I looked round just in time to get out of the way. Dressed in black, the small, darting figure missed me and stabbed viciously into thin air. He landed noiselessly and wheeled about to face me. I had my sword back out and went into a fighting pose. From the far left, I saw another dark blur. I lunged forward and then round in a wide, cutting move. Even in broad daylight, you don’t stop and count your attackers. But I was aware of five of those dark, rapid creatures. I stepped back against the tomb and raised my sword again. Almost too late, I heard the scrape of clothing on weathered stone, as someone jumped on to the roof of the tomb and tried to get me from behind. I leapt forward at the nearest of the attackers before me. I felt the point of my sword make contact with something solid, and heard a high squeal of pain. But there was no kill — not even some disabling injury.
I turned again and lunged with another cutting movement at the man still on the tomb. This one I did get. I took him by surprise, and felt the reassuring crunch of expensive steel on the flesh and bone of the man’s neck. He went backwards off the tomb with a bubbling scream. I turned and stared at the four who were left. Now together, they hung back. I could see they were dressed wholly in black, even down to the masks on their faces. Each had a short sword in one hand and a knife in the other. In a moment, they’d fan out again and close in like flies round a drop of spilled honey.
‘Run for it!’ I shouted in Latin. I had a momentary glimpse of Martin, who’d pulled out a length of dead bramble and was trying for a weak flourish. ‘Martin, fuck off!’ I shouted again. ‘Run and get help.’ This was no place for him. I slashed at someone who jumped at me from the left, and then at someone who tried getting at me from the right.
‘Look out — behind you!’ I heard the Dispensator cry.
I looked round in time to see him hurry forward, his walking staff raised as a weapon. One of the attackers had climbed on to the bloody roof of the tomb. The other three were closing in. I heard the whizz of the Dispensator’s staff as he knocked the man from the tomb. With a rapid lunge, I struck out at the attacker who was trying to get him from the side. I missed, but he and the others fell back again. I felt the Dispensator’s back press into mine, and we moved into the middle of the road. So long as no one managed a lucky slice against that walking staff, we now had some advantage. The attackers shouted rapidly at each other. One of them made a dash at me, sword arm fully extended. Stupid move! I stood head and shoulders and part of my chest above any of them. I had another six inches at the least in my own sword arm. I had him skewered far short of where he could have done me any harm. As the dying man fell to his knees, I kicked him back into the path of one of the two survivors.
Behind me, I felt the Dispensator press into me as he swung his staff. Leaving me for the moment, the attack was now focused on him. I jumped forward to avoid being caught by the staff and picked up one of the fallen swords. I threw it at Martin, who was waving his piece of bramble and screaming like a terrified woman. The Dispensator’s staff was now cut off just a few inches from where he’d been holding it. As he stepped back, I went past him and, holding it in both hands, swung hard with my sword. I missed where I’d been aiming, but still managed to take a sword arm off at the elbow. I had a brief glimpse of the arm, still clutching its sword, bounce on the paving stones.
The attackers were now down to one. As he stepped cautiously back from me, Martin rushed him from behind. Still screaming, eyes shut, he slashed feebly and at random. It was a marvel he didn’t crash straight into me. But the attacker looked round for a moment. I took my sword again in both hands and went at him. I took the top of his head off as if it had been a breakfast egg. He fell to his knees, his sword clattering on to the road. I didn’t bother to watch him drop forward, but turned to finish off the man whose right arm I’d taken. But he was now running for it. Screaming with fear and pain, staggering from loss of blood, he was already off the road. I could have followed him on to the stones. But, injured as he was, he darted away with more speed than I thought I’d manage.
Keeping my sword up, I looked round. Within a ten-foot radius, all the paving stones were red and slippery. The monks had bolted. Far along the road, I could see their dark blur as they made for the safety of Athens. Towards us, coming from both directions, I saw the approach of other travellers, the sun glinting on their drawn swords. There was a distant sound of shouting. Close by was the sound of the Dispensator’s loud breathing and Martin’s return to frantic prayer. No birds sang. In place of the merry chirping of insects was the buzzing of flies as they gathered to feast on the blood that I’d shed. Probably cowering behind some of the larger stones, the children had vanished.
I forced myself into a calm I didn’t feel. ‘You are hurt, My Lord?’ I asked.
The Dispensator shook his head. One of his sleeves had been ripped all the way down, but the sword hadn’t touched his arm. He bent and picked up the remaining length of his walking staff and tested it.
Farting and sobbing, Martin sat like a man who’d been stunned. His own worst injury was where he’d ripped his hands on the brambles. As I watched, he clutched at his stomach and began rocking back and forth. As the excitement faded like the echo of a voice in church, I could feel a shaking fit coming on. I willed myself not to give way to it.
‘Alaric,’ the Dispensator cried sharply, ‘this one is still alive.’
I made myself look round. Still dazed, the man the Dispensator had got with his staff was sitting with his back against the tomb. I tightened my hold on a sword now slippery with blood and sweat and stood over the man. His masked face turned up in my direction, he pulled a small knife from his belt.
‘That won’t do you any good,’ I said through chattering teeth. I could hear the rapid approach of the other travellers. I stepped back and transferred my sword to my left hand. I wiped my right on my tunic and took the sword back into it. I pulled myself together. The man had now scrambled forward on to his knees and was looking at me through his mask. I lowered my sword. ‘Punishment in Athens,’ I said with desperate control. ‘But questions first.’
He turned his face up to the sky and laughed. It was the mad, exultant laugh of a gambler who, given up by all as broken, has managed a sudden lucky throw. Cautious of a sudden rush at me, I stepped back further. The man said something I couldn’t catch and, taking it in both hands, raised his knife above his head. With a shrill cry I’d normally have taken for sexual pleasure, he brought it suddenly down into his belly. Still holding it hard, he ripped the knife upward all the way to his breast bone. With a babble of ecstasy, he tore the knife out and threw it aside. Somehow, he got to his feet. I heard the ripping of cloth as he pulled the gash wide open and pulled at his entrails. There was a scream of horror from behind me. I may have cried out myself as, holding out those bloody things in both hands, he stepped heavily towards me. I stepped back again — but not fast enough. With a final, extreme effort, the man threw himself at me. I overbalanced as he hit me and fell back on to the road. For a long instant before they dulled, two eyes blazed triumph and hate from behind the mask.
But now many hands were pulling the body off me, and were lifting me back to my feet. Someone put a wet cloth to my face. I watched it come away red. I looked down at my sopping, red tunic. I wanted to sit down again. But I was hurried instead over to a wooden box that had been unloaded from one of the carrying slaves. Someone shoved the bone spout of a wineskin into my mouth. I sucked on it till I thought I’d be sick. Looking through the jostling, admiring crowd, I saw the Dispensator. He had his back to me, and was reaching down to help Martin to his feet.