Rufus approached the door and transferred his sword to the other hand as he examined the stain. ‘If he did, then it was at least an hour ago. The blood’s dry. The question is, where are the bodies?’
‘Perhaps most of them ran off when Ajax appeared.’
‘I hope so, sir.’ Rufus took his sword in hand again and looked round. The village was quiet, except for a loud drone of insects and then Cato realised that it came from a short distance ahead where a shoulder-high mud-brick wall had been built to hold the villagers’ livestock. He swallowed nervously as he made his way over to the pen and looked over the wall. The interior lay in gloomy shadows now that the sun was low on the horizon. Heaped inside the pen lay the bodies of the villagers. Old, young, men and women – none had been spared.
‘What did they do that for?’ asked Rufus as he joined Cato. ‘If they needed food then why not just take it and let these people live?’
‘Ajax is continuing to make his point,’ Cato replied grimly. ‘He wants the people of the province to know that we cannot protect them. Word of this will spread and the governor will be facing demands for soldiers to protect every village from Ajax and his renegades.’
Rufus thought a moment and shook his head. ‘I’m not so sure, sir. It doesn’t feel right. This place is too isolated to serve such a purpose.’
‘Then why?’
‘To keep them quiet. To stop them giving us any intelligence on the number of Ajax’s men, their condition, and the direction they took when they left the village.’
Cato reflected briefly and nodded. ‘He would do it for those reasons, sure enough.’
‘Sir!’ a voice called out and Cato and Rufus turned to see one of the legionaries beckoning to them from between two mule stables on the far side of the thoroughfare. ‘Over here!’
They hurried over between the stables where a handful of mules stood staring at their empty mangers, and emerged into an open, dung-covered space. The bodies of the advance party lay sprawled on the ground where they had been dragged and dumped.
‘Shit,’ Rufus muttered. ‘That explains it.’
Cato knelt down and examined the bodies more closely. ‘Arrow wounds. Looks like they were ambushed.’ As he spoke the words, he felt an icy fist clench round his heart. He looked up at Rufus sharply. ‘That’s why the villagers were killed.’
Before the centurion could respond, there was a warning shout from the street running the length of the village, then a faint whirring sound and a cry of pain. The two officers rushed back between the stables, shields up as they looked round. One man was down on the ground, propped up on an elbow as he stared at the shaft of an arrow protruding from his breast. Another was staggering around as he tried to grasp the arrow that had struck him in the back, smashing through his shoulder blade. More arrows whirred through the air and Cato saw another man struck in the sword arm, pinning it to his side.
He filled his lungs and bellowed. ‘AMBUSH! Shields up. Legionaries! On me!’
A
s Rufus and his men closed ranks and formed a slender ellipse of shields, Cato saw the enemy. Several figures had run out from cover and stood at the far end of the village, aiming their arrows at the Romans. Glancing back, Cato saw more men blocking the opening through which they had entered the village. Ajax had them caught in a crossfire. Cato saw at once that he and his men could easily cut their way out of the street at either end. Then he noticed more figures flitting between the huts on either side. A moment later a bright flame flared up from a house as the palm thatch was set on fire. More flames flickered into life, clearly illuminating the Romans caught between the buildings. There was a grunt as another man was hit in the shoulder, close to Cato, then a sharp thud and he felt the sting of a splinter on his neck as an arrow tip punched through his shield.
‘We have to get out of here!’ Rufus gestured back the way they had come.
‘No. We’ve got what we wanted, a chance to tackle Ajax.’ Cato thought quickly. ‘Take half the men and go back to the entrance of the village. Deal with the archers and then fight your way back along the village, clearing the houses.’
‘What about you, sir?’
‘I’ll take the rest and seize the other end.’ Before Rufus could oppose the division of the force, Cato nudged him with his shield and barked, ‘Go!’
‘Last three sections!’ Rufus bellowed above the sharp crackle of the flames. ‘On me!’
The centurion backed away carefully, picked up his men and the column split into two as the rear half edged towards the entrance, presenting a wall of shields to their enemy. Cato tightened the grip on his sword handle and called out to the remaining men, ‘Follow me.’
A score of men advanced with him, in close formation, into the steady hail of arrows from the end of the street. The shafts cracked against the shields but there was only one more casualty as they advanced towards the bowmen, an arrow smashing into the unprotected shin of a man on the left of the front rank. He stumbled to a halt and groaned as he squatted down behind his shield. One of his comrades moved to help him and Cato shouted.
‘Leave him! Stay in formation!’
They were no more than twenty paces from the bowmen now and the flames lit them up against the gathering gloom of the long grass and palms behind them.
‘Charge them!’ Cato yelled. ‘Charge!’
With a dry roar the legionaries burst into a run, keeping low, as they sheltered behind their heavy shields. Ahead of them the bowmen loosed off their final shots and turned to flee.
‘They’re running!’ a legionary shouted. ‘After ’em. Cut the bastards down!’
As the Romans surged forward, the archers turned and ran down the path. Then a movement to the side caught Cato’s attention and he glimpsed figures racing out from between the buildings on either side. More of Ajax’s men, armed with shields and spears. There was no time to shout a warning before the renegades burst out into the open and took the Roman force in both flanks. They let loose a wild cry as they attacked, thrusting their spears at the unprotected bodies of the legionaries. Three went down at once, skewered on the spear points and thrust across the width of the street under the impetus of the attackers’ savage charge. As the renegades burst in amongst them, the Romans turned to fight. There was no time to go into a balanced crouch and size up their opponents. It was a chaotic, frenzied skirmish in the fiery glare of the flames of the burning village.
A snarl close to his side made Cato whirl round and his shield deflected the spear thrust with a dull thud, and an instant later his assailant crashed bodily against Cato’s shield, sending him stumbling back, struggling to stay balanced and remain on his feet. Cato braced his boots apart and punched his sword round the side of the shield, and felt it strike home with a yielding tremor as a gasp burst from his assailant’s lips. Cato wrenched the blade back and went into a crouch as he looked round at the chaotic melee. His men, and those of Ajax, mingled in a blur of movement as the air rang with the metallic scrape of swords and the dull thuds of spear impacts on shields. Ajax’s spearmen had led the charge, and now his swordsmen joined in, well-built men – gladiators – trained for the deadliest combat of all in the arena. But here in the tight press of the village street, the training of legionary and gladiator found little opportunity for expression amid the desperate sword strokes, punches, kicks and head butts.
Cato parried a blow from his side, made a series of hacks at his opponent and then backed away towards the wall of one of the huts as he tried to spot Ajax. The lurid hue of the flames made it hard to tell one man from another and it was only the standard-issue kit of the legionaries that allowed each side to tell friend from foe.
‘Ajax!’ Cato yelled at the top of his voice. ‘Ajax! Face me! Fight me if you dare!’
He heard a laugh to his left and turned towards it, sword raised and ready to strike, but he could not make out the leader of the gladiators. Instead, a burly man in a light tunic and leather cuirass faced him. The man’s skin was dark, almost black, and his teeth gleamed as he clenched them and paced towards Cato with a heavy cavalry blade in one hand and a small round shield in the other.
‘If you want Ajax, Roman, then you’re going to have to kill me first,’ the man spat contemptuously and opened his arms to expose his chest and coax Cato into an attack.
‘If that’s what it takes,’ Cato replied coldly.
He feinted towards the man’s stomach, forcing him to protect himself. The gladiator was no fool, and blocked the blow with his buckler, before immediately striking back at Cato, aiming straight for his eyes. Instinctively Cato ducked his head and raised his shield, momentarily losing sight of his foe. A mistake, as he realised the moment reason retrieved control from instinct. The rim of the buckler snapped round the edge of his shield and with a roar the gladiator ripped it aside and thrust his blade at Cato’s chest. He stumbled back and came up hard against the rough wall behind him. The other man’s thrust came to the end of his reach and the point cut through Cato’s tunic and pierced the skin and muscle on his chest before being stopped by his ribs. The impact and sharp pain made Cato gasp.
‘Hah!’ The gladiator’s lips spread in a triumphant grin as he advanced a pace, drawing back his sword to strike again, this time a killing blow. As the sword flashed forward, catching a fiery gleam along its polished blade, Cato rolled to one side. He heard the soft crunch of the sword smashing into the mud bricks, and let the momentum of his roll carry him round before he swung his sword in a swift arc angled down so that it cut into the other man’s forearm, tearing up flesh and muscle to the bone. The gladiator’s teeth snapped shut in a grimace as he pulled his arm back and tried another thrust at Cato. This time the blow was weaker and easily deflected off the curve of the shield and Cato lunged at his opponent’s thigh, cutting into the powerful bunched muscles. The other man knew that it was too dangerous to risk continuing the fight, and he backed away, bleeding. Cato watched until he was at a safe distance, then risked another look round to gauge how his men were faring. Two were down on the ground close by, one still and the other screaming as he clutched the stump of his wrist. But the enemy had lost a man too and several were backing away from the fight, into the stark shadows between the buildings that had not yet caught fire.
‘They’re running!’ one of the legionaries shouted in triumph, and punched his sword into the air.
‘Shut your mouth and fight!’ Cato snapped, then stepped in amongst the men still engaged in combat. He saw a thin sinewy man with long lank hair standing over a legionary who had been beaten down on to his knees. Even as the renegade’s sword cut through the air, Cato thrust out his sword, blocking the blow with a sharp ring, and deflected it aside so that it grazed the legionary’s shoulder and caught in a fold of his tunic. As the gladiator tried to pull his blade free, Cato struck the man on the side with his shield, driving the breath from his lungs as he stumbled and fell to the ground. At once the legionary threw himself on the man, locking hands round his neck and crushing the windpipe under his thumbs.
‘Fall back!’ a voice cried from the end of the village. Cato recognised it at once and turned towards it.
‘Gladiators! Fall back!’
At once, the remaining renegades disengaged from their individual combats and backed warily out of range of the Roman swords. There was a brief lull as the legionaries stood and panted. The moment the last of the enemy withdrew between the buildings, there was another whirr of arrows in the fiery glow of the street. This time the archers were shooting from the shadows of the palm trees, almost invisible in the dusk. By contrast the legionaries were clearly visible in the glow of the flames. Two men were hit by the first volley, one in the leg, and another pierced through the neck.
‘Shields up!’ Cato ordered and his men resumed their earlier formation. ‘Keep your eyes on the flanks!’
He quickly looked back over his shoulder. Rufus and his men appeared to have cleared the far end of the village and chased the enemy bowmen away. For a fleeting moment Cato was tempted to attempt one more charge, to try and run Ajax and his men down, but in the gathering darkness he would quickly lose control of his soldiers and who knew what tricks Ajax had planned for them if the Romans charged after him into the shadows? He had already managed to fool them once with his alternate use of archers and a surprise charge. There was only one sensible course of action, Cato reflected bitterly. He must pull back and plan a fresh attack.
‘Fall back!’ he ordered. ‘Stay in formation and fall back, on me. One . . . two . . .’
The small knot of legionaries paced back, keeping time as the arrows continued to smack against the curved surface of their shields. Some ricocheted inside the formation, striking Cato’s men, but their energy was largely spent and they simply bruised the men through their tunics, or caused minor injuries. The wounded men had been gathered up and they clasped an arm around a comrade’s shoulder as they limped painfully along in the centre of the formation. Only the dead still lay in the street.
The small group of men steadily made their way back to the edge of the village. On either side fires blazed, hungrily consuming the dry palm roofs and then the wooden supports and meagre furnishings within. The heat was intense in places and Cato could feel it stinging his arms and neck as he and his men tramped past, the arrows lodged in their shields making the formation look like a giant burr. Gradually the enemy archers stopped shooting to conserve their ammunition and Cato’s men finally reached the safety of Rufus’s position at the entrance to the village. The wounded were helped to the rear, where their comrades dressed their wounds as best they could with linen salvaged from the houses that had escaped the fire. Cato’s wound was shallow and he hurriedly tied a band of material around his chest. Dusk gave way to night as Cato and Rufus squatted down in the shadows to consider their options.
‘We can’t attack frontally, right down the street,’ Cato decided. ‘We’d make perfect targets for their archers, and they can come up at us from the flanks as we charge.’