by Peter Darman
‘Not too tight,’ Acco told him, ‘I don’t want my sword arm restricted.’
‘I don’t suppose I could convince you not to use your left arm until the wound heals? You have lost a lot of blood.’
‘You suppose right,’ said Acco.
Alcaeus sighed. ‘Of course not.’
Domitus and Burebista had relieved the three at the gates to allow them to change out of their gladiator gear, Surena having armed himself with his bow and the gladius and scutum I had taken in the arena. He now began chewing his way through a bunch of grapes.
‘A pity we shall miss the last two days of the games,’ he said to no one in particular.
Acco looked at him as Alcaeus finished tying off the bandage.
‘Is he Parthian as well?’
Arminius laughed. ‘Who? Surena? No he’s a member of the Ma’adan.’
Acco looked at his bandage. ‘What’s that?’
‘A tribe that inhabits a land of water in the arse end of nowhere,’ said Drenis.
‘The editor took a fancy to him,’ said Arminius, tilting his head at Surena.
‘I killed that fat degenerate,’ hissed Surena.
‘That’s your career as a gladiator over,’ said Drenis.
‘We talk too much,’ interrupted Gallia, ‘we should leave this place.’
‘She’s right,’ I agreed, ‘we must go to the harbour.’
‘What if the Romans have blocked the way already?’ asked Acco, who was swinging a gladius in his left hand.
‘Then we seek sanctuary at the temple,’ replied Gallia.
‘I’m not living like a woman, princess,’ said Acco, ‘I’d rather go down fighting.’
‘You may get your wish,’ I told him.
After we had finished filling our bellies we left the house, taking Lysander with us despite his protests. I wanted a guide to lead us through the city’s back streets so we could avoid Roman patrols, but no sooner had we left the gates than we encountered a party of legionaries, around forty paces away. We were eleven, including Lysander, but they numbered at least half a century – forty men. Lysander tried to scuttle back into the house but I grabbed his tunic and shoved him into the centre of our little group as I nocked an arrow in my bowstring, as did Gallia and Surena.
‘You will show us an alternative route to the harbour,’ I told him as I drew back my bowstring and released it.
The arrow hissed through the air and struck a legionary in the neck. He groaned and fell to the ground. Two more hisses announced Surena and Gallia’s flying arrows and another two Romans collapsed to the ground. Their centurion barked an order and the Romans locked their shields together to show us a row of red leather while those behind hoisted their shields above their heads. The mini testudo began to shuffle towards us.
‘Shoot at their legs,’ I said, ‘try to hit as many as you can before they charge.’
Then there was the blast of a whistle and raised voices behind the testudo, which halted. There were more shouts and curses and suddenly the formation began to inch backwards.
‘Don’t shoot,’ I said to Surena and Gallia.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Acco.
‘They are retreating,’ Domitus told him.
My general was right, for after the testudo had fallen back twenty or so paces the formation suddenly broke up, the legionaries beating a hasty retreat back down the road, towards the northern part of the city. They left the three dead legionaries where they had fallen.
‘Something must be serious for them to leave their dead behind,’ remarked Domitus.
‘The gods smile on us,’ I said, looking up and down the empty street. ‘Let us get to the harbour as quickly as possible.’
We began to walk towards the south when I heard shouting behind me. We turned to see a Greek man with a thick beard and bare feet running towards us, waving his arms. Surena raised his bow as he skirted the dead Romans.
‘No, Surena,’ I ordered, ‘he is unarmed.’
‘It is my brother-in-law,’ said Lysander, stepping forward to greet his relative, who was in an agitated state.
‘Hail, brother,’ he panted, ignoring the rest of us as he smiled at Lysander. ‘Glorious news. Cleon and his men have seized the prytaneion and now protect the sacred flame. Our liberation from the Romans is at hand.’
I looked at Domitus who shook his head. So Cleon had taken advantage of the disturbance in the city to make his grab for power. By the reaction of Lysander’s brother-in-law there were some in the city that wanted to throw off the Roman yoke, but I doubted that they would succeed against the garrison.
‘He obviously desires a glorious death,’ said Domitus, ‘but it isn’t our concern. Let’s move.’
‘They are our concern.’
I heard Drenis’ voice and turned to see a detachment of Roman legionaries approaching from the southern end of the street, marching quickly. At their head were a centurion and a standard bearer carrying a shaft that had a number of silver discs attached and topped with a silver human hand called a Manus. The standard was a signum and was carried by a signifier that indicated that a full century – eighty men – was bearing down on us.
‘We can take them,’ boasted Acco but he was wrong. Our only alternative was to run as fast as we could in the opposite direction.
‘Move!’ I shouted and we ran for our lives.
The Romans had spotted us and the centurion spat orders at his men to increase their pace as they tried to catch up with us. We were unencumbered by armour and helmets and so our pace was faster, though Lysander and his brother-in-law had difficulty keeping up, the latter suddenly stopping as pain shot through his chest. Lysander also halted and went to help his relative. I slowed and turned to see the Romans about to engulf them when, out of a side alley, a group of Greek men suddenly appeared. A dozen, a score and more, launched themselves at the century with sticks, stones and a few swords that had been taken from dead Roman soldiers. We stopped and stared, open mouthed, as the Greeks fought like tigers. For a few moments the Romans were thrown back and disorganised, but after the initial surprise they closed ranks and there was a whistle blast, followed by a volley of javelins thrown by the rear ranks. What followed was like a drill on Dura’s training fields. The centurion issued an order and the front rank raced forward to begin stabbing the Greeks with their swords. It took less than half a minute to reduce the Greeks to a pile of moaning, squirming offal, a few managing to flee back into the alley from where they had appeared. Lysander and his wife’s husband were not so lucky, both meeting their ends on the points of Roman short swords.
We ran on, towards the prytaneion and into a sudden press of people trying to gain access to the hall. There were hundreds of citizens around the courtyard that fronted the temple-like building where the sacred flame burned.
‘Those Romans will be here any minute,’ warned Domitus.
‘I wonder where the ones who retreated from us are?’ queried Gallia as we pushed through the crowd and came across Greek men armed with spears and Roman swords and carrying Roman shields who were guarding the perimeter around the courtyard. Suddenly people began shouting and cheering as they spotted Gallia’s blonde locks.
‘The daughter of Artemis, the daughter of Artemis,’ they shrieked and screamed as they closed in on us.
‘You have to let us through,’ I shouted to one of the guards, ‘otherwise the daughter of Artemis will be crushed.’
He scowled at me, recognised Gallia and then beckoned to several of his fellow guards to assist him as he began pushing aside members of the crowd.
‘Clear a path for the daughter of Artemis,’ he bellowed as his companions joined him to create a makeshift corridor for us. He and they smiled when they saw Gallia as those nearest to her whipped themselves into a religious frenzy and began wailing and singing.
‘This is bloody madness,’ said Domitus disapprovingly.
‘The Romans must have run away,’ announced Surena.
‘They’re here, boy,’ Domitus told him, ‘don’t you worry. They are waiting until everyone is nicely penned into this place and then they will attack.’
But all I could see around the colonnaded courtyard was a throng of men and women all desirous of entering the prytaneion. The guard I had shouted to, a man no older than twenty I estimated, led us to a slightly older individual who like him sported a thick beard and carried a Roman shield and a gladius. The helmet on his head perhaps marked him out as a leader of some sort.
He bowed his head to Gallia. ‘Welcome, lady. Please follow me.
He said nothing to the rest of us but his eyes lingered on Surena for a couple of seconds. Perhaps he recognised him from the arena. In the courtyard were men sitting in groups, most of them in their early twenties with stacks of spears near them and piles of shields, all Roman, next to the spears. Some looked up as we passed them, several standing when they saw Gallia and pointing at her.
Our silent guide led us into the ceremonial hall where the cena libera had taken place a few days before. Then the chamber had been filled with noise, drunken behaviour and condemned men. Now it was silent and reverential with Greeks guarding the sacred flame, not Romans. The guard ordered everyone apart from Gallia and myself to wait while he indicated that we two should go into a side room. Domitus looked alarmed but I held a hand up to him. We entered the room and saw Cleon sitting at a table, his torso covered by a bronze scale armour cuirass. I was surprised to also see Hippo standing by the door, who walked over and reached out to take Gallia’s hands.
‘Welcome, Queen Gallia.’
Cleon looked up, his face hard and determined. ‘Greetings, King Pacorus. Zeus has guided you here to bear witness to the liberation of Ephesus. It is an auspicious omen that you have joined us.’
I was slightly alarmed that we had apparently been recruited to his cause.
‘Auspicious, in what way?’
He stood and walked over to Hippo, slipping an arm around her waist and kissing her on the cheek. I suspected she was no longer the virgin high priestess of Artemis.
‘Hippo informed me of your visit to the home of the traitor Kallias and the discovery of your true identity. Since then I have researched you and your history. You were the leader of the horsemen in the service of a slave general who fought the Romans, you returned to Parthia, became a king, destroyed a Roman army before the gates of your city and forced Pompey, called ‘great’ by some, to retreat from your kingdom.’
I had to admit he had done his research.
He looked at Gallia. ‘And you, Queen Gallia, commander of the Amazons who displayed such courage in the Great Theatre and fired the imaginations of the citizens of this great city and the worshippers of the goddess. What explanation can there be other than you have been sent by the gods to light the flame of liberation?’
‘You aim high, Cleon,’ I said.
‘The goddess smiles on him,’ said Hippo, ‘as she does on you, Queen Gallia.’
‘What about the Roman garrison, Cleon?’ I asked. ‘For it certainly does not smile on you.’
‘The disturbance in the theatre,’ he bowed his head to Gallia, ‘has resulted in many Roman casualties. The governor had too few soldiers to secure the gates of the city, which allowed me to make my move and seize the prytaneion and the sacred flame. Soon word of what we have done here will spread throughout Greece and Asia and will lead to the people overthrowing Roman rule.’
It would lead to a large army being sent from Italy, more like, but that was not my concern.
‘Soon I will lead my lochos against the remnants of the garrison to secure the rest of the city.’
‘Your what?’
‘My men are organised according to the ancient hoplite custom, King Pacorus, and in honour of the gods.’
Apparently the smallest unit in his makeshift army was a file of eight men. Four files made up an enomotia commanded by an enomotarchos, and four enomtiai were combined to create what was called a pentekostia, a unit of one hundred and twenty-eight men. A lochos comprised four pentekostiai, which numbered just over five hundred men.
‘Five hundred men is a small army to take and hold a city this size, Cleon.’
But he was supremely confident. ‘More are joining us by the hour and soon the temple guards will be flocking to our side when they see that we have seized the sacred flame.’
He was also hopelessly naïve and I was about to tell him so when a man wearing a similar cuirass to Cleon appeared in the doorway.
‘Lochagos, Roman soldiers are approaching the prytaneion from the south.’
Cleon picked up the Roman helmet on the table and smiled.
‘The gods send us a sacrifice so that we may honour them, Nicias. Muster the men.’
I looked at Gallia and rolled my eyes. We had managed to escape death in the arena only to face our end among a deluded band of Greek freedom fighters.
Chapter 12
The screams and cries outside the hall heralded the arrival of the Romans as the crowd around the courtyard began to panic.
‘You had better let them enter the hall,’ I said to Cleon as we followed him outside, ‘unless you want the Romans to kill them.’
He scowled at me. ‘The Romans would not dare to kill innocent civilians.’
Domitus began laughing. ‘Where did you get him from?’
The men who had been sitting in the courtyard were now forming into units as their commanders bellowed orders at them. They appeared to have a modicum of organisation and discipline, though their paucity of weapons and equipment made me fear for them.
The others crowded round as Cleon placed his helmet on his head and gave orders that the women and children were to be moved into the hall.
‘Any capable of carrying weapons will stay and fight,’ he said to his subordinate, who ran to the perimeter.
‘Well,’ said Domitus, ‘we will leave you to be slaughtered while we take our leave.’
Cleon drew his xiphos and held the point at Domitus’ neck. Drenis and Arminius moved towards the Greek, swords in their hands. I waved them back.
‘Perhaps it is you who will be slaughtered, Roman,’ hissed Cleon.
Hippo was looking decidedly nervous. The quiet protocol of the life of a high priestess was in stark contrast to the rapidly approaching outbreak of bloodshed she would be a part of.
‘I would ask you to spare the commander of my army, Cleon,’ I said. ‘I need him.’
Cleon dropped his weapon. ‘This man commands your army? A Roman?’
‘It’s a long story,’ I told him as the sound of Roman trumpets and horns filled the air, ‘one that I fear I do not have the time to tell.’
As women and children ran from the courtyard into the hall, Cleon’s lochos had formed up, awaiting his orders.
‘Stay or leave,’ he said dismissively, ‘it is of no concern to me.’
‘Keep your eye on her,’ I said to Gallia as Cleon marched off to place himself at the head of his army of liberators, leaving Hippo alone and even more nervous. Anca tried to comfort her. Acco moved to the side of Gallia, his swords resting on his shoulders.
I ordered Domitus, Surena, Drenis and Arminius to stay with me and asked Burebista to remain with the women.
‘There are many women and children who are going to be butchered here today,’ Alcaeus called after me as we ran to the marble columns opposite the hall’s entrance. Behind us Cleon was giving a rousing speech to his men, telling them that the temple guards were on their way to reinforce them and in the meantime they would easily deal with the Romans who were filing into the square that surrounded the prytaneion. He reassured them that Artemis would not abandon them and finished by shouting ‘freedom’. His men responded in kind.
‘How many men have died in the name of that word?’ said Domitus.
We crouched beside a column and watched the Romans deploy undisturbed. They had marched up the main street in column from the agora and were now deploying to attack.
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br /> ‘Four centuries,’ said Domitus, counting the number of signum standards.
Surena turned to look back at the Greeks mustering in the courtyard.
‘Just over three hundred against…’
He tried to count quickly in his head as he scanned the Greek ranks.
‘Just over five hundred,’ I told him.
‘Good odds, lord.’
Drenis grabbed my arm. ‘The odds just got longer.’
Between the centuries that were in close order eight ranks deep, two-man teams were siting scorpion ballistae. I had first encountered these deadly machines in Italy and we had them in Dura’s army, having captured them from the enemy. I counted ten, each one capable of shooting iron-tipped bolts with deadly accuracy. The design was simple: two wooden arms inserted into two vertical and tightly wound skeins of leather, sinew or hemp or combinations of these materials contained in a rectangular wooden frame structure that formed the main part of the weapon. The arms were attached to a thick bowstring that was drawn rearwards to further twist the skeins and increase the torsion. The bolt was placed in the groove in the weapon’s stock, the bowstring being pulled rearwards by means of a winch fitted to the weapon. It was held in place by a locking shaft at the back of the scorpion and released by a trigger. The bolt had a range of over three hundred paces and at short ranges could go through two men with ease.
We kept low, knowing what these murderous machines could do, though the Romans appeared to be quite prepared to let Cleon initiate proceedings. Domitus pointed to two individuals wearing black muscled cuirasses and plumed helmets accompanied by a group of centurions.
‘The governor and his tribune.’
‘I wonder where Kallias and his temple guards are?’
‘Waiting to see which way the wind blows,’ replied Domitus.
There was a great cheer behind us and we turned to see the Greeks march from the courtyard. The Romans were around fifty paces from the columns where we crouched. I saw Surena nock an arrow in his bowstring but Domitus tapped him on the arm.
