Bandits of Rome

by Bandits of Rome (retail) (epub)

“You’ve sealed the fate of everyone in that farm, Carbo,” said Blaesus. “And I will keep you alive long enough for you to watch what happens to each one, before I kill you.”

  Carbo turned and walked back to the farm, Blaesus watching him go in impotent fury. From inside the farmhouse, Carbo watched Blaesus send forward some more men, who stepped gingerly, slowly picking their way through the bent nails they had twisted and scattered that afternoon. Carbo could see in the light of the torches they held up that they were avoiding the sight of the charred corpses around them.

  Carbo looked to Marsia. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Marsia gave him a stern look. “Go then,” he said. “And wait for the signal.”

  Marsia slipped quietly out of a side window, and headed up the steep hill in front and to the right of the farmhouse. She was soon lost in the darkness.

  Carbo watched the torches approach, two torchbearers with another six men accompanying them. Reconnaissance in force, they used to call it in the legions, he reflected.

  The others were watching Carbo intently as the bandits got closer.

  “Do it,” hissed Curtius.

  “Not yet,” said Carbo. “Closer.”

  “I can hit them from here,” said Sica, flexing her bow.

  “Save your arrows,” said Carbo. “Wait.”

  He calculated the distance again. It was hard in the dark, but he must not spring the trap too early. They had to get the numbers they were facing down if they were to have any chance.

  “Carbo,” said Vespillo, seeing the men getting closer still.

  “Wait. Wait. Now!”

  Sica sent a flaming arrow, the tip wrapped in cloth and soaked in oil, then dipped in flame, high into the air. The advancing men paused, watching to see where it would land, nervously waiting for another conflagration. When the arrow landed and fizzled out, they looked at each other, and Carbo could hear them laugh.

  A low rumble reached them, getting louder, from the hill to the right. The advancing bandits turned, looked towards the sound. From out of the darkness, a dozen tree trunks rolled down on them, from where Marsia had cut the ties binding them. They were still gathering speed when they crashed into the screaming men, breaking bones, caving heads and snapping spines.

  Carbo could imagine Blaesus’ frustration. Would he stop his advance now, wait for light? Carbo doubted it. This wasn’t a disciplined legion, this was a bunch of criminals who would scatter if their boredom levels got too high.

  In confirmation of Carbo’s question, Blaesus sent scouts to the left and right of his position, checking for any more traps that might take them in the flank. The bandits reached bowshot range, and Sica looked at Carbo questioningly. He held a hand up. The bandits drew closer.

  “I think I can hit them now,” said Vespillo.

  “Wait,” said Carbo. He could see the nervous bandits, looking around them, wondering where the next assault would come from. But as nothing happened, he saw them gaining confidence, their backs straightening, moving more surefootedly.

  “Carbo,” said Sica, pulling her bowstring to her ear with two fingers and sighting down an arrow.

  Carbo estimated the distance, the wind, factored in the darkness, and the torches that lit up the targets.

  “Fire!”

  Vespillo and Sica loosed simultaneously, Vespillo’s arrow having the distance, but flying wide, Sica’s taking the lead bandit straight in the centre of the chest, pitching him backwards with a cry. Before Vespillo had notched another arrow, Sica had released her second into the bandits, the despairing gurgle confirming another kill. Vespillo’s next arrow coincided with Sica’s third, and this time both struck home. The unshielded bandits hesitated in their advance. If they broke now, Carbo knew, Blaesus would have a hard time of it getting them back together.

  “Charge!” yelled Blaesus. Febrox and Menelaus lifted their swords, and front and centre of the bandits, broke into a run, yelling as they ran full speed towards the farmhouse. To their left and right, the rest of the bandits cheered and charged too.

  Sica and Vespillo continued to fire, but in moments the bandits had cleared half the distance back to the house.

  There was a loud crack, then another, followed by a crash, and screaming. Menelaus and Febrox looked back. To both sides, a deep ditch filled with sharpened stakes that had been concealed by branches had claimed the lives of the front row of bandits. Only those far enough back to halt their momentum, and those running right down the centre pathway that had been left for Carbo’s retreat, were spared.

  Shrieks filled the air, men writhing, grasping at the stakes that impaled limbs, abdomens and chests. The charge faltered. Febrox looked back towards Blaesus and the remaining bandits. Still maybe a score in total. Sica picked off another. One less. Carbo looked at Blaesus’ figure, standing at the back, hesitant.

  “On me!” yelled Menelaus. “Stay to the centre. Torch bearers hold your torches high. We are nearly at the door, there can be no more surprises.”

  Without looking back to see if he had support, Menelaus ran towards the house. The ditch had been around thirty feet from the building, and he covered the distance in seconds, flattening himself against the wall near a corner, where arrows could not reach. The other bandits saw him reach safety and ran together. Sica and Vespillo claimed two more, and Carbo and Curtius launched javelins that wounded another two, but the bandits had arrived. Carbo had no more tricks up his sleeve. Now it was steel on steel.

  There was a strange stillness, a hiatus. Blaesus had options now. He could fire the house, force them to come out. But they could retreat to the interior, to the peristylium and then the bandits would still have to come in and get him. He could force entry in the front, or look for another entrance. There were no more doors, and they had boarded the windows, but they would not hold for long.

  Blaesus and his men would be coming soon.

  Carbo looked around the room. Curtius, Orobazes, Sica. Lutorius the stationarius. Marsia, his loyal slave. Vespillo, his best friend. They all looked at him with fear, held in check by belief. What had he done to deserve such friendship, such confidence. Should he say something? He opened his mouth.

  A crash interrupted. The struts of the front door splintered as an axe impacted from the outside. Pause, another crash. Carbo drew his gladius, saw the others grip tight to their weapons. A third crash and the head of the axe came through the wood. Then another crash, this time from behind them. Someone was hacking at the boarded up kitchen window.

  “Vespillo, Lutorius, go,” said Carbo, and the two men rushed to the back, weapons out.

  The door in front of him splintered again, the axe and the hand holding it coming all the way through. Carbo slashed down, and his evilly sharp-edged gladius took the hand off at the wrist. Blood spurted into the room as the bandit screamed, dropping the axe and retreating.

  But others joined the assault on the door now, kicks and clubs and sword hilts rattling the frame.

  Suddenly, one well-aimed or particularly hard blow connected in just the right spot. The door flew off its hinges, crashing down into the atrium. Carbo had to jump back to avoid being squashed by the flying timber. As it tumbled to the floor, Carbo found himself face to face with a furious bandit. They stared at each other for a heartbeat.

  The bandit charged at Carbo with a roar, sword raised, then collapsed with an arrow in his gut. Sica, standing in one corner, was already notching another arrow, but the next bandit was on Carbo before she had a chance to shoot. Carbo parried a sword swipe as four more bandits entered. Curtius stepped forward to engage one, Orobazes another, but the third leapt on Sica as she was about to loose. The slight girl disappeared beneath the bulky bandit, and Carbo, fighting for his life, saw a dagger raised, about to plunge.

  Sica’s assailant yelled in frustration as a figure leapt onto his back, grabbed the dagger hand. Marsia wrestled him like a Fury, the dagger thrashing around in the air wildly. Her gladius lay beside them on the floor, forgot
ten in her desperate defence of Sica.

  Another slash from Carbo’s opponent, another parry and stab from Carbo, then time for another quick glance towards Sica and Marsia, a sick feeling in his stomach. Marsia had been thrown to the floor, and the dagger remained in the bandit’s hand. As he moved towards her with a growl, the winded Sica grabbed the gladius and thrust it through the bandit’s chest, skewering him from side to side.

  Carbo’s opponent took advantage of his distraction, thrusting towards Carbo’s midriff. Carbo, wearied from the day’s work, half broken in the mines, was slow, and though he twisted, the blade sliced over his ribs, tearing muscle and drawing a gush of blood. He gasped, staggered back, barely parried another blow before it gutted him. This time though, the opponent’s thrust left him unbalanced. Carbo reached up to grab the man’s hair, using his momentum to propel him forwards into the wall behind Carbo. He hit it head first with a resounding crash, and before he could recover, Carbo turned and slid his sword deep into the back of the man’s chest. The man slid to the floor as Carbo pulled his sword free with a tug and a gush of blood.

  For a moment, Carbo had no opponent and he looked around. Orobazes had pushed his opponent back and out of the door with wild swings of his sledgehammer. His enemy’s blade was broken, and he parried wildly, ducking and stumbling to avoid the hefty blows. Then his foot caught on a rock and he tumbled backwards. Orobazes lifted his hammer high and brought it down on the man’s head, which split apart like ripe fruit.

  Carbo suddenly saw the danger, but was too far. Concealed by the wall, Menelaus had let Orobazes pass him, and he stepped up behind the large barbarian. Even as the escaped slave was holding his hammer high in celebration, Menelaus thrust his sword into his back, the tip emerging from the front of his chest with a gout of blood. Orobazes’ legs buckled, and he plummeted forwards, head first, twitching and gasping as he bled out. Carbo roared out, “Quintus!” and started forwards. Menelaus turned, masked eyes meeting Carbo’s for a moment.

  From behind Carbo came a cry for help. Curtius was down, bleeding from a leg wound. A large bandit stood over him, hacking downwards with fury. Curtius fended the blows off with upraised sword, but one sneaked through, piercing his chest. Carbo started towards him, but with his attacker’s blade trapped, Curtius thrust upwards, his rusty gladius spearing through the bandit’s chin and into his brain. The bandit stiffened, and toppled to one side.

  Carbo bent to Curtius, who was bleeding freely from his two wounds, and breathing heavily through gritted teeth. Carbo gripped his good shoulder, looked into his eyes.

  Curtius returned the stare resolutely. “Leave me, Carbo. The battle isn’t over.”

  Carbo hesitated, nodded, then turned to the front door again. Menelaus was nowhere to be seen. The sound of fighting came from behind him. Lutorius and Vespillo were fighting a retreat, shoulder to shoulder, as half a dozen bandits, with Febrox behind, forced them backwards. Carbo stepped forwards to reinforce them, ushering Sica and Marsia behind him to guard their backs. But they had lost the narrow doorway as a defence, and had to step back into the atrium. The three legionaries, one serving and two veteran, fought side by side. Sica had picked up a javelin and with Marsia jabbed over their shoulders and heads at any bandit coming too close. But they were tired, the bandits fresh and angry and scenting victory.

  Thrusts and stabs and clubs started to find their way home. A bandit fell to a stab from Carbo. Then came a slash to Vespillo’s upper arm. A thrust slicing the skin on Carbo’s thigh. A club, glancing off Lutorius’ head, sending him tumbling to one side.

  The stationarius’ fall left a gap in the line, and Sica stepped forward. Carbo wanted to tell her to step back, but he had no breath, was fully occupied with the men in front of him.

  Febrox sighted on Sica’s chest and drew a knife, pulled back, threw. Sica cast her spear at the same time. Febrox, flinching at the spear coming towards him, aimed off target, the knife catching Sica in the abdomen instead of the neck. Sica did not flinch. The spear sailed through the air, and caught Febrox in the neck.

  The bandit leader grasped the shaft, eyes wide in disbelief. His mouth opened, and blood gurgled out and down his chin. He fell forward on the spear, the weight of his fall thrusting the tip through his spine.

  The five remaining bandits hesitated.

  “Carbo!”

  Carbo half-turned, keeping his gladius forward. Behind him, Atreus stood, the tragedy mask frowning at Carbo. He held Marsia around the throat, knife to her neck.

  Carbo’s head spun. Marsia’s face changed into Rufa’s. Her eyes pleaded to him for help. She was going to die. Just like before, and he was helpless again.

  Carbo and Vespillo stood in the centre of the room. Five bandits before them, Menelaus and Atreus behind them. Carbo looked at Vespillo in despair, started to lower his sword, even as Vespillo shook his head.

  “Get him Melanchaetes!” The voice was a child’s, a little girl’s. From out of the dark, a huge shape bounded forwards and landed on Atreus, knocking him sideways, sword flying free, mask loose.

  In panic, the unmasked Blaesus tried to keep the giant dog away, as Melanchaetes went for his throat. Huge teeth sunk into Blaesus’ arm, and he cried out.

  Menelaus stepped forward, and sunk his sword into the dog’s chest. Melanchaetes didn’t cry out, just turned, bit at the blade buried in him, then tried to leap on Menelaus. The faithful beast’s legs betrayed him, and he collapsed, sides heaving, sucking sounds coming from the chest wound.

  “Melanchaetes!” came Fabilla’s anguished cry. Menelaus turned towards her.

  “Fabilla, run!” yelled Carbo. The little girl hesitated, but when Menelaus took a step towards her she fled.

  Menelaus started to pursue, but Blaesus called him back. “We can kill her at our leisure. Slowly. We need to dispose of these three first.”

  Vespillo and Carbo locked eyes.

  “On three?” asked Vespillo.

  Carbo nodded. “Three!”

  They charged into the five bandits before them with a roar, ferocity and bulk knocking them backwards. Two fell to the first gladius thrusts, a third to an elbow in the throat from Carbo. The last two turned and ran.

  A crash, and Vespillo grunted and toppled to the floor, the well-aimed rock that Menelaus had thrown at the back of his head rolling beside him. Carbo turned slowly. Comedy-masked Menelaus and naked-faced Atreus, now just plain Blaesus, stood before him. Blaesus face was twisted in fury.

  “Y…you…” The stutter was back, the words coming with difficulty. “Y…you have d…destroyed so much.”

  “The destruction started with you, Blaesus,” said Carbo wearily. “You drew first blood, with your attack on my family and friends.”

  “Y…you k…killed my brother. Everything since has been v…vengeance.”

  Carbo looked around. So many dead. The bandits. Orobazes. Curtius no longer moving. Vespillo breathing but unconcious. Sica clutching a belly wound. Marsia unharmed, but held at bay by Menelaus’ outstretched sword.

  “So take your vengeance old man. Here I am. Wounded, exhausted, nothing left to live for.” Carbo held his hands out to the side, gladius pointing downwards. “Do it!”

  Blaesus charged at him, leading with the tip of his sword. Carbo swung his sword, gripping it with two hands, parrying Blaesus’ thrust weakly. His arms were leaden, he felt faint from blood loss and tiredness, and his legs barely held him up. He parried and parried, not attempting to counter. It felt like going through the motions, putting on a decent show before the inevitable - Blaesus killing him, or if he was incredibly lucky and survived the fight, Menelaus finishing him off.

  They circled, and he retreated, step by step, forced out of the farm door, backwards towards the ditch of spikes. Menelaus looked on, laughing at the spectacle. Carbo could see Marsia’s anguished face, illuminated by the torchlight from within the farm, but even the sight of her misery and loyalty could not spur him to a greater effort.

  A cut made it
s way through Carbo’s defences, just a graze, but an indication he was flagging. Blaesus was a skilled swordsman, his up-to-date training and his freshness from his lack of effort in the fight so far compensating for his age. Carbo reached the edge of the ditch and knew he could retreat no further, nor fight any longer. A hard blow forced him to one knee

  “Carbo.”

  Fabilla’s voice was near. Too near. She hadn’t run.

  “Kill him. Please. For mummy.”

  Blaesus turned to the voice and laughed. He slashed down, twisted, and Carbo’s sword flew off into the spiked ditch.

  Blaesus looked down at the helpless man before him.

  “Now you l…lose. Everything.”

  He lifted the sword for the last time, brought it down hard.

  With the last reserves of his strength, Carbo grasped the descending sword arm and the wrist. Pulled.

  With a cry, Blaesus tumbled forwards, screaming as he plummeted, arms flailing, into the ditch, a wet sound emerging as multiple spikes impaled him.

  The cry choked off, and for a moment there was silence.

  “No!”

  Menelaus’ heartbroken scream echoed off the hills. He ran towards Carbo, sword held high. Carbo bowed his head, nothing left to give. He closed his eyes.

  The sound of metal on metal rang above him. He opened his eyes, looked up, blinked in confusion. Holding back the blow from Menelaus, was…

  “Quintus?”

  Quintus pushed Menelaus backwards, and laid into him with a fury. Menelaus fought with equal ferocity, and the match was a blur of thrust, slice, parry, stroke and counterstroke.

  Finally a sword thrust found its way home. The two men clutched each other, faces almost touching. Then Menelaus slid backwards, falling off Quintus’ sword, to lie supine on the ground, staring at the sky.

  Quintus knelt beside him, and with a strange gentleness, removed the mask. Carbo saw the face of Pharnaces, twisted with pain.

  “You were always his favourite,” said Pharnaces. “Not your stupid elder brother. Nor me, the son he got from his best slave.” Pharnaces stiffened, body wracked in pain, then relaxed. Carbo thought he was gone, but Pharnaces spoke again.