‘I’m not sure… It depends what you want us to do.’
The leaders of the collegia, the trade guilds and workers’ collectives were gathering around Castus now, kneeling and crouching, waiting for his instructions.
Brinno stepped back into the portico. ‘Whatever you’re planning, do it quickly,’ he said. ‘There’s light in the sky already.’
Castus raised himself up against the pillar. Until this moment, he had possessed only the haziest idea of what might happen next. His plan had carried him this far, but the last stage of it had been a blank. Peering at the faces of the men around him, he willed himself to think quickly, clearly. Willed the gods to aid him. He cleared his throat.
Then, even as the idea formed in his mind, he began to tell them what he needed them to do.
26
As the first sounds of tumult rose from the streets behind them, the sentries on the towers of the Sea Gate turned and stared back over the inner ramparts, across the space of open ground within the walls and into the darkened city beyond. A warm clammy breeze was gusting in from the sea, and for a few moments the sounds were indistinct. Then, as the noise rose in volume, it became clearer: angry shouting, the clatter of staves on cobblestones, the stamp of feet.
Crouching in the shelter of a broken cart beside the last of the buildings, Castus watched the sentries silhouetted against the growing light in the sky. The sound at his back gathered rapidly, the shouts rising to a roar, echoing along the shuttered street. The boldest among the citizens had been first to raise the clamour, but the others were joining in now, shrugging off their fear. Flung stones rattled across the street, sticks clashed off the brick pillars of the portico. A woman was screaming, her arms raised to the sky. It sounded real, and Castus could see that the guards in the gate towers were taking notice.
Brinno was beside him, both men tensed and ready to spring as soon as Castus gave the word. How far was it to the gates? Between one and two hundred paces of open ground, Castus reckoned, the paved road running right up to the double arches. He tried to recall everything that he had seen during his inspection of the walls days before: there were inner and outer gates, both firmly closed and barred from the inside, with a vaulted passage running between them and a chamber above. Flanking towers, four storeys high beneath the flat rampart roofs. The only entrances to the towers were inside the tunnel between the gates; with the doors sealed the gatehouse became a fortress, able to withstand attacks both from outside the walls and from the city itself. Without knowing the watchword for the night, there was no way that he and Brinno would get in. This ruse, this desperate stratagem, was their only hope.
Light flared in one of the upper windows of the tower as a lamp moved through the chambers. Come on, Castus hissed, come on… He was braced, ready, leaning on his naked sword. The feel of the worn bone grip was a reassurance. He ran his thumb down the blade: it was dull, and notched from the fight with Glaucus. His shoulder still ached from the blow of the bodyguard’s club, and when he breathed deeply he felt the flare of pain in his ribs. Beside him, Brinno looked even more battered, but the lean young barbarian wore a fierce grin. He was poised like an athlete at the start of a race.
There would be archers in the towers. Castus had warned Nazarius and others that once they moved they had to keep running, not make themselves an easy target. The archers would be shooting blindly into darkness, but some of their arrows were bound to find a mark. Behind him now Castus could hear the shouts swelling in a chant. ‘Massilia… Massilia…’ He nodded to himself, his jaw set. These people were about to throw themselves into deadly danger, but not for him. Not for Constantine or for Rome, but for themselves, and for their city.
Come on… A sliver of light showed beneath the gates. There were men in the vaulted passage between the arches now, others peering from the slot windows of the upper chambers and leaning from the tower battlements. A few moments more… Castus held himself back, but his heart was racing and sweat was tiding down his back. Fear uncoiled in his belly.
‘Ready?’ he said to Brinno. The young Frank’s savage grin did not falter.
‘Ready!’
Reaching back, Castus swung his arm and heard the men crowding the portico give a yell. Brinno was already on his feet, and Castus bolted after him, the two of them swerving out from behind the cart and racing together towards the gates as the noise of the crowd swelled behind them.
‘Open the gates!’ Castus yelled as he ran. ‘The city’s rising! Open, in the name of the gods!’
He snatched a glance over his shoulder and saw the first of the mob spilling between the houses at the top of the street, a mass of running men brandishing staves and knives, stones and raised fists. A broken brick smashed against the cobbles just ahead of him.
‘Save us!’ Brinno screamed. ‘Help us!’
Come on… Castus stared at the gates ahead, the doors still firmly closed. A hundred paces left, then fifty. The sound of his boots on the paved road was loud in his ears. Archers were shooting down from the towers now: behind him Castus heard a scream of pain. He glanced back again, and his boot slid from beneath him. The world swung, and then he was down on his back, sliding on the wet stones. For a moment fear gripped him: the pursuing crowd was nearly on top of him, their screams of rage so loud he could almost believe they genuinely wanted to kill him. Then he was up again, getting his legs beneath him and running, staggering, towards the gate.
Open up… come on…! Brinno had turned to raise his sword at the mob. A grate and a crash as the locking bar was raised, then the gate on the left creaked open. Castus let out a shout of gratitude.
There were three soldiers in the spill of light from the gate tunnel, an optio and two of the men from the towers. Helmets, but no armour, and their shields bore the blue and white blazon of VI Hispana Maximiana. The same numeral as Castus’s old legion. They were Roman soldiers; they were his brothers. But now they were his enemies.
Brinno rushed up beside him and together they sprinted the last stretch, the optio gesturing wildly from the open gate. Stones clattered against the wall and the arches; then Castus was shoving himself between the shields with the sword still in his hand. Brinno was right behind them, and they staggered beneath the arch, into the close damp stone smell of the vaulted tunnel. Already the optio was shouting for his men to close and bar the gate behind them.
Gods forgive me. Without drawing breath Castus turned on his heel, levelled his sword and punched it up into the optio’s unguarded flank. The man stiffened, flinging out his arm to grab at the wall before his legs crumpled beneath him. One of the other soldiers was already down, Brinno’s blade slicing him across the chest.
Screams echoed beneath the high stone vault as Castus wrenched his sword from the body of the fallen optio and swung it at the man wrestling with the bar of the gate. The soldier managed to get his shield up, and Castus’s blade glanced off the curved surface and swung wide, the metal singing. Castus steadied himself on his back foot. With his free hand he grabbed at the shield rim and dragged it down; then he reversed his sword and punched the pommel into the soldier’s face. As the body collapsed to the ground he could hear the gates heaving wide, the mob raising a furious cheer as it surged through the archway.
One soldier remained, backing away along the tunnel with stark terror in his eyes. Wild shadows reeled in the lamplight, and Castus saw the grille of heavy iron-studded beams blocking the passage between the gates. The last soldier threw down his spear and shield, pressing himself back against the bars of the portcullis with his hands raised.