The Amber Road by Harry Sidebottom Page B

There were many in the streets, but to give the Olbians their due, there was little panic. Militia men ran to their posts – pulling on their arms as they went – women herded children and animals inside. Living surrounded by enemies taught a hard lesson.
    At the gate Bion shouted orders, sending men up and along the wall walk. Maximus doubled over, panting; Ballista and Castricius likewise. Tarchon seemed in better condition. The Suanian was just a little younger. Gods, but Maximus was getting too old for this shite.
    Ballista used Maximus to haul himself upright. ‘Bion, would you get ropes?’
    ‘Ropes?’
    Ballista drew a couple of deep breaths, got the words out. ‘If you have had to shut the gates, you might haul some of my men to safety. My familia can hold the Goths off for a time.’
    ‘Where would –’
    ‘The docks – use ship’s cables, anything.’
    The young officer smiled. ‘I will see to it. You had better go. I am going to shut the gate.’
    Outside, a boy was driving a herd of goats towards the town.
    ‘Leave them,’ Bion called. ‘Run!’
    The boy hesitated. He was a slave, and his owner would beat him if he lost the goats.
    ‘Now!’
    The boy sprinted past Maximus, sandals pattering on the road.
    The gate slammed shut. The sound of the bar being dropped.
    ‘Time to go,’ said Ballista. They set off through the unconcerned goats.
    As ill luck would have it, at that moment a family – a man and woman, two children – emerged from the ruins. They saw the shut gate and began to wail.
    Maximus paused.
    ‘Come on.’ Ballista called over his shoulder. He was right. Maximus knew there was nothing they could do. Holding his scabbard out to avoid it tangling in his legs, he jogged off after the other three.
    Running in the hot sun, a mailshirt dragging at your shoulders, a good meal and plenty of wine inside you, was never good. Castricius especially was suffering. Maximus had his breathing more under control. He overtook the little Roman.
    More Olbians, caught out by the suddenness of the barbarian descent, appeared in the narrow path. Swerving around them, Maximus hoped Bion would exercise mercy, or that they would make it to the postern.
    A largish body of men were fleeing down towards them. The crew of the Fides . They ran pell-mell, in no form of order.
    ‘Halt!’ Years of command had given authority to Ballista’s voice.
    They faltered, and stopped. Eighteen of them. They had thrown away the heavy wooden training weaponry. Maximus noted they had their real blades at their belts. No one had a shield or helmet. There was no sign of the optio Diocles or the others.
    ‘Form columns of fours,’ ordered Ballista. Most began to obey, until a large, shaven-headed soldier at the front gestured them to stop. Maximus knew him – Heliodorus, an Egyptian, particular friend of the two killed in the bar.
    ‘Disobeying an order is mutiny. You know the penalty for mutiny,’ said Ballista.
    ‘Fuck you.’ Heliodorus turned to the others and spoke in the Latin of the ranks. ‘Are we going to take this from this prick?’
    ‘The penalty is death,’ said Ballista.
    ‘This is our chance, boys; no one will know.’ Heliodorus drew his sword.
    Maximus found his gladius in his hand.
    ‘Come on, pueri ,’ said Heliodorus. ‘We can finish this here. There are only four of the cunts.’ Five or six also drew their weapons. The others stood, hesitant.
    The path was narrowed by rubble. There was only space for two men to wield their swords with any effect. Maximus moved up on Ballista’s left shoulder. Castricius and Tarchon fell back a pace or two. They might be only four, but, unlike the mutineers, they wore mail. And, unlike the mutineers, they were all proven close to the steel.
    In a fighting crouch, Maximus watched his opponent. Heliodorus faced Ballista. As ever, Maximus’s chest felt tight and hollow at the same time. Out of the corner of his eye, Maximus saw Heliodorus lunge. He heard the ring