Nick Brown - The Emperor's silver

Cassius spied a rush of movement to his right – the mob was running for the bridge. The first of them would be there in moments.

Still keeping the shield up as best he could, he turned. The first pair of soldiers were approaching a set of steps that led up out of the water between two dwellings.

Cassius had just altered course to follow them when something struck his head. He dipped under, swallowed more water. For a moment he felt as if the weight of all his gear would keep him there but he still had hold of the shield. He came back up spluttering, and saw a knot of wood floating right in front of him. Kicking hard to stay afloat he touched his head where the pain was; there was only a little blood on his fingers.

‘Come on, sir!’ The quickest legionary had dragged himself up on to the steps and was helping the second man out.

The mail shirt suddenly seemed double the weight and Cassius thanked Jupiter that he’d thought to grab the shield. With no more missiles coming his way, he was now using it as a float pushed out in front of him.

As he caught up with Kallikres and the other two, he glanced again at the bridge. Dozens of the protesters were already across and bolting down the other side, weapons bobbing in the air.

‘Legionary, find us somewhere to go.’

The standing soldier wiped his soaking hair from his face and ran.

Cassius pulled himself over some weed-covered rope attached to an iron ring and got his feet on the steps. He let go of the shield and stood there panting, half out of the water, waiting for the injured man to be pulled clear.

‘Sir, they’re coming!’ shouted someone.

‘Inside! Anywhere.’

Cassius was last up the steps. The soldiers and Kallikres ran forward along an alley between two houses then funnelled through a narrow doorway into the dwelling on the right. The first of the protesters leaped over a low wall and charged straight towards Cassius as he threw himself through the doorway.

Sword clanking against the wall, he found himself in a cramped, dark kitchen. Crouching in a corner was a woman with two children cowering behind her. She was yelling something in Aramaic.

‘Sir, here!’

Cassius followed the others up a set of stairs which turned ninety degrees halfway up. The soldiers piled straight through into the largest of two rooms. Cassius missed the last step and cracked his left knee on the floor. With no time even to curse, he reached the doorway and snatched a backwards glance.

The man previously armed with the pitchfork was first into view. He had replaced his larger weapon with a dagger and as he scrambled up the steps, Cassius took the opportunity to dispense some non-lethal force. He rushed forward and swung a kick at him. His boot struck the Syrian’s chin with a bony crack, sending him flying backwards. He landed on the man coming up behind him and the pair of them tumbled downward.

As Cassius ran into the room, the injured man was being lowered to the floor. There was no door, only a curtain, which the legionaries had torn clean off as they came through. The room’s only contents were a bed, a set of drawers and four small cages.

Cassius pointed at the doorway. ‘Block it. Kallikres, help me here.’

He and the sergeant grabbed the bed. They waited for the soldiers to heave the drawers into place then dumped the bed on top. Cassius moved to the rear of the room and looked out of the window. Several armed men were staring up at him and yelling. Others were flying past straight into the alley and he could hear what sounded like dozens of boots pounding up the stairs.

Something – or more likely someone – smashed into the bed, knocking it several inches in the air. But there was a legionary on either side, holding it in place. A stave punched a hole in one of the planks, then a second blow sent the plank flying.

The timber hit the wall next to Cassius. He saw the press of bodies through the gap in the bed. And a broad-bladed dagger. And a curved sword.

He looked around. The injured legionary was slumped in a corner, hand holding the bloodied handkerchief against his neck, gazing at the door. Kallikres was leaning back against the wall, face twitching.

The legionary whom Cassius had struck was standing beside him, hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword once more. ‘Now, sir?’

Hearing a strange noise, Cassius glanced over at the four cages in another corner. They contained dozens of dormice, probably bred to sell as food. As the clamour outside grew, the squeaking rodents scrabbled around, claws scraping the cage.

Cassius looked up. The roof of the dwelling was flat; dried mud brick like the rest of it. With a little time they might have cut through. But they didn’t have any time.

Another plank went flying and the drawers were shoved back.

‘Sir?’ yelled one of the men at the door.

Cassius did not know what else he could have done. ‘We kill one of them, the others will kill us all.’

The legionary drew his blade anyway. ‘Sorry, sir. Decimus, Laenas – they’ll get through. We’re better off standing together here.’

The others let go of the bed, took out their swords and stood beside him.

With unblinking eyes, Kallikres stepped forward and slipped his dagger from its sheath.

Cassius saw the dead guard in Arabia, lying on that outhouse floor. The man he had killed.

If he wanted to live he would have to kill again. But these were not enemies of Rome. These were citizens.

He knew what Indavara would say. He gripped the handle and drew his sword. ‘Hit the first ones hard. We might just make the others think twice.’

The bed came flying off the drawers and landed in front of them. There were two men in the doorway, one armed with a club, one with a sword. They were being pushed against the drawers, a mass of faces behind them.

‘Hold there!’ yelled the largest of the pair over his shoulder. ‘Do you want us to fall?’

The others stopped pushing.

‘Send up the lances.’ The big man’s tunic was wet through with sweat. Around his neck was a large, cheap amulet of yellow glass.

‘You,’ said Cassius. ‘We can still stop this.’

The big man stared at him with pale, lifeless eyes and thumped his club into his hand.

One of the soldiers stepped forward. ‘Vonones, it’s me – Cita.’ He smiled. ‘I went to your wedding.’

The Syrian eyed him for a moment, then spoke over his shoulder. ‘The lances – now!’

The men behind him parted.

‘Get a bloody move on!’

One of the others tapped Vonones on the shoulder. He turned and watched a tall figure push through the crowd. They had all gone quiet.

Diadromes was panting, chest heaving up and down. He looked into the room, then spoke to Vonones.

‘There has been enough killing today. I have been riding across the city talking to all that will listen – I intend to stand for election and replace Pomponianus as magistrate. My first act will be to remove Nemetorius, my second will be to punish all those who have killed without reason; soldiers and citizens. The list is already far too long. I have no wish to add to it.’

‘You have not done enough,’ said Vonones.

‘Maybe,’ replied Diadromes, eyes locked on the big man. ‘But I’m doing something now.’

Vonones glanced around at the others, then slowly lowered his club.

The legionaries muttered curses. Kallikres thanked the gods.

Cassius dropped to his knees, the sword clattering to the floor beside him.

‘You must be tired.’

Cassius didn’t even have the energy to give Indavara an answer. He was sitting in the kitchen of the dwelling, sipping from a mug of water. Piled up next to him were his sword, satchel, undershirt and mail shirt. Kallikres and the legionaries also had no wish to go outside; the protesters had left the building but there were still dozens gathered in the street. Simo was crouching over the injured legionary, examining his wounds.