Lucia stepped back inside the house without a word and came back almost as quickly. She was carrying what Vitus assumed was either a bed sheet or a curtain. She took hold of Garic’s hand and the two headed back up the street to find the injured legionary.
Vitus turned to Hakor, “Sit down,” he said to the big man, pointing to the step in the open doorway.
“I’ll be fine,” Hakor replied and Vitus let out an involuntary laugh.
“You can hardly walk, you are far from okay. Just let me bind it so that we haven’t got to kill ourselves carrying you back to the cave.” Vitus’ mind was drawn back to the cave. He had been so busy dealing with this fight and the aftermath that he had completely forgotten there might be a second fight happening right now.
He turned to Gallus, “Get back to the cave, now. Go steady as there might be men on the path, but get there as soon as you can. Make sure everyone is okay.”
The legionary nodded his affirmation and turned to head out of town at a jog. Vitus watched him go and wondered at the way life had put such good men in his way. The three legionaries had been supposed to escort Vitus and Lucia to Rome. In the event they had lost Marcius in Mutina, and his sacrifice had saved them all. Gallus himself had taken an arrow to the leg not far from here. The man who had fired it had paid with his life, but Gallus still limped on cold days. Now Tatius lay injured, possibly dying.
Never once in all the time they had been with him, had their loyalty faltered for an instant. They had followed him without question, sacrificed their flesh, blood and lives in his service. It was a heady thing and it made Vitus realise how easily power might corrupt. Emperors had millions of people willing to die for them, how could that not make a man feel like a god?
He stepped back into the house and looked around for suitable cloth to bind Hakor’s wound. His eyes lit on the same pair of curtains that Lucia had used. He pulled at the cloth and there was a series of popping noises as the rings came away from the window. He took the cloth outside and began cutting it into strips with his knife.
Hakor winced as Vitus began to bind his wound, it looked long but not too deep for the most part. There was one section in the middle that might need more attention.
“If I go and check on the others, will you be okay?” he asked Hakor.
“I’ll be fine, I have my sword. Help me stand. I don’t want to be sitting down if the undead come.” The Egyptian looked weak but determined, and Vitus pulled him to his feet and stood for a second to make sure he wouldn’t fall back down. The big man nodded and Vitus ran back up the street toward the injured Tatius.
Bodies lay in the street, some with arrows in them, and among them the Risen and his hand-bound victim. Vitus watched them as he passed, he had never forgotten the battle in Germania where the dead had stood up and attacked the Roman lines. A lot of time had passed since then but the image of those legionaries being dragged to the ground visited him daily.
These men were just dead, all they would do was lay down and be grave. "Lucky them," he thought as he passed them.
He heard Lucia and Garic talking as he approached the part of the street where he knew they must be. They were talking in hushed tones and Vitus felt a dagger of anxiety stab at him. He pushed open the door and saw Tatius lying on the floor.
Garic had a bundle of cloth pressed onto the legionaries stomach. His hands were red up to the wrists and Lucia had a smear of blood across her forehead, where she had wiped her hair out of her face.
“You causing problems, soldier?” Vitus asked Tatius. The legionary had a sheen of sweat across his forehead, his breathing came in short gasps. He had seen enough injured men to know that it was pain and not internal injury that made him breathe like this, and the breath was short but strong with no blood in it.
“Sorry, sir. I’ll be back to work in no time,” Tatius laughed, causing him to wince once more.
“Lay still, I’ll make a stretcher,” Vitus said. He pulled Lucia away from Tatius, leaving Garic hold the makeshift bandage to the wound. They made their way upstairs and found a child’s bed. It was too small for the legionary to sleep on but would make a convenient way to carry him without adding to his weight any more than they needed to. The two of them carried it downstairs and outside.
Next Vitus cut the cloth that Lucia had brought from the house into long strips and, with a lot of effort began to bind the bloody bundle that Garic held in place, freeing him from his job of holding the wound closed.
It was some time later that the sorry band of fighters made their way back toward the caves. One hobbled using a stick to lean his weight against, and three of the others carried a prone man on a stretcher. Behind them they left a town littered with the dead.
Chapter Thirteen
Julius turned from the battle outside the gates of the city to the people who had just had their lives spared in the fight behind the barricade. They looked beaten and dejected. Loss was tearing at them as they found the bodies of loved ones face down in the dirt. Here and there the dead were raising themselves up, feeling the first signs of the hunger that would consume them, and men were walking between these fledgling Risen, ending them before they could do any harm to those that still lived.
He looked back to the men in the field and knew that they were fighting a losing battle. He had watched one end of the Roman line almost become overwhelmed. The line had moved, turning like a pair of oxen on a yoke and the battle had turned back in favour of the living, but for how long?
Julius was no general, but he could see the men on the plain were outmatched. They had the smaller numbers, and the biggest disadvantage of all; they were men. They felt fear and pain, they would become weary and die. The undead did none of those things. They were monsters from Hades and they would wipe out everything in their path if he did not do something to stop it.
“Listen to me!” he tried to shout but his dry throat and fear made his words small against the sound of the battle behind him. He climbed down off the wall and made his way to the barricade, there was a table that sat on top of a pile of furniture. Carefully he clambered up to it, his sixteen years lending agility to his climb.
“Get down from there, boy! You’ll kill yourself,” shouted an old man. He was lifting the body of a child up in his arms as he spoke, tears streaking his dirty cheeks.
Julius reached the table and stood up, tentatively. The table shifted slightly but felt stable enough for this task. He had a few eyes on him now, after the old man had shouted to him and that was good, it was a start. He saw a woman carrying a water bucket and reached down for a ladle, she smiled as she passed it to him, but the smile did not reach her eyes.
With his throat eased Julius began to speak, at first his voice was small but it grew as more people began to look and listen.
“Listen to me. My name is Julius, I grew up in this city, some of you may know me. My father is one of the city council men, although I fear he was lost in the fighting.” Julius stopped for a moment, feeling the truth of his words. “The legions are at our walls and they are fighting for our lives, but they are losing.”
There was silence now, all eyes looked up at him standing on the barricade and he felt the weight of their gaze.
“If they fail, we will all die.” Julius let those words hang in the air, and he let them gather and swell.
“What do you want us to do about it?” a man asked from below him. “We’ve lost so many people already, we can’t fight anymore.”
“We can, and we must,” Julius replied. “That fight is our fight,” he said pointing behind him, “our lives are being won or lost, so should we not have a say in the outcome? If we sit here and do nothing, we are already doomed. The undead monsters out there will come back over the wall, join those already in the city, and they will destroy us. This barricade will only last so long. We will only last so long. If every man, every woman, and yes, every child, takes up arms now, we can win this fight. We join the men of the legions, and we attack the enemy whil
e there is still hope.”
The same man shouted back to him, “You want us to die for the soldiers? They didn’t come when we first needed them. Shouldn’t they die for us?”
“They are dying for you now. They will give their lives until the last of them is dead, but it will not be enough. Think of all the cities and all the towns in the empire. Think of all the children like yours, all the wives like yours. If we win today we give those people a chance, but we cannot win without opening those gates and giving everything we have.”
“We’ll fight,” a voice said to Julius’ right. He turned to see the boys who he had sent to find furniture. They had grins on their faces and had found knives from somewhere that they now held in their hands. Julius felt tears fall from eyes that he had not known he was crying. The boys moved toward the barricade and stood in front of Julius, looking back at the people of the city.
Julius looked down at the man who had made all the objections, and waited for a response. After a moment the man held a hand up toward Julius and said, “Me too, fool that I am.” Julius shook the man’s hand and the city seemed to come to life.
Men and women began running to find weapons, some picked up knives and swords from where they had fallen on the ground. Others returned to their homes and came back armed with cooking utensils and pots. Anything that could be swung or used to stab was picked up and brought back to where Julius stood.
“I am not a general. I cannot tell you how to fight. All we can do is open the gate and charge the enemy. We may all die but we do so because we choose to, we fight because we can. I pray to the gods it is enough.”
The people before him did not cheer. The days of cheering were over. They looked determined and ready to fight, and that was all he could ask for. Men started dragging the barricade down, making room for people to get to the gate. Julius waited until they were all ready, and signalled to the guard to let them out.
Like any good general Otho had held back reserves; men to rotate with those at the front to keep strength in the legs of the legions. Despite these changes of personnel, the front lines were beginning to falter. He watched the men as they fell back, replaced by fresher cohorts. They had defeat on their faces and it was this above all else that made him despair.
“Take every man we have in reserve and hit the enemy with them,” Otho said to Ursus. He had seen the Prefect was eager to join the fight. Never a true leader of men, Ursus loved nothing more than being up to his elbows in blood, and now the emperor would grant him his wish. If the men were beginning to despair, he saw no other option than to throw every man he had into the fight to finish the enemy quickly if it could be done.
Ursus saluted his emperor with a grin and turned to give orders to his men, drawing his sword as he went. Otho watched the cavalry as they continued to harass the enemy out on the left flank, but with little effect as the beasts they fought had no morale to sap, and no fear.
Ursus stood before his men and spoke to the cohorts, but the breeze robbed Otho of the chance to hear more than a fleeting word and he turned his eyes back to the battle. As he did, he saw a sight that lifted his heart and set a fire in his chest. The gates of the city began to open.
Slowly at first, then with more haste the people of Narbo made their way out of the city and onto the plain outside the walls. They huddled in silent groups, holding blades and makeshift weapons, watching the battle as it unfolded before them. The Risen had no idea that they were there, as their hunger and single-minded violence was directed toward the legions.
Silently and timidly, the people came out of the city, each waiting for someone to tell them what to do. Otho turned to Numarius, realising the legate had seen the same thing as himself and had a look of wonder on his face.
“They need a leader, Numarius. Skirt the battlefield, get to them before they change their minds and go back to hiding. We need their numbers, even if only to distract the undead.”
He saw a moment of hesitation in Numarius. The man knew he was being asked to lead a suicide mission. These people would be dead in moments, and he was to take them to that death.
“Yes, sir.” Numarius said, then added, “Hail, Caesar.”
The legate turned his horse, a huge grey beast with wild eyes, and headed away from the general's tent.
Otho watched as his reserve forces made their way toward the front line. Gone was the time for the new tactics of Titus. The Risen were so tightly packed in the fight that their leaping attack was almost useless as they climbed and clamoured over each other to get to the living flesh before them, so it was time for brute force on the part of the living.
As he reached the back of the lines, Ursus began shouting orders to the men before him. Otho watched the space behind the front ranks disappear as the men charged in to meet the enemy face to face.
The emperor stared in a moment of pure wonder, behind the Risen lines a single man stepped from the ranks of civilians and turned to address them. He did not speak for long but as he finished saying his piece, he turned and ran straight at the undead ranks. There was a second or two when he was the only person in motion, before the swell of people began running at the creatures before them.
“I go to fight, I go to die. May the gods smile on me.”
Those were the words that Otho did not hear. They were the only words Julius could make himself utter. He looked at the sea of frightened faces, and his heart filled with pride. The people who had shared his short life with him had followed him out here onto this grass plain. Now all he could do was lead and hope they followed. He would fight, even if it was to be alone.
Julius turned and ran at the backs of the undead army. The rotting flesh and silent grasping horror before him turned his bowels to water. He was young and he didn’t want to die, but he knew that this was the right thing to do.
He did not turn to see if the people were following him, it did not matter now, his choice was made. If he turned and saw that he was alone, it might rob him of his courage and he could not die feeling like a coward, so he did not look.
He did not shout or scream as he ran, his fear robbed him of his voice and so when he reached the back of the Risen, they had no idea he was there. He split the skull of the first with a single swing of his new sword. None of the undead reacted to their falling comrade, and so he swung again. It was the third time he brought down one of the undead that he realised he was surrounded by the people of the city.
They clubbed and stabbed at the undead, feeling no sympathy for the unknowing enemy they killed. These were not humans who deserved honour, they were vermin, monsters who were owed no more than the violent death that the people brought them.
Some began to turn as their undead minds slowly realised that there was a threat behind them. They did not care that the newcomers were killing the Risen around them, they did not feel the need for retribution. They just knew that there was a new source of food, and that it was easier to get to than the one on the other side of the shields and swords.
The city dwellers began to die as the creatures turned to face them. Julius saw a woman dragged into raging, boiling throng of undead limbs. It was as if she had been sucked into the mass, and she disappeared screaming.
Some of the people around Julius began to turn and run at the sight of the undead faces, their rotten skin and broken teeth, the red rimmed, black eyes. He could not blame them for their fear, but he fought on anyway. What else was there to do now? He would die whether he was fighting or running, and he chose to fight.
Julius fought on and on, unaware of his surroundings, cutting and stabbing at what the undead gave him to attack. He was lost to his surroundings, and lost to those around him. In one instant he was cutting the arm off a female Risen that came at him over the heads of the other undead. Later he was driving the chipped blade of his sword into the decomposing face of a child as it tried to grab hold of his ankle from the ground. He had no idea of the time in-between.
After a time he looked for the next enemy
to attack, but there were none in front of him. There was a legionary who carried a shield, standing looking, at him with a smile on his face. He looked at the man, black gore dripped from his face and dust was sticking to it. Under the dirt and grime he had olive skin, white teeth, and a dazed look in his eyes. Julius guessed he must wear that same look. The man lowered his shield to the ground and opened his arms to Julius, a show of brotherhood. He stepped into the legionary's embrace, and the man thumped him on the back.
“It’s a good day, my friend. We get to live,” he said and then turned away. Julius looked after the legionary, a man so used to fighting and death that he could smile at such a time. He doubted if he could ever feel that way, even given a hundred years and a thousand battles.
He looked around him, some Risen still fought on but they were surrounded and out-numbered, and they would not be long for this world. At his feet a grey hand twitched, the owner was buried beneath small pile of bodies. He pulled at a dead woman and saw the face of a Risen beneath her, much the same age as he was. The eyes showed nothing but fury and a hunger to kill as they met Julius’. He placed the tip of his sword against the dead lad’s temple and leaned his weight against the hilt. One more enemy to kill before this was all over.
Julius sat down amidst the fallen, his eyes reddened at the death and futility of it all. Around him the bodies of the dead lay in piles, twisted like forgotten dreams. The dead and undead lay together, on top of each other and in each others arms. It brought it home to Julius that everyone here had once been alive. They were not so different now that they were dead.
From out of the noise around him, he heard his name spoken by a familiar voice, his sister Maria. He looked up to see her pointing toward him while talking to a soldier in armour so fine that he must be an officer.
The man moved toward Julius, picking his way between the dead. He bent down, dropping to one knee as he reached him.
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