Douglas Jackson - Saviour of Rome

A bearded giant in fish scale armour and a green tunic grinned down at him from the saddle. ‘Our commander ordered us to take you alive,’ he said in a guttural and heavily accented Latin. ‘But he did not say you should be undamaged.’ To reinforce his words he jabbed his spear point into Valerius’s thigh. Valerius cried out and hacked at the shaft with his sword. The wound did no serious damage, but he could feel the blood running down his leg. Another point jabbed into his buttock and he spun to face his laughing attacker. The Parthians could do this until he was bleeding from a dozen wounds and still keep him alive long enough to suffer the torment Claudius Harpocration planned for him. He forced despair from his mind. As long as he could hold his sword they wouldn’t take him alive. But the resolution lasted only as long as it took for the ash shaft of an enemy spear to smash down on his wrist. Valerius cried out with frustration as the sword fell from his numbed fingers. His tormentors only laughed all the louder and the ring of spears closed in.

‘What is happening here?’ The imperious demand came from a tall, mounted figure who appeared at the top of the bank, silhouetted against the sun. Valerius looked up and raised his wooden right hand to shade his eyes. The man cried out in astonishment. ‘Valerius? I thought you were dead.’

Valerius had to choke back an outburst of hysterical laughter. ‘I will be unless you can convince these snakes to draw in their fangs, Pliny.’

‘Release this man,’ Gaius Plinius Secundus snapped. The Parthians looked up in bewilderment at the imposing figure in a legate’s armour and scarlet cloak. More mounted figures appeared beside Pliny, the members of his personal guard. ‘Put up your spears,’ he repeated the command. ‘Or you will not live another heartbeat.’

The bearded giant rasped out an order and the ring of leaf-bladed points receded. Valerius scrambled through a gap in the iron and clawed his way up the bank to the governor’s side. From here he could see the legionaries continuing their steady march towards Tito’s Asturians, who stood in a disorganized huddle by the road. ‘Pliny,’ he said urgently. ‘You must withdraw your men. These are not your enemy. They are.’ He pointed to the Parthians on the dusty plain below, and beyond them the two cohorts of the Sixth.

‘I don’t understand,’ Pliny said. ‘Those are Roman soldiers.’

‘Melanius persuaded them to march on Tarraco. He was stealing the Emperor’s gold, Pliny. The proof is in the leather sack tied to the saddle of that horse. Melanius is dead and I doubt they’ll fight, but you must believe me …’ His voice failed him for a moment. ‘Mars save us. Serpentius!’ Only now did he notice that a single conflict still continued among the milling Parthians. Two horses wheeled and circled as their riders fought for position. ‘A mount, Pliny. A mount and a sword if you love me as a friend.’

Pliny responded instantly with an order and one of his escort jumped from the saddle and led his horse to where Valerius stood.

‘I will call off the attack.’ The governor handed Valerius his own sword. ‘Go to Serpentius and stop this bloodshed. Cassito?’ he called to the leader of the escort. ‘Take ten men and bring me whoever commands the Sixth, by force if necessary.’

Valerius galloped down the slope without waiting for the escort, snarling at any Parthians who blocked his way. A strange listlessness had overcome the bearded cavalrymen as they began to understand the significance of the newly arrived troops and they gave way without protest. Others formed a circle around the battle between the commander who had never lost a fight and the astonishingly swift enemy who had already brought him twice to the brink of defeat. A cry of agony pierced the air as Valerius broke through the Parthian ranks and his heart stopped as he saw Serpentius reel away clutching his stomach. Claudius Harpocration wheeled his horse, sword raised for the death blow. But Valerius’s gelding was cavalry-trained and didn’t break stride as he drove it chest to shoulder with the Parthian’s mount. The impact threw Harpocration clear of the saddle and he scrabbled in the dust to avoid his falling horse.

Valerius dismounted and advanced on his enemy as Harpocration struggled to his feet. A few Parthian spearmen moved to block his way until Cassito and the men of Pliny’s escort galloped up and snarled at them to stay clear. Harpocration was clearly suffering from the effects of the contest. His chest heaved beneath the heavy mail of his protective armour and the left arm of his tunic was soaked with blood where Serpentius had cut him at least once. But his eyes glittered with loathing and blood-rage. He moved confidently to meet Valerius’s approach.

Any man who wounded Serpentius was a warrior to fear, but Valerius felt the anger growing in him like lava ready to vent. His eyes never leaving his enemy he strode forward with his sword raised and his right side exposed. In battle, Serpentius had always acted as Valerius’s shield, or his strong right hand. Now that flank was an invitation to strike.

And Harpocration took it.

The Parthian commander lunged with the speed of a thunderbolt, the point of his sword like a dart aimed at Valerius’s unprotected chest. His victory cry rose in his throat, but it remained unfulfilled, because the air rang as Valerius swatted the blade away with a speed and a power that left Harpocration gaping. Before he could react Valerius hammered his wooden fist at the Parthian’s face. Harpocration ducked his head. It was all that saved him because Valerius had deployed the hidden blade and the point would have taken him in the right eye. Instead it was deflected by the iron dome of the Parthian’s helmet. Harpocration flailed blindly with the sword, forcing Valerius to step back and winning a moment to recover. But Valerius was back within a heartbeat, the sword in his left hand probing relentlessly at Harpocration’s flank and forcing him to parry awkwardly in a move he’d never trained for. Valerius could feel him slow as the strain of the fight with Serpentius continued to take its toll. Claudius Harpocration’s muscles were battle honed, but no man could fight for ever.

Harpocration cried out as Valerius’s edge added another cut to the one Serpentius had inflicted. Oddly, the shoulder wound seemed to galvanize the Parthian and for a few deadly seconds he hacked at Valerius with renewed strength. For the first time he noticed the blood that streaked Valerius’s legs and filled his sandals. A new confidence welled up inside him as he sensed his opponent weakening. Suddenly Valerius’s thrusts were less certain and Harpocration knew he had one chance to finish this quickly. He launched a whirlwind attack that tested first right, then left and as his opponent reeled, a final double-handed overhead cut that should have split Valerius from skull to chin. Instead, it met thin air.

Serpentius had taught Valerius that footwork was as important to a swordsman as the blade in his hand. Now Valerius put all the gruelling hours of practice into effect. He spun clear in a pirouette that positioned him for a savage backhand. If it had landed perfectly the blow would have taken the top off Harpocration’s skull as if it was an egg. The Parthian managed to sway out of killing range, but the point of the sword scored a bloody line across his eyes.

The Parthian reeled away shrieking as he realized he was blinded. He clawed at his face with his left hand, but he still had the presence of mind to retain his sword in the right. He staggered backwards sweeping the blade from side to side in a desperate bid to survive. Valerius disarmed him with an almost casual flick of the sword point and kicked him in the chest so he fell on his back. For a moment he stood over his enemy, breathing hard, staring down at the ruined features of the man who had planned to torture him to death.