‘You’re right. But let’s keep Nobus in reserve.’
Mercator moved back a little so Nobus could see him and gave the signal. The optio then looked across at Itys. He mimicked drawing the bow and raised his hand high to indicate the target. He then picked up the javelin.
Still hunched over, Indavara nocked an arrow and pulled back the string, ready to straighten up and fire.
Gutha shielded his eyes from the sun. The sandy ground ahead was heavily disturbed but then a lot of traffic had come this way. He could hear nothing but the men breathing. And yet he was sure.
He spoke to the warriors quietly. ‘I think they’re there. We shall withdraw. Do not turn.’
He took a single step backwards.
Itys got his shot away first. It missed Gutha and thumped into the chest of a man to his left. As the warrior shrieked and fell, the others fled back through the pass.
Indavara let fly. He’d had to adjust his aim at the last moment and cursed as he saw the bolt scratch Gutha’s shoulder. The German was moving quickly but another of the warriors collided with him and they both tumbled to the ground.
Mercator did better. He had aimed at the front rank and struck a retreating warrior between the shoulder blades. The man was now on his belly, crawling towards the rise, the javelin still in his back.
Itys’s second arrow caught another man, who managed three steps before hitting the ground hard then rolling back down the slope.
Indavara’s second arrow was already drawn but he couldn’t get a clear shot. When he spotted the German again, the crafty bastard was holding the man with the arrow in his chest in front of him — using him as a shield. As the others ran past him, he retreated calmly.
Itys hit another man in the thigh.
Gutha was almost at the top of the slope.
Indavara steadied himself and drew the string right back. He aimed at the injured man’s throat, hoping the bolt might go all the way through. He breathed out, then let go.
Gutha felt warm blood splatter his neck and something poke into his skin. Once over the rise, he dropped the warrior and crouched down. The arrow had gone through the Saracen’s neck and out the other side. The iron tip was a wet, glistening red.
‘Itys, cover me!’
Leaving the bow and drawing his sword, Indavara got to his feet and sprinted along the road. The two wounded men still moving were dragging themselves up the slope. Ignoring them, Indavara wrenched the javelin out of the dying warrior and picked up the spear, which had been abandoned. He then ran back to Mercator and dropped both weapons.
‘Good thinking,’ said the optio. ‘Did you get him?’
‘Did they get me?’
The warriors were still staring at the dead man.
Gutha touched his neck. He could feel a tear in the flesh. There didn’t seem to be much blood coming out but he’d seen neck wounds turn very bad very quickly.
‘You there. How bad is it?’
The closest warrior checked it. ‘Bit of a slice, sir. Nothing serious.’
The man then looked up at his head and frowned. ‘There’s something in your …’
Gutha bent forward. The warrior reached up then presented him with a shard of metal. It took him a while to realise it had come from the shattered sword of the bodyguard back at Galanaq.
The two injured men dragged themselves over the rise and crawled towards their compatriots. Like the others, the warrior went to help them but Gutha grabbed his arm.
‘Go to my horse and take out my armour.’
Indavara and Mercator scuttled across the track to the others.
‘Move back?’ suggested Andal.
‘Definitely,’ said Mercator. ‘Give ourselves more time.’
‘You think they’ll come straight at us now?’ asked Itys.
‘They know that cart’s getting farther away with every passing minute,’ said Indavara. ‘They won’t be long.’
‘Four down,’ said Mercator. ‘That’s seventeen left.’
‘But the German brute counts for two,’ said Pelagius.
‘At least,’ replied Itys morosely. ‘Can’t believe I missed him.’
‘Let’s hope they don’t have much armour or many shields with them,’ said Pelagius.
‘We’ll wait and see what comes,’ said Indavara. ‘Don’t break cover until you have to.’
They withdrew another thirty feet from the pass. Once Andal, Pelagius and Itys had found good spots, Indavara and Mercator checked no one was watching then hurried back to the other side. The best position was behind the outcrop where Ulixes was still slumped, wine flask in his hand. Bucoli was already there with the spear and the javelin.
The auxiliary suddenly stamped downward. When he took his boot away, Indavara saw the sticky, crushed carcass of a pale, almost translucent creature with some very strange-looking body parts. He guessed he’d seen his first scorpion.
‘Is that the one that stung you?’ Mercator asked Ulixes.
‘Didn’t see it,’ murmured the gambler before downing more wine.
‘One of Khalima’s men said that most of the pale ones aren’t lethal. That one’s pale.’
‘I’m a dead man,’ muttered Ulixes. ‘The pain is even worse.’ He punched the ground. ‘I curse the gods. I curse them all!’
‘Don’t say that,’ hissed Bucoli.
‘Think they’re going to help you, lad? We’re nothing but entertainment for them.’
‘That’s enough,’ said Mercator.
Indavara briefly checked the area for any more of the creatures then crouched down close to the end of the outcrop. He ran his sword in and out of the scabbard a few times to make sure it wouldn’t stick, then checked his boots. He laid the bow beside him and inspected the spear. It was crudely made but six feet long with a heavy iron head. He put it next to the bow.
Gutha recruited another man to speed things along. Once his mail-shirt was on and the studded bronze chest and back plates attached, it was time for the greaves and arm-guards. Gutha had once weighed the entire arrangement and it had been even heavier than he’d imagined: eighty pounds, not including the helmet, which he put on last.
Six of the remaining warriors had shields; they would lead the way. Their job was to advance on the two bowmen and keep them occupied while another six came in behind them to take out the others. Gutha had selected the strongest four as his reserve. If any of the raiders were still standing, they would follow up and finish them off.
All the horses had been tied up some distance back.
Gutha checked his armour one more time; he didn’t want anything coming loose at an inopportune moment.
‘I doubt there are more than a few of them,’ he told the Arabians. ‘Just keep moving and take out those archers — then we can deal with the rest. Everyone up the slope.’
‘Shit,’ said Bucoli. ‘They do have shields.’
‘I see them,’ said Indavara. ‘Four. No, six.’
By crouching, the advancing men were able to cover all but their boots. The shields were circular; hide and wood with a central boss of bronze.
‘Might be a job for Nobus,’ said Mercator.
‘Agreed.’
The optio got the auxiliary’s attention, pointed at the shield-bearers and mimed a throw. Nobus waved an acknowledgement then moved up to the edge.
The six men had just reached the top of the rise. The first rock missed them. They noticed the splash of dust but continued on, apparently unaware that it had come from above.
Nobus’s second throw did a lot more damage. It hit one of the men on the shoulder, the crack of bone reverberating along the pass. The unfortunate dropped his shield and retreated face contorted by pain.
Gutha ordered a man from the second rank to grab his shield. The injured warrior was told to take his place; he could still wield his sword.
As he approached the rise, Gutha looked up and saw the enemy warrior aiming his next rock. There was absolutely nothing they could do about it; they didn’t have a single bow between them, not that he would have been easy to hit anyway. It was always the little things.