Read Online Marius' Mules: Prelude to War by S.J.A. Turney - Free Book Online
Authors: S.J.A. Turney
Ads: Link
to hold on to his blade, Paetus collided with Clemens who was the only thing that kept him from sprawling backwards into the filth of the alley.
Paetus found himself staring into the face of one of Clodius’ armed thugs, his eyes registering the same surprise as Paetus at what he’d found on the other side of the door. He had only a moment to notice the man’s master a few feet further back, being supported by the other armed brute, clutching his shoulder and with his tunica soaked in dark crimson. And then the immediate threat in the doorway regained his composure and reached up with his short sword to strike out at the interloper blocking their escape route.
The man was big… looked strong too. Bull-necked and with a torso of a powerful triangular shape, the man was probably reckoned a dreadful killer in the streets of Rome. A man who bullied honest citizens and enforced the will of unpleasant criminal overlords. A thug.
Paetus had seen thugs come and go - had tested and hired a number of them himself - and had come to instinctively recognise the types. This man he would not have hired. Powerful and dangerous, and possibly even fast, yes - the speed with which he’d brought his blade to bear was testament to that last. But he was also unimaginative, and Paetus could see that in his face in that split second. He was used to a straight fight against men weaker than him.
As the thug’s blade jabbed towards his chest in a straight and predictable move, Paetus simply ducked, reversing the grip on his sword sharply just in time to slam it down point first.
The thug’s blow whipped through the air above him, almost taking Clemens in the throat and forcing him to step back. Paetus’ blade, as he dropped into a crouch, sliced down onto the bridge of the big man’s foot, angled across such that the width of the blade almost matched the width of the foot.
Only the stone doorstep beneath prevented the blow from completely severing the foot into two neat halves. The point smacked into the hard surface and grated with a noise that sent a shiver up his spine. But, despite failing to sever the foot, the damage was immense and crippling. It was also agonising and unexpected.
So shocked was he by the sudden manoeuver, the brute pitched forward with the unimpeded momentum of his own thrust, his balance destroyed by the sudden loss of a foot.
Paetus remained crouched as the big man fell forward over the top of him and out into the alley, and then stood once more, ignoring the disabled threat behind him. Clemens would deal with that. Straightening and peering in through the door, he could see the other thug desperately helping Clodius back in the other direction, where they headed for a seasoned wooden staircase that ran up at the centre of the tavern’s main room.
Even as he started in through the portal, he saw the street-front door at the far side of the building slam open and the shape of Saufeius, his lieutenant, crashing in, another man immediately following.
Behind him, Paetus heard a crunch and a cry of intense pain, followed by footsteps trailing him into the building. Without glancing back he kept going. It was Clemens, and he knew it from the slight whistle of the man’s breathing - a condition he’d suffered since his nose had been broken some years previously. The first thug was either dead already, then, or bleeding out his last among the half-eaten vermin in the muck-filled alley.
The tavern’s few patrons had retreated to the edges of the room, as far from the action as they could get without moving out into the street where things were all the more dangerous. The barman cowered behind his counter with the huge pots of olives, garum, bread and other nibbles and the amphorae of wine as a rampart. Chairs had been knocked out of the way and upturned and one table had been pushed back against the counter, leaving a wide thoroughfare across the centre of the room.
The tavern was filled with the curious, heady
Paetus found himself staring into the face of one of Clodius’ armed thugs, his eyes registering the same surprise as Paetus at what he’d found on the other side of the door. He had only a moment to notice the man’s master a few feet further back, being supported by the other armed brute, clutching his shoulder and with his tunica soaked in dark crimson. And then the immediate threat in the doorway regained his composure and reached up with his short sword to strike out at the interloper blocking their escape route.
The man was big… looked strong too. Bull-necked and with a torso of a powerful triangular shape, the man was probably reckoned a dreadful killer in the streets of Rome. A man who bullied honest citizens and enforced the will of unpleasant criminal overlords. A thug.
Paetus had seen thugs come and go - had tested and hired a number of them himself - and had come to instinctively recognise the types. This man he would not have hired. Powerful and dangerous, and possibly even fast, yes - the speed with which he’d brought his blade to bear was testament to that last. But he was also unimaginative, and Paetus could see that in his face in that split second. He was used to a straight fight against men weaker than him.
As the thug’s blade jabbed towards his chest in a straight and predictable move, Paetus simply ducked, reversing the grip on his sword sharply just in time to slam it down point first.
The thug’s blow whipped through the air above him, almost taking Clemens in the throat and forcing him to step back. Paetus’ blade, as he dropped into a crouch, sliced down onto the bridge of the big man’s foot, angled across such that the width of the blade almost matched the width of the foot.
Only the stone doorstep beneath prevented the blow from completely severing the foot into two neat halves. The point smacked into the hard surface and grated with a noise that sent a shiver up his spine. But, despite failing to sever the foot, the damage was immense and crippling. It was also agonising and unexpected.
So shocked was he by the sudden manoeuver, the brute pitched forward with the unimpeded momentum of his own thrust, his balance destroyed by the sudden loss of a foot.
Paetus remained crouched as the big man fell forward over the top of him and out into the alley, and then stood once more, ignoring the disabled threat behind him. Clemens would deal with that. Straightening and peering in through the door, he could see the other thug desperately helping Clodius back in the other direction, where they headed for a seasoned wooden staircase that ran up at the centre of the tavern’s main room.
Even as he started in through the portal, he saw the street-front door at the far side of the building slam open and the shape of Saufeius, his lieutenant, crashing in, another man immediately following.
Behind him, Paetus heard a crunch and a cry of intense pain, followed by footsteps trailing him into the building. Without glancing back he kept going. It was Clemens, and he knew it from the slight whistle of the man’s breathing - a condition he’d suffered since his nose had been broken some years previously. The first thug was either dead already, then, or bleeding out his last among the half-eaten vermin in the muck-filled alley.
The tavern’s few patrons had retreated to the edges of the room, as far from the action as they could get without moving out into the street where things were all the more dangerous. The barman cowered behind his counter with the huge pots of olives, garum, bread and other nibbles and the amphorae of wine as a rampart. Chairs had been knocked out of the way and upturned and one table had been pushed back against the counter, leaving a wide thoroughfare across the centre of the room.
The tavern was filled with the curious, heady
Similar Books
