Petrus stepped around the two groaning broken men lying on the bridge amid the shattered remains of the wooden rail, pausing briefly to allow his blade to drop heavily into the throat of the nearest wounded man, granting him release from his pain. Varro displayed less compassion, walking across the other man and treading heavily on his throat, crushing the life from him with hobnailed boots.
Salonius glanced over the side of the parapet with interest as he stepped forward to fall in line with the other two. The three walked steadily forward, leaving the two dying men behind them silent.
As they neared the remaining five men who, Varro thought, were doing well to retain a disciplined front in the face of such a brutal onslaught, the single man behind his four compatriots called out.
“We still have you outnumbered. You can still surrender.”
Salonius sneered, remembering his own cohort in battle. When the Second went into combat, Varro stood in the front line and Corda only a row or two back. That was how to motivate men, he thought. Lead by example, not like this idiot, cowering behind his men. He almost bit off his tongue as a lead bullet whizzed through the air between him and Varro, so close he felt the faint vibration on his ear.
The enemy commander opened his mouth to make another fatuous demand and disappeared instantly from view with a ‘crack’. Salonius grinned as he heard Catilina fumbling in the bag for another lead shot. Varro’s eyes were wide with shock, the bullet having almost clipped him and Salonius, and having been aimed exquisitely between the helmets of two men in the front line. A shot like that would make a professional hunter green with jealousy.
The four men, again to their credit, set their shoulders and brandished their swords. Varro, Petrus and Salonius fell on them like a tide of bloody fury. The defenders’ blades lashed out desperately from between their large shields but the three attackers, unencumbered by heavy armour and large shields, easily avoided the flashing blades. Salonius bent to his left, parried two blows from the end soldier and one from the man next to him, and ducked back out of the way for a second. As the innermost of the two men became distracted once more by Varro’s furious onslaught, the end man momentarily looked away. Taking advantage of the pause, Salonius dropped his sword and leapt at the man, diving onto him, far too close for the man to use his sword. As the man’s eyes widened and he struggled to stay upright under the weight of the bulky young man, Salonius grasped the man’s neck defender with one hand and chin strap with the other and twisted with all his might.
The crunch was audible even over the sounds of steel on steel and, increasingly often, steel on bone. Varro glanced across in surprise, almost falling foul of a well-placed blow, and saw the helmet wobble backwards as the neck broke inside and Salonius and his victim disappeared to the ground with a crash and a cloud of dust.
Moments later, as Salonius stood once more, brushing down his tunic, and went to collect his sword, Varro and Petrus delivered the final blows to the only remaining combatant and turned to survey the scene.
Catilina had tied the slingshot and pouch back together and was leading the horses towards the bridge with a disturbing grin.
The captain gestured wearily at Salonius and the young man wandered over to him.
“We need to do something with this bridge.”
Salonius nodded sagely, watching with unhappy fascination as Petrus, in the background, went about the grisly business of dispatching the wounded enemies. Trying to ignore the unpleasant sounds and the death rattles, he tapped the parapet where the wooden rail had been inserted with his forefinger.
“This bridge has been here a long time.”
“Solid, then” remarked Varro with a sigh.
“Yes and no” replied Salonius with a thoughtful look. “It was pretty solidly constructed a few hundred years ago, probably by the army when that outpost at the top of the valley was built, but it’s not been maintained by the military and I’d assume the locals either don’t know what to do or don’t care.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well“, Salonius continued in a tutorial manner, “this was built with mortar and not cement or concrete and it’s a fairly basic arch bridge with a keystone.”
“And?” Varro sounded frustrated.
“Mortar is not as strong as cement or concrete. That’s why we use them now. And with an arch and keystone, all the weight of the bridge rests on the keystones. The more weight, the better the arch, in fact. But the weather up here in the mountains has eroded a lot of the mortar. That’s how they could wedge the wood across the bridge, you see? The mortar’s so old, you can pull it out with your fingers.”
Varro bit his lip. “So you’re saying we can loosen the keystones and collapse the bridge?”
“I’m saying it’s possible.”
“But it could be dangerous. How long will it take, if we can do it?” Varro scratched his chin thoughtfully.
”I honestly have no idea.”
“The rest of the garrison are about ten minutes behind us at most, Salonius. Can we do it?”
The young engineer shook his head.
“No. Not enough time.”
“Then mount up. We’ve got to go. You can see their dust through the trees now. “
Salonius blinked.
“Come on!” Varro barked, turning and making for Catilina and the horses.
Salonius jogged along behind him, slowly raising his eyes and catching up as the captain left the bridge.
“Rope.”
“What?” Varro grumbled? “What rope?”
“Get lots of rope. We can bring this beech down on the bridge.”
Varro sighed and pointed up at the branches.
“It’s a young tree; not very heavy. It won’t collapse the bridge, Salonius!”
“No,” the young man replied, “but it’ll block it completely; and it’s small enough that four horses should be able to pull it over.”
Varro blinked and a slow smile crept over him.
“That’d stop them alright. And the valley’s too steep and covered in scree here to get a horse up. They’ll have to go back a few miles to get round. Hang on… what’s to stop them pulling it back out of the way?”
Salonius smiled. “Firstly, they’ll only have access to the delicate, easily breakable branches at the top of the tree. And secondly, we’ll drag it at an angle and wedge it.”
Varro narrowed his eyes for a moment and then nodded. “Petrus!” he shouted at the disfigured veteran, limping toward them from the bridge.
“What?”
“Ropes! We’re pulling the tree over.”
“Good idea.”
As Varro unhooked a length of rope that had been with the saddle when he stole it, and began to unwind it, fastening it to his horse, he frowned.
“Enough here for me, but that’s the only rope we have.”
Petrus pointed along the river to a solid looking building on the edge of the village.
“That’s a mill. Mills have rope,” the scarred veteran shouted.
As Varro ran over toward the mill with him, Salonius unhooked a leather roll on his horse’s flank and turned to yell after the others “Just get one. One’ll be enough!”
Varro gave him a questioning look for a moment, but shrugged, turned and ran on. Salonius was the engineer, after all.
As the leather roll unfurled, Catilina saw an array of tools; military engineer’s tools.
“I wondered what that was for. You always seem to be carrying so much.”
“Always be prepared” grinned Salonius as he untied a three foot long shaft from the roll. Examining it for a moment, he grasped it by the narrower end and Catilina realised the haft tapered slightly. Placing the wider end on the ground, he untied a heavy axe blade from the roll and placed the hole in it over the shaft, allowing it to drop to the bottom, where it wedged against the thicker wood. Stamping on the blade with a foot to force it as far as it would go, he lifted his axe and walked over to the tree.