The Black Stone: Agent of Rome 4 (The Agent of Rome)

by Brown, Nick

  Gutha felt warm blood splatter his neck and something poke into his skin. Once over the rise, he dropped the warrior and crouched down. The arrow had gone through the Saracen’s neck and out the other side. The iron tip was a wet, glistening red.

  ‘Itys, cover me!’

  Leaving the bow and drawing his sword, Indavara got to his feet and sprinted along the road. The two wounded men still moving were dragging themselves up the slope. Ignoring them, Indavara wrenched the javelin out of the dying warrior and picked up the spear, which had been abandoned. He then ran back to Mercator and dropped both weapons.

  ‘Good thinking,’ said the optio. ‘Did you get him?’

  ‘Did they get me?’

  The warriors were still staring at the dead man.

  Gutha touched his neck. He could feel a tear in the flesh. There didn’t seem to be much blood coming out but he’d seen neck wounds turn very bad very quickly.

  ‘You there. How bad is it?’

  The closest warrior checked it. ‘Bit of a slice, sir. Nothing serious.’

  The man then looked up at his head and frowned. ‘There’s something in your …’

  Gutha bent forward. The warrior reached up then presented him with a shard of metal. It took him a while to realise it had come from the shattered sword of the bodyguard back at Galanaq.

  The two injured men dragged themselves over the rise and crawled towards their compatriots. Like the others, the warrior went to help them but Gutha grabbed his arm.

  ‘Go to my horse and take out my armour.’

  Indavara and Mercator scuttled across the track to the others.

  ‘Move back?’ suggested Andal.

  ‘Definitely,’ said Mercator. ‘Give ourselves more time.’

  ‘You think they’ll come straight at us now?’ asked Itys.

  ‘They know that cart’s getting farther away with every passing minute,’ said Indavara. ‘They won’t be long.’

  ‘Four down,’ said Mercator. ‘That’s seventeen left.’

  ‘But the German brute counts for two,’ said Pelagius.

  ‘At least,’ replied Itys morosely. ‘Can’t believe I missed him.’

  ‘Let’s hope they don’t have much armour or many shields with them,’ said Pelagius.

  ‘We’ll wait and see what comes,’ said Indavara. ‘Don’t break cover until you have to.’

  They withdrew another thirty feet from the pass. Once Andal, Pelagius and Itys had found good spots, Indavara and Mercator checked no one was watching then hurried back to the other side. The best position was behind the outcrop where Ulixes was still slumped, wine flask in his hand. Bucoli was already there with the spear and the javelin.

  The auxiliary suddenly stamped downward. When he took his boot away, Indavara saw the sticky, crushed carcass of a pale, almost translucent creature with some very strange-looking body parts. He guessed he’d seen his first scorpion.

  ‘Is that the one that stung you?’ Mercator asked Ulixes.

  ‘Didn’t see it,’ murmured the gambler before downing more wine.

  ‘One of Khalima’s men said that most of the pale ones aren’t lethal. That one’s pale.’

  ‘I’m a dead man,’ muttered Ulixes. ‘The pain is even worse.’ He punched the ground. ‘I curse the gods. I curse them all!’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ hissed Bucoli.

  ‘Think they’re going to help you, lad? We’re nothing but entertainment for them.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Mercator.

  Indavara briefly checked the area for any more of the creatures then crouched down close to the end of the outcrop. He ran his sword in and out of the scabbard a few times to make sure it wouldn’t stick, then checked his boots. He laid the bow beside him and inspected the spear. It was crudely made but six feet long with a heavy iron head. He put it next to the bow.

  Gutha recruited another man to speed things along. Once his mail-shirt was on and the studded bronze chest and back plates attached, it was time for the greaves and arm-guards. Gutha had once weighed the entire arrangement and it had been even heavier than he’d imagined: eighty pounds, not including the helmet, which he put on last.

  Six of the remaining warriors had shields; they would lead the way. Their job was to advance on the two bowmen and keep them occupied while another six came in behind them to take out the others. Gutha had selected the strongest four as his reserve. If any of the raiders were still standing, they would follow up and finish them off.

  All the horses had been tied up some distance back.

  Gutha checked his armour one more time; he didn’t want anything coming loose at an inopportune moment.

  ‘I doubt there are more than a few of them,’ he told the Arabians. ‘Just keep moving and take out those archers – then we can deal with the rest. Everyone up the slope.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Bucoli. ‘They do have shields.’

  ‘I see them,’ said Indavara. ‘Four. No, six.’

  By crouching, the advancing men were able to cover all but their boots. The shields were circular; hide and wood with a central boss of bronze.

  ‘Might be a job for Nobus,’ said Mercator.

  ‘Agreed.’

  The optio got the auxiliary’s attention, pointed at the shield-bearers and mimed a throw. Nobus waved an acknowledgement then moved up to the edge.

  The six men had just reached the top of the rise. The first rock missed them. They noticed the splash of dust but continued on, apparently unaware that it had come from above.

  Nobus’s second throw did a lot more damage. It hit one of the men on the shoulder, the crack of bone reverberating along the pass. The unfortunate dropped his shield and retreated face contorted by pain.

  Gutha ordered a man from the second rank to grab his shield. The injured warrior was told to take his place; he could still wield his sword.

  As he approached the rise, Gutha looked up and saw the enemy warrior aiming his next rock. There was absolutely nothing they could do about it; they didn’t have a single bow between them, not that he would have been easy to hit anyway. It was always the little things.

  The next rock bounced off a shield but all six had slowed.

  ‘Forward!’ ordered Gutha.

  One of the men pointed along the road and shouted back at him.

  ‘He’s telling them we’re farther away,’ explained Mercator.

  ‘We must use the distance,’ said Indavara, detaching the quiver from his belt. ‘Take out as many as we can before they get close.’

  Nobus’s fourth throw hit a man on the head. The Arabian lurched into the wall then slumped to the ground, body inert.

  From the top of the cliff came a triumphant cry.

  But the five remaining men didn’t lose heart. They marched down the slope to the bottom, split into two groups and continued along the edges of the road.

  Nobus turned his attention to the second rank. He threw the rocks at a faster rate, forcing the warriors to look up and take evasive action.

  Gutha watched him and the mess he was making of his advance. If he got hold of the little shit he would chop his head off. For now, he just had to get the men moving.

  ‘Second line, get after those shields.’

  ‘Here they come,’ said Mercator, javelin at the ready.

  Ignoring the two shield-men now only sixty feet away and trotting towards his position, Indavara fired at the second rank. The arrow hit a warrior dead centre, rippling his tunic and knocking him off his feet. The men with him paused, now fearful of the bows once more.

  Gutha reached the rise and shouted at the hesitant warriors. ‘After the others. Charge!’

  Indavara watched them speed up. He put the bow down and drew his blade.

  ‘Itys, hit the second rank! Mercator, you too. I’m going for the shields.’

  Indavara sprang to his feet and bolted towards the pair on his side of the road, who were still keeping their heads down.

  Several of the second rank saw him but
they were busy avoiding Mercator’s javelin and Itys’s arrows.

  Indavara leaped over a cluster of boulders and went for the man to the left. Still covering themselves, the Arabians were caught completely by surprise. Indavara grabbed the top edge of the shield, hauled it down, then swept straight into the warrior’s neck. The blade went in just above the ear. The warrior’s jaw dropped and the rest of him swiftly followed.

  The second man had lowered his shield to see what he faced. He got it back up just in time. Sparks flew as Indavara’s blade caught the bronze boss.

  With no time to tarry – and his foe again unsighted – Indavara darted forward and swung his right leg. His boot caught the Arabian just above his ankle, sending him tottering backwards.

  Indavara took his chance, swinging as soon as he had something to aim at. The blade ripped across the warrior’s forehead as he slammed into the sand, unused sword clattering against his shield.

  Having checked that the arrows were still keeping the second rank at bay, Indavara sprinted across the road.

  The other three Arabians were only yards from Andal, Pelagius and Itys.

  As they suddenly noticed the new threat, one lowered his shield. Itys’s arrow thudded into his face. He teetered on his heels then fell, screaming.

  Andal and Pelagius rushed one of the others. The third man was already coming at Indavara in a solid defensive crouch, shield close to him, sword at the ready.

  Indavara couldn’t see a quick way of putting him down. Fortunately, he didn’t need it.

  Having dropped his bow, Itys flew past the others and stuck his knife into the warrior’s back. Shock froze the Arabian’s face. His legs buckled and he collapsed onto a boulder.

  Pelagius cried out as the last man’s blade caught his elbow but the Arabian had made his last attack. A double-handed heave from Andal almost severed his arm. The enraged Pelagius barged his shield aside and finished him off with a drive into his flank.

  Indavara was already on the move. ‘Cover! Back into cover!’

  ‘Who is this bastard?’ bawled Gutha. He had lost five more men and these determined sons of bitches still had their bows. ‘Charge! Everyone charge!’

  The sight of him and the last four men on the move galvanised the second rank into action.

  Once back across the road, Indavara dropped his sword and took the bow and an arrow from Mercator. Three of the second rank were coming for them; three for the others. They were no more than forty feet away. Indavara drew and aimed at the middle man. Twenty feet. Ten.

  The string suddenly broke. Indavara dropped the bow and the arrow fell harmlessly to the ground.

  Seeing what had happened, Mercator darted in front of him. ‘Come on!’

  Bucoli followed his optio.

  The first Saracen slowed but threw all his strength into a scything sweep. Mercator’s blade sang as he blocked.

  Indavara dared not look down as his scrabbling fingers reached for his sword. Bucoli’s wild swing missed its target by a foot. Unbalanced and exposed, he was struck by both the other men, one blade going into his ribs, the other into his chest. The auxillary was dead before his body struck the sand. The larger of the two warriors grinned manically.

  As the first man pushed Mercator back towards the rock wall, the others came at Indavara. The big one kicked Bucoli on the way past. He was powerfully built, with a barrel chest and arms bulging out of his tunic. The other warrior seemed content to stay behind him.

  Indavara forced himself to block out the sounds of the other clashes; he knew there was again no time to tarry. He had the mail-shirt – only a heavy blow would do him serious damage. He took one step back, then rushed forward.

  The Arabian obviously also knew he would need power to go through the mail. So he drew the blade back over his shoulder – nothing like quickly enough.

  He had barely begun his swing when Indavara slashed up at his forearms. The blade sliced deep into one and grazed the other. The dropped sword bounced off Indavara’s head as he jabbed the iron hilt of his own into the Arabian’s nose, breaking bones.

  Leaping past him before he’d hit the ground, Indavara’s next sweep smashed into the second man’s blade with such force that it flew from his grasp. Heaving back the other way, Indavara caught him under the chin, carving his neck open. The last noise he made was a whimper.

  Indavara was all set to help Mercator but the optio had just driven his sword down into the prostrate warrior at his feet.

  He checked the position of the German and the last four. They were twenty feet away and had just slowed to a walk.

  On the other side of the road, only two men were still standing: Pelagius and one of the Arabians. They were grappling with one another, neither able to bring his sword to bear. Indavara was already on his way when Pelagius managed to get his leg behind the Arabian and trip him.

  As the man hit the sand, the auxiliary swung down, slashing across his chest until the warrior stopped moving.

  Indavara halted in the middle of the road.

  Pelagius reached for his stomach. Only then did Indavara see the tears in his tunic. Strangely calm, the auxiliary dropped his blade then sat down and examined his wounds.

  As Mercator walked over, Indavara noticed his sword was in his wrong hand. The optio was clenching his right fist, from which thick drops of blood were colouring the sand.

  ‘Looks like you two are all that’s left,’ said a rumbling voice in Greek.

  The German dwarfed the four men with him, though Indavara could see that they too were not be underestimated. None seemed perturbed by the demise of his fellows and each one had taken up a shield.

  Indavara spied Nobus climbing down from the cliff. He was moving swiftly but would be too late to make any difference.

  ‘Not quite,’ said another voice.

  Ulixes was up on his feet and holding the big spear. His left hand was now bright pink and had swollen to a freakish size.

  ‘Thought you were sitting this one out,’ said Indavara.

  Ulixes nodded at the hand. ‘Hurts worse than anything I’ve ever known. Rather get it over with. Maybe I can take a couple of these pricks with me.’

  The big warrior who Indavara had just felled was trying to get up. Ulixes finished him off by jabbing the point of the spear into his chest. As the warrior spluttered his last breaths, Ulixes pulled out the tip. ‘Where’s your sun god now, eh? Gullible arseholes.’

  Gutha gave an order, staying put while the other four advanced.

  ‘Don’t like getting your hands dirty, do you?’ said Indavara.

  ‘Why have a dog and bark yourself?’

  One of the warriors turned round and spoke in Greek. ‘I’m no dog.’

  ‘Just a turn of phrase,’ said the German. ‘I’m with you.’ He lifted the axe and smacked his palm into the shaft.

  Indavara glanced again at the shields then spoke to Ulixes. ‘Swap?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Indavara handed the gambler the sword and took the spear. The length gave him a good advantage against the swordsmen – the German too if it came to it.

  Ulixes and Mercator came in close to flank Indavara. Mercator – to the left – was holding his wounded hand up but his entire forearm was now slick with blood. Indavara was glad to have both him and Ulixes alongside him, but wasn’t counting on a great deal of help from either.

  The four warriors strode forward, two converging on Indavara, the others towards Mercator and Ulixes. The German still hadn’t moved.

  Indavara put both hands on the spear and held it out in front of him. Even though he had the reach, getting through the shields wouldn’t be easy. Gaze alternating between his opponents, he waited. The warriors edged forward, constantly adjusting the angle of their shields, taking no risks.

  Indavara could still hear Mercator’s hand dripping and he suddenly realised how much he wanted the selfless optio to live. The thought decided his next move for him, especially when he noticed that the man to the left wa
s fractionally ahead of the others.

  Three quick steps and a jab of the spear halted the pair in front, but Indavara had no intention of striking them. He turned to his left, shifted his grip and drove the spear at Mercator’s man. The iron tip scraped over the top of his shield and pierced the flesh above his eye. Sensing movement from the others, Indavara pulled the spear back and retreated.

  To the astonishment of all those watching, the wounded Arabian continued forward. But then he began to blink and a dark dot appeared on his skin. Next came a thin stream of blood, then a shower of red droplets. He took only two more steps.

  As he sank to his knees, Mercator kicked the shield aside and swept down, slashing into the other side of his head.

  As Ulixes came out to meet his man and their blades clashed, Indavara took the initiative once more. He jabbed into the shields, testing each warrior. One of them spoke and they moved slightly away from each other before coming back at him. Indavara stood his ground, looking for a way through.

  Mercator provided it. Wounded hand held against his chest, the optio swung at the closest man’s shield, chipping off a strip of leather. The defender was forced to turn, exposing his side.

  Indavara drove at his flank.

  The second man diverted the strike with his shield, knocking the spear down into the ground. He pivoted towards Indavara, sword arm swinging.

  Indavara had already dropped the spear. He leaped forward and blocked with his arm. The warrior’s wrist collided with his and came off worse. Barely keeping hold of the blade, the Saracen watched helplessly as Indavara plucked his dagger from its sheath and plunged it deep into his throat. The dying man grabbed at him, blood spewing from the wound.

  As Indavara fought him off, a huge, gleaming shape appeared in front of him. He threw himself backward as the axe hissed through the air.

  The warrior was already falling. The steel blade scalped him, excising a flap of hairy flesh.

  Indavara fell onto his backside. Wiping the Arabian’s blood off his face, he had time only to see that Ulixes had accounted for his man but that Mercator was on the back foot.