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Unlike the campsites of old, no tents were raised that night. For this was
an army on the run. There was little fuel for the fires which smoked on bushes
and stunted green trees. There would be no shelter here for the animals in the
next few winters, but for many years in late Autumn they would still return to
reclaim their territory. Maybe it was just the habit of instinct, or maybe these
dumb creatures knew that the grass now grew lusher from that soil enriched by
the dead and the dying.
Dead men don't need water... Spartak stooped and, with his left sword
prodded to reveal the gourd through the tangle of arms and bodies. He caught
the handle with the point of the sword, but it was still tied to the body by a
leather sling. A sharp swish with his right sword cut through the leather. A
bloody white hand jerked from under the pile. He stabbed without thinking, then
laughed at his own folly, when he realized that the dead arm had been caught in
the leather strap. It had only moved because he had hacked it. He lifted the
freed prize with the point of his sword. His few tired companions, scattered
around the hill saw the gesture, smiled and waved their own trophies in reply.
Slowly and carefully, Spartak turned around and started the slippery climb
back to the circle of spears in the ground that marked the kill zone. Although
it was only twenty yards, it took a few minutes to get there. He was wearing
thick leather ankle boots, despite the warm sun which now stood almost directly
above. A fallen sword, or broken armour could cut your feet to shreds, even if
the owner was stone cold dead. For that reason he preferred to walk across the
torsos of the fallen, rather than the darker gaps between. Some of those, he was
now walking on, had been his companions. He was sure they would understand, and
would have done the same.
When he got to the spears marker, he sat on the pile of helmets and
sharpened his blades with a whetstone while he waited for the others to rejoin
him. Barrak had three gourds, Vargas had one. Klepto was last to stumble back up
the gory slope. In his hands he was carrying a pile of boots. He tossed these to
one side, and then unfolded his silk shirt to triumphantly reveal some large
smoked salami and pieces of bread.
Vargas kicked over a helmet, and Klepto carefully dropped the food into it.
"I hope you kept those boots away from that food" said Vargas.
"If you can find anything cleaner than my shirt, you're welcome to wipe
the food" - said Klepto. "You should be glad I sniffed these out. It
looks better than what we had for breakfast."
Vargas, frowned doubtfully as Klepto tied up his shirt again.
"I can see some blood on that shirt now."
"It's only on the outside. It's not mine, and it's noone we know."
Klepto sat down, and took a swig of water from the flask which Barrak handed
him.
"My sword is the cleanest" said Spartak, and he reached for the
helmet of food and divided the rations.
Klepto had untied his sandals. Picking up the pile of boots he tried some
on his left foot. Then he found its pair with part of a foot still in it. He
reached back for a spear, and used the butt end to tap the sole, until the
lifeless lump fell out. Then, without more ado he pulled the boot on and
fastened it.
"That's much better" he said. "At least I don't have to worry
now about what I'm stepping on."
"At least I don't have to smell your feet while I'm eating this salami"
said Vargas.
There was a clattering sound from the foot of the hill which disturbed the
quiet. Noone bothered to turn around.
"Good bread," commented Barrak. "Must have been baked
yesterday."
"Too much garlic in this salami for my taste" said Spartak, anyone
care to finish my piece off?" - he handed the remaining pieces back to
Barrak, and took another sip of water.
"Now, I've got these boots, I can always go back down the hill and ask
for something different" commented Klepto.
There was some shouting and more clattering in the distance.
"Something tells me they won't be so stupid as to bring food with them
next time," said Vargas. "They seem to be leaving their water bottles
and food in a pile."
"That means they'll be off balance when they fight" said Spartak. "You
get used to the weight of your ration kit."
There was more shouting, and the clattering of swords on shields.
"They certainly seem to be sliding around. But they're on their way
back."
"That lunch was excellent," said Barrak, wiping his hands in his
beard. "That was a good bit of scavenging Klepto."
"Good job all around," said Spartak. "It looks like we've got
enough water to keep us going till nightfall. Let's gather what we've got around
the spears. How are the boots Klepto?"
Klepto walked around the circle of bodies immediately around them. "Pretty
good. Not my favourite colour, but good leather and comfortable."
A group of about twenty men were advancing slowly uphill, not used to
walking over the bodies of their comrades. Earlier in the day, the attack
parties had been bigger. During the day the Scythian commander had learned that
his men could get in each others way as they climbed over the fallen.
"They still haven't learned to leave their shields behind, have they?"
commented Vargas as he grabbed two spears from the pile. Shields slowed you
down, when you were slipping uphill and trying to keep your balance.
The advancing attackers were now less than a hundred yards away. The leaders
paused to let those behind catch up. Despite the difficulty of standing upright,
on the grisly slippery mess of limbs and torsos, the attackers' training took
over. They reformed into two lines. The line in front was a shield wall.
"Their commander can't see what's going on" said Spartak, also
grabbing two spears. "From where he is, all he sees is his men going to
attack, and noone coming back"
"I always hated officers" said Barrak.
"Maybe that's why you never got promoted" said Klepto.
The attacking line was now moving uphill very slowly. Curses now came from
behind the shields, which waved apart when their bearers slipped.
The defenders were standing relaxed, and spaced apart, with a spear in each
hand. Less than ten yards now separated them. Spartak signalled, and they raised
their spears ready for the first throw. A gap appeared on the right as one of
the attackers slipped. Like an eagle, a spear swooped into the gap. That part of
the shield wall wavered, then adjusted. Another attacker slipped in the middle.
Another gap. Another spear. A shield turned to the left to fill the gap. Another
spear flew in. The shield wall split in two. Two more spears flew into the gap.
The advance stopped. They tried to close the gap, in the middle which left the
flanks exposed. The line of shields swayed as some of the attacking men lost
their footing and fell on each other. Curses, then confusion. Then the line
broke as individual attackers threw away their shields and broke into the
killing circle.
The first three went for Spartak in the centre. Their leader stumbled over a
helmet, just as he got close and dropped down as the left blade sliced into the
back of his neck. The second attacker's sword clashed with the right, and was
held high for a moment. Then Spartak swept hard across at knee level with his
left. A look of surprise. The attacker's blade moved forward without any force,
as the attacking soldier discovered his leg was no longer supporting him.
Spartak stepped back as he fell, and swept back again with his left sword across
the front of the dazed man's throat. The third one made the mistake of pausing
while his comrade dropt, instead of following through his attack.
On the left hand side of the killing circle, Barrak had wounded one attacker
and was finishing him off where he lay. Vargas had speared two more before they
got to stabbing range, and his sword was still unblooded. On the right Klepto,
didn't wait for the climbers to reach him. Instead, he charged forwards and
quickly stabbed two before they had untied their shield arms. He was now
chasing two more of the attackers, who had seen their possible fate and turned
tail. One of them slipped and fell. The other continued scrambling away. Klepto
paused to hamstring the first, then pulled a spear from one of the wounded in
the shield wall, after twisting it free. He threw it after the retreating
soldier but missed.
"Damn."
He turned back, to where the hamstrung soldier lay propped on his elbow
trying to twist around to a defensive position.
"Now, why make things any more difficult?" Klepto circled slowly
waving his sword invitingly. On the way, he stabbed another man who had a spear
in his groin, but wasn't moving just to make sure. "It's not going to
change anything."
Klepto reached for another used spear with his left hand. The Scythian
guardsman grimaced but faced him still lying with his sword ready. He should
have looked behind. Thuck! His head dropped off his shoulders and his arm flew
up in a spasm, as Spartak took him from behind.
"It's not sporting, but I didn't ask to play this game" he
apologized.
Klepto wiped his sword on a fallen man's beard and sheathed it. He started
to gather up the spears. Spartak hacked away at arms still gripping their
shields and started to collect them. If they were left lying here, it would make
the last part of attack path too easy. He was soon joined by the others, who
also gathered up the shields to take back behind the spear circle.
"One of them got away this time" said Klepto ruefully.
"Anyone hurt?" asked Spartak when they had regrouped at the top.
Vargas had sprained his shoulder from throwing so many spears in quick
succession. He rubbed his shoulder.
Barrak's right hand was ringing numb. He was opening and closing it to get
back the circulation. He had broken his sword on a particularly stiff helmet.
Luckily the helmet's wearer had been stunned, and Barrak had been able to prise
the man's sword from his mindless fingers, with his left hand, and stab him with
it before he could protest.
"I think I might be getting a blister" said Klepto, pulling off
his right boot and shaking it.
"Next time you should make sure there's nothing in your boots when you
put them on." said Vargas.
A large piece of toenail fell out of the boot.
"That's not mine" said Klepto. He pulled the boot back on. "That
feels much better."
"It's always a good idea to break in new boots" said Spartak. He
passed around one of the water bottles. Then resumed sharpening his swords.
"You could shave with those blades of yours" said Klepto.
"Perhaps we should put out a barbers sign" said Barrak. "Close
shaves, offered to all imperial troopers. Low prices. Please leave your weapons
outside."
Vargas had been observing the small figures at the base of the hill. "They're
up to something" he commented. "I think our runaway has been talking
to his captain. Urgh, he said in disgust. That's strict army discipline down
there."
"He didn't have to run all the way down there to get his head cut off.
He could have stayed up here" said Klepto.
Indeed a lesson had been made of the one survivor of this recent skirmish.
But not before his captain had learned that only four defenders remained, and
that there was little advantage in the long shields, once the attackers got
within sword range.
"They'll be changing their tactics now I suppose" said Vargas.
Spartak sheathed his blades, and rummaged around the back of the spear nest.
He heaved out a worn heavy leather satchel.
Klepto had been wondering about the contents of this leather bag for the
last few days of their march. He suspected it contained gold, and he had kept a
watchful eye on it, even carrying it at times. But knowing that Spartak had eyes
in the back of his head, he did not think it wise to sneak a look.
"Are we going to bribe them to go away?" he asked.
Spartak laughed. "Is that what you thought? I wondered why you didn't
complain about the weight... I'm sorry to disappoint you."
He gathered up four empty helmets and poured. Barrak craned his neck to see
what clunked out. Not shiny yellow gold. Not shiny white silver. Just dull black
iron balls. Small, heavy and deadly. Some leather patches and thongs also fell
out.
"Did any of you ever play at being shepherds when you were young?"
Spartak grinned. As he adjusted the length of his sling it whistled with a
deadly moan. |
