With a howl of bloodlust-charged madness he burst out of the front gates, charging straight for Colonel Rudd, who, utterly unintimidated, jumped up and calmly aimed his Magnum at the sprinting chimp – but at that moment a booming crack resounded across the jungle; a shot from Yamamoto’s massive .458 rifle.
The force of the shot not only stopped Hubble dead in his tracks, it pitched him off his feet and sent him tumbling over backwards, head over heels. Everyone fell silent, staring at the chimpanzee lying in a broken heap in the dust and rubble from the blown-apart door. With slow, agonised movements, Hubble struggled to his feet and picked up his machete with a trembling hand. An enormous hole had been ripped into his flak jacket and blood was streaming out of it, but he still managed to bellow out a weak roar, and with the last of his strength he tried again to charge Colonel Rudd. Once more, however, Yamamoto’s sniper rifle boomed its thunder across the length and breadth of the jungle valley, and this time when the shot hurled Hubble off of his feet he stayed down. His chest rose and fell in rapid, fluttery movements as shock started to kick in, and the machete slipped from his fingers as his strength began to drain as rapidly from his body as air from a punctured balloon.
Colonel Rudd stood and held his left hand up, signalling to everyone to hold their fire. He walked over to the chimpanzee, keeping his .44 trained on the creature’s head the whole time.
‘Well, well, well, look at this shit, just look at this shit,’ he said softly, half to himself and half to the animal as he approached it. ‘Never thought the day’d come where I’d be fighting battles ‘gainst a couple a’ zoo critters.’
He put his boot on the chimp’s chest and pressed down hard on the bullet wound, feeling a thrilling rush of sadistic pleasure as he saw the creature’s face twist with pain. The chimp growled at him, but was obviously too weak to do anything else; he tried to lift up one of his arms, but the appendage simply flopped weakly in the dirt.
‘You sumbitches put up a good fight,’ Rudd grudgingly admitted, staring with a blood-red mixture of fascination and hatred into the chimpanzee’s eyes, ‘but it’s over now. We done taken your city; we won. Every last one a’ you motherfuckers is dead. You’re the last one, ain’t ya? Ain’t ya, monkey boy?’
He twisted his boot and applied even more pressure, trying to inflict as much pain as he could. Hubble grimaced, his mouth twisted in agony, his bloodied teeth dark, looking as if they were coated in liquid rust.
‘It’s finished now, monkey,’ Rudd growled. ‘You lost, we won. Everything you just done was fir nothin’. How does that feel? How does it feel, huh?’
The chimpanzee looked up and locked a cold stare into Rudd’s eyes, and even as those deep brown eyes began to cloud over with the stillness of death, his lips curled not into a grimace of agony, but a smile … and the look was so unsettling that Rudd almost stumbled and fell, as if the creature had fired an unexpected dart into his throat.
For the look on the chimp’s face said not, ‘it is over’; no, instead it said, ‘it has only just begun’.
It was then that Colonel Rudd noticed something curious – the jungle around them, formerly so loud with life, seemed to have fallen utterly silent; even the omnipresent symphony of insect song had disappeared completely, leaving in its wake an eerie emptiness.
And that was when the ground itself began to groan and tremble … and then shake with terrifying violence beneath their feet.
PART EIGHTEEN
60
LUCIUS
August 73BC. Lucius Sertorius’s Villa, Neapolis
Lucius packed the last of his Greek amphoras into the wooden crate and then stuffed some cloth in to pad it and protect the valuable items therein. When that was done, he put on a lid and hammered it shut with restrained, controlled strokes so as not to crack any of the delicate pottery. After this, he set the hammer down and walked over to the window, where he stared in silence out at the vast blue expanse of the Mediterranean as it lapped ceaselessly at the feet of the phalanx of rocky cliffs that stretched off into the distance.
He stayed this way for a long time, just standing and thinking, reminiscing and revisiting times past. With an unexpectedly cutting pang of sadness, he wondered if he would ever see this sight again. As he stewed in this melancholy, a knock on his door caused him to jump with sudden fright. He turned and stared at the door with quickening breath, ever alert and prepared to fight off a Huntsmen attack. First, he loosened his gladius in its scabbard on his hip, and then with quiet, slow movements he picked up the loaded hunting crossbow he kept with him at all times and shouldered it, aiming it at the door.
‘Who’s there?’ he demanded.
‘An emissary from Batiatus,’ came the muffled reply.
‘All right. The door’s open, come in.’
The door creaked open, and a fresh-faced young man dressed in a plain white tunic stepped in. His eyes widened with fright as he caught sight of the crossbow aimed at his chest, and he raised his hands in a gesture of submission.
‘I mean you no, harm, master!’ he stammered. ‘Please, l-, lower the weapon!’
‘What’s in the satchel?’ Lucius asked, his tone dripping with suspicion as he kept the crossbow trained on the young man’s chest.
‘It’s a, a gift, a gift from Batiatus.’
‘Close the door behind you, put the satchel on the
