‘Prisoners,’ the decurion roared. ‘We need prisoners.’
Marcus and Serpentius had watched Heracles die. Now they fought for their lives as the Praetorians reached the top of the stair. The attackers outnumbered them six to one, but Marcus had won his freedom with the speed of his sword. The men who faced him were astonished by the whirlwind of glistening iron that met them and two wounded in the first few seconds taught them to respect the lightning blade.
Serpentius fought with a cold smile and matched his opponents cut for cut. The swiftness of his strike had earned him his name and now he lived up to it, keeping the Praetorians at bay as they vied for the opportunity to kill him. With a twist of his wrist he sent one of the long spatha swords spinning from its owner’s hand. The blade dropped by the door of the bedroom where the terrified Christians watched the fight with wide-eyed horror. Serpentius heard a shout and when he looked up Isaac had picked up the sword and was running at the Praetorians surrounding him.
Two of the Spaniard’s opponents turned away to meet the new threat and now he was able to take the fight to the startled cavalrymen. He laughed as one of the men reeled backwards holding his arm, but a quick glance towards Marcus told him the older man was tiring at last. The veteran gladiator was forced back to the door of the bedroom along with Isaac. Serpentius allowed himself to be pushed back alongside them.
A high-pitched scream told them that Isaac’s brave fight had run its course. In a daze, Lucius walked forward to take his place and his hand closed over the wooden hilt of the fallen sword.
XLIV
Valerius ran through the corridors with his right arm a throbbing mass of pain. Blood wept from beneath the leather socket, but he couldn’t be certain how serious the wound was. If he had the opportunity he would stop and tighten the laces and hopefully slow the flow, but that didn’t seem likely. The curtained doorways of the house passed in a blur and he heard shouting and the sounds of running feet as Rodan and the two unwounded Praetorians pursued him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to fool the cavalrymen twice. This time they’d take their time and work him into a position where Rodan could kill him at his leisure. Rodan would enjoy that. His only hope was to lead them as far from Poppaea as he could. He thought of his father and Olivia but there was nothing he could do for them now except put his trust in Marcus, Serpentius and Heracles.
He found himself back beside the indoor pond and noticed indifferently that the dancing fish were now belly up on the surface, their vibrant colours dulled by death. His racing mind told him this was some kind of omen; if he didn’t lose his pursuers in the next few minutes his future was just as bleak. He turned left into a walled garden surrounded by marble pillars. Among the flowers and herbs stood a polished bronze statuette of a wild boar cornered by dogs that gave him a queasy feeling of fellowship. For a fleeting moment he considered hiding among the flower beds, but the cover was too thin and he would rather go down fighting than be dragged skulking from behind an oleander bush and butchered among the roses.
The next turn found him back at the swimming pool.
He ran along the marble tiles past the sitting rooms for Poppaea’s guests. The waterfall was in sight and he knew precisely where he would cross the wall when he climbed the slope. The only question was whether he could reach the trees before Rodan and his men arrived. Two more cavalrymen appeared from nowhere in front of him. No time for hesitation. Swerving to the right between two marble pillars he hit the water in a shallow dive that took him halfway across the pool and launched into the overarm stroke he had been taught as a child. The sword hindered his technique and his tunic slowed him further, but he knew that the Praetorians in their chain armour were unlikely to chance the water.
He hauled himself out on the far side and turned for the slope. Only then did he realize how close to exhaustion he was. As he hit the incline his pace slowed and each step became agony. He would never reach the trees in time.
Desperately, he turned to face his pursuers. There were four of them now, with Rodan just coming into view from the main villa. He searched for some weakness or alternative escape route, but there was none. Out here in the open any one of the spathas outreached the gladius. They would surround him, one or two of them would attack, and while he was occupied the others would chop him to pieces.
But he was Gaius Valerius Verrens, Hero of Rome, and he would not die like some tethered lamb. He thought of Ruth and Fabia, and with a roar of defiance he charged the five men, pre-empting their attack and praying for the chance to take Rodan with him. The first Praetorian caught his attack on the long blade of his sword, but with a twist of his gladius Valerius raked the man’s wrist and he let out a howl of pain. As he turned, he knew the other swords were coming for him, but the battle madness was upon him and nothing mattered but to kill. Blood for blood. Let the god of battle decide. He spun, sweeping another sword aside, but the flat of a blade caught him on the side of the head and he went down hard.
With the strength of despair he twisted and tried to get to his feet, lashing with his sword until a boot stamped on his back and he felt iron at his throat. ‘Don’t kill him yet!’ The shout came from Rodan, but Valerius took no hope from it. Three cavalrymen dragged him back to where the Praetorian stood among the marble columns. Smiling, Rodan pulled a dagger from his belt.
‘Maybe I’ll let you live after all. It will be a pleasure to watch you and the old man burn, and the girl of course. But first,’ he raised the dagger so Valerius could see the gleaming point, ‘I’m going to take your eyes.’
The earthquake had its origins in the convergence of the African and Eurasian tectonic plates. As the two giants met, the larger forced the smaller towards the earth’s core where it had recently become stuck many miles below the surface of the planet’s crust in the area just south of Neapolis. For weeks, elemental forces had been at work as the power of billions of tons of remorselessly shifting rock — the motion of an entire continent — built up behind the stoppage. Now, a single sudden movement broke the deadlock. This massive bolt of energy pulsed outwards in a series of enormous shockwaves. Much of the force would be dissipated in the mass of the planet, but for those inhabiting the crust above the epicentre of the quake, it would seem like the end of the world.
Rodan froze like a rabbit confronted by a foraging stoat. The initial shock broke with a roar as if all the gods cried out in pain together and the earth began to lurch like a bucking horse. The men holding Valerius instinctively tightened their grip as the marble pillars around them first shook and then swayed alarmingly, bringing roof tiles and pieces of the portico down on them. They looked questioningly at Rodan, but the centurion snarled at them to keep Valerius pinned and advanced over the rocking ground with the blade glittering in his hand.
‘The last thing you’ll ever see is the point of this knife.’ Another shock made the ground flow in waves under Valerius’s body and he used the moment to try to break free. His captors cried out in terror, but they maintained their hold and for a moment he feared the movement of the earth would break his back. Rodan stumbled as the marble mosaic beneath his feet began to disintegrate, but he managed to stay upright and now he was only feet away. Valerius felt his bowels loosen at the thought of the knife biting into his unprotected eyes. He would never see again. Never look on the ocean or a cornfield being dusted by the wind. Never look upon a woman’s face. He struggled desperately against the force pinning him down, and called on the gods to come to his aid.
Rodan screamed as the ground vanished beneath him and for a fleeting moment Valerius thought his prayers had been answered. But the hole was a mere four feet deep and the Praetorian waved the knife mockingly as he prepared to climb out. He had barely moved when another thunderous roar seemed to twist the world on its axis. The two ragged lips of the gap slipped obliquely across each other with Rodan pinned between. The Praetorian let out an inhuman cry as his lower body from the hips down was caught between two unrelenting surfaces, his flesh torn and his bones pulverized by the primeval power of the earth’s fury. From six feet away Valerius heard the sickening sounds of snapping and grinding. The cry turned to an animal shriek as Rodan realized exactly what was happening to him. His eyes bulged from his head, the blood drained from his face and his upper body began to shiver and flop like a newly landed fish.