‘You take your lads about twenty paces to the rear. We’ll stay here,’ said Big Tenner. ‘Creep down until you’re within javelin range. I’ll give you enough time. When you hear my whistle, give them a volley, and then another one. After that, charge. None must escape, or we risk being hunted down like dogs by the rest of their comrades.’ His stare moved around the group. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he whispered. ‘Go!’
Urceus led them into position, his feet moving silently over the earth. Quintus and his companions followed. When they had come within some thirty paces of the oblivious Numidians, Urceus gestured that they should spread out. The four didn’t need to be told twice. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. Quintus dried the palm of his spear hand on his tunic, and chose his victim.
‘Be sure to pick different targets,’ Urceus ordered.
‘Mine’s the one with the amphora,’ Quintus hissed.
‘I’ll take the man to his left,’ said Rutilus.
‘The ugly one on the right for me then,’ rumbled one of their companions.
Urceus looked to the last man. ‘We’ll both aim for the horse first. It will panic the filth even more.’
A trace of pity entered Quintus as he eyed the Numidians, who were laughing over a shared joke. His gaze focused on the amphora and a burning rage took him. Where had it come from? Whom had they murdered to take possession of it?
Peeeeeeep! Big Tenner’s whistle shredded the air.
Quintus cocked his arm back, and let fly. To either side, he heard the grunts as his comrades launched their weapons. He transferred another javelin to his right hand without looking, aimed and threw before the first had even landed.
‘Go!’ roared Urceus as the first screams hit their ears.
Quintus tore forward, the third of his spears ready to throw. Branches whipped his cheek, half blinding him, but then he was free of the vegetation. He leaped down on to the road, a drop nearly his own height. Rutilus and the others were half a heartbeat behind him. The scene was utter chaos. Javelins were raining in from all directions. Two, three, four of the Numidians were down or dying. The lame horse had been struck twice and was rearing up, shrilling its agony to the world. The other mounts were whirling in panic or galloping off to the south, sending up dust trails. Big Tenner and his men were driving forward from their position. Quintus’ eyes flashed from side to side. Where in Hades were the last pair of Numidians?
Then he knew. His feet took him towards two horses that had not yet fled. They were wheeling and turning some twenty paces to his left, but they hadn’t run — because someone was talking to them, soothing them. Even as Quintus drew near, a man scrambled up on to the back of the furthest, a small roan. An urgent glance over his shoulder, and then the Numidian pulled on the reins and drummed his heels into the horse’s sides. Quintus skidded to a halt and threw, but in his haste, he launched the javelin at too high an arc. It arched up and came down beyond the Numidian. Shit. He only had one javelin left. ‘Over here!’ he bawled. ‘Two of them are escaping!’
Whom to aim at? The man he’d missed was already thirty paces away, lying low over his galloping horse’s back as they headed north. Quintus cursed again. In the madness of battle, Urceus and the rest hadn’t seen him. It was not the direction in which Hannibal’s forces lay, but if the Numidian made it, he would have no difficulty in doubling back through the fields. Quintus blinked sweat from his eyes and let out another oath. He wasn’t a good enough shot to make such a throw. That meant the last cavalryman was the one to go for. He’d have to be quick. Spotting a hand gripping the bottom of the last horse’s neck, a black, his eyes shot to its back. Yes! There was the outline of a bare foot, halfway between its withers and its hip. The Numidian was hanging on to its far side, using its body as cover as he urged it to follow its companion. ‘Here! Over here!’ Quintus sprinted to get around the horse, which was fast moving from a walk to a trot.
A moment later, he caught sight of the Numidian, a lithe figure in a sleeveless tunic clamped to his mount’s chest and belly. Quintus’ breath caught in his throat. If he threw at this angle and missed, his javelin would strike the black. But it couldn’t be helped. It was that or a second man would get away. He closed one eye, took aim and hurled his spear with all his force. It shot through the air and drove into the Numidian’s back with a meaty thump. A scream of agony, and the man’s grip failed. He dropped to the dirt. Freed of its load, the black galloped off. Quintus was relieved to see no signs of blood in its coat. If Big Tenner had thrown, he thought, the javelin would have skewered the Numidian and horse both.
Dragging out his gladius, he ran towards the Numidian. He had gone only a couple of strides when he felt a stinging sensation slice across the top of his left shoulder. A whoosh of air and the javelin had gone, driving into the ground by the Numidian’s feet. ‘Clumsy bastard! Watch where you’re throwing!’ Quintus shouted. He spun to see who had made such a stupid mistake.
From a short distance away, Macerio’s baleful gaze met his. Death was in his eyes.
Quintus could have sworn that the blond man was about to throw another spear, but then Urceus and Rutilus were shoving past, roaring curses at the Numidian, finishing him with savage thrusts of their swords. Without a word, Macerio trotted back to where the other enemy riders were being dispatched. At once Quintus’ attention was taken by Rutilus and Urceus, who came over to congratulate him on hitting the last Numidian. He let out a gusty sigh of relief. It was over. They had won. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he suddenly felt drained. Yet the combat had lasted mere moments. In that short time, five Numidians had been slain. Two horses needed their throats cut to end their suffering, but the others were long gone. Nonetheless, the ambush had been a resounding success. Around him, men were giving each other pleased, relieved looks.
Big Tenner remained focused. ‘No hanging about on the road,’ he barked. ‘Gods know who might come riding along. The Numidian who escaped might have friends nearby. Search the dead if you wish, quickly, and then let’s get out of here.’
Urceus made a beeline for the amphora, which was lying on its side, its contents leaking on to the earth. He peered inside. ‘There’s still plenty left,’ he announced with satisfaction. ‘That’s all I need.’
There were whoops as coins and rings were emptied out of purses found on the Numidians’ bodies. Quintus’ amusement was soured by the sight of the dead being rifled. But any valuables present were Roman by right, he thought.
Rutilus saw him looking. ‘Whoever owned that stuff is dead.’
‘It still seems like stealing.’
‘Come on! If our lads don’t take it, someone else will.’
Rutilus was correct, but that didn’t mean Quintus liked it one bit.
‘Time to move!’ Big Tenner clapped his hands. ‘In case you ladies had forgotten, we’ve still got a patrol to finish.’
With good-natured grumbles, they withdrew to the shelter of the trees. As each five-man section split up again, insults were thrown, ridiculing various individuals’ poor javelin throws and the fact that one of the enemy had escaped. The amphora that Urceus had swiped was passed about. Quintus’ comrades were grinning from ear to ear, but unhappiness settled over him like a wet blanket as he watched Macerio vanish into the trees. He had only seen the look in the blond man’s eyes by chance, but he had not missed its meaning. Macerio had tried to murder him. Frustration mixed with Quintus’ anger. He had no way of proving what had happened. An accusation would result in Macerio denying everything. Killing him before he tried again would work, but Quintus didn’t have the stomach for slaying a man in cold blood — even someone like Macerio. Better to keep quiet, and stay alert. Urceus’ amphora was thrust at him, but he refused it with a word of mumbled thanks. From now on, brooded Quintus, he would need to make sure that he had company all the time. It was bad enough having the Carthaginians to worry about without having an enemy in his own camp.