At this, Tamur raised a hand. The two ready to slay Felix halted, waiting on their spahbad’s word. ‘You have fought bravely, Roman.’ Tamur boomed at him from the edge of the arena, his face fixed in a dark scowl, his hands resting upon his hips, the dark smoke rippling his gold-threaded cloak. ‘But now it is over. Order the rest of your men to throw down their weapons and they will live. And I will permit you a swift death.’
Gallus looked across the arena, seeing the look of defiance in Felix’s eyes, the faint shake of the little Greek’s head. He looked back to Tamur and replied in a steady tone; ‘You will let them live? In the mines, maybe, aye. And I doubt you know how to administer a swift death. You forget I have had the pleasure of watching you and your master’s deeds in the months you kept me in that pit.’
‘Ramak was never my master!’ Tamur roared, shaking a clenched fist in the air, flecks of spittle clouding the air before him. The man’s eyes burned with indignation, then he flicked a finger down to the two men by Felix. With a flash of iron, the Median sword swept round and chopped through Felix’s neck, a dull clunk of iron biting into timber ringing out as the blade embedded deep in the wooden strut. The primus pilus’ head toppled to the ground and then his body slumped too. Gallus froze. The rapid drumming of his heart suddenly slowed to a steady, crashing thud that shook him to his extremities, his vision shuddering with every beat. He saw the two Medians before him close in for the kill, lowering their spear tips towards his throat.
He heard a guttural roar, barely realising it was his own. He felt his body convulse, his sword arm sweeping round where he lay. The spatha cleaved through the hamstrings of the nearest Median, who fell, thrashing in gouts of his own blood. The second Median halted, stunned, as Gallus rose, driving the blade up and under the man’s ribs. Gallus pulled the man close, growling as he watched the light dim in his foe’s eyes, then tore his blade clear. Nearby, Carbo, Quadratus and Zosimus fought with an equal fire, their faces torn in rage at the slaying of their comrade. They hacked the arm from one Median, then Carbo tore the throat from another. When another tried to run, Quadratus’ blade spun through the air, taking the warrior in the cheek, smashing the skull and sending the bearded jaw spinning away from the face along with a shower of teeth, bone shards and blood. The Median crashed forward like a speared boar.
Quadratus and Zosimus stalked towards the remaining two by Felix’s body. They backed away, looked to their spahbad, then turned and ran from the now deserted arena.
Tamur’s grin melted away at this. ‘You curs!’ he cried, pulling a dagger from his belt then hurling it after the fleeing Medians. The short blade punched into one man’s neck and the life was gone from him before he crashed to the ground.
Gallus’ gaze locked onto Tamur.
Tamur glanced all around the arena ‘Spearmen!’ he cried, looking to the tunnel under the kathisma. His words were answered only by an echo.
Gallus watched as the spahbad backed away, up the arena steps. ‘What’s wrong, Spahbad? Did you leave your hubris with your bodyguards?’ Gallus asked, hauling himself from the arena floor and up onto the timber seating, following Tamur. The spahbad’s eyes darted this way and that. Then, a drumming of feet landing on the top row of seats sounded. Tamur twisted to the noise.
Pavo and Sura stood there, hair tousled, skin smoke-blackened and bloodied, chests heaving.
‘Reinforcements?’ Quadratus cooed between snatched breaths as he hurried up to Gallus’ side.
‘Aye, Mithras is truly with us, it seems,’ Zosimus laughed coldly through gritted teeth.
Tamur could not disguise his outright panic now, and turned to flee back towards the kathisma. Quadratus made to follow, but Gallus shot out an arm to halt him. ‘Leave him – wherever he goes, there will be pushtigban, and lots of them.’
Pavo and Sura descended the wooden steps and saluted with trembling, smoke-stained arms.
‘The scroll?’ Gallus asked.
Pavo shook his head. ‘We have it. It is of no use.’
‘But Archimagus Ramak is dead,’ Sura offered, ‘and I am certain that is a good thing.’
Gallus snorted at this. ‘Was it swift?’ he muttered, thumbing the hilt of his spatha.
‘No,’ Sura replied.
‘Good,’ Gallus said, his ice-blue eyes glinting like a blade.
He looked to Pavo and saw a glassiness in his eyes. He realised the two were alone. ‘Optio, is there nobody else with you?’
Pavo shook his head in silence.
‘Then your Father . . . ’
‘He is gone, sir.’ Pavo said, turning his grave look upon Carbo.