Legionary(10)

‘Finish them!’ he roared.

Like swooping eagles, the century leapt down onto the pirate deck. They came together as one, nudging together, spears raised, shields interlocked. The pirates’ shock faded when they realised they had no option but to fight or die.

The leader drew his hook-ended falcata blade, then waved his men together. They presented a rabble of shields and blades. With a cry, they rushed the Roman square.

Pavo felt his whole body tremble with battle-rage as a roar tumbled from his lungs and mixed with those of his comrades. A clatter of iron on iron was accompanied by a ferocious jolt to his shield arm as the Cretan pirate charge battered the Roman square back.

‘Stay together! Cut to the throat, to the thigh, keep your shields high,’ Pavo cried out as he felt the legionaries either side of him struggle to stay on their feet. He lowered his shield just enough to see over it, and was greeted by the sight of a bald, sunburnt giant thrusting a curved blade at his face. Pavo jinked to one side, the blade singing past his ear, then jabbed his spear out, lancing the giant through the chest. The giant’s grimace suddenly vanished, and a look of confusion replaced it along with an eruption of black blood from his lips and nostrils. Pavo ripped his spear back from the man’s ribs, then slipped on something and crashed to the deck. He shuddered as he realised he had fallen in the spilled guts of one of his dead comrades, but when the legionary square pushed forward around him, he knew they were winning. He leapt up and barged forward to take his place in the front line again, drawing his spatha and hacking out at the rodent-faced brigand that lurched for him. The spatha blade cut through the man’s neck and brought with it a shower of blood. Pavo felt the hot gore splatter on his lips and grimaced at the familiar metallic stench.

‘Come on – let’s finish this,’ he heard Gallus urge them on. ‘These bastards have had their day, now let’s show them the road to Hades!’

With renewed vigour, the Roman square barged forward. Pirates fell in swathes and the shattered decks ran slick with blood.

‘Fight on, you dogs,’ the pirate captain roared, hacking at one of his men who fled from the fight, ‘our reinforcements are almost here.’

Pavo heard the ensuing pirate roar of approval and shot a glance out to sea. Indeed, the second liburnian was slicing towards them, a hundred or more eager crewmen perched around the edge of the vessel, eager to join and surely turn the fight. But, like a predator lunging from the waves, the prow of Centurion Quadratus’ trireme hammered into the side of the second liburnian. The smaller ship crumpled under the impact and the crew were cast into the waves.

The pirates before Pavo fell silent and blanched at this, some backing off only to be cut down by the legionary advance. The last few even took to leaping overboard, preferring to take their chances with the sharks instead of the blood-soaked Roman blades. At the last, only the pirate leader remained. He backed away, towards the stern, readying to leap into the water. But he glanced down there only to see the blacktip sharks gorging on the foolish pirates thrashing nearby. Dissuaded by this sight, he looked up to the panting, snarling, gore-streaked Roman century.

Gallus strode over to the captain and lifted his spatha to the man’s throat, his icy glare trained along the blade’s length. Pavo saw the pirate’s languid grin fade and his confidence waver. The man dropped his bloodstained falcata. The blade stabbed into the deck and quivered. He raised his hands either side in supplication.

‘There is no need for any more bloodshed,’ he said, unclipping a bulging leather purse from his belt. It was worn and bore a flaking image of a tawny gold lion. ‘The man who hired me promised me riches that could pay a whole legion for a year. This is but a downpayment.’ He held out the purse to Gallus, shaking it with a thick clunking of coins. ‘I will let you have this,’ he said, his eyes glinting. ‘You could retire, live the life of a senator or a noble with your family?’ he searched Gallus’ eyes. ‘Just put me ashore.’

Gallus glowered at the man, his knuckles whitening on the hilt of his spatha, the tip of the blade poking into the man’s skin. Pavo was sure he would swipe the pirate’s head from his shoulders. Then, when a droplet of blood trickled from the man’s neck, Gallus blinked, as if woken from some trance. ‘Centurion Zosimus . . . put this man ashore,’ Gallus said stonily, sheathing his spatha and turning from the man to stride to where the beneficiarius and his crew had established a gangplank between the two interlocked vessels

‘Sir?’ Zosimus frowned as Gallus swept past him. Then realisation dawned. ‘Ah, right, with pleasure, sir.’