Son of Spartacus - Scarrow Simon - Страница 13

Meanwhile Caesar was surrounded by Mandracus s men and he pulled hard on the reins to make his horse rear up and lash out with its hoofs, forcing his opponents back. It was impossible to keep them all at bay and even as Marcus watched, he saw one of them stab a pitchfork into the horse s rump. A shrill whinny cut through the air and the beast lashed out with its rear legs, catching the man to send him flying. Marcus flicked his reins and drew up alongside Caesar, lashing out with his sword to keep the others back. Caesar acknowledged his presence with a swift nod.

‘We have to get out of here. Those horsemen will join the fight any moment.’

Marcus glanced round, past the men locked in combat, and saw the other riders racing up the incline towards them, no more than a hundred paces away. Once they reached the pass it would all be over.

‘Festus!’ Caesar called out above the din of the fight. ‘All of you, on me! On me! We must cut our way through!’

The bodyguards edged their mounts closer to Caesar and formed a loose ring. Looking round, Marcus could see that one was missing, and then he saw a group of brigands bending towards the ground beside a horse with an empty saddle. They were hacking and stabbing at the man on the ground, their weapons dripping with blood each time they came up for another blow. The bodyguard with the wounded leg was swaying in his saddle and moaning through clenched teeth as blood coursed from his wound, splashing on to the snow like exotic flowers. Lupus, who had managed to stay with Marcus, held his dagger up as a snarl distorted his features.

Mandracus had worked his way round to return to his position astride the road leading into the pass. He bellowed to his men to form up either side of him. Those who could did as f they were ordered, chests heaving as their breath plumed in the freezing air.

Caesar glanced round at his men, then thrust his sword I forward. ‘Stop for nothing! Go!’

The small party of riders burst into a gallop, and at the last moment the courage of the brigands failed and most tried to dive out of the way. A handful of the braver men stood by their leader, weapons levelled as the horses charged into them and they were either cut down or trampled. Only Mandracus remained on his feet, swinging his axe from side to side, forcing the nervous riders to swerve round him. Beyond, the road was open and Marcus briefly dared to hope they had escaped. He glanced back and saw Lupus behind him, cloak flickering wildly as he hunched over his saddle, still holding the dagger aloft.

‘Keep up!’ Marcus shouted.

Beyond his friend he saw Mandracus spin round, draw back his axe and swiftly take aim.

‘Lupus! Look out!’ Marcus yelled desperately.

Then the axe flew through the air. For an instant Marcus focused on Lupus’s confused and fearful expression. Then his horse abruptly collapsed to one side of the road, hurling the scribe from the saddle. Blood sprayed into the air from the shattered rear limb of the horse and it kicked and writhed as it struggled to roll back on to its belly. As it tried to rise up, the wounded leg gave way and the horse fell on to its side with a shrill, agonized whinny.

Marcus reined in, half turning his horse so it stood across the track. Then he saw Lupus stir. The boy pushed himself up on to his hands and knees, and shook his head. Marcus was about to ride back when Festus called out.

‘Marcus! What are you doing? Come on, boy!’

‘It’s Lupus! He’s fallen!’

Festus muttered a curse and turned back, slewing his horse to a halt beside Marcus. They both saw Lupus start staggering towards them. He had lost the dagger and stretched out a hand pleadingly. Marcus beckoned frantically with his spare hand as he sheathed his sword.

‘Run!’

Mandracus was already striding along the road behind Lupus, a cruel grin twisting his lips. He stopped beside the horse to snatch up his axe and continued after Lupus as Marcus looked on in horror. Then the spell was broken and he grabbed his reins to ride back and rescue his friend.

‘No!’ Festus shouted and snatched the reins from Marcus’s hands, causing his horse to rise up and snort.

‘What are you doing?’ Marcus snapped. ‘Let go!’

‘It’s too late. Look!’

Marcus turned. He saw Mandracus lean forward to grab Lupus by the scruff of his neck, then hurl him to the ground. Standing over the boy, he began to swirl his axe, looking up at the two riders watching him a short distance away. Behind him his mounted followers were dashing past, eager to chase down the Romans.

‘We can’t save him.’ said Festus. ‘We can only save ourselves, if we go now. Marcus!’

His raised voice jolted Marcus, who took a last despairing look at his friend sprawled in the snow. But he knew that Festus was right: it was too late. With guilt coursing through every inch of his body, Marcus snapped his reins and turned away, galloping after Caesar. The others were already well into the pass, making for the open ground on the far side. Behind them the sound of their pursuers echoed off the walls of the cliff as Mandracus bellowed an order.

‘Run them down! Kill them all!’

His booming voice sounded like thunder in the confined space and Marcus glanced back to see the first of the horsemen sweep past their leader. Then there was another sound. A dull crack. Something moved above the pass and drew Marcus’s eyes. The mass of snow piled there slowly tilted forward and then broke into large chunks amid an explosion of white that fell into the pass with a roar and a hiss. The horsemen barely had time to look up before the avalanche hit them and swept them and their mounts away, burying them amid a great swirl of snow and rocks. Marcus slowed down and turned in his saddle to look properly as the last of the dislodged snow pattered down. Then all was still.

‘Marcus!’ Festus called out. ‘We must go!’

‘Yes.’ Marcus swallowed and nodded. ‘Yes, I’m coming.’

Festus started to gallop away while Marcus took one last look. He felt a numbing sense of loss. ‘Lupus …’

Then he breathed deeply, gathered up his reins and turned his horse towards the others. He urged it into a gallop and the mount carried him away from the horror of the scene.

It was pitch-black and impossible to tell which way was up or down when Lupus recovered his wits enough to think. He lay curled in a ball, sensing an open space in front of him in which to draw breath. He was cold and his limbs were numb. Already the air felt foetid and there was a tingling sensation in his lungs as he began to suffocate. For a moment he could not recall how he had come to be in this place. Perhaps, he thought, he had already passed into the shades and this was what happened after death. An eternity locked in a stifling, black, icy void. The prospect filled him with dread and he tried to move. But he could only shuffle his head from side to side as he clawed at the blanket of snow.

‘No…’ he muttered to himself. ‘No! NO! I am not dead! I do not want to die! No!’

His shouts were muffled and the effort made it harder to breathe, so he stopped and gasped for air. Then he heard them. Voices. They seemed far away at first but gradually came closer, more distinct.

‘Here!’ he cried out. ‘In here!’

There was a pause before he heard them again, near at hand. Then a scraping sound. He sensed movement around him, and a faint gleam to one side. It became a glow as the sound grew louder, and then there was a rush of noise and light and the flow of fresh air. He gulped down several breaths as a hand grasped him under the shoulders, hauling him out of the snow and ice into the open.

‘Mandracus! Over here! I’ve got one of ‘em. A boy.’

Any relief that Lupus felt over his rescue instantly faded as he sat up and took in the scene around him. The pass was filled with a chaotic jumble of snow. There was a man wrapped in furs standing over him. Other men were frantically digging as they searched for their comrades. Some had already been rescued, along with several horses, and they sat nearby, caked in a layer of ice and shivering.