Companions (The Parthian Chronicles)

by Peter Darman

  ‘Save your ammunition, you will need it.’

  ‘I have a clear shot of the governor,’ he hissed.

  ‘And those scorpions will have a clear shot of you,’ replied Domitus. ‘This is not our fight.’

  Ever the realist, he was right. But it grieved me that we were mere bystanders to the drama and not active participants. But my thoughts were rendered irrelevant when Cleon led his men through the columns towards the waiting Romans. I noticed that many of them were bare foot as they broke into a charge at the moment the scorpions began shooting.

  With a well-trained crew each machine could shoot up to four bolts a minute and these crews were very good. In thirty seconds they had unleashed a total of twenty bolts that cut down more than that number of Greeks. And then the legionaries charged. I had never been this close to combat without taking part and it was macabrely fascinating as each side fulfilled its role. The Greeks filled with passion and bloodlust against the iron discipline of the Romans.

  There was a blast of trumpets and guttural war cries of Roman legionaries, followed by a volley of javelins and a series of groans and high-pitched screams as the iron heads hit flesh. The first two ranks in each century had already drawn their swords as they plunged into the Greeks, stabbing and using their shields to barge adversaries to the ground. Then the square was filled with the frantic clatter of swords striking swords as Cleon’s fighters tried to stem the Roman flood. To no avail.

  The volleys of scorpion bolts had taken the sting out of the Greek assault and the charge of the centuries had killed it stone dead. Now the Romans executed what they did best: grinding an enemy down in a remorseless close-quarter mêlée where their short swords could be used to maximum effect. To their credit the Greeks did not break, but their numbers were soon diminishing alarmingly as the swords of the legionaries found unprotected torsos, necks and faces. Cleon’s men had no armour, only a few had helmets and a large percentage had only spears for weapons.

  Within minutes the area in front of the columns was covered with dead and dying Greeks as centurions blew whistles to order those behind the front ranks to step forward and relieve their comrades. There was a brief lull and then the fighting began again, preceded by another volley of javelins thrown by the rear four ranks in each century.

  ‘These Romans are good,’ remarked Domitus admiringly. ‘Almost as good as Dura’s legionaries; almost.’

  ‘Fall back,’ I ordered.

  The Romans were almost at the columns now, Cleon’s men at last giving ground as their ranks were whittled down. I could not see him in the mêlée. He was already dead, most likely, cut down in the initial clash. The Romans were not in a hurry. They knew that they had won the battle and all that remained was to keep on killing until there were no rebels left.

  We ran back to the hall and found Gallia and the others near the sacred flame, which was surrounded by women and children. I went over to the high priestess.

  ‘Is there another way out of this building?’

  She nodded. ‘At the rear.’

  ‘You have to get these people out now. Tell them to seek sanctuary at the temple outside the city. They will be safe there.’

  ‘What of Cleon?’ she asked as heads began to turn in response to the noise of battle outside growing louder.

  ‘I do not know.’

  Her eyes misted but I grabbed her arms.

  ‘The Romans will kill everyone inside this building. Get them out now, Hippo.’

  She raised her arms and, in a faltering voice, announced to the crowd that the goddess wanted them to worship Her at the temple outside the city and that they should depart immediately. I thought they might object but they eagerly rose to their feet and headed for the door at the rear of the hall. Mothers scooped up small children in their arms and departed as the screams of men dying outside filled their ears.

  ‘I shall stay here,’ Hippo said to me. ‘I do not wish to live without my beloved.’

  ‘The Romans are in the courtyard,’ Surena shouted from the doors.

  I ran over to him and saw that small groups of Greeks were frantically battling Roman soldiers in the courtyard, being forced to give ground as companions on either side were cut down. I was amazed to see Cleon, helmetless and bleeding but still alive, directly ahead, wielding his sword like a man possessed.

  ‘Gallia,’ I shouted.

  She rushed over, bow in hand. I nocked an arrow in my bowstring and called to Cleon. Behind us the women and children were still fleeing the hall.

  ‘Cleon, it is over,’ I shouted, ‘save yourself and your men.’

  He did not hear me as the men either side of him died under a deluge of gladius strikes.

  ‘We must leave, Pacorus,’ said Domitus behind me.

  ‘Cover him,’ I said to Gallia and Surena as Cleon killed the legionary in front of him before stepping back as two more came at him. He tripped over a dead Greek and fell on his back as the Romans grinned to each other and raised their swords, to be shot dead by Surena and Gallia. Cleon jumped up and turned to see us in the doorway.

  ‘Cover me,’ I said as I raced forward to get near him.

  ‘It’s over, Cleon,’ I repeated ‘Get your men into the hall and out the back before you are all killed.’

  I shot a centurion a few paces away in the face.

  I grabbed Cleon’s tunic but he wrenched his arm away.

  ‘Stay, then,’ I said. ‘After they have killed you they will rape Hippo and nail her to a cross.’

  Two more Romans came at me but were felled by arrows shot by Gallia and Surena.

  ‘Pacorus,’ shouted Domitus who ran forward and opened the belly of a Roman with his sword, ‘get your arse in here.’

  The Romans were nearly at the hall’s entrance now, most of the Greeks being either dead or trapped in small pockets that were being systematically wiped out. I looked at Cleon and then ran back to the doors. Whether my mention of Hippo changed his mind or he saw with his own eyes how lost the situation was I do not know, but he suddenly called on those Greeks nearby to follow him.

  The nearest century was closing on the doors as Cleon halted at the entrance and shouted at his men to get inside. A legionary lunged at him with his gladius and Cleon parried the blow with his shield, slashing his xiphos at the man’s neck. The legionary caught the blow on his shield as the Roman beside him attacked Cleon from the side. Before the Greek had a chance to respond Acco rushed forward and stabbed the Roman in the neck, stooped low to slice open another legionary’s kneecap and split the nose of a third with a flurry of sword strikes. He then leaped back, grabbed Cleon by the scruff of the neck and literally threw him inside the hall.

  ‘Close the doors,’ I ordered.

  Domitus, Drenis, Arminius and Acco fetched benches, statues and a table and placed them against the doors.

  ‘Move!’ shouted Domitus.

  Cleon grabbed Hippo’s wrist as we flew to the door through which the women and children had escaped, to enter the square on the opposite side to the courtyard.

  ‘This way,’ shouted Cleon as he headed for a narrow side street.

  ‘Our only hope is to get to the harbour,’ I said.

  It had gone ominously quiet, which indicated that the Romans had finished off the last of the Greeks. Soon they would be sending out search parties to hunt down any survivors. But Cleon knew Ephesus and led us east and then south through a maze of narrow streets and alleyways that resembled each other. I stayed in the rear of our small column, looking back at regular intervals to see if we were being followed. But the only thing I saw was the occasional curious face peering out from behind a shutter or half-open door.

  After fifteen minutes of dodging through alleyways and skulking by the side of closed shops and houses we came to a sun-bleached building with cracked plaster and missing tiles on the roof. Cleon forced the door and led us inside, closing it when all had entered. He told his men to keep a watch at the windows but not to open the shutters as he walked int
o the small yard in the middle of the house. It was far removed from the grand building we had been accommodated in, being small and crumbling.

  ‘Welcome to my home,’ said Cleon dryly. ‘I apologise that I do not have any slaves to attend to your needs.’

  He pulled Hippo to him and embraced her.

  ‘I have been living at the temple for many months and did not think to ever see these walls again.’

  ‘They are crumbling,’ said Domitus harshly as he looked at the chipped bricks and cobwebs hanging from the roof, ‘like your rebellion.’

  Cleon’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘Your tongue will get your head cut off, Roman.’

  ‘He meant no offence, Cleon,’ I said.

  ‘He is just stating the truth, boy,’ said Acco, blood showing on his bandage.

  Alcaeus saw it too. ‘Let me see that wound, Acco, it is bleeding again.’

  But the Gaul held up a hand to him dismissively. ‘I don’t have time to bleed.’

  ‘We cannot stay here, Cleon,’ I said, ‘we have to get to the harbour. Our only hope is to get aboard a ship.’

  Cleon slammed a fist against a storeroom door, splintering the wood.

  ‘No. We must get to the agora to link up with the temple guards.’

  I looked at Domitus who rolled his eyes.

  ‘The temple guards have abandoned you, boy. Kallias is a priest and a politician not a freedom fighter.’

  ‘He’s right, Cleon,’ I said. ‘I have met Kallias and above all he wants to safeguard this city.’

  Cleon sneered. ‘By abandoning it to the Romans?’

  ‘Ephesus has been a Roman city for decades,’ I said. ‘There is no one in this city who remembers a time when the Romans were not in charge. Who wishes to be free of Rome? The fat merchants who have become rich because of Roman laws and armies that guarantee their goods are not stolen? The shopkeepers who reap the rewards of Roman ships bringing worshippers to Ephesus to pay homage at the Temple of Artemis? Or the priests at the temple who live like gods on the backs of the donations and gifts given to them by those same worshippers?’

  He said nothing as he stared into Hippo’s seductive brown eyes.

  ‘If you want to sacrifice your life here, Cleon,’ I told him, ‘then that is your prerogative. But consider this. If you stay in Ephesus then you will also condemn Hippo and the men who escaped from the prytaneion to death.’

  I signalled to Domitus and my other companions that we were leaving.

  ‘For our part we are heading to the harbour.’

  Hippo smiled softly at him and nodded.

  ‘Wait,’ he said, ‘you will need a guide to avoid the main streets.’

  He said nothing as he led us once more as we skirted the agora and then threaded our way through a number of side streets that ran parallel to Harbour Street to reach the harbour itself. During the journey I saw columns of smoke and shops that had been looted, their owners sifting through the debris but then throwing up their arms in terror when they spotted us. They ran away from us, as did men and women who had ventured from their homes once the rioters had passed.

  ‘They will report our presence to the authorities,’ said Domitus. ‘Soon this area will be crawling with Romans.’

  But it was not the Romans who barred our way but Greek temple guards when we approached the great warehouses to the rear of the docks. They defended every entrance to the harbour, not only on Harbour Street itself but also on every side street and alleyway. We hid in one of these, crouching beside a low wall and among the rotting refuse that had been thrown into the alley by the owners of the inns and brothels that served the multitude of dockers, sailors and travellers who worked in and visited Ephesus.

  I went with Cleon to where the alley swung sharply left some twenty paces ahead. He peered round the wall and then crept back to allow me to do the same. I saw three temple guards in their bronze helmets, bronze cuirasses, white tunics and carrying shields and short spears. There were many tall buildings in this part of the city, mostly apartment blocks with storage spaces on the ground floor with living quarters where architects, surveyors, supervisors, foremen, sculptors, stonemasons, carpenters and brickworks’ managers and their families lived on the upper floors. Beyond the apartment blocks were the great warehouses where grain and other goods were stored. Kallias had obviously sent his soldiers to guard the port area while the governor’s troops dealt with Cleon’s men, looters and arsonists. The Temple of Artemis and the docks were the city’s two most valuable assets and the high priest was obviously determined to protect both, thus earning the gratitude of the governor and distancing himself from Cleon’s uprising.

  I crept back to the others. Hippo looked miserable, her formerly pristine white dress dirty and torn. Only ten of Cleon’s fighters had escaped from the prytaneion and now they looked to their leader for directions. But the young Greek appeared at a loss as to how to proceed. The realisation that the temple guards were assisting the Romans must have been a bitter blow and now he just crouched with eyes cast down. It was time to take control of the situation. I waved over Surena and Gallia.

  ‘There are three guards. We need to drop them all with one volley. Are you up to it?’

  Gallia looked at me as though I had asked her if she knew her own name. Surena nodded gravely. We nocked arrows in our bowstrings and I told Domitus of my plan.

  ‘Once we have shot them, we will calmly walk to the docks and to Athineos’ vessel. Pass the word.’

  He crept away to inform the others of the plan as I spoke to Gallia and Surena.

  ‘They are temple guards so they are wearing armour over their chests and helmets on their heads. They are also carrying shields. Try to hit either their faces or necks. I will get them to turn to face us. Remember, one shot, one kill.’

  ‘Are you going to talk them to death or are we shooting our bows?’ asked Gallia impatiently.

  Surena grinned but I frowned at him. I stood and walked around the corner to place myself in the centre of the alley, Gallia on my right, Surena on my left. I whistled to the guards. As one they turned and our arrows hissed through the air. There were three thuds and all three guards crumpled to the ground. I ran up to them to check there were no more guards close by. Gallia’s arrow had struck a guard in the left eye, half the shaft lodged in the man’s eye socket and brain. Surena had hit his man in the throat just below the jaw. My missile had also struck my target’s neck, but in the side and not through the windpipe. My victim lay on his back, eyes wide open in terror as he tried to breathe while blood spurted from the wound like a small fountain.

  ‘Losing your touch, Pacorus?’ said Gallia looking down at the guard.

  ‘I hit him, didn’t I?’ I replied irritably.

  Domitus led the others round the corner and they ran past us as Acco relieved one of the men of his sandals and put them on. He looked at Gallia.

  ‘In a different life you would have made a fortune in the arena.’

  ‘In a different life I would have been queen of all the tribes of Gaul and led them to victory over the Romans,’ she answered back.

  We moved on and left the surviving guard to drown in his own blood. As we departed the alleyway and entered a narrow street that ran by the side of a huge mud-brick warehouse we began to encounter other pedestrians, a collection of sailors, whores, warehouse slaves, beggars and port officials.

  ‘We stand out like a pile of camel dung on white marbles tiles,’ complained Domitus.

  ‘Let us quicken our pace,’ I said, breaking into a low run as heads began to turn and stare at our strange, highly armed group. It was only a matter of time before the dead guards were discovered and the alarm raised.

  But we reached the docks without incident. Cleon had regained some of his enthusiasm and pointed to one of the wharfs where The Cretan was moored, together with the other two of Athineos’ vessels. Other boats were being loaded and unloaded along the wharf and at the dockside, the apparent chaos and noisy din masking our prese
nce as we stood by the side of dozens of amphorae containing garum, the immensely popular fish sauce that the Romans could not get enough of.

  A gaunt-looking port official in a tunic and sandals approached Domitus.

  ‘These need to be loaded in the next hour if they are to be shipped today. I’ve got two thousand amphorae of olive oil arriving this afternoon, though they might have been stolen. We’ve heard of serious trouble in the city.’

  Domitus raised an eyebrow. ‘Trouble?’

  ‘Some religious fanatics, so I’ve heard,’ said the official. ‘Anyway, are these goods yours?’

  ‘No,’ answered Domitus.

  The official examined the rest of us standing with Domitus, all except two armed and looking decidedly out of place.

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Circus performers,’ replied Domitus quickly, ‘here for the games. They juggle with their weapons.’

  The official wasn’t interested as he looked at the amphorae, shook his head and wandered off. Our luck was holding. We walked past pallets loaded with marble from the quarries outside the city and others piled high with animal hides and came to the stone quay where Athineos’ vessels were moored. Cleon held up a hand to halt us and pointed to figures standing guard over the gangplanks that led to The Cretan. Roman marines!

  There were two of them, one at each gangplank, fully armed and equipped in bronze helmets, mail shirts, oval shields painted blue to match their tunics and helmet plumes. Two guards stood sentry over each of the other two vessels.

  ‘Damn,’ I whispered.

  Domitus pointed at Gallia.

  ‘Give your bow and other weapons to Pacorus.’

  She looked most put out. ‘Why?’

  ‘You, Anca and Hippo are coming with me. I will be a brothel owner and you will be some of my girls. If we can entice the marines onto the boat we might be able to seize it.’

  ‘A ridiculous plan,’ scoffed Cleon.

  ‘If you can think of anything better then let’s hear it,’ replied Domitus.

  He could not, so as Gallia reluctantly handed her bow, quiver, sword and dagger to me he gave his shield and sword to Drenis and told Hippo and Anca to look seductive and stick their chests out. Gallia’s nostrils flared with anger but any protest she was going to make was cut short by a loud sound behind us. A cart drawn by a mule had crashed into the amphorae, shattering many and spilling their contents on the stone flagstones. There was a furious argument between the official who had been speaking to Domitus and the cart driver that drew in more officials and dockers.