‘Artebudz, Bryzos, bows first; Magnus, Sitalces and Drenis after us,’ Sabinus shouted, drawing his axe; they all nodded. Sabinus turned to Vespasian and grinned. ‘This is more fun than arse-licking back in Rome but it’s going to hurt, little brother. Go!’
Artebudz and Bryzos hurtled up the stairs and disappeared into the inferno, with Vespasian and Sabinus speeding after them as gushes of liquid splattered down on to the burning oil, evaporating immediately into a thick, foul-smelling steam. This, along with the flames, blinded Vespasian for a few steps but his vision returned as he emerged through the fire and on to the landing at the far end of a long corridor running back along the width of the keep to another set of stairs. It was punctuated with four, evenly spaced doors on either side. He spun round to his left, Sabinus to his right, both taking care not to slip on the burning oil, as an arrow bisected them and slammed into the wall beyond. Feeling grateful to his trousers for protecting his legs from burns, Vespasian looked up to see, by the light of the flames, Bryzos and Artebudz both releasing arrows at two Getae, one about to shoot, one reloading, halfway down the corridor; two more lay dead at his feet, slop-buckets at their sides. Both arrows punched into the shooting man, hurling him to the ground as his shot thwacked harmlessly into the wooden ceiling. Vespasian and Sabinus charged forward as the second Geta fired; Artebudz recoiled on to his back with an arrow in his chest as they surged past him. With no time to reload the Geta turned, pelted down the corridor and leapt up the staircase, disappearing with a sharp cry and a well-aimed arrow from Bryzos through his calf.
The corridor was clear but was now starting to fill with smoke as the oil burned off, leaving the wooden floor and stairs aflame through which Magnus, Sitalces and Drenis appeared, smouldering and singed. From outside the sound of fighting had grown closer.
‘Sounds like our boys are pushing them off the walls,’ Sabinus shouted. ‘Bryzos, cover that far staircase with oil. If anyone tries to come down torch it.’
Magnus handed Bryzos his amphorae and Drenis gave him his torch and he hurried off to obey his instructions.
‘Right, let’s get searching these rooms,’ Sabinus continued, ‘and Sitalces, get that rope from Artebudz.’
‘It’s all right, I can carry it,’ Artebudz said, raising himself painfully to a sitting position. ‘I don’t seem to be dead, just a bit bruised.’ He pulled at the arrow, which was embedded in the coil of rope; that and the thickness of the Getic topcoat had saved his life.
‘Well, you’re a lucky bugger,’ Sabinus said. ‘You and Sitalces come with me: we’ll do the right-hand rooms. Vespasian, you take Magnus and Drenis down the courtyard side. We’ll do it alternately so we don’t get caught in any crossfire. Get moving.’
The heat from the fire was intensifying as Vespasian kicked the door nearest to it open and pulled himself back quickly behind the wall, out of shot. No arrows hissed out, but a huge draught of air from an open window was sucked in to feed the oxygen-craving fire, which started to burn with renewed vigour. Drenis twisted into the room, bow at the ready.
‘Clear!’ he shouted a beat later. They moved on to the next door. Behind them Sabinus’ group crashed open their first door.
By the time both groups had got to their last doors the smoke, gradually filling the corridor, was forcing them to stoop in order to breathe with relative ease. Heat from the fire on the floors below was rising through the floorboards.
‘Rhoteces had better be in one of these,’ Vespasian said to Magnus as he braced himself to kick it open, ‘I don’t fancy going up another level.’
A cry from Bryzos stopped him mid-kick. Vespasian spun round to see the ginger-haired Thracian, feathered with arrows, drop his torch and fall at the foot of the stairs, from the top of which appeared the feet and legs of a charging posse of Getae. Sitalces, Drenis and Artebudz immediately started pumping arrows into the attackers, sending the foremost tumbling and slithering down the oil-slick stairs. With a desperate last burst of energy the dying Thracian reached for the torch and with the tips of his fingers flicked it towards him. Vespasian and his comrades watched it roll with a slow inevitablity, into the pool of oil; the burning pitch caused it to fizzle and smoke, then, reaching its flashpoint, it burst into flames, engulfing Bryzos and the dead Getae piled around him; his screams grew with the intensity on the fire. Unable to get through the conflagration the surviving Getae withdrew, trapped on the floor above.
With the smell of burning human flesh assaulting his nostrils and Bryzos’ dying screams reverberating around his head, Vespasian kicked open his final door. Again Drenis wheeled in and again the room was clear. Vespasian rushed over to the window and risked a quick look out. Files of legionaries were spewing on to the south and west walls from the left- and righthand siege towers. The central one, nearest the gate, was on fire; men, some burning, some not, were hurling themselves out of the inferno. Something had gone badly wrong. However, down in the courtyard the Getae were being split up and becoming encircled in small groups, as fresh legionaries poured down the steps from the wall to bolster their comrades already embroiled in savage, hand-to-hand combat. Directly underneath him a couple of contubernia broke down the keep’s door; flames gushed out and they immediately withdrew towards the fortress gate, led by the easily distinguishable figure of Caelus.
Knowing in his gut that Caelus was coming for them, Vespasian ran back towards the corridor as Sabinus kicked open the final door; two arrows whistled out, narrowly missing Vespasian as he cleared the doorway. Artebudz and Sitalces jumped from their places either side of the door and returned fire, bringing down the two Getae inside.
Sabinus rushed in. ‘Fuck!’ he shouted. ‘He’s gone.’
Vespasian ran in and joined his brother by the window. A taut, vibrating rope, attached to a ceiling beam, led out of it. The brothers stuck their heads out of the window; ten feet below them was a Getic warrior and beneath him, twenty feet from the ground and just visible in the orange ambient light cast by the burning siege tower, was the recognisable figure of Rhoteces.
‘Quick, pull,’ Vespasian shouted, grabbing the rope. Magnus and Sitalces joined the brothers heaving on the rope. After a couple of sharp tugs the Getic warrior appeared, wide-eyed with fear, at the window. Artebudz sent an arrow into his open mouth and he fell with a shriek. The rope went suddenly slack and they all fell back into the room.
‘The bastard’s jumped,’ Vespasian bellowed as he picked himself up and darted to the window. He grabbed the rope and without pausing leapt through the opening and started to slide down.
Vespasian descended quickly; the rope burned his hands, but the thick trousers protected his legs. As he passed the second-floor window he caught a blast of heat from the fire now raging within. From below came the sound of whinnying and neighing; the fire and noise had spooked the Getae’s horses and they were surging, like an undulating black cloud, east, along the flat ground between the river bank and the slope leading up to the fortress walls.
Vespasian hit the ground; Sabinus arrived an instant later. The horses continued to thunder past just below them.
‘Rhoteces couldn’t have got through this lot,’ Sabinus shouted to his brother as Magnus and then Sitalces joined them. ‘He must have gone along the walls, but which way?’
‘Away from the horses,’ Vespasian replied. ‘Once they’ve passed he’ll cross behind them and head for the river; it’s his only chance of escape.’ He darted along the wall, against the tide of the horses, as Artebudz and Drenis made it to the ground. Above them flames burst out of the keep’s windows.
The din of the battle raging in the courtyard, on the other side of the wall, intensified as they left the lee of the keep. They crossed the path of the sewer outlet as the rear of the stampede passed them by. To their right they could see the dark shapes of scores of dead horses who had floundered in the foul-smelling sewage marsh to be trampled over by their fellows.