The Emperor Series Books 1-4. Conn Iggulden
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waited in a quietly murmuring group.
‘What can we do?’ asked a slave girl. He recognised her as the one he had whipped so many months ago, for distracting the boys in their training. Her name was Alexandria, it came back to him. While the others shrank from his gaze, as befitted the rank of slaves of the house, she held his eyes and waited for his answer.
‘Fetch some knives. If anyone gets past the wall, you must fall on them and keep stabbing until they are dead.’
A gasp came from a couple of the older women, and one looked a little sick.
‘Do you want to be raped and killed? Gods, woman, I am not asking you to stand on the wall, just to protect our backs. There are too few men to bring some down to protect you as well!’ He had no patience with their softness. Good for bed, but when you had to depend on one … Gods!
Alexandria nodded. ‘Knives. The spare wood axe is in the stable, unless someone has it. Go and search for some, Susanna. Quickly now.’
A matronly type, still looking pale, trotted off on the errand.
‘Can we carry water, arrows? Fire? Is there anything else we can do?’
‘Nothing,’ Renius snapped, losing patience. ‘Just make sure you kill anyone that lands in the yard. Put a knife in their throat before they can regain their feet. It's a ten-foot fall, there'll be a moment of weakness when you must strike.’
‘We won't let you down, sir,’ Alexandria replied.
He held her gaze for a second longer, noting the flash of hate that broke through the calm demeanour. He seemed to have more enemies in this place than outside the walls!
‘See you don't,’ he said curtly and turned on his heel.
The cook had returned with a large metal plate strapped to his chest. His enthusiasm was embarrassing, but Renius clapped him on the shoulder as he went to join the others.
Tubruk was standing with Cabera, holding a strung bow in his large hands.
‘Old Lucius is a fine shot with a bow, but he's in the kitchens setting up for the wounded,’ he said, his face grim.
‘Get him out here. He can climb down later, when he's done the job,’ Renius replied, without looking at him. He was scanning the walls, noting the positions, looking for failing nerves. They couldn't hold against a proper attack, so he prayed to his household god that the slaves outside couldn't mount one.
‘Will the slaves have bows?’ he asked Tubruk.
‘One or two small ones for hares, perhaps. There's not a decent bow on the estate except for this – and Cabera's.’
‘Good. Otherwise, they could pick us all off. We'll have to light the torches in the yard soon, to give them light to kill by. It will silhouette the men, but they can't fight in the dark, not this lot.’
‘They may surprise you, Renius. Your name has a lot of power still. Remember the crowds at the games? Every man here will have a story for all the generations of his family to come, if he survives.’
Renius snorted. ‘You'd better get to the wall, there's a space on the far side.’
Tubruk shook his head. ‘The others have accepted you as leader, I know. Even Julius will listen to you once his temper calms down. I will stay by Marcus, to protect him. With your permission?’
Renius stared at him. Would nothing work properly? Fat cooks, girls with knives, arrogant children? And now his orders were to be ignored just before a fight? His right fist lifted in a smashing uppercut that seemed to lift Tubruk up and backwards. He hit the dust unmoving and Renius ignored him, turning to Cabera.
‘When he awakes, tell him the boy can look after himself. I know. Tell him to take his place or I will kill him.’
Cabera smiled, his eyes wide, but the old man's face was like winter. In the distance, there was a sudden clamour of metal beating on metal. Sound rose in a wave and chants filled the black night. The torches were lit just as the first few slaves reached the estate wall. Behind them were hundreds from Rome, burning everything in their path.
It very nearly ended before it had begun. As Renius had thought, the wild-looking slaves that streamed up to the estate walls had little idea of how to overcome armed defenders and milled around, shouting and screaming. Although it was a perfect opportunity for bowmen, Renius had shaken his head at Cabera and Lucius, who watched with arrows ready and cold eyes. There was still a chance the slaves would look for easier targets, and a few arrows might fan their rage into white-hot desperation.
‘Open the gates!’ someone shouted from the mass of torchbearers. In the flickering light, it could have been a festival if it were not for the brutal expressions of the attackers. Renius watched them, weighing options. More and more came from the rear. Clearly there were already more than a small estate could support. Rogue slaves from Rome swelled the ranks with nothing to lose, bringing hate and violence where reason might have won the day. Those at the front were pushed forward and Renius raised his arm, ready to have his two lonely archers send the first shafts into the crowd. They could hardly miss at this range.
A man stepped forward. He was heavily muscled and sported a thick black beard that made him look like a barbarian. Probably, only days previously, he had been meekly carrying rocks in a quarry, or training horses for some indulgent master. Now his chest was splashed with someone else's blood and his face was a sneer of hate, his eyes glimmering in the flames of his torch.
‘You on the walls. You are slaves like us. Kill those who call themselves your betters. Kill them all and we will welcome you as friends.’
Renius dropped his arm and Cabera put a feathered shaft through the man's throat.
In the moment of silence, Renius roared at the crowd of slaves: ‘That is what you will get from me. I am Renius and you will not pass here. Go home and wait for justice!’
‘Justice like that?’ came a scream of rage. Another man ran to the walls and jumped for the high ledge. The moment had arrived and suddenly the crowd howled and came forward in a rush.
Few had swords. Most were armed, like the defenders, with whatever they could find. Some had no weapons except their frenzied rage and Renius dispatched the first of these with a slick blow to his neck, ignoring the quivering fingers that scrabbled at his breastplate. All along the line, screams rose above the crash of metal on metal and metal into flesh. Renius could see Cabera drop his bow and raise a wicked-looking short knife, with which he stabbed and leapt away, letting the bodies fall back on their fellows. The old man stamped on fingers that gained easier and easier holds on the wall as the bodies of the dead served as props for new attackers.
Renius grew slightly light-headed and knew his shoulder had torn again, feeling the sudden warmth from the bandages accompanied by a blistering pain. He set his teeth against it and slammed his gladius into a man's stomach, almost losing the weapon in the slimy grip of his guts as he toppled backwards. Another took his place and another and Renius could not see an end to them. He took a blow from a length of timber that left him dazed for a second. He staggered back, reeling, trying to find the energy to lift the sword to meet the next one. His muscles ached and the exhaustion he had felt fighting Marcus came back to hit him once again.
‘I am too old for this,’ he muttered, spitting blood over his chin. There was a movement to his left and he swung to meet it, too slowly. It was Marcus, grinning at him. He was covered in blood and looked like a demon from the ancient myths.
‘I am a little worried about the speed of my low guard. I wonder if you could observe it for me? Let me know where the trouble is?’
As he spoke, he shoulder-barged a man as he tried to straighten. The man fell badly, toppling backwards onto his head with a yell.
‘I told you