Nick Brown: The Black Stone

‘Yes, sir.’

As the rest of the legionaries arrived, Ursus tapped five on the shoulder in turn. ‘You’re with the guard officer.’

The men gathered around Agorix. Ursus gave the Gaul one last order. ‘Remember — mounts first. The other animals will panic and you might just block the way.’

Agorix led his squad down a grassy bank then across the road.

Ursus looked through the trees towards the tower. A dozen torches were visible now, bobbing along as the column advanced. The first riders were no more than a hundred yards away.

‘That everyone?’ he asked, turning back towards the remainder of the men.

‘Numonis fell, sir. Done his ankle.’

‘All right, listen. Agorix will strike the front. We head along the side of the column and go for the cart. If we stop it, they can’t take the rock with them. If they can’t take it, there’s no point fighting on. Hit fast, hit hard … and remember who we toasted tonight. Mars is with us.’

Though a couple nodded, most of the legionaries just stood there, trying to slow their breathing, probably fighting the urge to run. All in all, Ursus considered them a decent bunch, but there was a smattering of new recruits and some others whose only experience of fighting was mopping up Palmyran irregulars. He had little idea how they would do.

Apelles came forward. He was a bearded, brawny Thracian who had somehow managed to equip himself with both spear and shield. He offered the shield to his centurion. Ursus knew he’d have a few of his beloved throwing darts mounted close to the handle.

‘Here, sir.’

‘Thank you, Apelles. But you keep it.’

Ursus moved up to a position between two trees at the top of the bank. The noise of the horses rumbled along the paved road and he cursed as he saw that the rear of the column was still coming past the tower. Sixty? More like eighty.

Glad to see no trace of Agorix and his squad, he ordered Bradua and Maro forward. Maro was the only man wearing a cloak.

‘Take that off. We need it to hide the flames. Bradua, light the torch.’

The veteran opened the lantern shutter and carefully removed the candle. Maro held up his cloak, which was easily wide enough to prevent the light being seen from the road. Bradua crouched beside it and put the candle to the torch. The goatskin and oil took light easily and in moments the whole thing was aflame.

‘Draw swords.’

Ursus armed himself once more and peered around the closest tree. The lead trio were twenty yards away, sitting high in their saddles, the middle man carrying a lantern. The raiders were armed with swords and wore pale, long-sleeved tunics. A few were also equipped with mail and helmets, all of a rudimentary design. What he saw told Ursus absolutely nothing about who they were or where they came from. Presumably that was the idea.

He counted five more ranks of riders before he saw the cart. The vehicle seemed to fill the road and was drawn by four stout horses. All he could see in the rear was a dark shape.

‘Get ready.’

As the lead riders drew level with their position, Ursus grabbed the flaming torch from Maro and threw it into the road.

The raiders pulled up, one man already wrestling with his reins as his mount backed away from the flames.

‘Now!’

By the time Ursus reached the bottom of the bank, Agorix and his men were already on the road. The Gaul went straight for the middle horse and hacked his blade deep into the animal’s neck. As Ursus bolted along the side of the column, he glimpsed the mount rearing and the rider being thrown.

There was a strange moment of hesitation while the raiders struggled to react to what they were seeing. The second and third ranks did nothing more than watch Ursus run past them. The closest man in the fourth rank urged his horse out to block the Roman’s path but Ursus nipped up the bank and around him. He was then confronted by another horse and a spear-point coming at him.

The spear suddenly fell to the ground and the attacker slumped back in his saddle, a small metal object sticking out of his throat.

‘With you, sir!’

Apelles still hadn’t drawn his sword but already had another of the throwing darts ready. The driver of the cart was trying to control the horses and spied the Romans just before the second dart lodged itself in his chest. He dropped the reins and tried to pull it out.

Sitting to his left was a tall, broad man wearing a fine metal chest plate. The wounded driver turned to him for help but the man did no more than glance at the soldiers then drop down onto the other side of the road.

As Bradua and another legionary arrived, Ursus went for the lead horse on his side. With the column stationary, the beast had nowhere to go. Like the others, it was bucking against the reins, eyes rolling, mouth frothing. Ursus chopped four times into its throat. Chunks of flesh and hair and gouts of blood spilled noisily onto the stone. Mortally wounded, the horse fell to its knees.

As the animal stench filled his nose, Ursus looked back along the road. The rest of his men were just behind him. One was trying to pull a rider out of his saddle. Another was felled by some unseen strike.

As Ursus moved up to the cart, a spear clattered along the road, narrowly missing his feet. To his left, Apelles was flanked by Bradua and the other legionary, all three trading blows with the raiders. Ursus raised his blade, ready to cut the reins and disable the riding gear.

But he faced an unexpected danger. The driver had managed to pull the dart out of his chest and was now clutching a dagger.

As he flung himself off the bench, Ursus simply ducked. One of the driver’s boots caught his head but the rest of him crashed heavily onto the road. Ursus spun around, booted him in the side then drove his sword down into his unprotected heart. Pulling the blade free, he turned back towards the cart and peered at the closest wheel. It was as solid as any he’d seen, the wooden spokes two inches thick. His sword would barely scratch it.

He looked up at the stone; it had been covered by a sheet. While he was trying to think of another way to disable the vehicle, another spear struck its side. He checked to the right again. More of the raiders were off their horses and engaging the Romans. Only two of his men were left on their feet. They — and he — had only moments.

‘Centurion!’

Ursus turned back in time to see Bradua knocked to the ground, his head cracking against the road. His neck had almost been severed by a deep, dark wound. The other legionary was already down, lying next to the rear wheel of the cart.

Apelles fought on alone. As Ursus went to help him, the Thracian’s shield suddenly flew high into the air, landing several yards up the bank. Towering over him was the tall man from the cart; head now encased in an angular helmet — bronze like his armour. Apelles swept at his foe but the blade bounced off the chest plate. The riposte was so quick that Ursus didn’t even see the tall warrior’s weapon. Apelles staggered, then fell, hand clutching his chest.

Ursus snatched a last look down the road. The raiders were advancing, stepping over the bodies of his fallen men. As he turned back, he wondered about Agorix, though he knew he must be dead too. The odds never had been good but they’d fought well to a man.

As the warrior came forward, the raiders behind him stayed where they were. He was a foot taller than most of them, and in his hands was an immense double-bladed axe, the wooden handle reinforced with bands of metal. Ursus now saw that while the others were from the eastern provinces, the tall warrior had the face of a man from the northern part of the world. His eyes were pale, and the few tufts of hair poking out below the rim of the helmet were fair.