“Damned runaway slaves,” Valens cursed. “Why can’t they just accept their lot in life and be done with it?”
“Alright, no unnecessary killing,” Artorius ordered as they stumbled down the dark alley. “Beat them if they refuse to cooperate!” Valens was still cursing under his breath when he ran into a brick wall at the end of the alley.
“Ouch! Bugger it,” he swore as he readjusted his helmet and looked around. In the dark all they saw was the wall. “Hey, there’s no bloody door here!” The glow behind them was cast with shadows as several dozen people stepped into the alley behind them. The slave who had led them to the alley let out a laugh that was chocked full of madness.
“Oh, so sorry!” he laughed. “I guess I must have led you to the wrong alley! Please enjoy the hospitality of my friends!” Though Heracles had ordered him to return as soon as he had led the legionaries to the ambush site, he could not overcome his desire to watch. The slaves had the Romans sorely outnumbered, yet they were at best crudely armed and many had never committed an act of violence in their lives. They stood hesitant as Artorius and Praxus quickly assessed the situation.
The slaves outnumbered the Romans more than three to one, yet they hesitated. None wished to be the first to initiate combat; not even the young man who spoke so loudly about what a pleasure it would be to kill legionaries. The alley was extremely long and narrow; high stone walls on either side.
“Stay behind me,” Tynan said quietly to Erin. “I’ll protect you.”
“Come,” said one of the older men, “the least we can do in gratitude for our freedom is dispatch those who enslaved us to begin with!” He was shirtless with a body covered in scars wrought by the whips of cruel masters. Slowly the rabble started to advance, many of them still in a state of shock and disbelief, the gravity of their predicament had yet to set in. That would soon change.
“Bastard led us into a trap,” Praxus said with a resigned sigh. Artorius nodded in reply as Gavius stepped forward with his javelin at the ready and filled with rage.
“Gavius, what are you doing?” Magnus asked as the rest of the legionaries fell into a hasty two ranks formation. Without answering, Gavius’ eyes narrowed as he rapidly judged the distance from him to the traitor. All eyes, except those of the laughing slave, were fixed on him as he gave a shout and let his javelin fly. The slave ceased laughing, his eyes grew wide in the split second it took for the javelin to finish its flight and strike him through the center of his right femur. The man gave a high-pitched cry of terror and pain as the javelin smashed through the bone and pinned his leg to a post that he was leaning against. He started to hyperventilate and gave another loud cry as he saw his twitching leg; muscle, sinew and splinters of bone splayed out the exit wound.
“Nice,” Artorius said with a brief grin before shouting his next order. “Javelins…throw!” A dozen javelins sailed the short distance down the alleyway, slamming into the newly liberated slaves. Cries of anguish were heard from both men and women who had been thrust into the fray. Most of the slaves were near panic, though the thugs that blocked their escape drove them forward.
“Gladius…draw!” Praxus shouted. With a shout, gladii were unsheathed and both sections advanced in two ranks behind a wall of shields and protruding swords.
Tynan had just enough time to duck, pulling Erin down with him as the Roman javelins slammed home. Screams echoed around them as each found its mark. He looked back to see a young woman, even younger than they; sprout a javelin from her shoulder. She fell to the ground screaming as the soft metal shaft at the end bent, the weight tearing bone, sinew, and flesh. They heard an audible shout from the Romans as they drew their swords. Most of the slaves responded with a loud cry of their own and charged headlong to their fate.
“Feel the wrath of Odin, bitch!” Magnus swore as the legionaries advanced. Though their opponents numbered at least three dozen, the narrowness of the alleyway worked to their advantage, only allowing roughly six to eight adversaries to engage them at a time. All Artorius saw was shadows in the glow of the flames. He brought his shield up to deflect the strike of one maddened slave. Quickly he stabbed with his gladius, catching the man in the belly. The blade embedded itself deep, rupturing bowels and organs in its wake. The slave gave a shriek of pain as Artorius knocked him back with his shield. To his left, Magnus thrust his gladius over the top of his shield, impaling another assailant in the throat; the man only able to make a gurgling sound as blood flooded his severed windpipe.
Erin hugged the wall as the slaves to her front clashed with the armored soldiers. Tynan was close by, but had released his grip on her for the moment. He was caught up in the rush of those who wished to fight for what they felt was their one chance at freedom. The flames behind them glinted off the polished steel of Roman helms and armor. Quickly she tried to back up, her hands trembling, as the slaves in front of her were quickly slain. The cries of the dying terrified her even more than the flash of legionary blades. She saw a large man in front of her wince and stoop over as the point of a gladius burst out his back. Rapidly the man fell and Erin stood face-to-face with the soldier who had killed him.
“No!” Tynan shouted, seeing the danger his wife was in. He forcibly shoved the other slaves aside as he rushed to protect the woman he loved. “They’ll not take you!”
On the extreme left, Valens slammed his gladius home into the belly of a rather large slave. The man was huge, but slow and ungainly. The crude hand axe he carried bounced harmlessly off the legionary’s shield as Valens stepped in and slew him. He then saw what looked to be a young woman armed with a crude knife. An equally young man stepped protectively in front of her, his arms outstretched, quickly speaking in Gallic. Without a second thought Valens stabbed him beneath the ribcage, eliciting a scream from the woman. The man convulsed, his eyes clouding over as life left him, and he fell face first to the pavement with a sickening crunch. The woman’s eyes were filled with tears as her hand that held the knife trembled. In what can only be construed as a spontaneous act of mercy, Valens elected not to kill her; instead striking her across the temple with the boss of his shield. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she fell back and slid down the wall. He immediately brought his shield about, striking a more aggressive foe with the bottom edge of his shield.
The thugs hired by Heracles to goad the slaves into fighting realized the situation was turning against them. The slaves were being slaughtered, and still the legionaries came. One slave with a club managed to catch Decimus on the side of the helm, knocking him senseless. The man paid for this with his life as a legionary from Praxus’ section quickly stepped in and stabbed him through the heart. Shouts outside the alley were heard as swarms of men from the urban cohort raced towards the scene, shields and spears in hand. The thieves shouted to each other and quickly fled. Before any of the slaves could escape the urban troops blocked their path, spears leveled.
“Stand fast!” Artorius shouted as Magnus ripped out the throat of another hapless victim with his gladius. The Norseman shoved the dying man to the side, his own face and chest soaked in blood. Cries of pain and sorrow echoed in the alley from the dying and their stricken companions. Carbo walked over to where Decimus lay stirring in a daze.
“You dumbass,” he said as he knelt down to help his friend sit upright. He loosened up the chinstrap on Decimus’ helmet and pulled it off. The legionary’s eyes were glazed, a trickle of blood running out of his ear. “Damn, that guy clocked you good!”