Son of Spartacus - Scarrow Simon - Страница 12

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‘That’s close enough!’ the man called out when they were no more than twenty feet away.

Caesar reined in and sat tall and imperious in his saddle. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded.

Now they were close to the man, Marcus could see that he was a giant, well over six feet tall. He had thick blond hair that merged with a shaggy beard and blue eyes that twinkled beneath his heavy brows. A wolfskin cloak lay across his broad shoulders and the snout and ears of a preserved head were just visible on the crown of his head. Beneath the cloak he wore a striped tunic and the breeches favoured by the Celts. The head of an axe protruded from the belt that held his breeches up. The man’s lips parted in a smile as he sauntered a few steps closer to the riders. Marcus noted that there was no sign of fear in his expression.

‘The meaning of this should be plain enough.’ The man spoke in a rich booming voice. ‘This pass belongs to me and like any owner I want to know the business of those who cross my land.’

‘I see.’ Caesar nodded. ‘And might I ask the name of the man who lays claim to a road which, until now, I understood to be the property of Rome?’

‘Please forgive my country manners,’ the man replied in a mocking tone. ‘I am Mandracus, lord of the lands either side of this pass. That is why I must exact a toll from those who wish to cross my territory. And who are you, sir? I can tell from the cut of your clothes and the haughty accent that you are a well-bred Roman.’

With a soft pounding of hoofs, Festus rode up from the rear of the column and reined in beside his master.

‘Who is this peasant? Stand aside, before we cut you down.’

‘Enough, Festus!’ Caesar cut in. He turned back to Mandracus. ‘I am an official crossing the mountains on the business of the Senate. It is a crime to impede my progress.’ Caesar smiled coldly. ‘However, being mindful of your country manners, I shall not have you flogged, if you stand aside and let us pass.’

Mandracus pursed his Ups and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do that.’

As the men spoke, Marcus had been watching the rocks on either side of the pass and caught sight of movement there. A face staring at them. Another man in the shadow of a rock, holding a spear and shield.

‘Enough of this foolishness!’ Caesar snapped. 'Out of my way!’

Mandracus stood his ground and drew out his axe, swinging it loosely at his side. At the signal, more men appeared from behind the rocks and moved out into the path. Marcus saw at least thirty of them. Some looked as solid as Mandracus, but most were thin, their faces pinched by hunger, and desperation gleamed in their eyes. But all of them were armed, with a mix of spears, swords and axes. Their leader gestured towards them-

‘As you can sec, we outnumber you three to one. And five to one oncc the rest of my men come up the road behind you. There's no way out.'

Festus’s hand slipped to the hilt of his sword and Marcus and the rest of the bodyguard followed suit as they waited for Caesar’s lead. The former consul regarded the men in front of him and then folded his arms. ‘And what is it that you want from us, Mandracus?’

‘There’s a certain procedure to be followed.’ The brigand smiled. ‘First, do you have any slaves with you?’

‘Slaves?’ Caesar gestured towards Lupus, who was trembling with cold and fear as he sat in his saddle. ‘Just my scribe.’

‘Then we shall have to deprive you of him. No man is a slave in my territory. Second, I shall have to ask you for any gold or silver you may have, together with your weapons and horses. After that you are free to continue through the pass. Or return the way you came. You will find shelter from the snow closer in that direction.’

‘And if we refuse?’

Mandracus’s expression hardened. ‘Then we shall be forced to kill you all, except the slave, and take what we want anyway.’

There was a brief silence before Caesar spoke quietly through gritted teeth, just loud enough for Marcus and Festus to hear. ‘When I give the word, we charge that fool and his rabble. Ready?’

‘Yes, Caesar,’ Festus and Marcus muttered.

Caesar drew a deep breath and was about to make his reply when he was interrupted by the sound of hoof beats. Marcus turned to see that the horsemen had crested the final rise along the road and were now approaching the pass. They fanned out across the open ground on either side of the road and readied their weapons.

Mandracus shrugged. ‘Like I said, you are trapped. You have no choice but to do what you’re told, if you want to live. Now throw down your weapons and get off those horses! Do it!’

Marcus concentrated his attention on Caesar as he clamped his thighs to the side of his mount and wrapped his fingers firmly round the handle of his sword. Caesar let out a sigh, as if surrendering to the inevitable, and casually reached for his own weapon. But instead of drawing it out and tossing it to the ground, he snatched it out in a blur and thrust it towards the path as he shouted at the top of his voice.

‘Charge!’

Marcus flicked his cloak back and ripped his sword from its scabbard. Around him he heard the metallic clatter as the other bodyguards followed suit. Only Lupus was unarmed and he looked on in horror. With a curse, Marcus transferred his reins to his sword hand and groped for the dagger on the other side of his belt. He steered his horse closer to Lupus and held out the dagger by its blade. ‘Take it!’

The other boy hesitated briefly before he grabbed the handle and held it in an overhand grip, raising it above his head ready to strike. There was no time for Marcus to tell his friend the correct way to wield a dagger and he spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Stay close to me, Lupus. If any of those men get close to you, don’t stop to think about it, just stab them or they’ll kill you first.’

The other bodyguards surged forward, kicking up a spray of snow as they followed Caesar. Marcus dug his heels in and chased after them, leaning forward in his saddle and holding his blade to the side of the horse’s flank, level and ready to strike.

Caesar’s order had taken the brigands by surprise. Their leader was forced to leap aside as Caesar’s mount charged directly towards him. The rest of his men were slower to react and the horsemen were in among them before they could get out of the way. The air filled with the thud and clash of blades and spears, and grunts as men struck out with all their strength. Cries of pain and triumph echoed from the cliffs either side of the pass, along with the whinnies of the horses.

Marcus, his heart beating wildly, urged his mount into the swirling confusion of the fight. He glimpsed Mandracus springing back to his feet and raising his axe as he charged at one of the bodyguards. The man saw him at the last moment, too late to react, and the head of the axe slammed down into his thigh, cutting through flesh, muscle and bone. The rider howled with agony and slashed back with his sword, striking a weak blow on his enemy’s shoulder. Most of the impact was absorbed by the wolfskin, and the thick folds of the tunic I beneath, but it still drove Mandracus to his knees. Gritting his I teeth in agony, the rider kicked his good heel in and looked I for another attacker.

Marcus urged his mount into a gap between two of the riders and made for a man with a spear who had worked his way round behind Festus and was raising the weapon to strike. Leaning forward in his saddle, Marcus slashed his sword at the butt of the spear, knocking it down so that the tip swished harmlessly over Festus’s shoulder. The leader of Caesar’s bodyguard caught the blur out of the side of his eye and instantly wheeled his horse round, slashing down at the man who had tried to kill him, and laying open his arm. Another cut to the shoulder put the brigand out of action.

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