The Emperor Series Books 1-5. Conn Iggulden

put a feathered shaft through the man’s throat.

      In the moment of silence, Renius roared at the crowd of slaves: ‘That is what you will get from me. I am Renius and you will not pass here. Go home and wait for justice!’

      ‘Justice like that?’ came a scream of rage. Another man ran to the walls and jumped for the high ledge. The moment had arrived and suddenly the crowd howled and came forward in a rush.

      Few had swords. Most were armed, like the defenders, with whatever they could find. Some had no weapons except their frenzied rage and Renius dispatched the first of these with a slick blow to his neck, ignoring the quivering fingers that scrabbled at his breastplate. All along the line, screams rose above the crash of metal on metal and metal into flesh. Renius could see Cabera drop his bow and raise a wicked-looking short knife, with which he stabbed and leapt away, letting the bodies fall back on their fellows. The old man stamped on fingers that gained easier and easier holds on the wall as the bodies of the dead served as props for new attackers.

      Renius grew slightly light-headed and knew his shoulder had torn again, feeling the sudden warmth from the bandages accompanied by a blistering pain. He set his teeth against it and slammed his gladius into a man’s stomach, almost losing the weapon in the slimy grip of his guts as he toppled backwards. Another took his place and another and Renius could not see an end to them. He took a blow from a length of timber that left him dazed for a second. He staggered back, reeling, trying to find the energy to lift the sword to meet the next one. His muscles ached and the exhaustion he had felt fighting Marcus came back to hit him once again.

      ‘I am too old for this,’ he muttered, spitting blood over his chin. There was a movement to his left and he swung to meet it, too slowly. It was Marcus, grinning at him. He was covered in blood and looked like a demon from the ancient myths.

      ‘I am a little worried about the speed of my low guard. I wonder if you could observe it for me? Let me know where the trouble is?’

      As he spoke, he shoulder-barged a man as he tried to straighten. The man fell badly, toppling backwards onto his head with a yell.

      ‘I told you not to leave your position,’ Renius gasped, trying not to show his weakness.

      ‘You were going to be killed. That honour is mine – not to be given away lightly to motherless scum like these, I think!’ He nodded over to the other side of the gate, where the man Caecilius, known to most simply as Cook, was grinning hugely, cutting around him with abandon.

      ‘Come pigs, come cattle. I will cut you to pieces.’ Underneath the fat there must have been muscle, for he waved the enormous cleaver as if it were made of light wood.

      ‘Cook is holding them without me. In fact, he is having the time of his life,’ Marcus went on cheerfully.

      Three men breasted the wall at once, leaping from the pile of bodies that was now half as high as the top. The first swung a sword at Marcus, who slid his own into the man’s chest from the side, letting the wild lunge carry the man onto the cobbles of the yard below. The second he dispatched with a reverse cut that caught the man at eye-level, cutting into meat and bone. He died instantly.

      The third whooped with pleasure as he closed on Renius. He knew the old man for who he was and in his mind was already telling the story to friends as Renius brought his sword up under his guard, ripping into his chest.

      Renius let the man fall, and the sword slid clear. His left arm was hurting again, but this time it was a deep ache. His chest pulsed with pain and he groaned.

      ‘Are you hurt?’ Marcus asked, without taking his eyes off the wall.

      ‘No. Get back to your post,’ Renius snapped, his face suddenly grey.

      Marcus looked at him for a long moment. ‘I think I’ll stay a while longer,’ he said softly. More men surged over the wall and his sword danced, licking from one throat to the next unstoppably.

      Gaius’ father barely noticed those who fell beneath his sword. He fought as he had been trained: thrust, guard, reverse. The bodies piled most thickly at the foot of the gate and a little voice was telling him they should have broken by now. They were only slaves. They did not have to pass this wall. Why didn’t they break? He would have the wall raised to the height of three men when this was over.

      It seemed as if they threw themselves onto his sword, which wetted itself in their blood, drenching the wall and gates with the gushing fluids, drenching him. His shoulders ached, his arm was leaden. Only his legs were still strong beneath him. They must break soon and look for easier targets, surely? Thrust, guard and reverse. He was locked in the legionary’s rhythm of death, but more and more were climbing the piles of flesh to get into the estate. His sword had lost its edge on bone and blades and his first cut only scraped a man leaping at him. A dagger punctured the hard muscle of his stomach and he grunted in agony, whipping his sword through the man’s jaw and dropping him.

      Alexandria stood in the yard, in a pool of darkness. The other women were crying softly to themselves. One was praying. She could see Renius was exhausted and was disappointed when the boy Marcus stepped in to save him. She wondered why he had done it and widened her eyes at the contrast between them. On the one side, the grizzled warrior, veteran of a thousand conflicts, slow and in pain. On the other, Marcus was a smooth-moving murderer, smiling as he brought death to the slaves that met his sword. It did not matter if they had swords or clubs. He made them look clumsy and then took away their strength in a slice or a blow. One man clearly didn’t realise he was dying. His blood poured from his chest, but he still kept hacking away with a broken spear shaft, his face manic.

      Curious, Alexandria strained to see the man’s face, and she caught the stricken moment when he felt the pain and saw the darkness coming.

      All her life she had heard stories of men’s strength and glory and they seemed to hang over this butchery like golden ghosts, not quite fitting the reality. She looked for moments of comradeship, of bravery in the face of death, but, down in the shadows, she could not see it.

      The cook was enjoying the fight, that was obvious. He had begun to sing some vulgar song about a market day and pretty maids, thumping out the chorus with more volume than tune, as he buried his cleaver in skulls and necks. Men fell from his blade and his song grew more raucous as they dropped.

      On her left, one of the defenders fell into the yard from the walkway. He made no attempt to protect himself from the impact and his head smashed on the hard stone with a wet sound. Alexandria shuddered and grabbed the shoulder of another woman in the darkness. Whoever it was, was sobbing quietly to herself, but there was no time for that.

      ‘Quickly – they’ll be coming through the gap!’ she hissed, pulling the other along with her, not trusting herself to do the job alone.

      As they moved, there was another crunching thud from a different section of the wall. Screams of triumph sounded. A man scrambled down, hanging for a moment, before letting go and falling the last couple of feet.

      He spun, a wild, bloody nightmare, and as his eyes lit up at the lack of defenders, Alexandria rammed her blade up into his heart. Life escaped him with a sigh and another man hit the cobbles nearby. The snap of his ankle was audible even over the baying from outside the walls. The matronly Susanna, usually so careful over the exact setting of the master’s table at banquets, slipped a skinning knife across his throat and walked away from him as he shuddered and spasmed behind her.

      Alexandria looked up at the bright ring of torches above. At least they had light! How awful it was to die in the dark.

      ‘More torches here!’ she yelled, hoping that someone would answer.

      Hands grabbed her from behind and her head was wrenched to one side. She tensed for the agony that would come, but the weight on her shoulders fell away suddenly and she turned to see Susanna, her knife hand freshly covered in red wetness.

      ‘Keep your spirits up, love. The night’s not over yet.’ Susanna smiled and the moment of panic passed for Alexandria. She checked the yard with the others and barely winced when another defender fell, this time screaming