He felt ashamed of it as soon as the words were out, but Dog shrugged.
‘I have a mother and a son,’ he said, and Drust did not need to ask who they were. He nodded. We are the same, he thought, Dog and me. Of all of us, though, he will be the first to leave…
‘This is the way of it,’ Dog said, squatting in the bloody pool of flickering light, drawing in the silt with the point of his gladius. ‘Through that grille and to the left a little way is a set of steps. It used to be the way the engineers came after inspecting the top of the aqueduct, but this part has been closed for some years. According to Plancus, the aqueduct comes into the City up on the Janiculum…’
‘Jupiter’s cock, that’s high,’ Kag noted. ‘Will we have to climb up that? And how do we get across the Father?’
‘The aqueduct leaps the river on four stone columns according to Plancus. High above the Tiber. Engineer gangs climb up and walk it all the time, looking for leaks,’ Dog said. ‘Once we are over the City walls on the Janiculum, we can come down, pretending to be one of the water gangs. Then we head out along the Portuensis to old Claudius’s port – we all knew it well enough, for we have sailed in and out many times.’
‘I know people there,’ Drust said. ‘We can get away from there.’
‘It’s not far,’ Kag said, seeing it. ‘We could make this yet…’
‘We may have to hurry a little,’ Manius said, loping back from where he had been watching and listening to the shadows. ‘They have caught up with us.’
Everyone froze at that and, in the silence, they heard the shouts and the rattle of armoured men. Drust turned and found Ugo, standing with his mouth open and the pick in one hand.
‘Dig,’ he yelled.
Dog ran to where the tunnel mouth gawped and Kag joined him, then Quintus and Sib and Manius. They would defend here, choking the Urbans in the tunnel – if they spilled out, then numbers will do for us, Drust thought.
He went to where Ugo flurried up silt with the pick, which he threw down with a sudden gesture, bent and gripped the exposed bottom of the grille; Drust saw the muscles on his shoulders bunch as if something struggled to be free.
He added his own strength, puny though it was in comparison. The grille creaked and cracked, flaking off rust, and Drust saw that the slit above was choked. He took his sword and raked it with the point, careless of what he did to the blade – more rust showered down.
Ugo heaved and strained and the grille started to creak upwards, while Drust risked a glance at the others.
They were dancing, it seemed to him, until he realised they were skipping out of the way of thrown javelins. When he saw the first spear points waver out of the tunnel entrance, his heart tried to hammer a way out of his ribcage.
Pilae and spears. This was not the Urban Cohorts, but the Praetorians and those, for all folk sneered at them as peacocks, were Danube legion veterans. Old Severus had replaced the previous Praetorians with these and they were loyal to him – and his sons.
They were also experts.
Drust gripped and hauled even harder, roaring it out while Ugo did the same until their ears buzzed. When he had to stop, gasping and tear-eyed, he saw Kag with blood all over his face, Dog batting spear points aside and trying to stab a soldier with quick strikes, Quintus laughing, smashing the metal rim of a stolen shield into someone unseen.
He heard it, too, the crunch and smash of it. The die-you-fucker of it. He saw Manius reeling out the pack, cursing and flinging one hand up, trailing blood from the cut.
Ugo bent and growled and heaved. The grille cracked and screeched up while Drust gawped at the sight, then sprang to help. It rose two thirds of the way, then there was a loud, thin crack of sound and Ugo grunted as the grille sank.
Something had broken. A counterweight, Drust thought, which made lifting the great heavy thing easy, but now that was gone and the grille hung in Ugo’s massive fists, with just enough room for a man to squeeze under.
‘Back,’ he yelled, then saw Quintus throw the stolen shield to one side in favour of a dropped spear. He ran to where the sweat and screeches and grunts seemed to swamp him, snatched up the shield and ran back.
He rammed it sideways and Ugo gratefully let the grille sink until it ground onto the metal rim. The shield bowed a little, then held while Ugo ground himself under it and slid down a few feet into water.
‘Back,’ Drust yelled, and watched Quintus and Kag turn and spring back, launching into a sliding skid that took them under the grille and out to the passage beyond, a drop that made them yelp as they splashed into unseen water.
‘Sib,’ Drust yelled. He saw Sib start to move and the errant spear that flew through the entrance, missing him with the point and smacking him in the face with the shaft as he ran into it. He went down in a flurry of waving arms like an upturned beetle, then crawled weakly to his hands and knees.
Manius turned, dragged him up and threw him at the grille. Then he and Dog stood shoulder to shoulder and backed off slowly, while men with big shields and spears spilled out.
Drust slid under and stood uneasily balanced, trying to reach up and snag some part of Sib’s clothing; he heard Ugo and the others splashing away.
‘Go, Dog,’ he heard Manius say as Sib started to crawl weakly under the grille. Drust grabbed him and hauled him through, throwing him into the water beyond, where he splashed and yelled.
Dog gave a final, fearful snarl at the men and spun away, sprinting and sliding as he went, showering Drust with damp grit and sand. Manius danced. He seemed like smoke and oil and Drust heard a voice yelling for him to be brought down.
‘He will not make it,’ Dog declared and, as if he had heard him, Manius turned once and Drust’s breath stopped, for he swore the eyes that stared at them were black. He nodded at them, stepping sideways to avoid a thrust he could not even see.
Dog kicked the shield once, twice and it grated sideways, then collapsed. The grille slammed down like a knell.
‘Move,’ Dog said, clapping Drust on one shoulder.
* * *
Drust dropped into water that seemed slick, but it was ankle deep and he sloshed after Dog, hearing the ring of steel on steel, the shouts. He felt sick all the way up what seemed a long tunnel of dark, for he had no torch.
Then they were shapes and looming faces. ‘Here. Over here. Anyone got a torch?’
And then – ‘Where’s Manius?’
‘Sixed,’ Dog said tersely, and looked up the steps, testing the rusting balustrade; it swung and creaked.
‘Manius? Gone?’ Kag said.
‘For sure?’ Ugo growled mournfully.
‘Possibly,’ Sib declared darkly. ‘You do not kill jnoun so easily.’
The words fell on Drust like searing brands.
‘Fuck you, you goat-fucking sand louse,’ he spat back. ‘He saved you. He saved you and you still think he is some demon from Dis…’
Kag laid one gentling hand on Drust’s forearm as people milled and waited at the foot of the steps.
‘Ease,’ he said. ‘You always knew you would not get us all away.’
It was exactly what chewed Drust and he did not want to be soothed – but Quintus slammed a door on it by announcing he could hear the grille screeching. When they fell silent to listen, they all heard it; the Praetorians were opening it.
‘Juno’s tits,’ Kag growled. ‘Just leave us alone…’
‘There’s a door here.’
Dog’s voice was a faint echo from what seemed a long way up. ‘It’s closed. Ugo, I need you…’
‘In the name of all the gods above and below,’ Kag spat. ‘Fuck their mothers. Are we never to get out of this place?’
‘I hear a monster ahead,’ Sib yelped fearfully. ‘I hear it splashing…’
‘Palace rats behind, giant rats in front… well, I will take the giant rats,’ Quintus said, his grin wide and mad.
‘You can’t go that way,’ Drust said dully. ‘It’s the outflow. It gets too narrow, Do
g says. You’d have to not be a giant rat to get out.’
‘If one of them sea cows can get up,’ Quintus argued, ‘then I can.’
‘There isn’t a sea cow,’ Drust spat back, exasperated.
‘Listen, lads,’ Kag said, ‘can we start thinking about the bastards coming up the tunnel? They will get to us before any sea cow.’
‘Splashing is getting louder,’ Sib exclaimed. ‘It’s coming down on us…’
There was a sudden blast of cold air, a chill that blew away the sweat and all the veiled mists in Drust’s head. His stomach lurched.
‘Get up the steps. Up the steps. That’s no sea cow. The games are done for the day…’
They scrabbled for the steps, throwing themselves up just as men with shields and spears came sloshing up. Drust, the last man, turned to see the one in the lead, a big man in full armour, his torch dyeing his face with bloody light as he pointed a sword and yelled for his men to go on.
Then Macrinus saw the wall of water thrashing down the tunnel, spilled from the sluice and galloping like mad, white-maned horses to relieve the pressure on the too-small pipes of the Flavian sewers.
He gave a bellow and lost the shield, springing for the steps and the rusted balustrade. The wall of water hit him and his men. They vanished into the spray with brief shrieks, but Drust turned as he reached the pack above, struggling with the door.
Macrinus hung on grimly with one hand; he would not let go of the sword in the other.
Ugo and Dog were slamming the door in rhythm with their shoulders. Kag turned and looked at Drust.
‘What was that?’ he demanded. ‘Sib says sea monsters came down the tunnel.’
‘Just washing some turds out,’ Drust said as cheerfully as he could manage. ‘Can we hurry?’
The door burst open with a shattering bang and Ugo fell through. There was a blast of rain-wet air, cold and sweet, and then, suddenly, they were out onto a walkway, looking at rat eyes in the darkness.
‘Ho,’ said Kag, crouching. Then everyone realised, as the wind soughed clouds from the moon, that they were on the aqueduct above the Tiber and the rat eyes were the distant pinprick waver of lights from the torches and fires of Rome.
‘Fuck,’ Ugo said sombrely. ‘We have made it.’
‘That way,’ Dog said, pointing to the gleam of ribbon-black water and the walkways on either side, ‘leads to the Janiculum. And freedom…’
‘Halt.’
The voice shattered the night, the reverent silence and their dreams, making them all spin to face it.
Macrinus hauled himself out of the door, soaked and panting, sword in one fist.
‘Come quietly, in the name of all the gods. Or I will set my men on you.’
‘Move,’ Drust said over his shoulder. Dog laughed, soft and admiring, then trotted off. Sib followed and Ugo, reluctantly, lumbered after. Quintus paused for a moment, but Kag slapped his arm and he went off.
‘You too, Kag,’ Drust said. Kag grunted and moved.
Macrinus stepped out. ‘You’re an annoying little sod,’ he said, shaking water off him like a hound from a river. ‘You really think you can stand against the Praetorian.’
‘I am not. There is you – all the rest of your men are drowned or almost so. No one is coming up those steps behind you. I sent the others away because you will die here if you try and fight us all.’
‘And now you believe you can do this on your own?’
‘I am pointing out that you can live,’ Drust said, feeling his bowels slide queasily. He hoped his voice sounded less trembled to Macrinus than it did to him. ‘You can turn and go back down those steps and, when the surge stops, find your way back.’
‘I was sent to take you. You in particular if I could get no one else. I have one and soon I will have the rest of you. The Hood will suffer nothing less.’
Drust shook his head. ‘It will not happen. Take what is offered. Turn and go.’
‘You arrogant fuck,’ Macrinus spat. ‘You were never any good in the harena – you think you can stand against me? I have fought more than you have eaten. My first baby shit was harder than you.’
Drust waggled his head from side to side. Each moment bought the others time and his heart was thundering with the news that Manius was not dead. It made him smile; Macrinus saw it as a sneer and his anger tipped over the brim.
Drust should have been thinking about what he would do when that happened. About feint and thrust and footwork on this high, awkward, narrow place – but all he could think about was his mother’s face. Kag had always said he was a sentimental arse-brain and that had no place in the harena; it seemed now he was right.
Macrinus darted forward, lashing out with an underhand stroke designed to take the point of the gladius at Drust’s throat. He was so surprised by it that he barely managed to lurch back a pace, found himself with a heel over the walkway and took a short drop into the water.
He floundered, found his footing in the waist-deep flow and backed off while Macrinus prowled, unable to reach Drust; he could only watch impotently as Drust clawed himself up the far side and stood, shivering and dripping.
Macrinus pointed his sword. ‘You think that was clever? You think you have escaped?’
Honestly, yes, Drust thought. He almost said it, then saw Macrinus take several short quick steps along the walkway and hurl himself into the air. He watched with sick admiration and fear as the man landed lightly on the other walkway – lightly, by all the gods, and he wore polished body armour with the outline of muscles which were probably no lie to what lay beneath.
Macrinus advanced on him and Drust parried, blocked, backed off and wished, prayed, dreamed of an opening he could use to strike back. The bell rings were whipped away in the night wind on top of the aqueduct; all Rome seemed to be waiting for the inevitable outcome.
Macrinus stamped and flicked with flourishes – left himself open, just for a moment, an eye-blink of arrogant warrior. Drust poised for it, started to strike, and then saw it was a feint and couldn’t stop himself.
He felt the sword spin out of his hand as if something had wrenched it. Heard it tinkle and splash into the water of the canal, then tried to spring back as Macrinus rushed close. He saw the bearded snarl, the dark, raging eyes and, too late, the sword pommel that smacked him in the breastbone, driving all the air out.
He collapsed, gasping and wheezing, while Macrinus took two steps back, flourishing the sword in easy circles.
‘Well, I hope you play dice better than you fight,’ he said, ‘because this gamble has failed. Get up.’
Why? Drust would have asked it aloud if he had breath, but he had even less when Macrinus slammed a boot into him and skittered him almost off the walkway; he scrabbled frantically to stop hitting the small lip that was all the barrier between him and a long drop to the Tiber.
‘I was told to bring you alive,’ Macrinus went on bitterly. ‘Pained, but alive. I was told I could do one particular thing to you and I will do it now. Then I will drag you back down those steps by your ankle.’
He stepped forward and Drust tried to rise up but each limb felt it weighed far too much.
‘I shall cut your balls off,’ Macrinus said, ‘and drag you away from here to find a torch to cauterise the wound. I would not want you to die before The Hood has his full measure.’
He kicked Drust’s numbed legs apart, splaying them like a spatchcocked chicken and poised the sword. Even in the dark, Drust thought numbly, this bastard will not miss…
‘You threw for the dog,’ Macrinus said, raising the blade, ‘and failed at the last.’
‘You always have to throw the dog to win,’ said a voice, and Macrinus jerked, too late, as the whirling gladius came out of the dark.
It wasn’t balanced for throwing and smacked Macrinus flatly on his armour, the pommel striking his face, making him curse and reel back. Drust looked weakly up, in time to see Dog step over him, but his hands were empty. Macrinus shook blood from his nose and
snarled.
‘Well, well – now I get two…’
‘Three,’ said Kag.
‘Four,’ echoed Ugo.
‘I am Five,’ said Quintus, grinning wide as the Tiber. ‘Which is apt, don’t you think?’
Macrinus backed off a little, but no one seemed to have a weapon and he started to grin. ‘Come to your senses, eh.’
‘Six,’ said a spluttering voice at his feet and he looked down, in time to see the wet black glisten of Sib’s face emerging from where he had swum, underwater and silently, to come up at Macrinus’s ankles.
Which he grabbed and pulled.
Macrinus gave a hoarse cry and clattered to the walkway and suddenly everyone was moving, it seemed to Drust. There were shouts and clangs and then Macrinus was up on his feet, held in the bear grip of Ugo, struggling and red faced. Kag had his sword and tickled his throat with it.
Drust wanted to tell them that the man was a senior centurion of the Praetorian, an aedile who wore a toga with narrow russet-red stripes on it. A man of substance…
But he knew Kag would probably cut Macrinus’s throat – so he was surprised when Dog thrust his death face up close and stared Macrinus in the eye.
‘Can you swim?’ he asked.
If there was answer, it vanished in a descending rush of scream as Ugo heaved the man over the aqueduct lip to spiral in a whirl of arms and legs down into the river.
‘Father Tiber take you,’ he intoned piously.
‘Bet the bastard can swim,’ Kag answered bitterly. There was a dull, distant splash, then hands hauled Drust up and held him while he wobbled. Kag grinned. Dog added his terrible parody to it.
‘Leave you to fight like a gladiator?’ he said wryly. ‘Didn’t think we were actually going to go along with that, did you? Then he thrust out his hand, palm down, fingers splayed. One by one the others closed in and formed the circle, with one space left.
Drust filled it with his own hand and spoke hoarsely, while the wind beckoned them to freedom.
‘Uri, vinciri, verberari, ferroque necari.’
Beasts Beyond the Wall Page 31
