The Eagle In the Sand - Scarrow Simon. Страница 13

Something glinted to Cato's right and then he saw a flash of blinding white as a blade rang off the side of his helmet. He kicked his heels in and the horse jumped forward, just in time to avoid the return cut as it hissed through the air close to his neck. Bright spots flickered before his eyes as his vision cleared and he turned back towards his foe.There was a dark face fringed by a mat of black hair and a beard and the man snarled as he raised his sword to cut again. Cato swept his sword up, blocked the blow, slid his weapon down the curve of the man's blade and chopped into his hairy wrist. He felt a solid connection and the man cried out, snatching his arm back, as blood spurted from the deep gash. Cato leaned nearer and thrust his sword into the brigand's stomach, twisted it and yanked it free. He quickly glanced at the other figures looming in the haze of dust, trying to orient himself. Then he saw a patch of open ground between two riderless horses and turned his mount's head towards it, slapping the flat of his sword on the horse's rump. It burst through, out of the billowing dust, and Cato saw that he had broken through Bannus' men.

'On me! Romans, on me!' he cried.

More figures emerged. There was Symeon, bow and reins in one hand, sword in the other as he slashed at a turbaned man trying to catch up with him. More of the auxiliaries, and then Macro, one arm locked tightly about a man's neck as he dragged him from his horse and dumped him on the ground. Suddenly the world was spinning crazily, and then it went out of focus. Cato blinked his eyes but his vision remained blurred, and an awful nausea made him retch.

'Cato!' a voice called out close by and a dark shape loomed up. His vision cleared a little and he saw that it was Macro. 'Are you all right?'

'Hit on the head,' Cato said thickly as he fought to keep his balance. 'Be fine in a moment.'

'We haven't got a moment. Give me your reins.'

Before he could assent, Cato felt them being pulled from his left hand. He grabbed one of the saddle horns as Macro urged his beast on, drawing Cato's horse abruptly after him. As they fled from the brigands Cato's vision cleared a little more, but he was still terribly dizzy and the urge to throw up was stronger than ever. Around him he saw that most of the auxiliaries had broken from the fight and were galloping away from the brigands, along the ridge. Behind them the struggle continued round the handful who were still trapped. But already some of the footmen were pointing excitedly at the fleeing Romans and shouting to their mounted comrades. Bannus quickly tried to bring his men to order, but his prey had half a mile's start on him by the time his horsemen began their pursuit. However, their beasts were light, and the riders wore little or no armour, so they moved swiftly and soon began to catch up with the Romans. But the auxiliaries were well mounted, having the pick of the horses in the province, and soon the greater stamina of the army mounts began to tell as the brigands became strung out, only a handful of their horses able to keep up with the auxiliaries.

'Stay on the track!' Symeon called out. 'Follow it all the way to the fort!'

Cato's dizziness came and went more and more frequently and he feared that he might lose consciousness. Macro kept glancing back with a concerned expression; it was clear that Cato's head injury was more serious than it had first appeared.Then it happened. Cato blacked out and started to topple from the saddle. Macro saw it just in time and reined his horse in, letting Cato's draw level so that he could catch his friend and hold him up. He looked round desperately, but most of the auxiliaries were already ahead of them.

'Help me here!' he bellowed.

The rearmost man glanced back, met the centurion's eyes for an instant and then turned away and urged his horse on. Symeon too heard the call, and instantly wheeled his mount about and galloped back towards Macro.

'What's happened to him?'

'Took a blow to the head. He just fainted. How far are we from Bushir?'

Symeon glanced round at the track. 'Two, maybe three hours' hard ride.'

'Damn. They'll catch up with us long before then.'

Symeon said nothing. He knew it was true.With Cato needing to be supported Macro would steadily lose ground to their pursuers.

'What will you do, Centurion?'

Macro looked back at the distant figures of the horsemen following them. He frowned for a moment and then nodded to himself. 'All right. You take him on. I'll try to delay those bastards for as long as I can.'

Symeon stared hard at him. 'Leave him.'

'What?'

'I said leave him.You won't delay them long enough for the two of us to get away. Either he dies, or all three of us will.'

'I can't,' Macro said helplessly as he glanced down at Cato's pale face slumped against his shoulder. 'He's my friend. More than a friend: he's like a son. I won't leave him to die.'

Symeon glanced at their pursuers and then turned back to Macro with a grim expression.'All right, you lead him on. Stay on the track. I'll ride with you and hold them off.'

'What with?'

'This.' Symeon raised his bow. 'A few miles further on the track branches off towards a village.There's a winding gully beside the road. When we reach it, do exactly as I say. Understand?'

Macro stared a moment, tortured by doubt, then nodded.

'Good! Now let's go!'

They rode on, either side of Cato, bracing his limp body so that he stayed in the saddle. But their speed was greatly reduced and every time Macro looked back he saw that the fastest of the enemy riders was drawing closer. Ahead, the rearmost of the auxiliaries was steadily drawing away, a dim shape amid the dust kicked up by his comrades in front of him. Macro cursed them for a moment, before he realised that, because of the dust, the decurion and his men could not be aware of his situation.

Behind them a group of four brigands was swiftly catching up, some distance ahead of the weaker mounts of their comrades. They knew they would soon have the Romans at their mercy and whipped their horses on in frenzied anticipation of catching their prey.

They had ridden down through some hills and now they were emerging on to the plateau: an undulating expanse of stony ground through which a thin strip had been cleared for the track. Symeon steered his horse away from Cato's and called out to Macro, 'Keep going. I'll be a short distance behind.'

Macro nodded, took a tighter grip of Cato's shoulder and continued riding on. Behind him Symeon flipped open the lid of his quiver, drew an arrow and fixed the nock precisely to his bowstring while his horse continued down the track at an even canter, directed by pressure from Symeon's knees. He let the pursuers get closer, and still closer, until they were no more than thirty paces behind him. Only then did he swivel round in his saddle, revealing his bow as he took careful aim at the nearest brigand. The man looked startled and crouched low to present a smaller target. But Symeon was not aiming at the man. He released the string and the arrow shot straight into the chest of the oncoming horse. With a shrill whinny of pain and terror the horse stumbled, then cartwheeled over, crushing the rider. Symeon had already notched his second arrow and twisted to draw a bead on the next target. The brigands had lost a little ground as they swerved round the downed horse, which was writhing on its back, kicking the air as it tried to dislodge the barbed shaft lodged in its chest. Then they came on again, close enough for the guide to see their grim, determined expressions. One by one he shot their horses down and left them in the dust. Then with a nod of satisfaction he flipped his quiver shut and hung the bow on the saddle horn and caught up with Macro.

A short distance on, they reached the place that Symeon had spoken of where the track divided, a smaller way dipping off into a shallow valley that meandered down towards a broad wadi. The decurion and his men were waiting at the junction, unsure of which branch to take. Their horses were blown and their sides heaved and shrank like bellows. The decurion looked relieved to see them, and then he saw that Cato was unconscious.