Conn Iggulden - The Field Of Swords

Lock the door behind me when I’ve gone.”

Clodius’s men came in force in the dark, with torches to burn the shop to the ground. Teddus’s son clattered down the back stairs to shout a warning, and Brutus swore aloud. He had retrieved his silver armor from the last posting house by the city walls and now fastened the buckles and ties on the chestplate as he readied himself. He looked around at the motley group that had assembled by Tabbic’s forges. The jeweler had brought four young men back from the shops along the old road. They carried good blades, though Brutus doubted they could do much more than hack wildly with them. In the last hour before darkness had fallen, he had taught them the value of a repeated lunge and had them practice until their stiff muscles had loosened. Their eyes shone in the lamplight as they watched the silver-armored warrior stand before them.

“We’ll have to go out and meet them if they’ve come to burn. This place is wood-framed and we’d better have water buckets ready in case they get through. If there are enough of them, it could be… difficult.

Who’s coming?”

The four lads Tabbic had brought raised their new swords in response, and Tabbic nodded. Teddus raised his hand with them, but Brutus shook his head.

“Not you. One more won’t make a difference outside, but if they get past us, someone has to be here for Alexandria. I don’t want her alone.”

Brutus looked at her then and his face tightened with disapproval. She had refused to go with Tabbic’s wife and children, and now he feared for her.

“If they come, Teddus will hold them while you get to the back stairs, all right? His son will guide you down to the alleys and you may get clear. That’s if you are still staying? This is no place for you if they come in a mob. I’ve seen what can happen.”

His warning frightened her, but she raised her chin in defiance. “This shop is mine. I won’t run.”

Brutus glared at her, caught between admiration and anger. He tossed a small dagger at her and watched as she snatched it neatly from the air and checked the blade. Her skin was pale as milk in the gloom.

“If they come past us, you’ll have to,” he said gently. “I don’t want to be worrying about what they’ll do to you.”

Before she could reply, the shouting rose in the street outside and Brutus sighed. He drew his gladius and rolled his neck to loosen the muscles.

“Right then, lads. On your feet. Do what I tell you and you’ll have a memory to cherish. Panic and your mothers wear black. Is that clear?”

Tabbic chuckled and the other men nodded mutely, in awe of the silver general. Without waiting for them, Brutus strode across the echoing floor and flung the door open. Orange flickers reflected in the metal he wore as he went out.

Brutus swallowed dryly as he saw how many men had been sent to make an example of them. The approaching crowd staggered to a stop as he came out and stood before them, his five men forming a single rank at his sides. It was one thing to terrify shop owners in the backstreets, quite another to attack fully armed soldiers. Every man in the crowd recognized the silver armor Brutus wore, and their shouts and laughter died away to nothing. Brutus could hear the crackling of their torches as they watched him, their eyes catching the dim orange light and shining like those of a pack of dogs.

Renius had said once that one strong man could handle a mob, if he took the initiative and kept it. He had also admitted that the most successful bluff could be called when a crowd could hide behind their numbers. No man seriously expected to die when he was surrounded by his friends, and that confidence could lead to a rush against swords that no single one of them would have dared. Brutus hoped they had not been drinking. He took a deep breath.

“This is an unlawful assembly,” Brutus bellowed. “I am the general of the Third Gallica and I tell you to go back to your homes and families. I have bowmen on the roof. Do not shame yourselves attacking old men and women in this place.”

In that moment, he wished Julius were with him. Julius would have found the words to turn them back. No doubt they would have ended up carrying him through the streets and joining a new legion. The thought made Brutus smile despite the tension, and those who saw it hesitated. Some of them squinted up into the darkness, but could see nothing after the flare of the torches. In truth, there was nothing to see. If Brutus had been given another couple of days, he might have found a few good men to put up on the overhanging roof, but as it was, only Teddus’s son watched them and he was unarmed.

A sudden crash made every man jump or swear, and Brutus tensed to be rushed. He saw a tile had been dislodged from the roof, shattering amongst the crowd. No one had been injured, but Brutus saw more faces look up and saw them talk nervously amongst themselves. He wondered if it had been deliberate, or whether the young man would follow the tile shortly afterwards and thump down on the crowd like the clumsy sod he was.

“You should get out of our way!” a man shouted from back in the mass. A growl from the crowd agreed with him.

Brutus sneered. “I’m a soldier of Rome, whoreson!” he bellowed. “I didn’t run from the slaves. I didn’t run from the tribes in Gaul. What have you got that they didn’t have?”

The crowd lacked a leader, Brutus could see. They milled and shoved each other, but there was no one with the authority to force them onto the swords of the men in the road outside the shop.

“I’ll tell you this much,” Brutus called out. “You think you’re protected, lads? When Caesar returns from Gaul, he’ll find every one of the men who made threats against his friends. That is written in stone, lads. Every word of it. Some of you will be taking his pay already. They’ll have lists of names for him and where to find them. Be sure of it. He’ll go through you like a hot knife.”

In the darkness, it was difficult to be sure, but Brutus thought the crowd was thinning as those at the outskirts began to drift away. One of the torches was dropped by its bearer and picked up by another. No matter what hold Clodius had, Julius’s name had been read on every street corner for years and it worked as a talisman on those who could slip into the night, unseen.

In only a short time, Brutus was left facing no more than fifteen men, no doubt the original ones that Clodius had sent to burn them out. None of those could retreat without being dragged from their beds the following morning. Brutus could see their faces shining with sweat as they saw the numbers dwindle around them.

Brutus spoke gently to them, knowing their desperation could be pushed only so far.

“If I were you, lads. I’d get out of the city for a while. Ariminum is quiet enough and there’s always work on the docks for those who don’t mind a bit of sweat.”

The core of men looked back angrily, undecided. It was still too many for Brutus to think he had a chance to win if they attacked. Their blades caught the light of the torches and there was no hint of weakness in the hard expressions they turned to him. He glanced at the men at his side and saw their tension. Only Teddus seemed calm.

“Not a word, lads,” Brutus murmured. “Don’t set anything off now.”

With a snort of disgust, one of the torchbearers threw his brand down onto the street and stalked away.

Two more followed him and the others looked at each other in silent communication. In groups of twos and threes, they walked clear until there were only a few remaining in the street.

“If I were a vengeful man, I would be very tempted to cut you down, right now,” Brutus said to them.

“You can’t stand here all night.”