the energy to say anything else. He put his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it to reassure him. ‘Don’t talk, just listen. Soon, those two guards are going to go back into the city.’ He squeezed harder to cut off the question. ‘You saw me drinking with them. Before they leave, they’re bound to come and check on you. They may even want to break your legs so you can’t escape.’
Gadoric dropped his head, clearly exhausted as Aquila finished. ‘If they just come to look, they will live. If they fetch the hammer, I shall kill them both.’
He reached inside his sack and produced a fig, holding it up so that the parched and starving Celt could eat it. Gadoric sucked greedily, the juice running out of his mouth and down his chin.
‘Quietly.’ Aquila pressed his mouth close to the other man’s ear as the lips moved, the voice so soft that he had to repeat the words Gadoric said to be sure he had heard right. ‘The others?’ His hand squeezed the shoulder again. ‘When the guards have gone, friend, not before. I don’t want to kill unless I must.’
The fire had died down, though it still glowed enough to cast a circle of light. The two guards got to their feet and the tall one lifted his tunic and pissed against the feet of one of the crucified men, the stream of water playing up and down the broken legs. He was laughing all the time, making jokes that Aquila could not hear. The small fellow was tidying up their little camp and once he had finished they both picked up torches and started towards Gadoric and his companions.
‘That nosy young bastard had good wine,’ said the tall guard, loudly. Aquila froze, then slipped out his knife and jammed it in the ground in front of him as he saw the man swing the long-handled hammer onto his shoulder.
‘He wasn’t nosy, just curious. Never seen a crucifixion before, had he?’
‘Beats me how you can tell the difference. Did you notice that trinket he had around his neck?’
‘Much do you think it was worth?’
‘Enough to retire, mate.’
Aquila lifted Flaccus’s spear and waited, wondering if his suspicions were correct. Which one of the three prisoners would they try to immobilise first? He slipped further round behind the shepherd as they approached the one on Gadoric’s left. The tall guard lifted his head and let it go. It dropped lifelessly.
‘This one’s a goner already.’
The small guard pushed his torch forward and peered closely. ‘Makes no odds. Better safe than sorry.’
‘Right then,’ the tall one replied, lifting the hammer till the head was halfway down his back.
Aquila threw the spear and followed on behind, grabbing his knife as it left his hand. It took the tall guard in the chest and his hands let go of the hammer as he stared first at the spear, then at the figure hurtling towards him. He tried to lift a hand to warn his companion, also transfixed by the protruding spear. The little one began to turn, but Aquila was on him, spinning him back again. His hand went under the man’s chin and the knife slid easily through the soft tissue of the neck. The tall guard was still standing, swaying back and forth. He opened his mouth to yell or scream, but Aquila took his heels, causing him to fall heavily onto his back. The knife swung again, this time in a vicious arc.
Whatever sound he had intended to make died in his ruptured gullet and he expired a few moments later, as his blood pumped out through the gaping wound in his neck, draining into the hard earth by his glassy eyes. Aquila did not spare them a glance; he cut Gadoric’s bonds first, easing the man to the ground, then he opened the sack of food and spread it out before him. The shepherd sat, head still bowed, unable to move as Aquila ran to cut free the others. The slave whose legs the guards had been about to break was, indeed, dead; too much sun and no water had probably killed him. The other one yelled in pain as Aquila cut his bonds and the boy clapped his hand hard over his mouth, begging him in three languages to be silent. The Greek made sense and Aquila helped him over to the point where Gadoric sat, then went to the campfire to fetch the jar of water he had seen earlier. When he returned both men were rubbing their wrists, biting back the excruciating pain caused by the blood flowing back into their limbs. Gently he fed them, cupping water in his hands so that they could drink.
‘Do you think you can mount a horse?’ he asked Gadoric.
The question took the Celt by surprise. ‘You have a horse?’
Aquila smiled, his white teeth flashing in the pale light from the moon and the stars. ‘I have two. You eat and drink. I’ll go and get them.’
His voice took on a note of urgency, his finger pointing to the two dead guards. ‘We must go soon. Those two will be expected, so the guards at the city gate will wonder, when they don’t show, where they are. They might come out to investigate. Another thing, I can move myself without being seen or heard, but that won’t apply to horses. There’s no point in my trying to lead them over, so I will ride them. As soon as you hear the hooves, gather up the food, get to your feet and be ready to mount.’
Gadoric pushed himself onto his knee, then using the stake as support he got painfully and slowly to his feet. ‘Best to be sure we can stand up.’
Aquila helped the other slave up and half-carried him to the other stake, addressing him urgently in Greek, ordering him to remain upright. He gathered up the food himself, pushing the bread and fruit into the sack, then went to make a last check on Gadoric.
‘If anyone comes while I’m getting the horses, head off down the right hand side of the road.’
The shepherd just nodded slowly, then he lifted his head and smiled, hard to see in the darkness, but it was there and it cheered the boy. He ran back the way he came, stopping by the dark city gate to listen. The odd faint voice, but no sign of any discussion about the two men he had killed. Back at the copse he took the hobbling off the animals’ legs and, mounting his own, leading Flaccus’s horse, he set off at a trot. The sound of the hooves, on the hard earth, rang like huge drums in his ears. The voice he heard could have shouted for any number of reasons, but Aquila didn’t wait to find out; he kicked his horse into a canter, then a gallop.
More shouts erupted as he approached the line of stakes and crucifixes. The two injured slaves were still hanging onto their stakes so Aquila dismounted and led the horses to them. He grabbed the stranger and threw him up onto the animal’s back. The man, clearly no rider, could not mount properly so Aquila took the hobble rope and lashed it round his hands, ducked under the horse and tied the other end round the feet. Quickly he gathered the remaining food and lashed the sack to the saddle horn. The sound of shouting increased as the gates to the city opened. He made a grab for the reins, tied them to the saddle horn of his own horse, then led both animals over to Gadoric’s stake.
The voice was cracked again, full of despair. ‘I don’t think I can do it.’
The boy pushed him towards the horse, bent down and lifted his foot. The voices were loud now, getting close and sounding excited. The lack of reaction from the two guards must have alerted them to what had happened. Aquila heaved on Gadoric’s legs, throwing him up so the Celt fell forward across the withers. Aquila hauled his spear out of the dead guard and jumped up behind him, then kicked hard. The overloaded horse moved slowly. Too slowly! The soldiers from the city were running at them full tilt and the boy could see their uniforms now, as they caught the glim from the pale moonlight, and he also saw the tips of their spears, raised and ready to throw. He kicked the animal again and it started to trot. No time for sentiment, he spun the spear in his hand and jabbed it into the horse’s flank. The animal tried to rear but the weight of two riders held it down.
Aquila jabbed again, and with a terrified scream the horse took off. Their pursuers kept pace to start with, but once the horses got going, the gap opened up. The thud of spears as they hit the ground behind him was loud, but not as shrill as the cries of frustration until they faded away. It was only a breathing space; they would go back to the city and rouse out some cavalry, and Aquila knew they would be an easy target on the open plain. He hauled hard on his reins, aiming the horse over the fields of still-smouldering stubble, heading for the black line of hills that stood stark against the moonlit sky.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘No wonder father preferred life in the army,’ said Titus.
Cholon had just finished his list of the latest scandals to rock Rome, most of which concerned her illustrious senators. There were the usual cases of attempted seduction, blatant pederasty and financial chicanery, yet most alarming was the way that some, including the most senior, had tried to recover the presents given to them by the Parthians. Informed by the priests, this had led to a thundering denunciation in the Forum from Lucius Falerius
