‘We can’t stop them. We have to fall back. Grab Aristides’ staff, then be ready to fight when I step away from the gate.’
‘Yes, father.’ Marcus felt his heart beating wildly. Despite the rain coursing down his face, his mouth felt dry. Was this how soldiers felt in battle? he wondered briefly. Then he ducked down, scurried around his father and snatched up the staff lying beside the body of Aristides. His eyes met those of the nearest of the men outside. The man’s lips parted in a sneer and he reached a hand towards Marcus.
‘Cerberus! Take him!’
The dog responded to the command at once, pouncing through the gap and jumping up to seize the man’s hand in his powerful jaws. He bit down hard and bone and flesh were crushed between his teeth. The man screamed and tried to snatch his hand back but he could not break free. Marcus called out again.
‘Cerberus! Leave!’
The dog released its grip and backed away, snarling. With a last fruitless thrust of the gate, Titus paced backwards to his son’s side and went into a crouch, sword held ready. ‘Hold the staff like a spear,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Strike at their faces.’
Marcus nodded and tightened his grip as the gate, with no resistance from the inside, suddenly flew open. Two of the men fell sprawling into the courtyard. Titus leapt forward, striking one with a vicious cut to his shoulder. The bone cracked as the blade bit in. Then he yanked it free and slashed to the side, slicing into the face of the other man. He toppled to his side, hands clutched to his head as he howled in agony. More men spilled through the gap, and one of them thrust his sword at Titus. The veteran just managed to parry it in time, but was caught off-balance and had to fall back a pace.
Marcus stepped up and thrust the staff into the face of the man who had tried to strike a blow. He felt the impact jar his arms, right up to the shoulder. The man’s head snapped back and he fell to the ground, unconscious, his nose crushed by the end of the staff.
‘Good work!’ Titus yelled, his lips drawn back in a frightening grin.
For a moment the other attackers hesitated, but then Thermon’s voice sounded from the back. ‘What are you cowards waiting for? Get them!’
As they rushed forward, Marcus yelled. ‘Cerberus! Take ’em!’
There was a blur of drenched fur as the dog jumped in, snapping at legs and hands. But there were too many of them. They came forward in a mass. Titus managed to strike once more, thrusting deep into a man’s belly, before he took a spear point in his shoulder. He stumbled back, then another man hacked at his sword arm and the blade cut through, shattering the bone. The sword dropped from his fingers. Another blow caught him in the knee and with a grunt he slumped down.
‘Father!’ Marcus glanced round, lowering the staff a little. He stared at his father in terrible anguish.
‘Keep your weapon up!’ Titus bellowed. ‘Face front!’
His booming voice caused the attackers to pause, and they stood back, in an arc around him, weapons poised. Marcus was at his father’s side, staff raised once again, daring them to take him on. Cerberus had sunk his teeth into another man and was savaging his arm until the man, who was wielding a long club, swung it down and smashed it on to the dog’s head. Cerberus dropped to the ground and lay on his side, his head in a puddle, as the rain splashed around his muzzle.
‘Cerberus!’ Marcus called out in horror – but the dog lay still. Marcus wanted to go to him, but just then Thermon pushed his way through his men and stood in front of Titus.
He smiled cruelly as he patted the flat of his sword against the palm of his spare hand. ‘Well now, Centurion, it seems the situation is reversed. How does it feel to be beaten? To lose your final battle?’
Titus looked up, blinking away the rain. ‘You can’t get away with this. Once the governor hears what you’ve done, he’ll have you crucified. You, your men here and Decimus.’
Thermon shook his head. ‘Only if someone is left to tell the governor what happened.’
Titus stared at him for a moment and then muttered, ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Really?’ Thermon pretended to look surprised. Suddenly he swept his sword arm out and thrust with all his strength. The tip of the blade punched into Titus’s chest, burst through his heart and crunched against the ribs in his back. Titus let out a gasp and then a deep sigh. Thermon braced his boot against Titus’s shoulder and yanked his blade free.
‘Father!’ Marcus looked down in disbelief as his father’s body slumped against his leg and then Titus toppled face first on to the ground. ‘Father!’ Marcus cried shrilly. ‘Don’t die! Don’t leave me! Please… Please don’t die.’
At once someone snatched his staff away. Rough hands grabbed him by the arms and pinned them to his sides.
There was a scream. Marcus turned and saw his mother, hands clasped either side of her head as if she was trying to shut out a bad sound. She screamed again. ‘Titus! Oh my Gods! Titus…’
‘Take her!’ Thermon ordered. ‘Put ’em all in chains. Then search the place for any valuables. Decimus wants anything that can be sold.’
Marcus looked down at his father’s body, numbed by what he saw. But then, as one of Thermon’s men strode towards his mother, he felt something snap inside. He bit down on the arm of the man holding him. The man cried out and loosened his grip, and Marcus snarled as he clamped down with his jaws and lashed out with his feet.
Thermon turned towards him. ‘Someone deal with that little brat.’
The man with the club, the one who had struck down Cerberus, nodded and turned towards Marcus. Without a moment’s hesitation he raised the club and swung it at the boy’s head. Marcus never felt the blow. His world suddenly exploded into white and then there was nothing.
5
At first Marcus sensed a dull pounding pain in his skull. Then there was an uneven jolting and the regular shrill squeal of an axle. He became aware of light, and warmth on his face, and he slowly stirred, blinking his eyes open. The world was blurry and juddered about and he felt sick, so he closed them again.
‘Marcus.’
A hand cupped his cheek gently.
‘Marcus, can you hear me?’
He recognized the voice as his mother’s and there was anxiety in her tone. Marcus opened his mouth but his tongue and lips felt too dry to speak.
‘Just a moment,’ she said, and then something pressed lightly to his mouth and he tasted water. He took a few swallows before he turned his face aside and licked his lips.
‘Mother, I’m all right,’ he managed to croak.
Marcus opened his eyes again and forced them to focus. He was staring up at a metal grille. Raising himself on his elbows, he looked around and saw that he was in a large cage on the back of a wagon drawn by a team of mules. A dirty leather covering was tied over the top of the cage, providing shade for the occupants. Besides him and his mother, there were four others, two of whom – tall, thin men – had skins as black as charred wood. The others were two teenage boys, perhaps five or six years older than Marcus.
‘Don’t try to stir so quickly,’ his mother cautioned. ‘You had quite a crack on the head.’
Marcus raised a hand to feel for the place where his skull was hurting and winced as his fingertips discovered a large, solid lump. He struggled to remember what had happened to him. Then it all came flooding back, in a terrible rush of images. Aristides, Cerberus… and his father. He looked at his mother, eyes wide with pain.
‘Father.’
She gathered him up in her arms and held him to her breast, stroking the back of his head.
‘Yes, Titus is gone. Murdered.’
Marcus felt a dreadful pain course through his body, as if his heart had been torn out of him. He wanted his father as never before. Wanted him right here and now. Wanted to feel safe in his strong arms, to hear his hearty laugh once more. The pain was unbearable and he buried his face into the folds of his mother’s cloak and sobbed.