by Bilinmeyen
Gnaeous stopped me. “Later.” He screamed at his archers. “Tell the Primus Pilus,” he demanded and pointed at an old Centurion not too far off, “to set fire on the buildings!”
The men dismounted and ran off. The Romans, backing off towards us and the gate to the Temple, were holding shields up, but hundreds had fallen, wounded and dead. The battle was ferocious at the head of the street, where the First Cohort was finally making an orderly retreat.
The Primus Pilus, nodding, was yelling orders, and soon, men were tossing torches into the buildings. “Pull back,” Gnaeous told his men. “Pull back.”
We rode back and milled around the gate. The legion was coming, thousand and hundreds still standing, fighting all the way, and then, the conflagration began.
The buildings were built of wood and resin.
I smelled fiercely burning wood, and then, as if the gates to a pit of Helheim had been thrust open, the buildings went up in flames.
The Jews were scrambling. They were screaming, and balls of burning flesh and clothing fell to the ground amidst the legion. The enemy were running away in panic, and a great calamity for that section of the city would claim hundreds of their lives, many non-combatants amongst them. We stood back, covering and sweating in the heat, the army waiting. After a long wait, the Primus Pilus grunted an order, and the army ran daringly through the gaps in the flames, coughing. They rushed up the street, and there, with skill and ferocity, pierced through the shocked blocking force of the enemy. Men fell in heaps, as the vengeful Romans killed the enemy fighters mercilessly. We left our horses at the gate and made our way through the corpse littered street, coughing and gagging in the stench of fire and death.
Soon, before us, the great Temple of the Jews stood.
The soldiers began to pillage it. Sabinus, a thin man with a greedy, foxlike face, was screaming for his men to obey, though some were clearly hesitant, as the priests were on the steps, cursing and begging for them to stay away.
No amount of begging and threats could slacken Sabinus’s thirst for coin.
The priests were killed; some, the highest ones, captured. A mass of Romans disappeared into the Temple. Ulrich was amongst them.
I followed the horde of Parthians and Syrians. I kept my eyes on Ulrich, who was rushing forward and disappeared inside the place.
I searched the rooms.
I found him in a room filled with gold. There were talents and talents of it, a huge, vast fortune. The soldiers and Sabinus’s servants were ferrying it all out, busy as ants. I waited by a doorway. Near us, soldiers had entered the holiest of the holy, and there more priests were dying, and some praying and weeping.
Ulrich was yelling orders. “All of it. Out, and then take it to the tower. Fast now. Leave nothing behind.”
He walked to a room nearby, pulling aside the curtain, and I followed him. I found him leaning over a chest, running his hand through coins of silver. He was smiling and heard my approach. “All of these, take them out after.”
He turned and saw my face. “Ulrich,” I whispered
His jaw went slack. He muttered something, cursed softly, and opened his mouth to hiss a threat. “Now, no more wooden swords, Hraban. No more. You don’t know what you are doing, but I doubt you are needed now.” He pulled a spatha, a long sword, and roared a challenge as he charged.
I flipped the spear in my hand, hurtling it with brutal force.
It spun in the air, and pierced his chest and chain, and he screamed and fell on his knee, trying to get up on shaky feet. I pulled Nightbright and walked past him, and put the sword on his throat. “Gaius Antius and Istar. Where are they, Ulrich?” I asked him. “In the tower where Sabinus stays?”
He smirked with a pained expression. “Istar will rape you with his sword.”
“Where will he rape me with his sword?” I asked him. “The Phasael Tower?”
“You will be disappointed,” he said, blood dripping from his mouth. “And you made a mistake.”
“I’ve made many,” I said. “But, now, I’ll correct them all.”
“She cried when she died, didn’t she,” he said “That bitch.”
I shook my head. “Mathildis died fighting, and didn’t make a sound as she died. But, you will quake and weep when you die,” I spat. I pushed the blade into his crotch. He squealed like a pig, and I held the blade there, turning it. He shuddered, croaking and quivering.
There are men who tell you revenge will never be worth it. They will tell you it will not bring back the dead, and only makes you as evil as your victim. I’d say these men, never in their life, had anything to revenge, because Ulrich’s slow death was very satisfying, and I watched the light go out of his eyes and smiled.
I pulled the blade off, and ripped the spear off his chest.
CHAPTER 31
The return to the Palace was a disaster. While hundreds of Roman soldiers made themselves a fortune, many lost their lives navigating the streets back to the relative safety. Tens of thousands of vengeful Jew warriors and commoners attacked the legions with fury, as they carried away the looted treasures. In the end, Sabinus dragged over eight hundred talents worth of gold and silver from the temple, and committed a crime which would echo in the memories of the Jews for ages. The Palace was soon under siege. Most of Herod’s well trained army reneged on their oaths and joined the enemy in rage over Sabinus’s act, and only the mercenaries and the most elite warriors stayed to help the bleeding 10th Fretensis defend the walls and the towers.
As for Sabinus, he locked himself in the mightiest tower, the Phasael tower.
My friends surrounded me at the yard before the tower. I looked up at the square, richly decorated tower soaring before us. Lights shone brightly on many levels. Tudrus and Wandal were nodding at each other, and ten Parthians were standing around, looking greedy.
Wandal grunted. “The enemy are undermining the walls. Trying to make them collapse.”
“Varus will be here before long,” I answered. “It is going to end up in butchery for the poor bastards.”
“They have been rising all over the city,” Tudrus added, “and, I hear, all over the land as well. Varus will have his hands full.”
“He will,” I answered, tiredly. “But, he has big hands. Now, we have our own battle to finish.”
A Centurion rushed out of the tower. He had a bloody rag over his shoulder, and he held it with a grimace, as his eyes searched the yards. He spotted us next to a pond with yellow and orange fish which were swimming around lazily, the only creatures in the city feeling unthreatened. If the siege would go on for an extended time, the fish would end up in legionnaire bellies.
The man reached us, and blurted out with haste, “Archers for the tower?”
I nodded. Gnaeous had suggested it to the Primus Pilus, and it was our way in. I took a step forward and spoke. “They will need archers to discourage the scoundrels from scaling. We are adding men to all the towers and the walls.”
He was nodding and pointed a finger to the tower. “Kill the bastards, and piss on their faces. That’s the full passphrase in the tower. But do it for real, as well.”
I snorted, thinking about Antius. “Perfect. We will. What’s in there? Where should we go?”
“Roof, probably,” the Centurion mused. “Lots of room to shoot down.” He pointed up the mighty thing. “Over seventy feet tall, there are many levels. On the top floor, the procurator holds court and counts his coins. The Legate is on the bottom floor. Avoid both. Climb the stairs all the way to the top, and there is a ladder to the roof. I get you fed, and send more arrows your way. Hope they are suitable for the rogues.” He eyed the Parthians with glee, probably imagining the carnage warriors would wreck on the Jews below.
“Thank you,” I said, and we went to the door with the man. Inside, flickering torches lit a massive pillared bottom floor of the tower. Officers ran around, plans were being made, and a bald, tough legate was conducting to the business of killing the brave Jews who were t
rying to collapse the walls and, in places, to scale them.
We moved to a massive stairway, and began climbing. On each level, there were soldiers staring out of holes, some firing bows down at the dark city. A hubbub could be heard, as the enemy was celebrating relentlessly while the more bloodthirsty ones were trying to find a way to the Palace. Tens of thousands of them would kill the lot of us, if things went wrong and Varus made a mess of the war.
I didn’t care. I had corpses to make.
On the top floor, a massive door blocked a room, and the ladder to the roof was near. The door’s iron ring glistened in the light of the torches, and two mercenaries guarded the doorway. A bustle could be heard inside, and Sabinus’s accursed voice on top of them.
“Count it all. Let me know how much, and don’t miss a single fucking coin,” he was yelling. I stopped and grinned at the guards.
They looked at me suspiciously. Both were armed with axes and spears, and looked like men who knew how to use them. “Kill the bastards,” I said.
“And spit on their faces,” answered one of the guards.
I nodded to the doorway. “Is he robbing a fortune, or only small portion for himself?” I asked them as the archers were coming up.
“Fortune, of course,” one of the men said mirthlessly. “Wouldn’t you?”
“I’ll take a look.” I moved like a lighting, and my spear jabbed into the man’s eye.
He fell back, gasping. Wandal and Bohscyld jumped the other man, ferociously stabbing at his body. I turned to the Parthians, who didn’t look at all bothered. They stared at me blankly. I gestured to the doorway. “In there, there will be enemies and loot. Make bodies, and leave rich,” I told them. “Spare the bastard Sabinus. Leave a very fat bastard for me. Leave him to me.”
“Sure, my Lord,” answered a tall Parthian, and they all drew arrows. He turned to two of his men. “You stay out here and tell everyone things are well. If they don’t believe, kill them.”
I nodded, took a deep breath, begged to gods everything would end well, Antius would be there, and I would find Istar. Wandal nodded, Bohscyld as well, and so they pulled at the rung.
The door rumbled open. I stepped in and found myself standing on top of a long and wide stone stairway.
Below us, there were many men. Six of them were carrying bags of gold and silver. Two were counting the coins, two were writing it all up on wooden tablets. Sabinus, still in his stained toga, was lounging on a raised platform in a stone chair across the room from us, exhausted, looking like a king fresh out of war. A man with snakes running up and down his forearms was standing behind him, and another man, fat as butter in a huge, shapeless tunic, turned to regard me from the tables, where he had been conversing with a scribe.
Antius’s face shone with horrified surprise. Istar pulled blades, his eyes bright as stars. He had recovered well from his wounds.
Adalwulf and Rochus stood below me, in their Guard’s armor.
Adalwulf’s face shone with rage. “Hraban.”
I stared down at them. The full implication of them being there dawned on me. I forced myself to speak. “So. Here you are, friend. And another friend.” I looked at Rochus, who was pulling his sword.
“You will stand down—” Adalwulf began, but I didn’t heed him.
I laughed, and heeded Woden instead, and pointed finger down. The Parthians appeared, arrows nocked. “Spare the two as well,” I growled. “Unless they resist.” I pointed at the two Guards and walked down.
The Parthians surged to the stairs. Arrows flicked in the dark. One struck Sabinus in shoulder, despite my orders. I decided it mattered little, as the dark-haired man writhed with shock and pain, sliding to the floor. Other arrows flashed for the scribes, who fell screaming over the coins, scattering them in a glittering rain. The doorway closed behind us. The eight Parthians walked down with us, killing as they went. Istar rolled behind the stone bench, and another arrow struck Sabinus, this time in the leg, and the bastard howled weakly. Rochus dodged under his shield, when three arrows hit it in rapid succession. The Parthians were bad at sparing men’s lives, or following orders in general. Antius, fast for a fat man, rushed under the table.
Adalwulf went berserk.
His blond hair twirled as he charged up the stairs, and his sword killed a Parthian so savagely, the man’s neck was half severed. Agetan hacked down at him with glee, and Tudrus speared at him, drawing blood from the man’s forearm, but Adalwulf jabbed his spatha at the Quadi. Tudrus’s shield blocked the blade, but he fell from the stairs to the shadows with a crash. Agetan rammed his blade at the Decurion, but Adalwulf growled, kicked the Quadi back on his rump, and slashed his blade at another Parthian, who had been aiming his bow. Agetan, cursing, rolled down the stairs as Adalwulf tried to stab him. The Parthian died in the stairs, spewing blood. Bohscyld attacked the berserker, and they were struggling in the stairs, cursing, equally strong. I rushed down as Wandal barreled into the two, trying to hammer Adalwulf into submission with the pommel of his sword.
I faced Rochus. He got up, his face pale, his spatha quivering. I snarled at him. “Haven’t we done this before?” I asked him hoarsely. “You’ve saved my life once, but I think we can put all that behind us now. You serve those who killed my lord.”
“I found my own way, Hraban,” he said grimly as the archers, some staring at the mighty struggle of Adalwulf, Wandal and Bohscyld on the stairs, surrounded us. Agetan was near me, looking up at his brother with worry. Rochus squatted behind his shield, eyeing the savage archers with fear. “I’m a Cherusci noble. We seek opportunities, not death. I love you, brother, but I never said I’d serve the dead over the living. You are not a practical man, Hraban.”
I spat at his feet. “They gave me tasks, and set you there to make sure I stayed on track, eh? And you failed, didn’t you? I’m here,” I said and attacked him.
He blocked my spear, and his sword came with an arching blow from top. I danced away, the blade struck the stairs, and I pushed the spear for his side, fast as lighting. He howled, and fell on his back, as I stood over him and put the spear over his face. I ripped the tip across his face, and he squirmed and hissed with pain. I kicked his side so hard, a rib broke.
A shadow appeared in the middle of the Parthians.
Few turned in surprise, and some of them had been firing at the last of the men in the room. Blade pushed and punctured, and a Parthian fell, his back bleeding. One turned with a dagger, but Istros slashed the hand, then the chest. The gladiator rolled, dodging an arrow, though not another, and cursed as one stuck deep in his hip. He rolled in midst of us, his blade dipping and thrusting, and I barely managed to block his blade. The Parthians didn’t. Most died and fell in bloody heaps, as the terrible fighter flew into battle rage. One or two ran to the sides of the room, as Agetan attacked the fighter. I charged him from the other side.
He stabbed at me, but reversed the slicing blade, crouched, and pushed up at charging Agetan, who buried himself into the blades. My friend crashed to the ground, lifeless.
I roared my rage at Istros’s face.
He turned to me, as I jabbed my spear at his face. He dodged and attacked, but the spear kept him away, and I roared my anger at the killer of Brimwulf and Agetan, Woden’s power making me fast as a lynx. “Ulrich’s cock, shit walker. I took it. You’ll piss your life away without one as well!” I swore as I attacked relentlessly. He dodged, rolled aside, tried to get past the spear. I danced back, the long spear wounding his side as he tried to get near. He roared and hacked at the shaft, but I pulled the spear back, and sparks flew as the steel collided.
I glanced up at Adalwulf, who had just struck down Bohscyld with the pommel of his spatha. Wandal was senseless at his feet. A remaining Parthian shot an arrow into Adalwulf’s leg, and Bohscyld fell back, his chest bleeding as Adalwulf turned to the archer, his face full of rage.
I had but glanced at the struggle briefly, and knew Istros would seize the advantage. I sensed more than saw his li
ghtning fast movement.
I jumped back, and there was a shadow surging up from beneath, the man having rolled to disembowel me. The snake forearm was surging for my throat, blade glinting, and I swiftly stepped back again, holding on to the spear. The man’s attack fell short, but he kept coming, trying to get past the spear. I fell on my back, and gods smiled, because Istros, finally, made a mistake as he relentlessly kept surging for me. The spear’s tip ripped into his cheek, his skin and flesh mangled away horribly. The cheekbone and teeth were exposed crudely. He fell to my side, crying with unbearable pain. He was struggling on his fours, still holding his swords.
I rolled on his back, pulled Nightbright, and put the blade between his legs. “Without a cock, friend.”
I pulled the blade, then stuck in through his side, and the man fell on his face, shuddering and crying in his dying moments.
I got up to face Adalwulf. He was holding a blade on Wandal. Two Parthians were aiming their bows at him, and I growled for them to stand down. They obeyed, though reluctantly.
I shook the blood from my face and gestured for Wandal. “You saw him grow. And now you threaten him?”
“You don’t understand,” he spat. “You do not.”
“I’m not really in a mood to understand, not today,” I said darkly. “I just want all the lies in the open.” I looked at the dead Agetan, and sorrow filled my heart, fighting with the rage. I shook my head at him. “You came here to silence that fat shit? And me?” I looked under the table, where Antius was shaking.
He shrugged. “You don’t—”
“Understand,” I said.
Tudrus had recovered and climbed up, and slammed his fist in Adalwulf’s head, and the man fell down the stairs. Tudrus kneeled to see to Bohscyld, his eyes on the unmoving body of Agetan, and I shook my head at him. His eyes were mad pools of disbelief. I bowed next to my dead friend and looked up at Wandal, who was climbing to his feet, holding his face.
