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fondness for battle.
Some of the attackers spun round against him, still trying to complete their
mission. Gaius Philippus cut one down from behind. "You bloody stupid
bastard," he said, jerking his gladius free.
Marcus swore as a saber gashed his forearm. He tightened his fingers on his
sword hilt. They all answered no tendon was cut but blood made the sword
slippery in his hand.
Thorisin killed the man he was facing. The Emperor, not one to relish having
to flee even before overpowering numbers, fought now with savage ferocity to
try to ease the discredit only he felt. When he had been Sevastokrator he
probably would have let his fury run away with him, but the imperial office
was tempering him as it had his brother. Seeing only a handful of his
assailants on their feet, he cried, "Take them alive! I'll have answers for
this!"
Most of the assassins, knowing what fate held for them, battled all the
harder, trying to make the legionaries kill them outright. One ran himself
through. But a couple were borne to the floor and trussed up like dressed
carcasses. So was their leader, who still could hardly breathe, let alone
fight back.
"Very timely," Thorisin said, looking Marcus up and down. He started to offer
his hand to clasp, stopped when he saw the tribune's wound.
Scaurus did not really feel it yet. He answered, "Thank your niece, not me.
She lathered your horse for you, but I don't think you'll complain."
The Emperor smiled thinly. "No, I suppose not. Took the beast, did she?" He
listened as the Roman explained how he had encountered Alypia.
Thorisin's smile grew wider. He said, "I never have cared for her scribbling
away behind closed doors, but I won't complain of that any more, either. She
must have gone out the window when the bamey started, and run for the stables.
Firefoot's usually saddled by dawn." Marcus remembered Gavras' fondness for a
morning gallop.
Thorisin prodded a dead body with his foot. "Good thing these lice were too
stupid to throw a cordon round the building." He slapped Scaurus on the back.
"Enough talk get that arm seen to. You're losing blood."
The tribune tore a strip of cloth from the corpse's surcoat;
Gavras helped him tie the rude dressing. His arm, numb a few minutes before,
began to throb fiercely. He went looking for Gorgidas.
The doctor, Marcus thought with annoyance, did not seem to be anywhere within
the rambling imperial residence. However much the legionaries outnumbered the
twoscore or so assassins, they had not beaten them down without harm to
themselves. Five men were dead two of them irreplaceable Romans and a good
many more were wounded, more or less severely. Grumbling and clenching his
fist against the hurt, the tribune went outside.
He saw Gorgidas kneeling over a man in the pathway a Roman, from his armor but
had no chance to approach the physician. Alypia Gavra came rushing up to him.
"Is my uncle " she began, and then stopped, unwilling even to complete the
question.
"Unscratched, thanks to you," Scaurus told her.
"Phos be thanked," she whispered, and then, to the tribune's glad confusion,
threw her arms round his neck and kissed him. The legionaries who had kept her
from the residence whooped. At the sound she jerked away in alarm, as if just
realizing what she had done.
He reached out to her, but reluctantly held back when he saw her shy away.
However brief, her show of warmth pleased him more, perhaps, then he was ready
to admit. He told himself it was but pleasure at seeing her wounded spirit
healing, and knew he was lying.
"You're hurt!" she exclaimed, spying the oozing bandage for the first time.
"It's not too bad." He opened and closed his hand to show her he could, though
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the proof cost him some pain. True to his Stoic training, he tried not to let
it show on his face, but the princess saw sweat spring out on his forehead.
"Get it looked at," she said firmly, seeming relieved to be able to give
advice that was sensible and impersonal at the same time. Scaurus hesitated,
wishing this once for some of Viridovix' brass. He did not have it, and the
moment passed. Anything he said would too likely be wrong.
He slowly walked over to Gorgidas. The doctor did not notice him. He was still
bent low over the fallen legionary, his hands pressed against the soldier's
face the attitude, Marcus realized, of a Videssian healer-priest. The Greek's
shoulders quivered with the effort he was making. "Live, damn you, live!" he
said over and over in his native tongue.
But the legionary would never live again, not with that green-feathered arrow
jutting up from between the doctor's fingers. Marcus could not tell whether
Gorgidas had finally mastered the healing force, nor did it matter now; not
even the Videssians could raise the dead.
At last the Greek felt Scaurus' presence. He raised his head, and the tribune
gave back a pace from the grief and self-tormenting, impotent anger on his
face. "It's no use," Gorgidas said, more to himself than to Scaurus. "Nothing
is any use." He sagged in defeat, and his hands, red-black with blood
beginning to dry, slid away from the dead man's face.
Marcus suddenly forgot his wound. "Jupiter Best and Greatest," he said softly,
an oath he had not sworn since the days in his teens when he still believed in
the gods. Quintus Glabrio lay tumbled in death. His features were already
loosening into the vacant mask of the dead. The arrow stood just below his
right eye and must have killed him instantly. A fly lit on the notching, felt
the perch give under its weight, and darted away.
"Let me see to that," Gorgidas said dully. Like an automaton, the tribune held
out his arm. The doctor washed the cut with a sponge soaked in vinegar.
Stunned or no, Scaurus had all he could do to keep from crying out. Gorgidas
pinned the gash closed, snipping off the tip of each fibula as he pushed it
through. With his arm shrieking from the wound and the vinegar wash, Marcus
hardly felt the pins go in. Tears began streaming down the Greek's face as he
dressed the cut; he had to try three times before he could close the catch on
the complex ^te/a that secured the end of the bandage.
"Are there more hurt?" he asked Scaurus. "There must be."
"Yes, a few." The doctor turned to go; Marcus stopped him with his good arm.
"I'm sorrier than I know how to tell you," he said awkwardly. "To me he was a
fine officer, a good man, and a friend, but " He broke off, unsure how to
continue.
"I've known you know, for all your discretion, Scaurus," Gorgidas said
tiredly. "That doesn't matter any longer either, does it? Now let me be about
my business, will you?" Marcus still hesitated. "Can I do anything to help?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]