The Far Shore (50 page)

‘They should withdraw,’ said Cassius.

‘Not likely,’ replied Indavara. ‘Look at their faces.’

Cassius had seen such wild-eyed fury before and he knew these men had more reason to despise Rome than any Palmyran warrior.

Eborius swung his long blade and chopped the end off a Maseene javelin, then ducked down to survey his line. Satisfied that they were more than holding their own, he turned and looked at Carnifex, who had stopped next to the pile of javelins collected by the legionary. Bent almost double, Eborius then moved left along the line to Noster, who was drawing an arrow from his quiver. He spoke a few words into the veteran’s ear, then returned to the fray, discouraging the Maseene with more broad sweeps of his sword.

‘Centurion!’ came a desperate shout from the First Century. A group of Maseene three or four deep had clustered close to the centre of the southern line and some of the massed javelin thrusts were starting to tell. Two legionaries were already on the ground and in moments two more fell back. Others moved quickly to take up their shields but the line was looking vulnerable.

Carnifex, still with sword undrawn, picked up two of the Maseene javelins and ordered the legionary to follow with the rest. Crouching low, he ran to the over-pressed section. Weighing one of the weapons in his hand, he suddenly stood up straight and flung the javelin over the top of a shield. Cassius saw two arms fly up and heard an agonised shriek. Carnifex crouched over once more and took five steps to his left. He popped up again and let fly, this time hitting another unprotected warrior in the face. The legionary passed him more javelins and on he went, never appearing in the same place twice, always finding a target. In moments, he had taken out ten of the enemy and the pressure on the shield wall had been relieved. Carnifex pulled a canteen off Mutilus’s belt and took a drink.

With a nudge from Indavara, Cassius turned to see Noster kneeling close by. The legionary faced away from them as he spoke, towards the barracks. ‘See the window? If you can get inside you can get away. Make for the bridge. We’ll follow if we can.’

Noster dropped the bow and quiver close to Indavara. Drawing his sword, he nodded subtly at Procyon. ‘For him.’

Procyon hadn’t noticed the conversation. He was watching the southern line.

As Noster returned to the battle, Cassius looked across at the barracks – the window was big enough and low enough. He leaned back to cover Indavara as the bodyguard took an arrow from the quiver and set it against the string. He pulled it halfway back, then looked over Cassius’s shoulder along the wall.

‘She’s in front of him.’

Annia was indeed blocking the optio, staring at the ground as if she couldn’t bear to even acknowledge what was going on around her. Procyon still had his left arm round her neck but was preoccupied with the fighting.

‘Over here, over here,’ Cassius said, though he knew she couldn’t hear him over the noise.

‘Corbulo – someone’s going to see.’

‘I know.’

Over here, over here.

She looked at him.

Cassius checked that Carnifex and Mutilus weren’t watching, then motioned towards the ground. Annia seemed confused, but Cassius leant forward and she saw what they intended. Covering her eyes again, she bowed her head.

‘Forward a little more,’ said Indavara, bringing the bow up behind Cassius’s back.

‘If I hit him, grab her and run for the window,’ he added. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’

Cassius felt Indavara tense as he drew the bowstring.

Procyon’s head snapped forward as the bolt punched into the back of his skull. Annia took her hands from her eyes and bumped her head on the shaft of the arrow. Cassius looked across at Carnifex again. He had just unleashed his next javelin.

Indavara slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Now.’

Cassius hauled himself to his feet and ran along the wall. Annia was already up but staring at the arrow sticking out of the inert Procyon. Cassius grabbed her hand.

‘Go!’ hissed Indavara, just a few paces behind.

Cassius sprinted towards the barracks, Annia in tow. They passed within yards of Carnifex’s back, but like all the others in the line, he was completely focused on the enemy. Once past him, Cassius didn’t dare look back. It seemed to take an age to reach the window – and at every pace he expected some cry from behind them – but finally they were there.

‘Inside!’

Without any help from Cassius, Annia climbed up on to the ledge and dropped adroitly into the barracks. Cassius turned and saw Indavara jogging backwards towards him, another arrow at the ready. Cassius got his hands on the ledge and hoisted a leg up. Annia was lying on the floor directly below, so he leapt past her and landed in the cool, murky interior. The two of them looked around; they were surrounded by bunk beds.

Indavara never knew what made Carnifex turn from the line but he was glad he hadn’t taken his eyes off him. Seeing his dead optio, Carnifex spun round to face the barracks. Indavara already had the bow up and drawn. He aimed at Carnifex’s throat. The old centurion saw him just as he let fly.

Carnifex bent his head to protect his face but the arrow was six inches low anyway. It hit the bronze cuirass with a dull crack and dropped to the ground. Carnifex’s head came back up. He took two steps forward and picked up the nearest javelin.

‘Shit.’

Indavara turned and threw himself through the window, dropping to the floor between Annia and Cassius.

The javelin landed between Cassius’s thighs, tearing through his tunic and pinning him to the floor. Indavara yanked it out and handed it to him. ‘What are you waiting for?’

With the bow still in one hand and the quiver over his shoulder, he dragged Annia to her feet and bolted out of the little room. By the time they reached the other end of the barracks, the sounds of the battle had faded.

‘Anyone following?’ asked Indavara.

Cassius looked back. ‘No.’

He joined Indavara at a doorway. To the right was the ridge that bordered the pit; directly ahead was a meadow of high grass.

‘Horses,’ said Indavara. ‘Eborius and his men must have tethered theirs close by.’

‘No,’ said Cassius. ‘Mounts will draw too much attention. We get in that grass and we’re as safe as we’ll be anywhere. We can work our way north towards the bridge.’

Annia, who had been crouching low, suddenly dropped down on her backside.

Indavara still had hold of her hand. ‘Get up.’

Cassius knelt down beside her.

Indavara let go, retreated into the barracks and looked back down the corridor. ‘Corbulo, we have moments if we’re lucky—’

‘I know.’

Cassius tipped Annia’s chin up. Her eyes were glassy, vacant. ‘Annia, we have to go. You need to get up. Can you do that?’

Another chilling shriek from the battle.

Annia squeezed her eyes together.

‘Corbulo—’

Cassius put his hands under her arms and helped her to her feet.

Indavara moved back to the doorway. He checked left, then right.

‘We’re clear. You first.’

Cassius took Annia’s hand and ran out of the barracks towards the meadow.

Simo, Clara and the sailors watched it all. First, the crowd that had gathered in the square dispersed. Then, over the next two hours, most of the townspeople returned, driving carts or on horseback, tripling the size of the column. And when some soldiers also joined the group, they finally set off west along the Via Cyrenaica. Simo was relieved to note there were only a dozen or so legionaries. He felt sure Noster had managed to change the centurion’s mind; that Eborius and the rest of his men were searching for Cassius and the others.

Once the column had gone, they saw nothing more of the residents, but by midday half a dozen fires were alight across the town and scores of Maseene warriors rode unchallenged through the streets. One band stopped long enough to pull down the statue of Romulus and Remus, but now they and the rest of the tribesmen had disappeared too. Darnis was silent and empty.

The
Fortuna
was ready to leave at a moment’s notice: the oars on the starboard side were in the rowlocks, and the foresail shackled to the halyard. A light rain had been falling for about an hour. Simo stood just in front of the mast, his arm round Clara’s shoulder. The poor girl had been praying most of the morning. Despite a double tunic and one of her mistresss’s cloaks, she was shivering. Simo gazed out across the causeway at the square, hoping for some sight of the missing trio.

Asdribar came up next to him and wiped rainwater off his hairless head.

‘I asked for signs from my gods,’ the captain told Simo quietly. ‘They told me I was wrong. They told me we should have gone to find them.’

With plenty of time to consider Asdribar’s decision, Simo had in fact now decided it was the right one. Given how quickly the situation had deteriorated, with no one to guide them they would undoubtedly have run into trouble.

‘It is enough that you stayed, sir. All we can do now is wait.’

‘And pray.’ Asdribar kept his voice barely above a whisper. ‘I’ve seen your books. You are a Christian.’

‘I am, sir.’

Clara heard this, but – to Simo’s relief – said nothing. The girl was conventional in her beliefs, and he’d found it was rarely possible to predict how different individuals would react.

‘What does your one god tell you?’ asked Asdribar.

‘Only that I must not lose hope. My master and Indavara have faced great danger before. I must believe they are still alive.’

‘If those warriors come down to the harbour, we will have to cast off.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘And I cannot do so at night, not with that narrow entrance. At least the wind and the waves are still calm.’

Clara spoke up: ‘You will wait as long as you can, won’t you, sir?’

‘I will, girl.’

Squint walked over to them and pointed over the bow. ‘Captain.’

A line of people had appeared from an alley in front of the dye works. Leading the way were half a dozen armed men with perhaps twenty women and children behind them. The men were all weighed down with heavy packs and most of the women were carrying woven baskets.

‘Ready the lines, Korinth,’ ordered Asdribar.

The big sailor and his constant companion Desenna hurried over to the port side-rail.

Asdribar turned to Opilio, who was sitting against the mast, hood drawn over his head. ‘Take three others and get ready with the oars. We just need enough to make way.’

‘Sir.’

More armed men were bringing up the rear of the group, looking warily at the square as the others started across the causeway.

‘I doubt they wish to cause us any harm, sir,’ said Simo.

‘They look desperate,’ replied Asdribar. ‘You’d be surprised what desperate people will do.’

Squint caught his captain’s eye and pointed at a barrel he and Korinth had earlier brought up from the hold. It was stuffed with weapons.

‘Go ahead,’ said Asdribar.

The veteran handed out spears and swords to the other sailors and took a bow for himself. Tarkel surreptitiously tried to grab a blade.

‘Back to the stern, you,’ said Asdribar. The lad slunk away empty-handed.

‘Ready to cast off, Captain,’ said Korinth.

As the group continued across the causeway, Simo looked at the fires burning in the town. He had even more reason than the others to be depressed by what he’d witnessed. Africa was a stronghold of the Church, a land that had produced glorious martyrs and influential thinkers. Yet Darnis seemed to him the most forsaken of places, where cruelty and hate had triumphed.

The group stopped when they reached the warehouses. A man close to the front spoke briefly with the others, then lowered his pack and sheathed his sword. He ran past the collapsed dock and started along the breakwater.

‘Captain?’ said Squint, an arrow at the ready.

‘You spoiling for a fight, old man? Calm yourself – and don’t point that thing anywhere near me.’

Asdribar went up to the bow to talk to the man, who was clad in the nondescript tunic and cloak of a middling Roman. He was perhaps fifty, with slate-grey hair and craggy features.

‘Is this your vessel, sir?’ he asked, stopping opposite Asdribar.

‘It is. Sorry, no space for extra passengers.’

‘Why are you still here?’

‘Not your concern, friend.’

Clara nudged Simo and pointed at the group. ‘Do you remember her?’

The daughter of Maro the timber-mechant was standing there with a woman. In her hand was one of her wooden toys. There was no sign of her father.

‘We can pay you,’ the man told Asdribar.

‘I’m already being paid. Well.’

Clara walked past Simo and approached Asdribar. ‘If she were here, Miss Annia would ask you to take them aboard, sir.’

Asdribar looked down at her with a half-smile that suggested both surprise and admiration. ‘I’m not sure she would, Clara, though I’m sure it’s what
you
want me to do.’

Simo took his opportunity. ‘It is the right course of action, Captain.’

‘The Christian course?’ asked Asdribar rhetorically.

He turned back to the man. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Vivius Reberrus.’

‘It’s November, Reberrus. What makes you think you’ll be any safer at sea?’

‘What I’ve seen in the last few hours. The Maseene are killing our people. Where are you headed?’

‘Apollonia.’

‘That’s good for us.’

‘What if I let you aboard, then another group turn up?’

‘There is no one else left, Captain. The locals have returned to their villages. The others left today.’

‘How much will you pay?’ asked Asdribar.

‘Twenty denarii each.’

‘That’s funny.’

‘Thirty,’ said Reberrus.

‘Fifty,’ said Asdribar. ‘Twenty for the children.’

‘Sir,’ said Simo. ‘You cannot put a price on—’

Asdribar raised a hand. Simo kept quiet.

‘Sir,’ implored Clara. ‘Look at the sweet young girl there. Her name is—’

‘Remember your place, Clara,’ said Asdribar.

‘We can’t pay that,’ insisted Reberrus.

‘Then I can’t help you,’ replied Asdribar. ‘Korinth, ready with the ropes.’