Nick Brown - The Imperial Banner

‘That’s him,’ said Simo as he returned with the mail-shirt. ‘That’s Scaurus.’

‘Quickly. Before they realise this was no accident.’

Indavara raised his hands and squatted down. Simo lifted the mail-shirt and lowered it on over his head. Indavara stuck his head through the collar, then shoved his arms into the sleeves. The shirt got stuck over his chest.

‘It’s very tight,’ Simo said as he heaved it down.

‘It’ll do.’

Indavara turned back to the river. ‘What about bodyguards? Any fighting men?’

‘I don’t know. There were some with him earlier.’

Indavara picked up the bow and an arrow. He moved out on to the path to give himself a clear shot and got down on one knee. He checked the flight of the arrow then slotted it against the string. Drawing it only halfway back, he aimed for a point close to the Radians ’ prow, a foot below the deck.

He fired; and hit exactly where he wanted to. One of the sailors was so surprised he stumbled backwards and fell over. The others looked up at the jetty, then the bank. Some of them saw him. Indavara wasn’t worried about that.

He already had the second bolt ready. He waited for the men to scurry back along the deck, then fired the second one into the mast. The sailor at the head of the group stopped. The others — Scaurus included — piled up beside him.

Indavara took the third arrow, aimed low, and fired straight into them, catching a man on the thigh. As he fell, some of the sailors ran back across the deck, jumped into the water and swam for the opposite bank. Others leapt off the bow into the barge and scrambled away. Left alone, the injured man decided he too would abandon ship, and rolled himself off the deck. Scaurus scuttled back towards the stern, head down as he ran.

Indavara turned to Simo and nodded down at the quiver. ‘Bring that.’

He walked down the path and on to the jetty.

Cassius’s fingers closed on the handle of the rope-spike. He was about to pull it towards him, when a booted foot landed on his wrist. He turned and stared up at the dark face and light eyes of the mercenary Alikar. He was holding his club by his side. Cassius could see notches on the handle. There were at least forty. Alikar screwed his boot into Cassius’s arm. Cassius let go.

The Palestinian reached down with his spare hand, grabbed Cassius by the hair and dragged him up, then towards the stern. Cassius’s boots slipped on the deck as he tried to stay on his feet. The mercenary deposited him in a corner by the deckhouse.

‘Stay.’

Indavara walked along the narrow siding of the barge until he came to the prow of the ship. The swiftest of the sailors had already made it to the reeds and were dragging themselves up the bank. He turned to Simo and handed him the bow.

‘You stay here. Any of them come back towards the ship — shoot them.’

Simo looked anxiously down at the weapon in his hand.

‘Will you do it?’ Indavara demanded. ‘I need you to watch my back.’

Simo nodded.

‘Then ready an arrow.’

Indavara reached up to the prow and hauled himself on to the galley.

Cassius watched the other three mercenaries hurry out of the hatch. When Scaurus reached them, he struck one across the shoulder.

‘Go! All of you! It’s just one man.’

Alikar said something to the others in their own tongue. They raised the clubs and started towards the bow.

Scaurus ran to the side rail and bellowed at the fleeing sailors. ‘Come back, you cowards! Come back!’ He spat into the water. ‘Whore-sons, every one!’

He turned round as Cassius got to his feet and looked to the bow.

‘Yes — your one-eared friend. But I fear he’s bitten off a little more than he can chew this time.’

Scaurus still had the narrow blade in his hand. Crouching, his face flushed, he advanced towards Cassius.

‘Now, where were we?’

When he saw the size and weaponry of the four men striding towards him, Indavara gave serious thought to running back to the barge and grabbing the bow from Simo. But they were ten yards away and closing fast; they’d be on him before he could string an arrow.

He looked despairingly down at the blade in his hand. The short sword was perhaps his favourite weapon but it would be virtually useless against the clubs. And as there was no chance of obtaining a long spear or a heavy shield in the next few moments, his options were limited.

The oldest of the club-men barked an order and they spread out across the width of the deck. Indavara stopped a few feet forward of the mast. Lying behind it was the yard — the forty foot length of timber from which the sail would hang. The sail itself was bundled up in a long, leather sack. The leader and two of his men were to the left of this obstacle, the other man to the right. This warrior was also fractionally ahead of the others.

Indavara didn’t like the idea of losing his main weapon but there was no time to hesitate. He took a couple of steps to the right, put both hands on the sword’s hilt, drew it back over his shoulder, and let fly.

Caught completely by surprise, the mercenary gazed down at the quivering sword now sticking out of his chest.

The other three were staring too; and not one of them had moved when Indavara sprang forward and plucked the club from the warrior’s hands. His face still frozen in shock, the mercenary pawed at the sword then toppled backwards. As he hit the deck, a glob of blood shot from his mouth and splattered his face.

Indavara left the sword where it was; fighting with a type of weapon he had handled perhaps only five times in his life was enough of a challenge.

The mercenaries still looked stunned. Then the older man gave a war-cry and they came around the mast at a run.

Indavara retreated past the fallen warrior. He couldn’t believe the weight of the weapon. Looking down at the head, he saw that a thick metal band had been affixed an inch below the top. He adjusted his grip on the sticky leather wrappings and raised the club.

The mercenaries slowed down.The first man was dead by the time they passed him. The younger two looked down at the body. The leader did not.

Indavara had already decided there was no point trying to take on the three of them at once. He withdrew as far as the end of the yard, then backed around it towards the other side of the ship.

With a word from the leader, the two younger warriors came after him. The older man retraced his steps and hurried around the mast so as to surround his prey.

With his back to the side rail, Indavara turned one way, then the other.

The mercenaries advanced.

Sunlight sparked off Scaurus’s blade. Cassius tried to shut out the noise of the slaves shouting down below and the sight of the sailors hauling themselves out of the river on the southern bank.

Scaurus darted forward, forcing Cassius back between the rear of the deckhouse and the stern. Though his hands were still tied, Cassius looked around for a weapon. To his left were the barrels that had been lashed to the deck but there was nothing else he could use.

Scaurus reached the corner of the deckhouse, cutting off the route along the right side of the ship.

Cassius was running out of space. He didn’t know how he would fare in a fast-flowing river with his hands bound, but — if it came to it — he’d have to go over the side.

Having split up the mercenaries, Indavara imagined they would expect him to go for the single man, but he could see how edgy the death of their comrade had made the younger warriors. Spike and Bolt — as he’d named them — were twenty feet away and spitting curses as they came closer, eyes bright with hate. Enraged men didn’t think. The leader’s movements were calm and measured. They had made the choice for him.