“If she is speaking the truth, she is talking about an uprising Sir,” the centurion hissed with sudden urgency. “A fucking uprising. We should get back to the garrison right now. Even if it’s a false alarm.”
Fergus was staring in growing shock and alarm at the girl clutching his arm. He had not seen this coming. Hastily he turned to look around at the people in the street, but all seemed normal and peaceful. Around him however he noticed a sudden tension had spread amongst his escort. They were ten Romans alone in the middle of a vast and hostile city.
Behind them the doors to the temple suddenly slammed shut and from inside the building Fergus heard what sounded like a cross bar being placed into position. The temple was bolting its doors. Quickly Fergus turned to look down at the girl as he tried to decide on what to do.
“How does she know that everyone is going to hurt me?” he snapped.
As the translator listened to the girl’s reply his face turned ashen. “She says,” the Greek stammered, “that she heard her uncle talking about it with her mother. But you are her friend. She wants to help you. She says you should come with her. You can hide in her mother’s house.”
Softly Fergus swore to himself. He had to get back to the relative safety of garrison HQ, but some instinct was warning him from taking the direct path. As he stared at the closed temple doors, his face suddenly darkened.
“Those fucking priests lured us out here for this purpose,” Fergus hissed with sudden insight, as he tried to keep calm. “The rebels know we are here. Vulnerable, out in the open and far from our men. That must be their plan. It’s nearly a mile back to the camp. But we will never make it. If the girl is speaking the truth, then they are going to try and take us on our way back. The roads leading across the canals will be watched. What better way to start an uprising than by capturing or killing the Roman garrison commander.”
“So, what do we do?” Dio snapped, as he too turned to look around him with growing alarm.
Quickly Fergus turned to look down at the girl.
“We will go with her and hide up until it’s dark,” Fergus said decisively. “Then tonight under the cover of darkness we shall try and make our way back to our camp.”
“You want to go with this girl” Dio exclaimed in disbelief. “You are going to trust her. For all we know she could be part of this whole fucking plot.”
“We need to get off the streets,” Fergus snapped.
“We need to warn the garrison of this uprising Sir,” Dio retorted.
But Fergus shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “They lured us out here. They know we are here. We will never get back to the garrison, not now. I have put contingency plans in place for just such an eventuality. Britannicus is in command whilst I am away from HQ. He has standing orders in case of an uprising. He knows what to do. He can handle it.”
The girl tugged again at Fergus’s arm and this time he allowed her to lead him towards an alley that ran alongside the temple walls. Behind him Dio, the Greek translator and the anxious legionaries quickly followed.
Away from the busy and noisy main street, Fergus found himself in a maze of narrow, rubbish-strewn alleys and single-storey mud-brick buildings. There was no one about, and the only sign of life was a stray dog sniffing around in the rubbish. As the girl vanished through the dark doorway and into one of the nondescript buildings, Fergus hesitated. Behind him he heard Dio drawing his gladius from its sheath. Doing the same he took a deep breath and stepped through the entrance and into the building. In the gloom it took his eyes a moment to adjust. The building consisted of just a single room. A couple of straw sleeping mattresses lay on the floor and in the corner were a few small cooking pots and amphorae. A flight of stairs led up to the roof. Behind him Dio and the men from his close protection escort piled into the room, weapons drawn and boots scraping on the earthen floor. As they did so a muffled female voice cried out in fright and alarm. In the gloom Fergus caught sight of the girl standing beside an older woman. The older woman had her hand pressed to her mouth and was gazing at the Romans in absolute horror.
“Secure the building,” Dio snarled at the legionaries. “You two,” the centurion said, pointing at two of the soldiers, “barricade that door and you, get up onto the roof. Warn us if you see trouble approaching but don’t let people see you. The rest of you stay out of sight and keep quiet. We’re going to be here for a while.”
“What’s going on Sir?” one of the legionaries asked in an anxious voice.
“Fuck knows,” Dio growled as he took up position beside the doorway.
As the soldiers rushed to their positions, Fergus replaced his sword in its sheath and turned to the two women. The little girl was looking up at him, her expression suddenly anxious. Her mother was huddled in a corner, shaking.
“Tell them that they have nothing to fear,” Fergus said sharply. “But I can’t let them leave the house. We will be staying until its dark. And ask her when she is expecting her man to come home?”
The older woman’s voice came out as a whisper.
“She says he is not here. He has gone east to fight,” the Greek said hastily.
Fergus muttered something to himself. Then he turned to study the little girl who was standing holding her mother’s hand.
“Tell her that she has a very brave daughter,” Fergus said at last.
***
It was growing late when one of the Roman lookouts on the roof called out a soft warning. Quickly Fergus scrambled to his feet and headed up the stairs. In the dark, hot and stuffy room below, the silent legionaries sat and crouched along the walls waiting for darkness. As he carefully slithered out onto the flat roof, Fergus could see and hear the growing tumult. The Roman legionary, lying flat on his stomach, did not need to point out what was happening. To the west, in the direction of the former governor’s palace where the Roman garrison had made its HQ, numerous columns of black smoke were rising into the blue sky and a growing human din was becoming audible. For a moment Fergus lay on his stomach and stared at the spectacle. The fires and noise could mean only one thing. An uprising had indeed taken place. The girl had been speaking the truth. Behind him he heard someone creeping up the stairs and a moment later Dio came crawling towards him. The centurion swore softly as he caught sight of the columns of smoke.
“We will try and make our way back when its fully dark,” Fergus murmured.
“You are counting on there still being a Roman garrison left,” Dio said quietly, as he gazed at the columns of smoke.
“There is an emergency contingency plan,” Fergus said carefully. “Our defences are strong. The palace is protected on three sides by a canal and backs up against the city walls. In an emergency the plan is to set fire to the canals. Hopefully that is what those columns of smoke are about.” Fergus paused as he studied the scene. “Each bridge across the canals is fortified and guarded by our men,” he continued. “Britannicus has standing orders to hold those bridges at all costs. He will carry out his orders. He will hold fast.”
“You have a lot of confidence in that young tribune,” Dio growled unhappily.
Fergus did not reply as he gazed at the columns of black smoke. The shock of realising that he had an uprising on his hands had not yet faded. Having seen enough, he turned and crawled back to the stairs. In the dark, hot room below, Fergus paused to wipe the sweat and dust from his face. The girl and her mother were now sitting in a corner on one of the sleeping mattresses, tensely watching his every move. Moving towards them Fergus crouched, reached for his fine, plumed tribune’s helmet and beckoned for the translator to join him.
“Tell her,” he said in a stern, serious voice as he fixed his gaze on the older woman, “that we shall be leaving soon and that I shall not forget her hospitality. After we have gone she should get herself and her daughter out of Seleucia whilst she still can and stay away. We may be on the backfoot today, but Rome will never forgive this uprising. When our vengeance comes it will be overwhelming, mercile
ss and brutal. People are going to die, many, many people and the city is likely to be burned to the ground.”
Then Fergus turned to the girl and solemnly handed her his helmet. “Tell her that I will be back one day to collect this,” he said.
Chapter Two - Flight or Fight
Night had come and, in the darkness, to the west in the direction of the governor’s palace and the Roman HQ, Fergus could make out the reddish glow of numerous fires. Along the alley wall the small band of Romans crouched in the gloom. The men were clutching their large oval shields and throwing spears. Around them the night was calm but disturbed by the occasional scream and shriek. Fergus pressed up against the wall as he strained to listen. In the maze of mud-brick buildings and alleys nothing moved, and a balmy night breeze was bringing some welcome refreshment to the stale air. During the hours they’d spent hiding in the house, the lookout up on the roof had reported gangs of armed men roaming the streets. The gangs seemed to be searching for people who had collaborated with the Roman garrison. They were settling scores. At one point they had appeared very close. The rebels had forced their way into a nearby house, had dragged out a man and executed him there and then in the street. The killing had laid to rest any doubts about the seriousness of the situation. Calmly Fergus turned to look at the men crouching in a line behind him. The shock of having an uprising on his hands had been replaced by a cold, primitive determination to survive. And anger too. For the city seemed to have rejected all his efforts to maintain a reasonably just rule. This uprising was a personal slap in the face. Fergus bit his lip. He had no way of knowing whether the Roman garrison was still in control of the governor’s palace or had been massacred by the rebels. But he had no choice but to trust that Britannicus had held those crucial bridges. There was no other way out. All the city gates would by now be in the hands of the rebels and he couldn’t hide here forever.
“Let’s go,” Fergus whispered, as he left his position and started forwards along the alley. Closely behind him Dio and the others hastened after him, trying to remain as silent as possible. At the end of the alley Fergus paused. He had no idea how to get through this massive maze of mud-brick buildings and alleys. To his left and right he could see nothing in the darkness. The only thing guiding him was the distant reddish glow of the fires that seemed to line the banks of the canal.
Turning right he began to carefully move on down the dark alley. In the night all seemed peaceful and quiet but, as he reached the end of the passage Fergus nearly tripped over the body of a man lying in the dirt. Pausing beside the corpse, Fergus steadied his breathing and strained to listen. Somewhere close by a dog had started to bark. It was followed by a woman’s high-pitched scream. Ahead in the gloom the crossroads seemed to split into four separate alleys. Which one to take? It was impossible to know which one would lead them to the canal. Hissing a quick command to the men behind him, he darted across the intersection and into one of the alleys. The sound of his hobnailed boots on the gravel sounded horribly loud. As he cautiously advanced down the passage with Corbulo’s old gladius gleaming in his hand he suddenly sensed movement up ahead. A man was urinating onto a pile of stinking rubbish. He had his back turned to the Romans and was softly singing to himself as if drunk. Fergus came to an abrupt halt. If the man turned around and came towards him there was no way he would not spot them. Behind him Fergus sensed his men pressed up against the alley wall, waiting to move on. Quickly switching his sword into his left-hand, Fergus strode towards the man, grasped hold of his hair and slammed the man’s forehead into the wall knocking him out. As the Romans surged forwards up the passageway, Fergus lowered the unconscious man into the pile of rubbish and quickly turned to listen but in the darkness, all remained peaceful.
The maze of alleys, buildings and passageways seemed to go on forever but steadily the reddish glow of the fires drew nearer. The buildings and homes too seemed to be growing grander the nearer to the former governor’s palace they got. Pausing along an alley to listen and gain his bearings, Fergus suddenly tasted the distinctive smell of burning petroleum and as he did he blushed with sudden hope. Setting the canals on fire with petroleum was part of his emergency contingency plan. Had Britannicus managed to carry it out?
“Do you smell that boys,” Fergus hissed, as he turned to the men crouching behind him in the darkness. “They have set fire to the canal. Our men must still be in control of the palace. Not far now.”
“How the fuck are we going to get across a burning canal Sir?” a voice whispered in the darkness.
Fergus did not reply as he turned to peer down the passageway. He hadn’t worked that out yet. Cautiously he started moving again and just as he did, a shout rent the darkness. Instinctively Fergus stopped and waited. The shout came again. It was a man’s voice. Coming towards him down the alley was a figure holding a burning torch. Fergus stiffened. There was nowhere to hide. The man would be upon them within seconds. Grimly Fergus waited for the inevitable discovery. The stranger clutching his flaming torch seemed oblivious to their presence, but as he finally caught sight of Fergus, he came to an abrupt, surprised halt. For a moment no one moved or said a word. In the flickering and hissing torch light the man was staring at Fergus. He looked old, around fifty. Then awkwardly but calmly the man turned around and began to retrace his steps, still without having made a noise. Hastily Fergus followed him, but as he reached the end of the passage the man had vanished into the darkness.
“Shit,” Fergus whispered as he waited for the inevitable cry of alarm, but as the silence lengthened none came. Quietly calling out to his men Fergus dashed across the street and crouched in the doorway of a shop. To his right the street seemed to lead into the main city thoroughfare. Cautiously Fergus started towards it, keeping to the side of the road as his men followed one by one. As he reached the corner and caught sight of the wide, colonnaded and paved highway that ran from one end of the city walls to the other, he knelt on one knee. Seleucia was a Hellenistic city and the wide, colonnaded street reminded him of the one in Antioch. Burning torches had been placed in iron holders along the stone columns, bathing the street in a flickering light. Shadows loomed and faded in the firelight. Fergus swore softly as he saw the gang of armed men and women lounging about under the stone columns that held up the roof of the covered walkway. Close by, two figures were dangling lifelessly from the roof. They had been strung up and hanged. The gang seemed to be celebrating for they sounded boisterous and drunk. In the gloom Fergus managed to count fifteen of them before he gave up.
Behind him he sensed his men crouching in a line along the wall. Carefully he turned to survey the wide city street. They were close to the canal for he could see and smell the petroleum fires just beyond the buildings opposite him. The canal could not be more than a hundred yards away. But to get there they would need to cross the main highway and the gang of rebels was blocking the way. Softly Fergus swore again, as his eyes darted from one end of the street to the other. Out in the wide street there was no cover. They would be sitting ducks. As he pondered what to do the night was suddenly rent by a trumpet. Fergus’s eyes widened, and he felt his cheeks blushing with sudden elation. The noise had come from the direction of the palace where the Roman garrison was billeted. As he gazed in that direction, the trumpet rang out again and as it did, Fergus recognised the military signal. The trumpet was sounding recall. Britannicus or whoever was in command was sending a signal. He was letting any Roman beyond the canal know that the palace was still in Roman hands. He was calling them back. Behind him he sensed his men stir in anticipation. They too had understood the trumpet call.
Suddenly he felt someone gently tap him on his shoulder.
“Sir, if the canals are on fire,” Dio whispered in the darkness, “then our only chance is to get across the bridges. The main bridge across the canal is straight ahead of us just beyond those buildings across the street.”
Fergus nodded. “We can’t swim across anyway, not in our armour,” he whispered. �
��But the bridges will be barricaded and guarded by our men. We will have to warn and convince them that we are friendlies, or they will slaughter us.”
“You may go first Sir. We will follow you,” Dio whispered as his grim little smile was lost in the darkness.
Fergus turned his attention back to the group of rebels lounging about under the covered walkway. For a long moment he studied them. Then he turned his head towards Dio who was crouching behind him.
“We go straight across the street at a run,” Fergus whispered. “Into that alley over there. If the rebels pursue us we will turn and kill them in that passageway. Warn the men.”
In the darkness Fergus could hear Dio whispering to the men behind him. Slowly Fergus rose to his feet. The grip of his gladius, short sword was wet with sweat and suddenly he felt thirsty. Behind him he sensed his men readying themselves for the dash across the wide street.
“Go,” he hissed and without waiting for an answer Fergus shot across the wide paved thoroughfare. His hobnailed boots clattered on the paving stones as he headed for the dark and narrow alley entrance. He’d nearly made it across the street, when startled cries of alarm rose from the group of rebels. Darting into the alley, Fergus heard the cries of alarm turn to squeals of outrage. Behind him Dio and the others, clutching their large shields and spears, came racing across the street towards him. As they stormed into the dark, narrow and confined passage, Fergus stopped and whirled round. The alley he was in was just wide enough for two men to pass each other.
“Form up, four ranks of two,” he roared. “Front rank, kneel. Second rank shields up.”
Instinctively the legionaries obeyed, abruptly turning around to face the direction from which they had just come. Hastily the last two men into the alley dropped down to crouch behind their shields, forming a solid barrier, their spears pointing outwards, whilst their comrades behind them raised their shields to cover them. It was not a moment too soon, for with savage, confident yells and shouts the rebels came charging into the alley in hot pursuit. But in the confined space and lacking any armour or shields of their own the foremost pursuers ran straight into the spear points of the eight legionaries blocking the passage. The result was a sickening slaughter, as pushed on from behind and with no possibility of escape, the foremost men were impaled on the Roman spears. Screams and shrieks rent the dark alley. Despite the pressure the solid Roman wall did not budge.
Veterans of Rome (Book 9 of the Veteran of Rome Series) Page 2
