The Legion - Scarrow Simon - Страница 30

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'The general's injured!' a voice cried. 'Ajax is hurt!'

At once one of his men thrust his way between Ajax and Cato and launched a savage attack on the Roman, driving him back.

'Get the general out of here!'

'No!' Ajax roared, then grimaced. 'No…'

Hands grasped his arms and pulled him away from the fight, back up the street to the far end of the village. He made to protest but had to grit his teeth to fight off the pain in his side. He saw that his men had bested the Romans. More of their bodies lay in the street, and only two of his own men. Yet the gladiators were pulling back, leaving the surviving legionaries staring after them in surprise.

'What are you doing?' Ajax growled. 'Finish them.'

Then Karim was standing in front of him, an anxious expression on his face. 'General, one of our men watching the path says there are more Romans coming. We have to pull back. There are too many of them.'

'No.' Ajax shook his head. 'I had the bastard. I had him at my mercy.'

He felt sick with rage, cheated of his revenge. Then the pain hit him again. He knew that he could bear it well enough. He had been taught to endure worse during his training. 'Let me go back. Let me fight him,' he growled.

Karim shook his head. 'No. I'll not let you die this night, my General.' He turned and nodded at the men clustered about Ajax. 'Get him out of here. Head down the path to the river. You know the place. Go.'

Two men grasped Ajax's arms and placed them over their shoulders and then carried him away from the village, pinned helplessly between them as he gritted his teeth. Once his leader had gone, Karim called the archers to fall back and form up on him. They came from the darkness and formed a loose line across the path, loosing shafts at the enemy and sending them scurrying for cover amid the smouldering ruins of the buildings. At the far end of the village the first of the Roman reinforcements had appeared and Karim called to his men.

'Cease! That's enough. We must go.'

The last of the renegades melted away from the dying glow of the last few houses still alight and disappeared into the darkness engulfing the track that led out of the village. Aside from the occasional crack of a bursting timber in the night and the faint chirrup of some insects in the swamp beyond the dyke, the only other sounds were the agonised groans and cries of the wounded.

'What the bloody hell's been going on here?' asked Macro, glancing round at the ruined houses and bodies as he marched up to Cato. 'Looks like you've had quite a fight.'

Cato had retrieved his sword and sheathed it as he nodded a greeting to Macro. He noticed that his hand was trembling, and it took all his self-control to ease the blade back into the scabbard without dropping it. The truth of it was, he was scared, Cato scorned himself. When Ajax had ripped the sword from his hands and driven him back under that powerful rain of sword blows, Cato had been sure that he was a dead man. Nothing could stand between Ajax and his vengeance. The gladiator had been like some wild force of nature, unleashed and implacable. Cato had been only moments away from his death when that mortally wounded renegade had stumbled between himself and Ajax. It had been as close as that, Cato mused in horror. He regarded his friend with an ashen expression and then blinked and nodded.

'Yes… Quite a fight.'

'What happened? I saw some men making off as we arrived. Ajax?'

Cato nodded. 'He still lives. I wounded him. His men drew him away when they saw you.'

Macro stared down the street. 'Then what are we waiting for? Let's go after the bastard before he gets away.'

'No,' Cato responded firmly. 'Not now.'

'Why the fuck not?' Macro's brow furrowed. 'We're as close to him as we've been in months.'

'We wait until first light,' Cato said firmly.

'What?'

'That's an order,' Cato snapped. 'I've lost enough men to ambushes already without blundering about in the darkness. I'll not gift Ajax any more Roman lives than I can help. We rest here tonight. Tend to the wounded and let the men slake their thirst. Ajax and his band are just as tired, and have their own wounded to take care of. They'll not go far in this darkness. We can continue the pursuit at dawn.'

'This is madness,' Macro said quietly.

Cato stiffened and drew a calming breath. 'You forget yourself, Centurion.'

'My apologies, sir,' Macro hissed through gritted teeth. 'But we have to go after them.'

'No. I've made my decision. We see to our own first. Have your men gather our wounded. They'll find 'em in the village and over there,' Cato pointed towards the dyke where Rufus and his men had attempted to outflank the renegades. Whatever trouble Rufus had run into, there was no sign of his men, although the wounded were making themselves heard well enough. Cato winced at the sound. 'See to it, at once.'

'Yes, sir. I think our priest friend Hamedes has some skill with healing. I'll set him to work.' Macro looked searchingly at his friend. 'And you, sir. Are you all right?'

'Fine. I'm fine.' Cato swallowed. 'Just need some water. Now see to the others, please.'

Macro nodded and turned away to shout the orders to his mixed force of marines and legionaries. They were also stripped down to the essentials and, like Cato's force, they were exhausted and parched. But their rest and refreshment would have to wait, Macro grumbled to himself in frustration as he summoned two sections and set up a perimeter of sentries across the path at the end of the village, in case Ajax decided to cause any further mischief. Not that he was likely to. The gladiator was too shrewd. He was a man who knew how to pick his battles, thought Macro. The gladiator struck when he had the advantage, and held back when he did not. When he did give battle he fought with utter ferocity and ruthlessness. Were it not for the irremovable stain of the barbaric way Ajax had treated him, Macro might have found it in his heart to admire his enemy. In another life, Ajax would have made a fine legionary.

'Shame he has only got one life,' Macro muttered to himself. 'And I'll be taking that.'

'Sir?' One of his men looked at him curiously.

'What?'

'Sir, I didn't quite hear the order.'

Macro cleared his dry throat. 'I said keep a good watch, or those bastards will cut your throat before you know it.'

Macro turned and made his way back towards the heart of the village.

Cato was sitting on the edge of a stone trough, watching the casualties being brought in from the dyke. Most had run on to the concealed stakes when Rufus had given the order to charge. A number had been struck by arrows as well and Cato realised that the ambush had cost the Romans dearly. Centurion Rufus came limping in, clutching a hand to his thigh. Blood seeped through his fingers. He saw that the wounds of his men were tended to and made his way over to report to the prefect.

Cato stood aside to let Hamedes bend down and examine the centurion's injury. The priest took out his canteen to wash the wound and then reached for a strip of linen from his shoulder bag. 'What happened?' asked Cato.

'The bastards set a line of sharpened stakes from the dyke to the village,' Rufus told his superior. 'They were hidden in the long grass. First we knew about it was when one of the men stumbled on to one. The fool couldn't keep his mouth shut and I wasn't close enough to see what had happened, so I gave the order to charge, while there was still some chance of surprising them.' He winced. 'Before I knew it we had run right into the stakes. I got one in the leg almost at once. By the time the men stopped, most of us had been injured. That's when they hit us with arrows.' Rufus paused briefly and shook his head. 'There was nothing we could do, sir. Some men tried to get out of the way of the arrows, and ran into more stakes. I told the boys to stay put and shelter behind their shields as best they could. I figured our best chance was to wait for the enemy to cease shooting and then work our way out of the stakes.'

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