Saviour of Rome [Gaius Valerius Verrens 7] by Douglas Jackson Page B

stepping into the chamber.
    Now.
    There is a lump on a man’s throat that is uniquely vulnerable to attack and also part of the apparatus that allows him to communicate. Serpentius was a keen student of the myriad ways of dealing death. A punch directly on the lump, with the knuckle protruding, would have done the job, but the rusty, four-inch iron nail did it better. The first the guard knew of his impending doom was a choking sensation. He couldn’t scream, he couldn’t breathe and someone had lit a fire in his throat. By now Serpentius was already turning away, the wrist chains whirling towards the second guard alerted too late by the sound of his comrade’s last indrawn breath. As he pivoted to meet the threat Serpentius’s chains settled round his neck and instantly tightened, choking off any shout for help. The Spaniard hauled with all his strength, twisting the links so the loop tightened like a strangling rope until, with a crack like a snapping twig, the guard’s neck broke. He laid the twitching body to the ground, taking in the welcome sight of the jailer being drowned in his slop bucket before turning back to the first man.
    Shock had pinned him in place, his hands clawing at the terrible spike in his throat and the blood running down his neck, but now he realized his error and turned to stagger towards the guardroom. Serpentius was on him in two bounds, his hand twisting in the man’s hair. Somehow he’d found a heartbeat to retrieve the dead guard’s
gladius.
Now he sawed the nicked blade across the man’s neck in a single stroke that released a fountain of blood.
    He hauled the body back into the chamber. The jailer’s legs gave onelast jerk and a large bubble burst in the slops with a ‘plop’ that broke the stunned silence. Clitus and another man – Thaumasto, wasn’t it? – stared at him with gaping eyes as if they couldn’t believe what they’d done. Serpentius held out his arms with the chain hanging between. Clitus was the first to recover. He searched the jailer’s clothing until he found the crude key to unlock Serpentius’s shackles.
    ‘Now do the rest,’ the Spaniard growled softly. He stood over the remaining prisoners. ‘Any who are able should come with us,’ he whispered. ‘There is only pain and death if you stay.’
    ‘Pain and death if we come,’ one man, more feeble than the rest, muttered. ‘They’ll catch you before you get out of the valley.’
    ‘So be it.’ Serpentius nodded. ‘But all are welcome.’ To Clitus: ‘Take the guards’ uniforms. Give them to whoever fits best.’ Clitus picked up the second guard’s sword and held it awkwardly, but his eyes were filled with determination.
    ‘No.’ Serpentius managed a rictus of a smile. ‘I’ll do this alone.’
    He stalked silently up the ill-lit passage until he came to the curtained guard chamber. The sound of soft breathing and one rasping snorer greeted him. From what he’d learned there should be four. He twitched the curtain aside and in the dull light of the oil lamps in the main passage he made out their sleeping forms. It was the work of moments. The fourth guard came awake as Serpentius stood over him.
    ‘What’s happening?’ He rubbed his eyes.
    ‘Go back to sleep, friend.’ Serpentius placed the point of the sword beneath the man’s breastbone and put his weight behind it.
    Six men in uniform, escorting eight prisoners to the entrance of the mine shaft. Fortuna had favoured them so far, but Serpentius knew it wouldn’t last. Some of these men were going to die. He’d given them their chance. The strong would survive and at least the weak would slow and divide the pursuit. And, he vowed, the strong would have their revenge. But to do that they had to get out of the mine before the main workforce arrived.
    Thanks to Vegeto he had the layout of the outer mine in his head. Two guards at the entrance, but a half century within call. Thelegionaries were divided between the smelting house,