Saviour of Rome [Gaius Valerius Verrens 7] (45 page)

Serpentius’s instructions in these circumstances had been clear. The Asturians were to stay in place as long as their presence would draw off any of the Parthian cavalry. If not they must withdraw and disperse, to regroup at Avala, where the others would join them … if they were alive.

But Tito was his father’s son and his father was out there on that dusty plain. What would Serpentius of Avala, Barbaros the Proud, do in his place? He drew his sword.

‘You may take the men and lead them to the hills,’ he told Placido, who stood by his side. ‘I will go to my father.’

He made to walk towards the river, but Placido followed and grabbed him roughly by the arm. ‘I came here to have my revenge on the hook-noses. I will not walk away without a fight.’

‘Nor I,’ said the nearest man, and his cry was taken by another, then another. Men could see Tito on the river bank with his sword bared. They knew what had happened and they understood his intention, knew also the certain outcome, but soon they were streaming from the rocks by the score. Tito watched them come and his heart stuttered with pride. But this was no time for emotion. He was perfectly aware of the Parthian cavalry’s capabilities, but he would not make it easy for them.

‘At least he’s had the sense to form them into a square,’ Valerius said. It wasn’t by any means a Roman square, a compact, prickling hedgehog of spears capable of holding off auxiliary cavalry. More a ragged, shambling hedge of men that created a vague representation of that shape.

‘They’ll still be slaughtered.’

‘Like as not.’ Valerius watched intently to see how Harpocration would react to this new threat. ‘But at least he’s given us a chance.’

Not much of a chance, it was true, but the Parthian leader felt the need to detach three squadrons – close to a hundred men – to contain
Tito’s hundred and fifty. A force strong enough to keep the Asturians occupied until they could be destroyed at his leisure. But first he would deal with the men who had thwarted the great conspiracy.

More shouted orders and the blare of the trumpet. The remaining squadrons began to close in at a walk on the twenty or so fighters who now made up Valerius’s little group. The Roman risked a glance to where the Sixth remained in place. Surely this would goad Proculus into a decision?

‘On my command,’ he called, ‘we make for the slope; some of us may get through.’ Serpentius nodded and relayed the order to his men. They gripped their spears with new strength and acknowledged the order with a throaty growl.

Valerius searched in vain for a weak spot in the ring of Parthian spears. He wrapped the reins tight around his wooden fist and hefted his sword. Whatever happened he would not be taken alive. He scanned the long lines of the Sixth. No way of breaking through and Proculus, whatever his actions so far, would offer no sanctuary. He opened his mouth to give the order.

‘Wait, Valerius.’ An urgent shout from Serpentius. Something was happening among the Sixth. Valerius could hear Piso shouting and even as he watched a blade flashed in the sunlight and the shouting was replaced by a terrible scream as the young tribune died.

‘Look!’ Allius, his face a mask of blood, pointed to the southern crest overlooking the valley where a long line of armour glittered in the afternoon sun, soon joined by another and a third. At their centre a group of men on horseback stood beside a standard. Though it was too small to be fully visible Valerius recognized it immediately. An eagle.

‘That’s a full legion,’ Serpentius whispered. ‘Where in the gods’ name did he find them?’

Valerius was too busy trying to work out the implications of what he was seeing to answer. It felt like a rescue, but even as the thought formed he saw a ripple run through the wall of shields on the ridge line as the long lines of legionaries began to advance. Not towards them. Not against the enemy Valerius had sought out and identified for Gaius
Plinius Secundus. But diagonally across the slope in a deliberate, steady march that would bring them against the flank of Tito’s ragged band of spearmen. Betrayal? Incompetence? Then it came to him. Pliny had never received his message. This was Vespasian’s doing. The Emperor had lost patience and sent a legion to provide Pliny with the military strength to deal with the threat to his gold supplies in Asturica Augusta. But Pliny believed the threat came from Asturian rebels.

‘Now!’ Valerius kicked his horse into motion. Serpentius took up the cry, urging his riders towards the slope. Both men knew they had only one chance to stop Gaius Plinius Secundus destroying Tito and his men. Someone had to break through to the governor and inform him of his error. And the only person he would listen to was Valerius.

But the same thought had occurred to Claudius Harpocration. He howled at his men to attack.

Harpocration angled his squadron to cut Valerius off from the hill, but Serpentius called out an order and half Valerius’s little force swerved to meet the Parthians head on. Fewer than ten men now accompanied Valerius, but they were brave men and they knew what was required to save their comrades on the plain. They surged ahead to form a protective shield between the one-handed Roman and the Parthian line. Valerius felt a prickle behind his eyes at this conscious act of self-sacrifice. There could only be one outcome in the unequal contest between the Asturians and the professional cavalry. Yet he had no time to mourn them. He sank lower in the saddle, his head between the horse’s ears. His only thought must be to make their sacrifice worthwhile. He must stay alive.

A clash of arms and a terrible shriek from behind and to his left. An image of Serpentius, savage, indestructible and indomitable, flitted through his mind before the Parthian line struck the charging Asturians. A long spear spitted the man in front of Valerius like a chicken and plucked him from the saddle. All around, a chaos of screaming ponies and dying men, spurting blood and shattered bone. For a moment he knew he’d failed. He could find no way through and he was surrounded by snarling Parthians and probing spear points.
Then he saw it. A dried-up stream bed that split the Parthian line and led to the slope where Gaius Plinius Secundus watched implacably as his legionaries continued their relentless march towards Tito and his doomed Asturian farmers.

Valerius rammed his horse between two milling Parthians. A spear drove at his chest and he parried it upwards, but the shaft clattered against his head, leaving his skull ringing and his senses stunned. Another found its mark and a lightning bolt of agony sliced through his left side, but he was through and urging his mount up the stream bed. The gully twisted and turned, the sides steepening the further he progressed. As he searched desperately for an escape route he could almost feel the Parthian spears reaching out for his back. The clatter of hooves to his rear increased in volume. Soon those below would finish with Allius and the rest and join the pursuit to cut off his flanks.

A cry of triumph from terrifyingly close just as his eyes registered the only possibility of escape, a slope of pink scree slightly shallower than the rest. Valerius swerved the horse without slackening pace, hammering his heels into its ribs and slapping its sweat-foamed flank with his sword. Only a few more paces and he would have made it.

Without warning a huge shadow towered over him and he was thrown from the saddle as a Parthian mount smashed his horse backwards. Valerius landed with bone-cracking force, a bolt of agony in his ribs joining the burning in his side. Jagged stones scraped the side of his face raw as he tumbled head over heels into the stream bed, flailing hooves inches from his face and narrowly missing rocks that would have smashed his brains out. Somehow he clung on to his sword. When he crashed into the stream bed he managed to stagger to his feet, mind reeling and vision blurred. Two Parthians – or was it four? – prodded their spears at his chest. He slashed at the points and backed away. The Parthians laughed and more needle points pricked his back.

A bearded giant in fish scale armour and a green tunic grinned down at him from the saddle. ‘Our commander ordered us to take you alive,’ he said in a guttural and heavily accented Latin. ‘But he did not say you should be undamaged.’ To reinforce his words he jabbed his spear
point into Valerius’s thigh. Valerius cried out and hacked at the shaft with his sword. The wound did no serious damage, but he could feel the blood running down his leg. Another point jabbed into his buttock and he spun to face his laughing attacker. The Parthians could do this until he was bleeding from a dozen wounds and still keep him alive long enough to suffer the torment Claudius Harpocration planned for him. He forced despair from his mind. As long as he could hold his sword they wouldn’t take him alive. But the resolution lasted only as long as it took for the ash shaft of an enemy spear to smash down on his wrist. Valerius cried out with frustration as the sword fell from his numbed fingers. His tormentors only laughed all the louder and the ring of spears closed in.

‘What is happening here?’ The imperious demand came from a tall, mounted figure who appeared at the top of the bank, silhouetted against the sun. Valerius looked up and raised his wooden right hand to shade his eyes. The man cried out in astonishment. ‘Valerius? I thought you were dead.’

Valerius had to choke back an outburst of hysterical laughter. ‘I will be unless you can convince these snakes to draw in their fangs, Pliny.’

‘Release this man,’ Gaius Plinius Secundus snapped. The Parthians looked up in bewilderment at the imposing figure in a legate’s armour and scarlet cloak. More mounted figures appeared beside Pliny, the members of his personal guard. ‘Put up your spears,’ he repeated the command. ‘Or you will not live another heartbeat.’

The bearded giant rasped out an order and the ring of leaf-bladed points receded. Valerius scrambled through a gap in the iron and clawed his way up the bank to the governor’s side. From here he could see the legionaries continuing their steady march towards Tito’s Asturians, who stood in a disorganized huddle by the road. ‘Pliny,’ he said urgently. ‘You must withdraw your men. These are not your enemy. They are.’ He pointed to the Parthians on the dusty plain below, and beyond them the two cohorts of the Sixth.

‘I don’t understand,’ Pliny said. ‘Those are Roman soldiers.’

‘Melanius persuaded them to march on Tarraco.
He
was stealing
the Emperor’s gold, Pliny. The proof is in the leather sack tied to the saddle of that horse. Melanius is dead and I doubt they’ll fight, but you must believe me …’ His voice failed him for a moment. ‘Mars save us. Serpentius!’ Only now did he notice that a single conflict still continued among the milling Parthians. Two horses wheeled and circled as their riders fought for position. ‘A mount, Pliny. A mount and a sword if you love me as a friend.’

Pliny responded instantly with an order and one of his escort jumped from the saddle and led his horse to where Valerius stood.

‘I will call off the attack.’ The governor handed Valerius his own sword. ‘Go to Serpentius and stop this bloodshed. Cassito?’ he called to the leader of the escort. ‘Take ten men and bring me whoever commands the Sixth, by force if necessary.’

Valerius galloped down the slope without waiting for the escort, snarling at any Parthians who blocked his way. A strange listlessness had overcome the bearded cavalrymen as they began to understand the significance of the newly arrived troops and they gave way without protest. Others formed a circle around the battle between the commander who had never lost a fight and the astonishingly swift enemy who had already brought him twice to the brink of defeat. A cry of agony pierced the air as Valerius broke through the Parthian ranks and his heart stopped as he saw Serpentius reel away clutching his stomach. Claudius Harpocration wheeled his horse, sword raised for the death blow. But Valerius’s gelding was cavalry-trained and didn’t break stride as he drove it chest to shoulder with the Parthian’s mount. The impact threw Harpocration clear of the saddle and he scrabbled in the dust to avoid his falling horse.

Valerius dismounted and advanced on his enemy as Harpocration struggled to his feet. A few Parthian spearmen moved to block his way until Cassito and the men of Pliny’s escort galloped up and snarled at them to stay clear. Harpocration was clearly suffering from the effects of the contest. His chest heaved beneath the heavy mail of his protective armour and the left arm of his tunic was soaked with blood where Serpentius had cut him at least once. But his eyes glittered with loathing
and blood-rage. He moved confidently to meet Valerius’s approach.

Any man who wounded Serpentius was a warrior to fear, but Valerius felt the anger growing in him like lava ready to vent. His eyes never leaving his enemy he strode forward with his sword raised and his right side exposed. In battle, Serpentius had always acted as Valerius’s shield, or his strong right hand. Now that flank was an invitation to strike.

And Harpocration took it.

The Parthian commander lunged with the speed of a thunderbolt, the point of his sword like a dart aimed at Valerius’s unprotected chest. His victory cry rose in his throat, but it remained unfulfilled, because the air rang as Valerius swatted the blade away with a speed and a power that left Harpocration gaping. Before he could react Valerius hammered his wooden fist at the Parthian’s face. Harpocration ducked his head. It was all that saved him because Valerius had deployed the hidden blade and the point would have taken him in the right eye. Instead it was deflected by the iron dome of the Parthian’s helmet. Harpocration flailed blindly with the sword, forcing Valerius to step back and winning a moment to recover. But Valerius was back within a heartbeat, the sword in his left hand probing relentlessly at Harpocration’s flank and forcing him to parry awkwardly in a move he’d never trained for. Valerius could feel him slow as the strain of the fight with Serpentius continued to take its toll. Claudius Harpocration’s muscles were battle honed, but no man could fight for ever.

Harpocration cried out as Valerius’s edge added another cut to the one Serpentius had inflicted. Oddly, the shoulder wound seemed to galvanize the Parthian and for a few deadly seconds he hacked at Valerius with renewed strength. For the first time he noticed the blood that streaked Valerius’s legs and filled his sandals. A new confidence welled up inside him as he sensed his opponent weakening. Suddenly Valerius’s thrusts were less certain and Harpocration knew he had one chance to finish this quickly. He launched a whirlwind attack that tested first right, then left and as his opponent reeled, a final double-handed overhead cut that should have split Valerius from skull to chin. Instead, it met thin air.