The Legion - Scarrow Simon - Страница 29

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As the figures of his men rose up from the shadows, Ajax turned to Karim with a grim smile. 'Pray that the gods are generous, my friend, and we end this tonight.'

Centurion Rufus and his party had crept away into the long grass beside the dyke shortly before and should be making their way towards the enemy, Cato calculated, glancing down a gap between two of the houses to his left. There was nothing to see there, just the shadows now that night had set in. The fires had quickly consumed the flammable materials of the houses and small flames licked lazily along charred timbers and provided some illumination for the street and the ground immediately to the rear of the houses. Rufus and his men should be able to advance parallel to the street without being seen, Cato decided.

Ahead of him he could see several figures gathering just beyond the far end of the street and he offered a quick prayer to Fortuna that Ajax was amongst them. He could just see more of the dim forms of the renegades spreading out either side of the main body awaiting them and a moment later the first, unmistakable phut of an arrow as it passed above his head.

'Incoming arrows!' Cato warned his men. 'Shields up, lads!'

The men in the rear ranks raised their shields overhead to protect the formation from plunging shots. More arrows fell out of the starlit sky and cracked into the shields or pattered off the hard earth as the line, six men wide and four deep, paced forward, behind the sturdy curves and brass bosses of their shields. The archers kept up a steady shower of arrows as the legionaries approached up the street. The knot of gladiators waiting for them stood still and silent, waiting for Ajax's order to attack.

'Watch the flanks!' Cato ordered, anxious to avoid the formation being broken up by another charge of spearmen. The arrows stopped coming as the Romans approached the waiting gladiators and Cato tightened his grip on his sword and shield. When the two sides were no more than ten paces apart, there was a sharp cry of pain from the left, then Centurion Rufus's voice cut through the darkness.

'Forward! Charge 'em! Up the Twenty-Second!'

His men echoed his cry with a roar and a moment later there was another cry, and then a shout and then a deep groan.

'What the fuck is happening over there?' said one of the men behind Cato.

'Silence!' Cato yelled. 'Keep moving!'

Ajax smiled as he heard the cries of pain down beside the dyke. He had been right in his suspicion that the Romans might try to flank him. That was why he had ordered his men to plant sharpened stakes in the long grass soon after they had dealt with the enemy scouts. Now it seemed that the enemy attack had come to grief and, better still, they had charged into the trap. He turned to Karim.

'Take your archers over there and finish them off.' He drew his sword. 'I'll deal with the other party.'

Karim nodded and trotted away to the right, calling on his men to follow him. Ajax briefly imagined the situation that would confront Karim. The Romans had blundered into the sharpened stakes and several of them were wounded, from the sound of it. As they tried to extricate themselves they would be struck by arrows. If they panicked they were likely to run into another stake. If they held their nerve and groped their way free of the obstacles, they would still make an easy target for the archers. Either way, they were going to pay dearly. He smiled with satisfaction as he strode forward to join his men preparing to take on the Romans still advancing up the street.

'Your shield, General.' One of his bodyguards held it out to Ajax and he slipped his hand through the guard, adjusted his grip, and edged through to the front rank.

'Let's teach these Roman bastards a lesson!' Ajax thrust his sword arm aloft in the salute he had been taught in the gladiator school at Capua. 'Fight or die!'

'Fight or die!' his chosen men chorused, before they settled into a crouch and sized up their enemy as the line of legionaries, boots tramping in unison, came on.

Ajax felt the familiar surge of excitement grip his body, and yet his mind was cool and calculating as he focused his attention on the leader of the small formation, the man who had caused him so much pain in the years since they had fought their first encounter at sea off the coast of Illyria.

'Prefect Cato!' The yell ripped from his throat. 'Tonight you die!'

He charged, his men surging forward on each side, roaring their battle cry as their faces twisted into feral masks of rage and hatred. Years of hard training had turned Ajax's body into a powerful machine and he threw his weight in behind his shield as it smashed into that of the prefect. He saw Cato's plumed helmet jerk back as the Roman line was driven in. Ajax kept his shield in contact with his opponent and thrust forward, sensing the resistance increase as the other man's boots scrambled for purchase on the hard ground. He could hear him grunt with the effort of holding his position. Ajax braced his shoulder and gave a powerful heave, breaking contact as he turned to bring his sword up and forward, pointing the tip towards his foe. The dying flames still provided enough illumination to light the conflict, and Ajax could see the thin face of the prefect, his expression taut and eyes wide as they fixed on him.

Ajax thrust at his face, and the Roman quickly parried the blow aside and thrust back, the blade glancing away as Ajax took it on his shield. The sounds of other duels filled his ears but did not distract him as he directed his mind, body and skill against Cato. He thrust with his shield again, clashing boss to boss with a sharp ring, and then thrusting again, but this time switching the blow into a sweeping cut-over that came down at an angle towards the Roman's shoulder. Cato instantly pivoted back on his right foot so that the sword that would have carved deep through his collarbone swept down through the air instead. At the same time he slashed at Ajax's outstretched arm. There was barely enough time for the gladiator to twist his wrist and take the impact of the blow on the flat of his sword. Sparks flicked into the air, and Ajax stepped back a pace and nodded approvingly.

'You're quick, Roman. But you wouldn't last a heartbeat in the arena.'

'And you talk too much!' Cato spat back and hammered his blade down on the edge of Ajax's shield, driving it low enough to expose his throat as he slid the blade on. It was a desperate attack, Ajax noted coolly, as he dealt with it easily enough, thrusting the shield up, under the extended arm, sending the point skywards. Ajax saw his chance and hooked his shield up, behind the guard of the Roman's sword and jerked it towards him. For an instant the other man's fingers flinched and then the sword handle was snatched from his grasp and it flew back a short distance behind Ajax and landed with a thud.

Ajax laughed cruelly as he lowered his shield and smashed it into the prefect's, and again, driving him back. Then he alternated blows, shield, and then sword, battering at the shield as Cato stumbled away from the onslaught. A figure, one of Ajax's men, fell between them, blood pouring from a deep wound in the skull as he shouted nonsensically at the top of his voice. His fingers spasmed and the long-bladed sword in his hand dropped, point first, and stuck in the ground. Cato snatched at the handle and drew it back behind the shield.

'Out of my way!' Ajax bellowed, slamming the man aside with his shield. He raised his sword to batter Cato again. The prefect rode out the next attack, and then Ajax paused and chuckled. 'By the gods, I could do this all night.'

He raised his sword to strike and Cato lunged forward, clashing shield to shield, as he thrust the blade round in a shallow arc. The point of the sword punched into Ajax's cuirass, slid along the curve at the side and found the gap between the front and back plates where it lodged and the last of the force of the blow carried it into his side, tearing open the flesh. At first Ajax was stunned by the blow, and let out an explosive cry before a brief roar of outrage used up the last of his breath.

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