being murdered and raped a stone’s throw from the senate house. There are women and children besieged inside the temple of Saturn. If the mob brakes into the temple those people are all going to die. Please, the city needs its guard. We need you right now.”
“I need official approval,” the officer retorted. “You may be who you say you are, but I still need to receive authorisation from the urban prefect or his deputy before I can order my men to leave these barracks. There are rules, Sir.”
“Damn you,” Marcus hissed. “Damn your rules.” Glancing upwards he saw that the battlements of the barracks walls were lined with armed guardsmen. The anxious looking men were gazing down at him and his two companions in silence. This was sheer cowardice. Eve
ryone knew what was going on.
“Damn you, Sir,” Marcus cried out suddenly in a louder voice, as he raised his hand and pointed a finger at the guard commander. “I am going back into the city right now and I am going to put an end to this madness. And if you refuse to come with me. Well then, I shall go on alone without you with just my two companions here. Rome shall remember this day; this day of shame and infamy; this day when the city’s urban cohorts allowed its elected magistrate to go to his death, whilst they hid away in their barracks and did nothing. Shame on all of you,” Marcus roared. “May the gods despise you to the end of your days.”
***
Marcus strode along down the narrow, city street, his expression grim and hard. His hand rested on the pommel of his sheathed sword and, at his side, Ahern and Indus were gazing at the looted shops. Up ahead, a company of heavily armed guardsmen were marching down the street, eight abreast. The men were crouching behind their large legionary shields with their spears lowered before them. The riot police had formed an impenetrable, moving barrier, an armoured hedgehog, which was methodically driving every living creature before it and down the street towards the Forum and city centre. The rhythmic tramp of the riot police’s hobnailed boots on the paving stones was a welcome sound Marcus thought, welcome to all those countless people who were hiding from the lawlessness, hoping for it to end. Behind him the long column of fifteen hundred guardsmen came on in disciplined silence, their weapons, shields and armour glinting in the sunlight. The shame of being branded as cowards had been too much for the guardsmen, and after a brief delay they, led by their officers, had agreed to come with Marcus. The first place he’d taken them to had been the barracks of their comrades in the fourth cohort. The mob had been besieging the barracks, but upon catching sight of the 1st and 2nd cohorts marching to their comrades’ relief, the mob had swiftly faded away without putting up a fight. And now the combined force was on their way to the Forum to relieve Paulinus and Lady Claudia, holed up in the temple of Saturn. Stoically Marcus peered down the street. Plumes of smoke still hung over the city and they had encountered sporadic resistance from armed gangs, but it was impossible to know what was happening in the Forum. Had the mob already succeeded in breaking into the temple? He tried not to think about it. At least he had managed to get things moving in the right direction. It was a start. But he needed to do more. He needed to plan. He had to come up with solutions to the food shortages and fast. He had to reassure the city that all was going to be well. The really hard work was just beginning he realised. He was contemplating the decisions that still needed to be taken, when a roof tile came hurtling down and smashed into the street, narrowly missing a soldier. From the window of a tall tower block a woman was shaking her fist at the urban guards, as she subjected them to a torrent of foul-mouthed abuse.
Rome and the Conquest of Mesopotamia (Book 8 of the Veteran of Rome Series) Page 7
