Marius gripped the lip of the heavy wall with irritation.
‘What is he doing?’ he muttered to himself. He could see the legion of Sulla stretching away into the distance, halted not more than a few hundred paces from the gate that opened onto the Via Sacra. Around him his men waited, as tense as himself.
‘They are just outside missile range, General,’ a centurion observed.
Marius had to control a flare of temper. ‘I know. If they cross inside it, begin firing at once. Hit them with everything. They’ll never take the city in that formation.’
It made no sense! Only a broad front stood a chance against a well-prepared enemy. The single-point spearhead march stood no chance of breaching the defences. He clenched his fist in anger. What had he missed?
‘Sound the horns the moment anything changes,’ he ordered the section leader and strode back through the ranks to the steps leading to the city street below.
Julius, Cabera and Tubruk waited patiently for Marius to come over, watching him as he checked in with his advisers, who had nothing new to offer, judging by the shaking of heads. Tubruk loosened his gladius in his scabbard, feeling the light nerves that always came before bloodshed. It was in the air and he was glad he had stayed on through the hot day. Gaius, no, Julius now, had almost sent him home to the estate, but something in the ex-gladiator’s eyes had prevented the order.
Julius wished the band of friends could have been complete. He would have appreciated Renius’ advice and Marcus’ odd sense of humour. As well as that, if it did come to a fight, there were few better to have at your side. He too loosened his sword, rattling the blade against the metal lip of the scabbard a few times to clear it of any obstructions. It was the fifth time he had done so in as many minutes and Cabera clapped a hand to his shoulder, making him start a little.
‘Soldiers always complain about the waiting. I prefer it to the killing, myself.’ In truth, he felt the swirling paths of the future pressing heavily on him and was caught between the desire to get Julius away to safety or to climb up onto the wall to meet the first assault. Anything to make the paths resolve into simple events!
Julius scanned the walls, noting the number and positions of men, the smooth guard changes, the test runs of the ballistae and army-killer weapons. The streets were silent as Rome held its breath, but still nothing moved or changed. Marius was stamping around, roaring orders that would have been better left to the trusted men in the chain of command. It seemed the tension was affecting even him.
The endless chains of runners were finally still. There was no more water to be carried and the stockpiles of arrows and shot were all in position. Only the breathless footsteps of a messenger from another part of the wall broke the tension every few minutes. Julius could see the worry on Marius’ face, made almost worse by the news of no other attack. Could Sulla really be willing to risk his neck in a legal entry to the city? His courage would win admirers if he walked up to the gates himself, but Julius was sure he would be dead, killed by an ‘accidental’ arrow as he approached. Marius would not leave such a dangerous snake alive if he came within bow shot.
His thoughts were interrupted as a robed messenger jostled by him. In that moment, the scene changed. Julius watched in dawning horror as the men on the closest section of the wall were suddenly overwhelmed from behind, by their own companions. So intent were they on the legion waiting outside that scores fell in a few seconds. Water carriers dropped the buckets they held and sank daggers into the soldiers nearest them, killing men before they even realised they were under attack.
‘Gods!’ he whispered. ‘They’re already inside!’
Even as he bared his gladius and felt rather than saw Tubruk do the same, he saw a flaming arrow lit calmly from a brazier and sent soaring into the night. As it arced upwards, the silence of murder was broken. From outside the walls, Sulla’s legion roared as if hell had broken open and came on.
In the darkness of the street below, Marius had had his back to the wall when he noticed the stricken expression of a centurion. He spun in time to see the man clawing at the air, impaled on a long dagger that had been thrust into his back.
‘What is it? Blood of the gods …’ He pulled in a great gasp of air to rally the nearest sections and, as he did, saw a flaming arrow sweep out into the ink blackness of the starless night.
‘To me! First-Born to the gate! Hold the gate! Sound full warning! They come!’
His voice cracked out, but the horn blowers were lying in pools of their own blood. One still struggled with his assailants, hanging on to the slim bronze tube despite the vicious stabbing his body was taking. Marius drew the sword that had been in his family for generations. His face was black with rage. The two men died and Marius raised the horn to his own lips, tasting the blood that had spattered onto the metal.
All around him in the darkness, other horns answered. Sulla had won the first few moments, but he vowed it wasn’t over yet.
Julius saw the group dressed as messengers were all armed and converging on where Marius stood with a bloody horn and his bright sword already dark with blood. The wall loomed behind him, flickering with torch shadows.
‘With me! They’re going for the general in the confusion,’ he barked to Tubruk and Cabera, charging the back of the group as he shouted.
His first blow took one of the running men in the neck as they slowed to negotiate struggling groups of fighters. Finally, Marius’ men seemed to have woken up to the fact that the enemy were disguised, but the fighting was difficult and, in the flashing colours and blows of combat, no man knew which of the groups were friends and which were enemies. It was a devastating ploy and inside the walls everything was chaos.
Julius ripped his blade across a leg muscle, crashing his running feet over the body as it collapsed and feeling satisfaction as he felt the bones shift and break under his sandals. At first he was surprised at the group not standing to fight, but he quickly realised they had orders to assassinate Marius and were careless of any other dangers.
Tubruk brought down another with a leap that had them both sprawling on the hard cobbles. Cabera took one more with a dagger throw that caught Sulla’s man in the side and sent him staggering. Julius let his blade scythe out as he clattered past and felt a satisfying shock up his arm as it connected and slid free.
Ahead, Marius stood alone and other, black-clad figures converged on him. He roared defiance as he saw them coming and suddenly Julius knew he was too late. More than fifty men were charging at the general. All his soldiers in the area were dead or dying. One or two still screamed their frustration, but they too could not reach his uncle.
Marius spat blood and phlegm and raised his sword menacingly.
‘Come on, boys. Don’t keep me waiting,’ he growled through clenched teeth, anger keeping despair at bay.
Julius felt a hard fist jerk at his collar and drag him to a stop. He roared in anger and felt his sword arm batted away as he spun to face the threat. He found himself looking into Tubruk’s stern face.
‘No, boy. It’s too late. Get out while you can.’
Julius struggled in the grip, swearing with incoherent rage.
‘Let go! Marius is …’
‘I know. We can’t save him.’ Tubruk’s face was cold and white. ‘His men are too far away. We’ve
