Swords Around the Throne (45 page)

Then a ripple went through the enemy formation. Looking up, Castus saw people scrambling across the roofs of buildings on either side of the street, pelting tiles down into the massed soldiers beneath them. Others appeared at the upper windows, hurling bricks. A cauldron tipped from a window ledge, dropping a steaming torrent of boiling water onto the frenzied men below. The advance of Maximian's troops faltered as panic spread from their rear. Then their line broke, and a wedge of Constantine's legionaries surged forward through the breach, driving the enemy before it.

Noise of horses behind him, hooves clattering on the paved street, and Castus looked back as a troop of armoured cavalrymen from the Schola Scutariorum came riding down from the Sea Gate. But the battle here was done. Everywhere the enemy soldiers were casting aside their weapons, fleeing into the alleys or surrendering. Castus saw the men of the Spanish legions ripping the images of Maximian from their standards and throwing them down. They were dropping their shields, emblazoned with his name, and stamping and spitting on them. He noticed with surprise that it was growing light. The faces of the soldiers were distinct now, and the blood pooled in the street looked violently red.

‘We have to get to the palace,' he said, taking Brinno by the arm.

‘The emperor's wife is there.' Even as he spoke Castus saw the terrible images appearing to him. Not only was Fausta in the palace, but Sabina too. If Maximian decided to fight – worse, if he chose to die – he could take both of them to Hades with him. Castus pictured the halls painted with blood, a slaughterhouse. He broke into a run, and Brinno came after him.

Down the street towards the agora they shoved through the last of the civilian mob and the surrendering soldiers, and then they were on their own. The fight seemed to have swirled through this district and then ebbed away eastwards, leaving a wrack of fallen weapons, and occasionally fallen men too. Most of the dead were soldiers; clearly the citizens of Massilia had been taking their revenge. Castus drew his sword as he ran.

A section of cavalry came cantering past as they entered the agora, then a scattered unit of soldiers moving at the jog. Whether they were Constantine's men or Maximian's it was impossible to tell. But at the far end of the agora Castus could make out the shields of the Praetorians in the gathering daylight, and they were holding a steady line as they retreated towards the quays below the theatre.

He halted, gasping, and clung to a pillar. The wound in his side was like a burning coal lodged in his flesh, and clammy sweat was running down his face. A tide of pain rose through his body, and for a moment he thought he would vomit. Then it passed. Brinno gave him a questioning look, and Castus nodded and heaved himself away from the pillar again.

There were more soldiers advancing around them now, legionaries of I Minervia and XXII Primigenia, with a horde of Germanic auxilia in support. They moved steadily across the agora in a skirmishing line, but the Praetorians were falling back fast and were not about to make a stand. Castus snatched up a fallen shield and shoved himself forward between the skirmishers, Brinno at his shoulder. They had reached the far end of the agora, moving through the colonnades and into the wide area of open ground between the theatre and the sea, and now they could make out the little column of troops and fugitives descending the slope from Maximian's palace towards the gateway of the western docks. The sun was just up to the east, and the scene was flooded with a golden morning light.

‘There he is!' Brinno cried, pointing. Castus stared, and picked out the figure in the purple robe, hedged by soldiers on all sides as he paced quickly towards the dock gateway. In the sunlight everything appeared very clear, very bright. A moment later Castus saw a red parasol raised above the hurrying column, an open litter being carried beneath it by four slaves. In the litter was Fausta, and behind it, on foot, was Sabina.

The soldiers raised a great snarling cheer as they too caught sight of the usurper. They surged forward, but the Praetorians had formed into a solid wall, shields locked, protecting an open avenue between Maximian and the dock gateway. Some of Constantine's men still had their javelins and darts; they hurled them at the enemy formation, but most fell short. There seemed to be no officers among them, nobody to give the order.

‘For Constantine!' Castus yelled, raising his sword so all along the line could see him. ‘For Constantine! After me!'

He kicked himself forward into a charge, directly across the open ground towards the Praetorian line. Bellowing as he ran, he felt agony filling his torso and feared he would stumble and fall. But the Constantinian troops were surging forward after him, raising their own ragged cheer, and even before he had covered half the distance Castus could see the Praetorians beginning to fall back. Then their line collapsed, men fleeing to either side, and he was through.

Maximian had already passed the gateway into the docks. Fausta's litter followed behind him, and then the usurper's bodyguard peeled aside and re-formed to block the gate behind their master and ensure his escape.

Castus slowed as he drew closer. The men in the gateway formed a solid barrier. A soldier ran up beside him and hurled his javelin, and Castus saw one of the defenders fall. Brinno shot one arrow, then shot a second. Within moments all the advancing troops had begun to add their own missiles to the barrage, and the men packed in the gateway could only crouch behind their battered shields and wait to die.

Their resistance did not last long. Once half of them had fallen wounded or dead the rest broke and scattered away along the quayside behind them. Castus drew breath, ready to charge forward again. Then he saw the last defender, still standing in the open gateway.

‘Sallustius!' he cried. ‘Surrender! It's over...'

But Sallustius, sword in hand, clad in his silvered scale cuirass, just shook his head and raised his shield. Something flickered past Castus's ear; Sallustius took one staggering step back, then dropped his shield and grasped at the arrow jutting from his neck. He staggered again, then fell.

‘He was a traitor,' Brinno said, shrugging grimly.

Castus paused only briefly to gaze down at the dying body of his former comrade; two soldiers pushed past him, and then he was running after them through the gateway onto the quay.

The sunlight was dazzling off the calm water of the harbour, gulls wheeled and screamed overhead, and a light twelve-oared galley was moving away from the quayside with Maximian's purple-clad bulk seated at the stern. From the far end of the quay came the clash of sudden combat, screams of pain; the last men of the usurper's bodyguard were gathered in a tight knot around the landing steps, still holding their positions even as their emperor was deserting them. The two soldiers that had passed Castus only moments before were already down, dying on the worn stones of the quay.

Slowing to a walk, Castus approached the group of men around the steps. He held his sword low, but kept his shield up. Behind him he could hear the mass of other soldiers gathering at his back. He kept walking, drawing closer.

‘Throw down your weapons!' he cried hoarsely. ‘Your emperor has fled!'

The knot of bodyguards drew tighter, closing their shields. Then a gap opened between them and a single figure stepped forth into the glare of sunlight. His scarred face looked like creased leather, and his mouth was twisted into a mirthless smile.

‘So we meet on the battlefield at last!' Urbicus said, raising his sword.

Castus halted, only a few long strides between them. For over a year he had waited for this confrontation, but his body was flowing with pain, his limbs were heavy with fatigue. Urbicus was no callow soldier; he was a true warrior, a veteran of twenty years and more in the legions. In his eyes was the cold fury of certain death.

‘We don't need to do this,' Castus heard himself say. ‘It's over.'

‘Over for him maybe,' Urbicus replied, making the slightest gesture towards the departing boat. ‘For us? I don't think so. I'm bound for Hades, it seems. But I'm sending you down there before me.'

Maximian's other bodyguards were drawing back, closing ranks again. Castus kept his eyes on his opponent, but could sense the soldiers massing behind him. Both sides watched their champions: this would be a single combat, a bout of gladiators. Urbicus swung his shield up as he edged closer, already in a fighting stance with his blade levelled.

Castus focused on the man before him, trying to still the thunder of blood in his head and clear his mind of everything but his adversary. The morning sun was bright; death lay on every side. From the deepest well of his body he dredged up the last reserves of strength, of speed.

In silence they circled, edging and feinting, their boots scraping on the stone paving, and the troops gathered all around them were silent too, breathless as they watched.

Urbicus lunged suddenly, his blade darting out. Castus took the strike on his shield and turned it, but the older man kept up the attack. Another blow hammered down, then two more in quick succession. Castus kept his shoulder hunched into the hollow of his shield, absorbing the force of the attack, waiting for the other man to tire. But he was being driven back almost to the brink of the quayside. He pushed forward, stabbing with his blade and punching out with the boss of his shield; Urbicus dodged clear, then swung a high chopping blow. Castus got his shield up, realising a moment too late that it was a feint. The other man's blade skimmed around the rim of his shield and swung in low and hard. Pain ripped through Castus's body as the flat of the sword slammed into his flank, where the bloodstain on his tunic clearly showed the wound beneath. Crying out, he saw Urbicus snarl in triumph, then punch forward with his shield.

The blow caught Castus off balance, and his left leg gave beneath him. Toppling, he caught himself on one knee as his shield fell from his grip. Urbicus was already sweeping his sword up, then bringing it arcing down. Castus raised his blade just in time, gripping the hilt with both hands as he parried the blow. Steel clashed and shrieked in the sunlight as the blades ground together.

For a moment they struggled, weapons locked. Castus heard the screams of the gulls around them, the shouts of the watching soldiers suddenly loud in his ears. From somewhere in the pit of his chest he found a last surge of energy; roaring, he pushed himself upwards. Urbicus staggered back, his sword already wheeling to strike again, but Castus was on his feet now and drove forward into the attack. With a ragged yell he struck two-handed, his blade hacking shards from the other man's shield rim.

One blow, and then another. He saw fierce anger in the eyes of his enemy. Urbicus was gathering his strength, but for a few heartbeats he could only retreat under Castus's assault. A third blow, slashed backhand across the face of Urbicus's shield, then Castus grabbed at the shield rim with his left hand and pulled, hauling the other man's arm and body around with it.

His sword was already drawn back; with all the power of his arm he drove it forward, stabbing into the open flank of his enemy. The blade bit deep, and Urbicus screamed.

Muscles burning, Castus dragged his sword back again and lifted it, wheeling the blade in the air before hacking it down into the hard flesh and tendons of Urbicus's neck.

Blood sprayed from the wound, brilliant in the sunlight. For a moment Castus saw Urbicus gazing back at him, his eyes wide with shock at the blow that had half severed his head. Then the man's legs folded beneath him and the body dropped to the smooth stones of the quay.

Heaving breath, Castus sank to one knee in the spreading lake of blood. He grounded his sword before him and leaned on it, fearing he would lose consciousness at any moment. Around him, Constantine's men were advancing again, but the remnants of the bodyguard gathered around the landing steps were throwing down their weapons now. Several of them covered their haggard faces as they began to weep, but most just slumped to the ground, too weary to care if they lived or died.

Turning his head, Castus gazed across the sunlit water at Maximian's departing galley. There were others packed into the boat: he could see the eunuch Gorgonius, and Fausta and her ladies, Sabina doubtless among them. Then he raised his eyes from the galley and looked towards the harbour mouth. Edging in beneath the bastions of the sea fortifications, oars beating in time, were two double-banked liburnians. The galleys' decks were packed with troops, and both had heavy ballistae mounted in the bows, aimed down at Maximian's fragile craft.

The two ships slowed as they entered the harbour. Raising a palm to shade his eyes, Castus watched as Maximian stood up in the stern of his own vessel. The oarsmen ceased moving, and the motion of the light galley slackened as it turned slowly with the tide. A man in a linen cuirass was calling orders across the water from the bigger of the two liburnians, but Maximian paid him no attention.

Slowly, with careful dignity, the usurper slipped the gold-embroidered purple robe from his shoulders, lifted it and folded it. Then he raised his arms and cast the folded robe into the waters of the harbour.

‘Will they let us take a bath and change our clothes before we meet the emperor?' Brinno asked. He was licking the blistered fingers of his shooting hand. Ofilia was trailing behind him, a smile on her broad, tanned face.

Castus shrugged, snorting. All three of them were bloodied and filthy, but the whole city of Massilia looked racked and battered. Soldiers were staggering everywhere, most of them drunk, but many of the citizens appeared drunk too. Maximian was beaten, the battle was over and soon the emperor Constantine would make his triumphal entrance into the city. Surely that was cause enough for happiness?

Stepping through the shade of the colonnades, Castus looked out over the agora. After the night's rain the morning was fresh and the sky cloudless, and all across the open space there were soldiers and civilians mingled together, cheering and laughing. Castus had not seen the prisoners being brought ashore after Maximian's surrender. He had seen nothing of Fausta, or Sabina. Even Hierocles had disappeared immediately after the surrender to take possession of the former palace.