The Black Stone (65 page)

Pelagius cried out as the last man’s blade caught his elbow but the Arabian had made his last attack. A double-handed heave from Andal almost severed his arm. The enraged Pelagius barged his shield aside and finished him off with a drive into his flank.

Indavara was already on the move. ‘Cover! Back into cover!’

‘Who is this bastard?’ bawled Gutha. He had lost five more men and these determined sons of bitches still had their bows. ‘Charge! Everyone charge!’

The sight of him and the last four men on the move galvanised the second rank into action.

Once back across the road, Indavara dropped his sword and took the bow and an arrow from Mercator. Three of the second rank were coming for them; three for the others. They were no more than forty feet away. Indavara drew and aimed at the middle man. Twenty feet. Ten.

The string suddenly broke. Indavara dropped the bow and the arrow fell harmlessly to the ground.

Seeing what had happened, Mercator darted in front of him. ‘Come on!’

Bucoli followed his optio.

The first Saracen slowed but threw all his strength into a scything sweep. Mercator’s blade sang as he blocked.

Indavara dared not look down as his scrabbling fingers reached for his sword. Bucoli’s wild swing missed its target by a foot. Unbalanced and exposed, he was struck by both the other men, one blade going into his ribs, the other into his chest. The auxillary was dead before his body struck the sand. The larger of the two warriors grinned manically.

As the first man pushed Mercator back towards the rock wall, the others came at Indavara. The big one kicked Bucoli on the way past. He was powerfully built, with a barrel chest and arms bulging out of his tunic. The other warrior seemed content to stay behind him.

Indavara forced himself to block out the sounds of the other clashes; he knew there was again no time to tarry. He had the mail-shirt – only a heavy blow would do him serious damage. He took one step back, then rushed forward.

The Arabian obviously also knew he would need power to go through the mail. So he drew the blade back over his shoulder – nothing like quickly enough.

He had barely begun his swing when Indavara slashed up at his forearms. The blade sliced deep into one and grazed the other. The dropped sword bounced off Indavara’s head as he jabbed the iron hilt of his own into the Arabian’s nose, breaking bones.

Leaping past him before he’d hit the ground, Indavara’s next sweep smashed into the second man’s blade with such force that it flew from his grasp. Heaving back the other way, Indavara caught him under the chin, carving his neck open. The last noise he made was a whimper.

Indavara was all set to help Mercator but the optio had just driven his sword down into the prostrate warrior at his feet.

He checked the position of the German and the last four. They were twenty feet away and had just slowed to a walk.

On the other side of the road, only two men were still standing: Pelagius and one of the Arabians. They were grappling with one another, neither able to bring his sword to bear. Indavara was already on his way when Pelagius managed to get his leg behind the Arabian and trip him.

As the man hit the sand, the auxiliary swung down, slashing across his chest until the warrior stopped moving.

Indavara halted in the middle of the road.

Pelagius reached for his stomach. Only then did Indavara see the tears in his tunic. Strangely calm, the auxiliary dropped his blade then sat down and examined his wounds.

As Mercator walked over, Indavara noticed his sword was in his wrong hand. The optio was clenching his right fist, from which thick drops of blood were colouring the sand.

‘Looks like you two are all that’s left,’ said a rumbling voice in Greek.

The German dwarfed the four men with him, though Indavara could see that they too were not be underestimated. None seemed perturbed by the demise of his fellows and each one had taken up a shield.

Indavara spied Nobus climbing down from the cliff. He was moving swiftly but would be too late to make any difference.

‘Not quite,’ said another voice.

Ulixes was up on his feet and holding the big spear. His left hand was now bright pink and had swollen to a freakish size.

‘Thought you were sitting this one out,’ said Indavara.

Ulixes nodded at the hand. ‘Hurts worse than anything I’ve ever known. Rather get it over with. Maybe I can take a couple of these pricks with me.’

The big warrior who Indavara had just felled was trying to get up. Ulixes finished him off by jabbing the point of the spear into his chest. As the warrior spluttered his last breaths, Ulixes pulled out the tip. ‘Where’s your sun god now, eh? Gullible arseholes.’

Gutha gave an order, staying put while the other four advanced.

‘Don’t like getting your hands dirty, do you?’ said Indavara.

‘Why have a dog and bark yourself?’

One of the warriors turned round and spoke in Greek. ‘I’m no dog.’

‘Just a turn of phrase,’ said the German. ‘I’m with you.’ He lifted the axe and smacked his palm into the shaft.

Indavara glanced again at the shields then spoke to Ulixes. ‘Swap?’

‘Why not?’

Indavara handed the gambler the sword and took the spear. The length gave him a good advantage against the swordsmen – the German too if it came to it.

Ulixes and Mercator came in close to flank Indavara. Mercator – to the left – was holding his wounded hand up but his entire forearm was now slick with blood. Indavara was glad to have both him and Ulixes alongside him, but wasn’t counting on a great deal of help from either.

The four warriors strode forward, two converging on Indavara, the others towards Mercator and Ulixes. The German still hadn’t moved.

Indavara put both hands on the spear and held it out in front of him. Even though he had the reach, getting through the shields wouldn’t be easy. Gaze alternating between his opponents, he waited. The warriors edged forward, constantly adjusting the angle of their shields, taking no risks.

Indavara could still hear Mercator’s hand dripping and he suddenly realised how much he wanted the selfless optio to live. The thought decided his next move for him, especially when he noticed that the man to the left was fractionally ahead of the others.

Three quick steps and a jab of the spear halted the pair in front, but Indavara had no intention of striking them. He turned to his left, shifted his grip and drove the spear at Mercator’s man. The iron tip scraped over the top of his shield and pierced the flesh above his eye. Sensing movement from the others, Indavara pulled the spear back and retreated.

To the astonishment of all those watching, the wounded Arabian continued forward. But then he began to blink and a dark dot appeared on his skin. Next came a thin stream of blood, then a shower of red droplets. He took only two more steps.

As he sank to his knees, Mercator kicked the shield aside and swept down, slashing into the other side of his head.

As Ulixes came out to meet his man and their blades clashed, Indavara took the initiative once more. He jabbed into the shields, testing each warrior. One of them spoke and they moved slightly away from each other before coming back at him. Indavara stood his ground, looking for a way through.

Mercator provided it. Wounded hand held against his chest, the optio swung at the closest man’s shield, chipping off a strip of leather. The defender was forced to turn, exposing his side.

Indavara drove at his flank.

The second man diverted the strike with his shield, knocking the spear down into the ground. He pivoted towards Indavara, sword arm swinging.

Indavara had already dropped the spear. He leaped forward and blocked with his arm. The warrior’s wrist collided with his and came off worse. Barely keeping hold of the blade, the Saracen watched helplessly as Indavara plucked his dagger from its sheath and plunged it deep into his throat. The dying man grabbed at him, blood spewing from the wound.

As Indavara fought him off, a huge, gleaming shape appeared in front of him. He threw himself backward as the axe hissed through the air.

The warrior was already falling. The steel blade scalped him, excising a flap of hairy flesh.

Indavara fell onto his backside. Wiping the Arabian’s blood off his face, he had time only to see that Ulixes had accounted for his man but that Mercator was on the back foot.

Gutha stepped over the dead warrior and lumbered forward. Indavara scrambled backwards looking for a weapon but there was nothing close to hand. As he got to his feet, something pinged off the back of the German’s helmet. Gutha stopped and frowned.

‘Uuugh!’ The man fighting Mercator touched the back of his head. Eyes swimming, he dropped his sword.

Mercator took his chance and thrust his blade into the man’s gut.

Gutha turned round.

‘Here,’ said Ulixes. He picked up his dead opponent’s sword and threw it.

As he caught it, Indavara realised what had happened.

Nobus was walking along the road towards them, another rock ready in his hand. Indavara could hardly believe the auxiliary had descended the cliff in such time. But it seemed he was now done with throwing rocks. He drew his sword and stopped five yards behind the German.

Ulixes came and stood beside Indavara once more. Mercator’s tunic was now sodden with his own blood but he managed to stagger over to the other two.

Indavara reckoned the axe was about the heaviest weapon he had ever seen but he had no doubt the German could wield it with ease. The combination of helmet, mail-shirt and plate armour looked damn near impenetrable and the metal only increased the bulk of the man. He was enormous, surely not far off seven feet.

Gutha took another glance back at Nobus, then the other three. He lowered the axe and wiped his marked, red face. ‘Well, unfortunately for me it appears that the numbers have rather swung in your favour. I must commend you – an excellent defensive action. Romans?’

‘Romans,’ said Mercator.

‘Thought so,’ said Gutha, switching from Greek to Latin. ‘I’d forgotten how resilient you bastards are – too long fighting easterners, I suppose.’

‘Don’t remember asking for your life story,’ growled Indavara. ‘Let’s get it over with.’

‘Oh, you don’t understand. It
is
over. As you can see, I am alone; and while I think I could probably take you and your friends here, I wouldn’t want to risk a serious injury. Also, I would then have to pursue your compatriots, find and recover the stone, then return it to Galanaq unaided. All in all, the risk no longer justifies the benefit.’

‘You’re surrendering?’ asked Mercator.

‘I didn’t say that. I will allow you to go on your way.’

Indavara gestured at the fallen warriors who now littered the road. ‘You sent them to their deaths, yet you don’t have the balls to fight yourself?’

‘They are true believers. I am not. By the way, if I were you, I wouldn’t insult me. It isn’t too late for me to change my mind.’

Ulixes was laughing. He looked down at his hand then went to sit on a boulder.

Part of Indavara wanted to take the man on but common sense and his leaden limbs persuaded him to keep his mouth shut.

‘Well,’ said Gutha. ‘I shall leave you to it, then.’ He looked Indavara up and down. ‘I’ve not seen many men as good with a bow as they are with a sword and a spear. You’re young for a centurion. Optio?’

Indavara shook his head.

‘That man behind me,’ said Gutha. ‘Tell him not to try anything.’

Mercator ordered Nobus to come and stand beside him.

‘By the way,’ added Gutha, ‘how did you know we had it in Galanaq – the stone?’

‘We got lucky,’ said Indavara.

‘When we took it from Emesa, the centurion there said the army would find me. Looks like he was right.’ Gutha turned and walked back towards the pass.

Ulixes was still laughing.

‘Where in Hades is he?’

While waiting for Zebib to return with the horses, Cassius felt it wise to stay out of sight. He was lying at the front of the tent, so tired he was almost asleep. A few minutes earlier, he’d watched as Yemanek and the other chiefs led their warriors down to the road and through the inner gate. The locals had done nothing to stop them and even the guards manning the doors had stood aside when faced by the ethnarchs.