'It will be as God wills,' Iarhai said in a flat monotone.
'Get up and arm yourself, you gutless bastard,' Ballista shouted.
'Thou shalt not kill,' intoned Iarhai. 'Never again will I take the life of another man.'
'If there is one thing in this world that you love it is your daughter. Will you not stir yourself even to try to save her?'
'It will be as God wills.'
Ballista looked around in fury. Bathshiba was standing near. Without warning, he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to him. She shrieked in surprise and pain. Ballista held her in front of him, his left hand in a strong grip around her throat.
Iarhai half rose. Automatically his hand went to his left hip, seeking the sword that was not there.
'Will you let her fall into the hands of the Sassanids?' Ballista spoke quietly. 'You know what they will do to her.' Iarhai said nothing. 'They will rape her. One after another they will rape her. Ten, twenty, thirty men, a hundred. They will mutilate her. She will beg them to kill her long before they do.'
There was a look of agonized indecision on Iarhai's face.
'Is this what you want?' With his right hand, Ballista gripped the neck of Bathshiba's tunic. With a savage yank he ripped it down. Bathshiba's breasts spilt free. She screamed and tried to cover her dark-brown nipples with the palms of her hands.
'You bastard.' Iarhai was on his feet, a look of indescribable pain on his face.
'Arm yourself. You are coming with us.' Ballista let Bathshiba go. She ran from the room. Iarhai went to a chest in the corner. From it he took his sword belt and buckled it on. Ballista turned and left.
At the gate there were just the six men who had arrived with Ballista.
'The mercenaries have run,' said Maximus.
In a few minutes Iarhai appeared from the depths of the house with Bathshiba. She was wearing a new tunic. She did not look at Ballista.
'Time to go.'
At a steady jog they set off north towards the palace. There was a nightmare quality to the journey. None too far in the distance they could hear screams. Already there was a smell of burning in the air. At every street junction they had to fight their way across the streams of panic-stricken people running east to the Porta Aquaria and the river. Ballista knew that there would be scenes of almost unimaginable horror down on the riverbank at the jetties, where thousands of terrified individuals would be fighting for a place on one of the very few boats. Children separated from their mothers, trampled underfoot: it did not bear thinking about. Ballista put his head down and ran north.
They had just passed the temple of Zeus Theos, were within a block of the open ground on the other side of which was the palace, when they heard the pursuit.
'There he is. Ten pounds of gold for the man who takes the King of Kings the head of the big barbarian.' For a second Ballista thought he recognized the voice of the Persian officer he had tricked that dark night in the ravine, but he realized it was only his own tired thoughts tricking him.
The Sassanids were still a hundred paces away, but there were a lot of them and they looked fresh. Ballista and those with him were exhausted.
'Go on,' said Iarhai. 'The street is narrow. I can delay them.'
Ballista looked at Bathshiba. He expected her to scream, to cling to her father and plead with him. She did not. She looked at her father for a time, then turned and ran.
'You will not delay them alone. I will stay.' Acilius Glabrio turned to Ballista. 'You do not care for patricians. But I will show you how one of the Acilii Glabriones dies. Like Horatius, I will hold the bridge.'
Ballista nodded and, with Maximus, ran after the others.
Soon there was the sound of fighting. When he had passed the artillery magazine Ballista stopped and drew breath. There was only fifty yards to go to the palace. He looked back. The end of the street was full of Persians. He could not see Iarhai. The caravan protector had not had time to put on his armour. He could not have lasted long. But there was Acilius Glabrio, a small figure in the distance ringed by the enemy. Ballista ran on.
'You took your time.' Calgacus was beaming.
Ballista smiled weakly. He was too tired to answer. He leant against the stable wall. Compared with earlier, the stables were deserted. Ballista roused himself to ask the guardsman where the other equites singulares were. The man looked embarrassed.
'We… they… ah, they thought that you were not coming back. There is only Titus outside and me.'
'There were a few moments when they were nearly right.' Ballista ran his hands over his face. 'What is your name?'
'Felix, Dominus.'
'Then let's hope that your name is an omen.' Ballista asked Calgacus about the slaves attached to the palace and was told they had all vanished. He shut his eyes and breathed in the reassuring smells of the stables. His chest hurt. All the muscles in his legs were jumpy with fatigue. His right shoulder was raw where his sword belt had made his mail coat rub. He was tempted just to lie down in the straw. Surely he would be safe, surrounded by these homely smells, surely the Sassanids would not find him here? He just needed to sleep.
The northerner's childish fantasy was shattered by the arrival of Maximus.
'We are ready to go. Everyone is outside and mounted except us.' The Hibernian threw across a water skin. Ballista tried and failed to catch it one-handed. He juggled it with two hands until he had it secure. He unstoppered it, tipped some water into a cupped palm and washed his face, rinsing his weary eyes. He drank.
'Time to go then.'
Outside, the moon was up, nearly full. The narrow alley between the palace and the granaries was bathed in its light. Ballista tried to remember if this was the harvest or hunter's moon at home. He was too tired to remember. He walked to the mounting block. Demetrius led up Pale Horse. Ballista mounted painfully.
In the saddle he felt a little better. He looked up and down the alley at the horses and riders. Apart from himself there were fourteen riders: Maximus, Calgacus, Demetrius, Bagoas, Turpio, the two remaining members of his official staff – a scribe and a messenger, the two equites singulares Titus and Felix, and another four soldiers who had crossed the town with him – three troopers from Cohors XX and another guardsman. And there was Bathshiba. There were three horses loaded with supplies.
'What shall we do about the other six saddled horses in the stables?' Calgacus asked.
Ballista knew that he should order them killed or hamstrung in case they aided the pursuit. 'Cut the girths and bridles.' Calgacus swung off his horse, disappeared into the stables and was back in a few moments. When the Caledonian had remounted, Ballista gave the signal to move out.
For the second time that night Ballista led a column of riders around the temple of Jupiter Dolichenus. They came out on to the broad road heading to the campus martius and Ballista pushed Pale Horse into a gallop. In case he should fall, he had hurriedly told Maximus, Calgacus and Turpio his plan, such as it was. They had not looked thrilled. He had not told the others. There was no point in scaring them even more.
The military quarter through which they thundered was empty. The Romans had fled; the Persians had not yet arrived. Smoke blew across the road from the south. As he flashed by the military baths Ballista noticed that the comatose soldier had gone from the steps. So had the girl. Good luck to you, brother, he thought, and to your girl.
The cavalcade careered down the street, the sound of thundering hooves echoing back off the walls.
From a street off to the left came the sound of fighting. Ballista glimpsed one of the mercenaries backed up against the wall of the amphitheatre, his sword flashing in the torchlight as he tried to keep at bay a howling mob of Sassanid warriors. In a moment the sight and sound were cut off by the building on the next corner.
'Haddudad!' Bathshiba shouted. She reined in her horse savagely. Those following her had to swerve or pull up quickly to avoid her.