Saviour of Rome [Gaius Valerius Verrens 7] (44 page)

‘Spread out.’ Serpentius roared the order to the other riders in their own language and felt a surge of pride as they reacted like veterans. If the Asturians bunched to meet the Parthian charge their small ponies would be smashed back by the cavalry horses and the seven-foot spears would sweep them from the saddle. The only way to survive was to use their greater numbers and agility to confuse and confound the enemy. A ripple ran through the Parthian line as the squadron’s commander reacted to the change in formation. Valerius could see gaps between the individual riders and it was to one of these that he set his course, knowing Serpentius would be doing the same.

Two hundred paces rapidly became a hundred. Now the enemy cavalrymen could be identified as individuals, snarling mouths showing pink through the black beards. Dark eyes glaring hatred from beneath heavy brows. A blur of chaotic movement to the left and a shriek as one of the Asturian ponies snapped a leg in an animal burrow and its rider smashed to the ground, rolled three times and lay still. Ahead, Valerius
sensed the moment when the Parthian commander noticed the two larger horses and recognized the threat they posed. A shouted order and a pair of spears angled towards him.

Fifty paces.

One of the Asturians veered across his front to engage a particular enemy and he was forced to avoid a collision.

Twenty-five.

He raised his sword to shoulder height. No time to think about the infantry now. One of the Parthians who’d targeted him moved ahead, blocking the other’s attack. The flash of a gleaming metal point aimed directly at his eyes. A mistake, because a flick of the sword drove the point over his right shoulder and once Valerius was inside the spear point the other man was dead. Valerius swung his heavy blade in a vicious back cut that caught his enemy across the upper lip. The weight of the blow and the momentum as metal and bone met jarred Valerius’s arm and drove the blade upwards in a shearing motion that sliced off the top part of the Parthian’s face. He heard a sharp clang as the edge clipped an iron helmet. A muffled shriek and a momentary image of red horror punctured by two disbelieving white eyes and he was past. Around him, screams and anxious shouts, the clash of metal upon metal, but his entire focus was on what lay ahead.

Melanius and Severus and one other were milling in a little confused group, Piso urging his mount back in the direction of the Sixth. Valerius ignored the tribune and kicked his horse on, sword raised and at the ready. He saw stark terror etched on Melanius’s bloated red face. Without warning another horse was shoulder to shoulder with his own, blocking the path to his target. He sensed a blur of bright metal at the very edge of his vision and managed to parry the cut aimed at his neck with a frenzied sweep of his blade. Aurelio. How could he have forgotten Aurelio?

Aurelio fought with a mocking grin on his rat’s face and his sword edge seemed to come from every angle at once. Mars’ arse, but he was fast. But as they tested each other it became clear he’d never fought a left-handed man and that gave Valerius an advantage that outweighed
his enemy’s speed. The weight and direction of the Roman’s parries puzzled Aurelio and soon the mocking grin became a frown of concentration. Valerius sensed the pace of his opponent’s attack slacken a little as he tried to work out where his advantage lay.

‘You owe Melanius nothing,’ Valerius gasped as he manoeuvred his mount to gain an opening. ‘If he dies the conspiracy dies with him.’

‘If he dies I
have
nothing,’ the other man laughed. ‘And you’ll come after me in any case. But if I kill you Piso will take the purple and Melanius will make me rich. So you have to die, Gaius Valerius Verrens.’

The jibe was accompanied by a back cut that was so obvious Valerius was able to parry it with a careless sweep of the blade. But he’d seen Aurelio’s eyes flicker to his left and he was moving even before Serpentius’s warning shout, hauling his horse round and ducking in the saddle. Melanius’s flailing sword flashed above his head so close he could feel the disturbed air as it passed. He slashed at the passing figure and missed, but the razor edge of his blade caught the horse across the rump and as it reared Melanius fell from the saddle with a cry of alarm.

Aurelio was on Valerius before he could recover, driving him back with a flurry of attacks and using his horse to protect the fallen Melanius. The fact that he had half an eye for his master killed him. Valerius tried a cut that Aurelio was able to deflect easily. The Roman allowed his sword to fall away giving the other man an opening. He saw the glint in Aurelio’s eyes as the bodyguard recognized the opportunity and the blade came up. It was only the slightest flick of the point, yet it would have sliced Valerius’s throat open and drowned him in his own blood. But the opening had been deliberate and Valerius was able to divert the thrust with his wooden fist and simultaneously spear the clumsy Asturian sword through Aurelio’s exposed body. He felt the moment the point entered flesh, the jolt as spasming muscles clamped on the intruding iron, heard Aurelio scream in mortal agony. He was barely aware of the automatic twist of the wrist that freed the broad, curved blade and ripped Aurelio’s bowels from his stomach. Aurelio crouched
grey-faced in the saddle clawing at his flopping guts and mewing like an injured child. His horse moved away and Valerius found himself staring down at the face of Marcus Atilius Melanius.

Melanius struggled to his feet, his helmet askew and his armour dented by the fall. Somehow he managed to retain an injured dignity in the circumstances that Valerius found quite brave.

‘I surrender my sword and my person.’ The words emerged in a stutter, but he drew himself erect with his head held high. ‘I throw myself upon your mercy and that of Gaius Plinius Secundus.’

Valerius paused to draw breath. He could hear Calpurnius Piso screaming at the men of the Sixth legion to advance. The sound of clashing metal told him that at least some of the men who’d made the charge with him survived to fight on. He could rely on Serpentius to take care of Severus. Melanius’s horse stood nearby, only slightly injured. All he had to do was allow him to get into the saddle and escort him from the field. But what then? He had a vision of the broken creature hanging in chains from the wall of the blood-spattered room in Pliny’s palace.

‘I grant you mercy,’ Valerius agreed. His sword rested on the pommel, level with Melanius’s pleading face. With a single movement he rammed the weapon forward and down so the point took Melanius just above his armour. The broad, curved blade pierced the folds of flesh at the base of his throat and lanced diagonally into his body. Melanius’s eyes rolled up into his head and a fountain of blood erupted from his gaping mouth. Valerius hauled the sword free and the dying man stood shuddering for a long moment until he dropped as if his legs had been cut from beneath him.

But even as Melanius died Valerius knew it had all taken too long.

Despite Piso’s screaming exhortations the two cohorts of the Sixth still hadn’t moved and the long lines of legionaries stood motionless as some sort of altercation took place between the young tribune and Proculus. Had Proculus seen Melanius die, or was he just biding his time to discover who emerged victorious from the skirmish?

He would certainly see Aulus Aemilianus Severus die. A hundred paces away Asturica Augusta’s
duovir
watched in terror as Serpentius dispatched the last of three Parthians who’d tried to stop him reaching Severus. Now he abandoned his horse and sought refuge among the rocks at the base of the far slope.

Valerius watched as he scurried among the boulders and he could hear his plaintive shouts pleading for help from Proculus and his legionaries. But the ageing Severus was no match for Serpentius. The Spaniard caught up with his prey in seconds as Severus leaned against a rock, head down and chest heaving with the effort. Death came almost unnoticed. Serpentius despatched the
duovir
with the casual ease he would have butchered a rabbit. Valerius saw the sword rise and fall. It was done.

Time to get out.

Little knots of Asturian riders still danced around individual
Parthians, but they were far fewer than when they’d ridden out from the gully. Small Asturian ponies dotted the plain, standing with heads bowed over the crumpled bodies of their owners. Beyond them – and between Valerius and the gully he’d marked as their escape route – at least two squadrons of the Parthian vanguard wheeled into position, while two more circled to cut off any escape to the south. With the Sixth legion blocking the road west and the bulk of the Parthian cavalry riding up from the ford they were trapped. Even if Proculus chose not to become involved the Asturians were outnumbered at least ten to one. Serpentius reined in beside Valerius, his face as bleak as a December morning in the Rhenus bog.

‘I suppose we could always surrender.’

‘This is no time for jokes.’ Valerius looked to where Claudius Harpocration had halted his remaining six squadrons. A trumpet call rang out and the Parthians fighting Valerius’s Asturian allies disengaged and rode to join their comrades. The Asturians retreated in their turn to form a semicircle of riders behind Valerius and Serpentius. Fully half of them had suffered wounds and two or three were slumped in the saddle, barely conscious. ‘In any case I doubt that will be on offer.’

It appeared the surviving officer from Melanius’s escort was trying to explain to Harpocration how he’d lost his charge and the cavalry prefect didn’t like what he was hearing. Without warning Harpocration and another man broke away and rode to where Valerius waited. They halted ten paces off and Harpocration removed his helmet and pushed dark hair from his eyes.

‘You will surrender Marcus Atilius Melanius and Aulus Aemilianus Severus to me now and I will spare your lives,’ the Parthian said without preamble.

‘Even if that were possible I doubt very much you’d keep your part of the bargain.’ Valerius kept his tone formal. ‘Unfortunately it is not.’

He moved his horse to one side so Harpocration could see the bulky figure in the glittering armour who lay in the dust in a pool of blood. The Parthian growled, but besides anger Valerius saw a fleeting
shadow of anguish cross his face. Harpocration knew perfectly well that Melanius’s death meant the end of his ambitions.

‘You can have Severus,’ Serpentius offered with a sneer. Something round and the size of a melon flew past Valerius’s right shoulder and landed to roll at the front hooves of Harpocration’s mount. The beast skittered and the Parthian looked down into the startled features of the
duovir
.

‘You will die slowly and in exquisite agony,’ Harpocration promised.

Serpentius watched as the Parthian’s hand crept to his sword. ‘You’re welcome to try.’ Serpentius’s features twisted into the wolf’s grin that never touched his eyes. ‘I’d like that. Like it a lot. How about it, hook-nose, just you and me? Then we’ll see how brave you are. I noticed you’re happy to send other men to fight for you, but you stay away from trouble yourself.’

Valerius laid a hand on his arm. ‘It may not come to that.’

The Spaniard glared at him and Harpocration made to circle his horse and return to his men.

‘Wait.’ Valerius raised his voice to a shout. ‘It’s over and you know it. Without Melanius and Severus there is no rebellion. Look.’ He pointed to where the Sixth were lined up and Piso and Proculus stared at them with the rest. ‘Your Roman friends are in no hurry to get killed helping you. Vespasian knows everything, or if he doesn’t now, he soon will. There is no hope for you, Claudius Harpocration, but your men were only following your orders. You can save them if you surrender yourself to me.’

‘You think to turn them against me, Roman?’ The Parthian actually laughed. ‘Then think again. These are not just my men. They are of my people and my tribe. They are my brothers.’ Harpocration’s glittering eyes wandered over the riders gathered behind Valerius. ‘Soon your pathetic little band of farmers will feel the point of their spears. But not you.’ Now the hate-filled eyes pinned Valerius. ‘You and the old man beside you will be taken alive so I may have my pleasure of you. With a sharp knife and hot coals I will make your passing a torment beyond bearing and you will plead for death long before the end.’

‘This old man will carve his name on your face with his sword so every man knows who killed you,’ Serpentius spat.

‘Enough of this time-wasting.’ Harpocration spun his horse and trotted back to his men. ‘Remember what I said about your end, Roman. I look forward to our next meeting.’

‘A fine sentiment, writing your name on his face,’ Valerius observed mildly. ‘But I’m not sure it helped.’

Serpentius shrugged. ‘An angry fighter is a careless fighter and I want the bastard angry when the time comes. In any case it can’t make it any worse. Do we make a break for it?’

‘That’s what I was thinking. At least one or two of us might make it to the slope.’

‘I’ll be at your right hand at the end.’

Valerius felt a lump in his throat. ‘A friend by your side and a sword in your hand?’

‘Let us make it so. At least …’ Serpentius’s eyes were drawn towards the river. ‘Venus’ withered tits, what’s he doing?’

Tito had done exactly as his father ordered. When the Parthians advanced he withdrew his men through the maze of boulders and cunningly disguised spiked pits he’d created in the bed of the ford. On the far side they’d taken up position among the rocks and behind a rocky barrier they’d created to block the road. A few men stayed on the bank to taunt the enemy and hopefully goad a few into charging to be pinned by a spear or brought down by one of the traps.

But it hadn’t worked.

It had been a good plan, but it depended on perfect timing and the cooperation of the hook-noses. In war, as his father had advised often since his return, nothing was predictable. Harpocration had been attracted by the bait, but he was as wary as a fox approaching a farm at night. Tito would swear the Parthian sensed the clash to his rear even before the sound of fighting reached them. His men had lined up along the river bank for no more than a few moments before their commander’s head whipped round. With a contemptuous glance at
the ford’s defenders he turned away and Tito could only watch as close to three hundred riders carried their spears to where his father and Valerius were likely fighting for their lives.