Brandishing their swords, the four rode on, bearing down on the village.
“I’ll take the right side” shouted Petrus over the drumming of their hooves. “Peripheral vision problems!”
Varro nodded. “You take the left!” he shouted at Salonius, before turning to Catilina. “And you stay at the back and watch that lot behind us.”
Salonius frowned and allowed his horse, currently out front by a neck, to drop back a little until he rode alongside the defiant-looking lady with her blade held low.
“My lady?”
She turned to look at him and raised her eyebrows.
“How’s your aim?” he enquired.
The eyebrow dropped into a frown.
“Good. Why?”
Salonius grinned.
“Because I have a sling and a pouch of shot in my bag. For hunting coneys.”
She returned his smile.
“Never used a proper slingshot, but I’ve had plenty of practise with home-made slings and catapults.”
Clutching his reins with his sword hand and keeping his eyes on the road ahead, Salonius reached round into a saddle bag and rummaged among its contents. Concentrating, he dug deep through his travelling gear until he finally found what he was looking for and his fingers closed on a leather strap. Hauling it out, the heavy bag of shot came with it, tied to one loose end. Extending his arm, he proffered the weapon to Catilina, who gave it an appraising glance and then sheathed her sword before taking it.
“Heavy stones,” she said. “They’ll hurt.”
“They’re not stones,” Salonius replied. “That’s the proper lead shot that gets issued to all engineers. You can kill quite easily with a well placed blow. But be really careful with where you aim.”
“Oh I shall.” She replied with a smile, and began to untangle the strap from the fastening on the pouch as she rode. “Believe me, I shall.”
As they passed the first houses of the village, it was clear that the population had dispersed the moment they saw trouble approaching. The open space at the centre of the settlement was empty and, Salonius noted, there was no sign remaining of the gruesome mess they had left a few days ago. Even the wooden rail had gone from between the trees. His attention was drawn back to the bridge ahead.
A group of Imperial soldiers from the Saravis Fork garrison blocked the far end of the bridge, four of them standing in front of that same wooden rail that had now been placed across the thoroughfare and wedged in at both ends where the men had bashed out chunks of mortar between the stones. With a smile, Salonius filed that thought away. The other men were gathered behind them, some at the bridge end, the rest to one side, on the top of the steep bank.
“Stop!” a voice called from the bridge, laden with authority. “I’m under orders to take you four to the captain.”
Varro reined in his mount, having ruled out the possibility of attacking or evading on horseback. Riding them down would have been a dangerous option at best, but in close combat in such a confined area being mounted would present too many vulnerable spots to the enemy and so many additional risks for the rider. And, of course, the horses would be too tired after travelling speedily through the night to even attempt to jump such a large crowd of people. He nodded at his companions and handed his reins to Catilina. She took them and tied them to her own before reaching out and gesturing to the others.
Salonius and Petrus dismounted and handed over their reins, hefting their swords. Petrus gave his a practise swing, clutching his shoulder where the muscles were not used to such exertion these days.
“Put down the swords and we’ll not harm you” the leader of the soldiers called from the bridge.
Varro smiled at Petrus, shrugged, and the two broke into a run, Petrus’ slight limp not hampering him at all, and becoming unnoticeable at speed. Salonius gave a startled squawk and then raced after them, veering off to the left as planned.
The dramatic effect of the sudden charge was visible on the faces of the enemy as the running men drew closer. Clearly they had expected this to end without a fight. Some hadn’t even unsheathed their weapons yet.
The front line of defenders prepared themselves for a charge in the traditional manner; shields locked in front, four abreast and with the wooden rail supporting them behind. Had they been facing an ordinary foe in a normal military situation, it would have stood them in good stead. Their attackers, however, were far from an ordinary foe.
As they reached the bridge itself, Salonius hefted his sword again, and then noticed with surprise that Varro and Petrus had flipped their swords around so that they were pointing out behind and had turned their bodies slightly to the left so that they were both almost facing him.
Varro winked.
A flash of understanding burst across Salonius’ face and he almost laughed as he followed suit, flipping his sword around and turning his body just in time as the three of them, at full speed, ploughed into the shield wall. The sheer force of the blow snapped the rail in the middle, along with the backs and ribs of the two central defenders, who fell away, broken and flailing on top of the men behind, who were widely spaced, not expecting a breach so easily.
The soldier on the right showed a deal more foresight as he ducked out of the way at the last minute and pressed himself against the wall of the bridge. His relief was only momentary, as Petrus’ sword, angled perfectly as his charging weight pulled him forward and down, sliced out and caught the man in the narrow gap between his upper body plates and the heavy armoured leather strops that covered his pelvis. He clutched at his middle and gasped as glistening purple tubes started to slide out of his torso. The defender on the left, however, took the full brunt of Salonius’ massive and powerful shoulder. The blow lifted his feet from the ground and, as the young man barged him out of the way, he scrabbled desperately at the stone parapet for a moment before disappearing over the side and into the foamy torrent with a diminishing scream.
Two of the men behind the front row immediately collapsed under the falling weight of their fellow soldiers, and a space opened up before the three panting renegades as they turned in unison to face their enemy, changing their grip on their swords menacingly.
Varro surveyed the scene. Four dead and two down had already halved the effective resistance and they were now almost at a ratio of one to one. He smiled the particularly unpleasant smile that Corda used to refer to as his ‘tiger smile’. The nearest defenders backed away nervously.
“Ok you bunch of treacherous, cowardly bastards!” he shouted. “Who wants to go shake the Gods’ hands first?”
The two downed men began to pick themselves up from the floor, pulling themselves back from this crazy man as fast as they could. The wounded soldier, still trying to hold his innards together, and gasping with horror, fell silent as Petrus reached out with his twitching free hand and pushed him over the parapet and into the churning water.
The enemy soldiers edged forward together, brandishing their swords and began to slowly advance on the renegades, keeping their eyes locked on them.
There was a sudden ‘crack’ and the rear-most soldier, standing by the steep bank of the river, collapsed like a sack full of rocks and rolled down the slope into the water. Salonius smiled as he heard the telltale ‘whoop, whoop, whoop’ of the sling readying for a second shot. Catilina was right; she was a good shot.
The advancing men faltered momentarily and Varro and Petrus shared a look. The captain turned to Salonius, who nodded soberly.
“The fat one’s mine” grinned Petrus, and the faltering soldiers stopped altogether as their attackers stepped slowly forward, Petrus’ limp becoming pronounced once more at this inexorable and deliberately slow speed. The whooping noise from behind stopped, and the enemy soldier on the far bank furthest from the combat ducked desperately, barely avoiding a skull-shattering lead missile. As he stood straight again with relief, Catilina’s third shot caught him on the chin, breaking his jaw and throwing him back to the ground with a ‘crump’.