Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

Those signs of dispute, however, materialized immediately upon our arrival at the junction of the cross-streets, just as we turned left but before our group had any opportunity to split: a hail of arrows poured down on us from attackers concealed on the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. Fortunately for all of us, our assailants were so jumpy, and so intent on remaining safely hidden, that none of those first missiles found a target. Before they could launch another volley, we had swung our mounts around again and were spurring them back out of the junction, swinging left once more, headed now directly away from the waterfront and the dangers it contained. I cursed the narrowness of the streets, because for several moments there was utter confusion as ten horses tried to enter a space that would permit no more than three abreast. From my position at the rear, time seemed to slow down as I waited for the first arrows to strike among the massed bodies struggling to pass through the small entrance. But suddenly they were through and I was the only one remaining in the open junction. I put my spurs to Germanicus and followed them.

Donuil and Dedalus were directly ahead of me, both of them reining in to wait for me. I waved them on and crouched down in my saddle, feeling my horse's stride lengthen as he settled into a flat run, and I quickly caught up to them. As I approached, angling my mount into the space between them, I could see that they had fallen about twenty lengths behind the others. The air thundered with the clatter of iron shoes on cobblestones. And then suddenly, with absolutely no warning, a man leapt out into the road from a doorway ahead of us, swinging some kind of enormous axe. It took Donuil's horse from beneath, in the outstretched neck, and killed it instantly. I had almost drawn level with them, my horse's head between the rumps of theirs, and the attack had occurred and was over before I could react. I had a blurred image of Donuil's horse crashing to the ground in a spray of blood, of Donuil himself flying over its head, and of the killer whirling nimbly away, back into the safety of the doorway from which he had sprung.

I swung my own mount around, hard, whirling my sword backhanded and uselessly at the killer, and then I was falling, too, my horse rearing and screaming as his hooves trampled his downed companion, kicking wildly in its death throes beneath him. I kicked my feet free of the stirrups and landed on my hands and knees beside the chaos of their thrashing bodies, smashing the fingers of my right hand between the cobblestones and the hilt of my sword. Above me, the killer sprang out again, his blood-covered axe upraised to cleave me. I let go of my shield and threw myself sideways to my left, scrambling with the speed of desperation to remain clear of the horses, and landed against the opposite side of the doorway that had hidden my attacker, just as his axe struck sparks from the stones of the road beside me. Then, scarcely aware of what I was doing, I braced my left arm against the frame of the doorway and launched myself at him, my body fully extended, stabbing my long-bladed sword like a spear into the softness beneath his rib cage. I felt no impact as my blade took him, but saw his eyes widen in surprise, then he released his axe handle and clutched at my blade with both hands. I jerked it free, slicing through his hands as I rose to my knees, and saw another man rushing at me from the passageway behind him. Before the newcomer could reach me, I was on my feet again, waiting for him. I brushed aside the short spear he thrust at me and killed him with a single, two-handed chop to the join of his neck and shoulder. Neither man had worn armour.

And now I became aware of Dedalus shouting my name, his voice shrill with urgency, and telling me to mount up, mount up, for the love of Christ! I spun towards the sound of his voice, my body still tingling with the fever of combat. Germanicus stood close by, his eyes rolling, and beyond him I saw Ded, leaning from his saddle, supporting Donuil, who was shaking his head groggily, blinking furiously to clear his vision. To my left, the way we had come, the street was filled with running men, still distant, but coming rapidly. There were far too many to fight. I snatched up my shield again and ran to my horse, jamming my foot into a stirrup and swinging myself up into the saddle.

"Come on!" Ded was shouting. "Grab his other arm and we'll carry him!" My hands were full. I jammed my left arm completely through the larger sling at the back of my shield, forcing the thing up my arm towards my shoulder until it would go no farther and hung there, anchored and offering some unforeseen protection to the back of Donuil's head. Then, my hand free, I leaned down and grasped Donuil by the upper arm, grateful for his height, if not for the weight of him, holding both the reins and my sword in my right hand.

"I have him! Let's go." We spurred our mounts and began to move, supporting Donuil's dead weight between us. As our horses began to gather speed, however, he regained awareness and began to run between us, unsteadily at first, but strengthening rapidly, so that by the time our speed had increased to a gallop, he had taken hold of each of our saddle cinches and was leaping along between us, bearing his own weight and pushing himself off the ground with one foot at a time in huge, distance-burning strides. One arrow hissed at us, clanging off Ded's metal-covered shoulder, and then we were safe, our pursuers left far behind us. On the outskirts of the warehouse area, where the thoroughfares broadened out, we met the others starting back, somewhat belatedly, to rescue us.

The aftereffects took hold of me a short time later, covering me in icy gooseflesh and rattling me with shivers as we rode quietly and sedately through the outlying area of the town, in the direction of the hilltop where we had left the boys and our extra horses. There had been little talk of who and what we had encountered. Time enough for that later, when each man had had time to absorb the fact that he was safe and whole. Now we rode each in his separate silence, reliving those few, terror-filled moments. We had been defeated and repelled by a force we had not even identified; driven off almost casually. I told myself that we had been heavily outnumbered and that there was little else I could have done. Then I remembered Rufio's warning with perfect and humiliating clarity, and there was nothing I could invoke to excuse myself for my arrogance in ignoring it. Since mine was the biggest horse among our group, and Donuil's the largest body, he rode now behind me, his arms loosely encircling my waist. Like me, he had not spoken since we met the others. Now I felt him stir and his voice spoke into my ear.

"Stone," he said.

"What? Stone?"

"Aye, marble. Isn't that what you call that smooth, shiny stuff? That's what they were taking on those cargo boats. Marble stone. I saw some broken pieces in the empty one, but I only now realized what it was. They were small, all broken, but one surface of almost every piece was smooth and shiny, polished. Some green, some white, and one reddish piece. Why would they take stone?"

His words suddenly came together in my mind, and I remembered something I had noticed earlier, on our way into Glevum; something that had been anomalous, yet insignificant at the time.

I looked around me, knowing what I was looking for now, and called to the others to halt. On a slight rise, just a little to the right of where we now sat, were the ruins of what had once been a temple. Its pillars gleamed softly in the afternoon light. I told the others to wait for me and kicked my horse forward. Donuil remained silent until I reined in and dismounted, freeing my feet and swinging my right leg forward over the horn of my saddle before slipping to the ground without disturbing him. I heard him dismount behind me as I walked forward to the temple steps. We climbed them together and stood staring in silence at the scene before us. The floor of the temple seemed artificially smooth and bare in places, gouged and rough in others, and scattered here and there with the broken remains of several of the square, black and white marble tiles that had covered it. The walls were bare, too, and it was equally evident that they, too, had once been covered with marble; entire sheets of polished, pale green marble; once again, the broken evidence remained. The facade, too, had been stripped of decorative panels in several places and the portico formerly supported by the marble Doric pillars was gone without a trace. Two pillars only remained, and they looked structurally sound in their smooth, unblemished whiteness, almost new. Four had disappeared.