"To the afterworld with Trebatius, then. Stand by," said the Roman, who had given his toga to his slave. He now stood in his tunic, which displayed the narrow purple stripe of the equestrian order. A heavy Samnite broadsword hung from his right side, and his arm bore a shield. "Are not the rest of you ready yet? In the name of the gods, hurry! ..."
The coastal road wound along the rocky shore, a few cubits above the waves. South along the road came thirty-four armed men at a fast walk, now and then breaking into a lope. They were a scarred, sun-tanned, fierce-looking lot, with here and there a missing eye or ear. They were dressed every which way, some in tar-stained stolen finery of brilliant hues, some in the short Etruscan shirts that left the genitalia exposed. Gold and silver flashed in the morning sun; jewels in rings, bracelets, and necklaces gleamed and winked against their dirty hides. All bore spears—some heavy thrusting pikes, some light casting javelins—and shields. Swords dangled from belts and baldrics. Half a dozen had helmets on their tangled hair; the rest were bareheaded or wore round seamen's caps. Only three wore cuirasses.
Crouching above the bank, Zopyros almost held his breath in the effort to keep from either talking or raising his head to peer at the foe. His heart pounded with excitement. The Roman knight had just threatened to break a spear shaft over the back of the next man who spoke.
The clangor of the pirates now came clearly, above the sigh of the wind and the splash of the waves. Swords clanked in scabbards; spears knocked against shields. There was the sound of many sandaled feet, of hard breathing, and of muttered curses and complaints in a harsh, grating, unknown tongue. Zopyros tried to estimate the number of the enemy by the volume of the sound.
Out of the corner of his eye, Zopyros saw the Roman wave his arm. At once there came the crack of a whip and the rattle of a chariot. Someone among the unseen pirates cried out. The hoof-beats grew louder. The Roman shouted:
"Stones!"
Zopyros sprang up, grasping a ten-pound stone in both hands. He raised the stone and hurled it down on the straggling mass of men below, while others to his right and left did the same. As Zopyros stooped for his second stone, Trebatius' gilded chariot, drawn by the whites at full gallop, hurtled around the bend on one wheel. The Celt screamed horribly, rolling his eyes and showing his teeth, a the chariot thundered towards the pirates.
"At them!" yelled the Roman. The four temple guards, moving heavily in their full panoply of polished bronze, began stumbling down the slope.
Zopyros threw his second stone, picked up his spear and shield, and bounded down the bank. Others, some with rolled-up cloaks in lieu of shields, charged on either side of him. All, as the Roman has commanded, shouted at the tops of their voices. Although a few o: those who had gathered at the Sibyl's cave had now slunk away, the attackers numbered over a score.
In the milling mass below him, Zopyros made out one man lying in the road. Just before he reached level ground, the chariot flashed by. The vehicle bounced into the air as the wheels struck another body.
Then Zopyros was in the mellay, jabbing wherever he saw an opening, catching a spear thrust and then a sword cut on his shield. He felt his point strike home. Then he saw a spearhead coming at his face and knew he could not bring his shield around in time. He stepped back, turned his foot on a loose stone, and fell sprawling, He rolled over to get his shield above him, groped for his spear and scrambled to his feet.
The pirates were no longer around him. The Roman cried: "After them! Do not let them get away! You!" he shouted at Zopyros Catching the young man by the shoulders, he spun him around and with a mighty push sent him staggering northward along the road.
Zopyros tripped over a body, recovered, and panted after a straggle of fighters, running north in pursuit of a little knot of pirates. Zopyros saw those in the lead overtake one man; saw the man go down under spear thrusts. The rest of the fugitives broke and scattered into the scrub like quail. The pursuers spread out after them but soon gave up the chase.
Zopyros, leaning on his spear and breathing in great sobbing gasps, caught an occasional flash of human hide among the ilexes. But the pirates, having thrown away their loose gear, ran faster for life than their pursuers ran for law and were soon out of sight.
Back at the battlefield, Zopyros found men bandaging wounds, while others snatched the jewelry from the corpses, hacking off fingers to get the rings. The Roman was coldly driving his sword into the body of a wounded pirate who still writhed and moaned. The Celt held his long sword and, by its hair, a severed head. Blood dripped slowly from blade and head.
"Is he not the fine trophy, now?" said the barbarian. " 'Tis sorry I am not to be going home to hang him in the hall. But you Greeks are funny about battle trophies. You will hang up an omadhaun's helmet but not the head that went inside it."
Zopyros was counting: "... seven, eight. Are those all we got?"
The Roman said: "Some fell or leaped into the sea when we charged them; I do not know whether they drowned or got ashore again."
"Is that man one of ours?" Zopyros indicated a well-dressed body among the corpses.
"It is. That is the man from Messana, the one with the young woman."
A Samnite spoke: "His name was Nestor, and I heard the girl Call him 'uncle'."
Zopyros stepped closer for a better view of the corpse. The gray-beard had several gashes, some of them deep body wounds. His tunic, Once white, was now mostly crimson.
"Still," said Zopyros, "we did well, considering that we had fewer in the battle line than they."
The Roman said: "I have seen it before. When one side breaks and runs, even the lightly wounded are struck down from behind as they run or speared as they lie on the ground. Therefore the losses of the losing side are many times those of the winners, even though the battle was close and hard-fought. When I fought at—"
The sound of horses cut off the Roman's sentence. A squadron of horsemen cantered around the bend, their horsehair plumes whipping in the breeze.
"Hercules! What's this?" said their officer. "I mean, are you the pirates or the people who fought against them?"
The Roman bared his teeth in a grimace of exasperation. "What do you think, my Campanian friend? Jupiter blast you, must I put on my toga to prove that I am Quintus Cornelius Arvina, of the Equestrian Order of Rome? Do I look like a pirate?"
"I'm sorry, sir," said the officer.
"Well, ride hard to the outlet of Lake Licola, and you may catch the remnant of the pirates before they board their ship."
The horsemen threaded their way through the fighters and corpses and took up their pursuit. As they galloped off, Zopyros turned to help Archytas bandage a scratch on his leg. All were in high spirits, chattering and laughing. Even the Roman cracked a thin smile. Landlord, peasant, and mechanic freely exchanged names and congratulations, differences of rank for the moment forgotten.
The Celt, pulling on his tunic, said to Zopyros: "It is Segovax son of Cotus that I am, young man, and the bonniest fighter that ever came out of Gaul. And who might you be?" He was almost as tall as Zopyros and much heavier, with merry blue eyes in a ruddy, weather-seamed face and hair, once bronzen, now streaked with gray. His cheeks and chin were shaven, but the hair on his long upper lip, uncut, hung down on either side of his mouth, then swept out and up like a buffalo's horns. Zopyros guessed his age at forty.
The Tarentine replied: "I'm Zopyros son of Megabyzos, and my friend here is Archytas son of Mnesagoras. Taras sent the Archon to consult the Sibyl, and we were chosen by lot to go with him, to run errands and protect him from evildoers. What brings you to our sunny southland?"