The Legion - Scarrow Simon (книги читать бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

CHAPTER EIGHT

'Sir!' a voice called to Macro. 'They're coming!'

He trotted over to the edge of the tower and saw the figures emerging between two rocks, less than a quarter of a mile away. They came on at a run and Macro quickly saw that he and his men were outnumbered at least three to one.

'What are you going to do?' asked Hamedes. 'There's too many of them. We should get out of here while there's still time. Or surrender.'

'Surrender? To that bastard? Never!' Macro snarled.

'Then let's run.'

'Run? Where? We're on a bloody headland. There's nowhere to run to, you idiot. Now shut up and give me a hand.' Macro moved over to one of the bolt throwers and swivelled it round to face the oncoming attackers. 'Open the ammunition box,' he snapped and pointed at a weathered chest beside the wall. While Hamedes fetched a bundle of the heavy bolts, two feet long with heavy iron heads and wooden flights, Macro wound the handle and ratcheted back the thick tarry cord that stretched between the two arms of the weapon. Once it was ready, he took the first bolt from the priest and laid it in the long groove that passed between the boxes containing the torsion ropes. The first of the renegades was little more than two hundred paces from the tower now and Macro pulled out the elevation pin and then grunted as he raised the bed of the weapon, sighted the bolt thrower on the man, then slipped the pin back in. He straightened up.

'Stand clear!'

He glanced round, then grasped the lanyard that released the ratchet. He gave it a quick tug and the throwing arms snapped forward against the leather buffers with a sharp crack. At once Macro looked over the rail and saw the slender shadow slash through the dawn air towards the oncoming men. It flew over the leading man's head even before he was aware it was there. The bolt flew on, past another man before it hit the ground, sent up a spray of grit and ricocheted up and tore through the leg of one of the renegades, lifting him off the ground and sending him spinning into a small group close behind, knocking them down.

'Ha!' Macro growled with satisfaction, and hurriedly prepared the next shot. 'Bolt!' He held out his hand and Hamedes fumbled for the next round. He dropped it and ducked down to retrieve it as Macro cursed him. Looking up, Macro saw that the attackers had spread out and were picking their way forward more cautiously. That suited Macro well enough. All that mattered was to buy enough time to allow Cato's ships to enter the bay. Three of Ajax's men were creeping forward by the rocks where Macro's party had hidden and he swivelled the weapon round and released the catch. There was another crack and the bolt whirred through the air. This time it struck one of the men cleanly in the chest, hurling him back against a boulder where he crumpled in an untidy heap, the end of the shaft projecting from his tunic.

As soon as Macro began to reload, there was a shout and the men sprinted forward in the interval before the next round was loaded. Macro just had time to lower the elevation and fire one last bolt, which flew over their heads.

'That's it.' He stood back from the bolt thrower. 'It's hand-to-hand now.'

The first of the attackers reached the door and pounded on it. To little effect, as the door was secured with a wooden bar and some meal bags had been piled behind it. By the time Macro had climbed down and joined his men, as they snatched up the shields of the renegades they had killed, the first axe blows were thudding into the aged timber. A moment later a long splinter of wood shot back from the inside of the door. More splinters exploded as axes crashed home. Then a long sliver of wood bent down and the dull edge of the axe head protruded, a finger's width, through the door. When the axe was wrenched free, it left a narrow gap through which Macro could see the men outside in the pale dawn light. More blows smashed through the weakened timber and hands wrenched at the shattered lengths of wood.

'Don't worry, lads,' Macro said evenly. 'There's only one way in. All we have to do is keep 'em out until the prefect gets here.'

He glanced round at the men standing poised in the gloom and noted their expressions. Some looked grim but determined, while a handful of others, younger, had an anxious, fearful look in their eyes. It was a centurion's duty to lead from the front, to inspire his men, and Macro eased himself forward towards the door, sword clenched in his right hand. He drew out his dagger and held it in the other hand. With a splintering crack a length of the door was pulled away, then more pieces, until only a shattered fringe remained. Outside, the renegades closed round. The first man stepped up, then kicked the makeshift barrier of meal sacks over. He carried a spear and he lowered the tip and thrust at Macro with a grunt. The leaf-shaped head stabbed towards his midriff and Macro parried it away as he swung to his left. At once he recovered his balance and lunged at the spearman, forcing him back, out of the door.

'Form up around the door!' Macro shouted. 'Take 'em from the side as they come in.'

As the men hurried into place, the spearman thrust again, hands gripping the shaft tightly and legs braced apart. This time he fully concentrated his attention on the centurion, as if they were paired in a duel. He weighed Macro up with an expert eye, and feinted. Macro flinched for an instant and then he grinned.

'I don't fool that easy. Try harder.'

This time the thrust was in earnest and the point shot forward like a ram. Macro slashed down, just above the man's hand, and the point went down towards the floor. Macro's dagger hand darted forward and stabbed into the renegade's forearm. With a gasp, he released the shaft and Macro stamped down on it, forcing the man off balance. He stumbled forward, inside the doorway, as he strove to regain his balance. One of the legionaries stepped up and punched his sword high into the man's back, driving him to one side. He fell on to his knees and slumped down with a groan as the legionary ripped his blade free.

'First blood to us, boys!' Macro cried out, then beckoned to the faces watching him from outside. 'Come on! Who's next?'

There was only the briefest hesitation before a burly swordsman swallowed nervously and made to approach the door. Before he could reach it, a voice called out.

'Stand aside! Let me through!'

Macro felt a cold shiver ripple down his spine as he recognised the voice at once. The men in front of him drew aside, creating a small open space before the door. Into it stepped a tall, powerful man in his early twenties, dark hair falling to his shoulders. He carried a short sword in one hand and a small round shield in the other. His body was protected by a black leather cuirass, decorated with silver whorls. His lips twisted into a cold smile.

'Centurion Macro. Well, what a surprise. I should have guessed you would try to find me.'

'And now that I have, I'm going to kill you,' Macro replied through gritted teeth.

'Really?' Ajax stepped closer, his eyes fixed on Macro. 'Then why not come out here? Let's settle this, man to man.'

Macro felt a burning compulsion to confront the gladiator. The urge coursed through his veins and threatened to cloud his judgement. He clamped his jaw shut and stared back at the man who had tormented him so cruelly barely three months before.

'What's the matter?' Ajax smirked. 'Are you not man enough to face me?'

Macro took half a step forward, almost to the threshold of the tower's entrance, and checked himself.

'Tell you what, Ajax,' he spoke in a flat tone. 'Why don't you come in here to settle things.'

Ajax chuckled coldly. 'A stand-off between us, then. A shame, since I would have liked the chance to humiliate you in front of your men.' Ajax lowered his sword. 'It seems that we'll have to do this the hard way.' He stepped back and turned to his men. 'Shields to the front!'