Read Online Conspiracies of Rome by Richard Blake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Richard Blake
Ads: Link
endurance.
Maximin looked round for me and slowed his own horse. ‘Ride on,’ I called to him. ‘We can outrun them. Ride on!’
I knew I was lying. But I wanted him at least to get away. This was all my fault. If anyone had to suffer for it, that duty was mine. ‘Ride on!’ I called again.
‘Stop right there, you fuckers!’ came the words in English so close behind I could hear they came from Big Moustache. For all that sounds travel oddly by night, I knew they were just a few hundred yards behind. And they were closing on us.
I could hear the panting of their own horses. I could hear the grunted obscenities in at least two languages.
‘Don’t let the fat one get away,’ I heard one call, nearly frantic with the strain of pursuit. ‘Get either side of him.’
They were so close, we were almost a single group. I pushed my head into the mane, and dug in my spurs for a final, desperate effort of speed. But I was falling behind. Only his continual looking back and waving me on kept Maximin from flying ahead. I could almost feel the approach. I imagined a hand reaching for the reins, and at last the swing of the heavy sword . . .
As we came to a slight incline in the road, and my horse eased to a diminishing canter, the clatter behind ceased abruptly with a babble of obscenities. At first, I paid no attention.
‘Faster, faster, fuck you!’ I snarled at the horse. I dug my spurs viciously into its flanks. I plied the whip to every point I could reach without falling off. But, as the poor thing continued slowing, I realised we were indeed without pursuers.
I didn’t look round. But I did lift my head and look forward. At the top of the incline, as if come from nowhere, sat a band of mounted soldiers. It took a few moments for me to realise what was happening. How long had my head been down? Until then, the road ahead had been empty. Was I imagining the soldiers? Was this some mirage, brought by my own imagination to lessen the horror of the killing blow from behind? But the soldiers were real enough. Like fish scales, their armour glittered in the moonlight. They sat in perfect formation, parting on either side as my horse staggered through.
I saw Maximin already dismounted, talking to one of the men and pointing wearily back at our pursuers. As my horse came to a spontaneous halt, I fell to the ground. Every muscle suddenly ached. My clothes were wringing with sweat. Until I felt the smooth, stable warmth of the slab under my cheek, I hadn’t realised how cold I’d become in the night air. I shivered. I was too exhausted otherwise even to pant.
There was a shout of orders in a language I didn’t know, and the men were off in pursuit of the now fleeing pursuers. The renewed clatter of hooves faded into the distance. Maximin knelt by me, pouring water between my parched lips and uttering soothing words.
‘Whatever were you doing so late on the road?’ a new voice came in Greek.
I opened my eyes. An officer with a great dark beard stood looking down at me, his steel helmet a cone of light.
‘They were chasing us,’ I whispered feebly in Latin. Not much of an answer – but it was the truth.
‘We are on business for the universal bishop,’ Maximin added in Greek. He seemed almost his usual self. ‘We have a relic of the highest value to give back into his holy keeping.’
The officer grunted an order to a couple of men who hadn’t joined in the pursuit. They poured water for my poor shattered horse and began sponging the gore from its flanks. One of them gave a disapproving look at my bloody whip and at the smear of blood that led from it to near my right hand. ‘Your arse will hurt like buggery tomorrow,’ he said in jocular but accented Latin.
I nodded feebly. I was hurting badly enough already. The pain would soon be ready to blot out the relief of not having been caught by those English
Maximin looked round for me and slowed his own horse. ‘Ride on,’ I called to him. ‘We can outrun them. Ride on!’
I knew I was lying. But I wanted him at least to get away. This was all my fault. If anyone had to suffer for it, that duty was mine. ‘Ride on!’ I called again.
‘Stop right there, you fuckers!’ came the words in English so close behind I could hear they came from Big Moustache. For all that sounds travel oddly by night, I knew they were just a few hundred yards behind. And they were closing on us.
I could hear the panting of their own horses. I could hear the grunted obscenities in at least two languages.
‘Don’t let the fat one get away,’ I heard one call, nearly frantic with the strain of pursuit. ‘Get either side of him.’
They were so close, we were almost a single group. I pushed my head into the mane, and dug in my spurs for a final, desperate effort of speed. But I was falling behind. Only his continual looking back and waving me on kept Maximin from flying ahead. I could almost feel the approach. I imagined a hand reaching for the reins, and at last the swing of the heavy sword . . .
As we came to a slight incline in the road, and my horse eased to a diminishing canter, the clatter behind ceased abruptly with a babble of obscenities. At first, I paid no attention.
‘Faster, faster, fuck you!’ I snarled at the horse. I dug my spurs viciously into its flanks. I plied the whip to every point I could reach without falling off. But, as the poor thing continued slowing, I realised we were indeed without pursuers.
I didn’t look round. But I did lift my head and look forward. At the top of the incline, as if come from nowhere, sat a band of mounted soldiers. It took a few moments for me to realise what was happening. How long had my head been down? Until then, the road ahead had been empty. Was I imagining the soldiers? Was this some mirage, brought by my own imagination to lessen the horror of the killing blow from behind? But the soldiers were real enough. Like fish scales, their armour glittered in the moonlight. They sat in perfect formation, parting on either side as my horse staggered through.
I saw Maximin already dismounted, talking to one of the men and pointing wearily back at our pursuers. As my horse came to a spontaneous halt, I fell to the ground. Every muscle suddenly ached. My clothes were wringing with sweat. Until I felt the smooth, stable warmth of the slab under my cheek, I hadn’t realised how cold I’d become in the night air. I shivered. I was too exhausted otherwise even to pant.
There was a shout of orders in a language I didn’t know, and the men were off in pursuit of the now fleeing pursuers. The renewed clatter of hooves faded into the distance. Maximin knelt by me, pouring water between my parched lips and uttering soothing words.
‘Whatever were you doing so late on the road?’ a new voice came in Greek.
I opened my eyes. An officer with a great dark beard stood looking down at me, his steel helmet a cone of light.
‘They were chasing us,’ I whispered feebly in Latin. Not much of an answer – but it was the truth.
‘We are on business for the universal bishop,’ Maximin added in Greek. He seemed almost his usual self. ‘We have a relic of the highest value to give back into his holy keeping.’
The officer grunted an order to a couple of men who hadn’t joined in the pursuit. They poured water for my poor shattered horse and began sponging the gore from its flanks. One of them gave a disapproving look at my bloody whip and at the smear of blood that led from it to near my right hand. ‘Your arse will hurt like buggery tomorrow,’ he said in jocular but accented Latin.
I nodded feebly. I was hurting badly enough already. The pain would soon be ready to blot out the relief of not having been caught by those English
Similar Books
