One of the Gauls was crumpled in the central bay over an arrow nocked too late to be used. The agent did not have to guess who had cut the man’s throat so deeply that only the spine and the cartilaginous windpipe kept the lolling head attached to the body. Gaius and Sestius crouched to either side of a pillar. Their swords angled up, threatening the archways that opened into the final bay. Fanned back from the pillar which hid the remaining Gaul were Sabellia and Calvus. Sabellia held her bloody knife advanced. Her legs were splayed, her knees cocked to launch her toward the Gaul if he showed himself. Calvus held a spear awkwardly. The tall woman eyed Sabellia as if hoping to gain pointers from the red-head.
“Hold it!” Perennius shouted as he burst into the central bay.
“Now!” cried Sestius. He and Gaius rushed the hidden Gaul from either side.
Perennius heard the bow-string snap. He did not hear the arrow strike, and he knew what that meant. If the arrow had missed – and men do miss point-blank shots when no prize but life itself is at stake – the iron head would have smashed and sparked clearly on the rock walls. There had been no need of risk. The isolated Gaul could have been talked out, waited out; at worst, charged by men wearing the armor packed on the donkeys outside. Anything would have been more sensible than the present melange of shouts and swords glittering in overarm cuts.
The pillar still hid the sword-wielders and their victim from Perennius as he ran to the slaughter.
The Gaul was sprawled on his face. He had dropped his bow. Apparently he had tried to cover his head with his arms instead of drawing his sword. Sestius slashed a final time at the man. The centurion’s heavy blade thunked deep enough into the skull to stick when he tried to remove it. Gaius was still thrusting into the Gaul’s abdomen.
Sestius straightened and turned, leaving his sword where it was. The fletching and half an arrow’s length protruded from his chest, well-centered and between the second and third ribs. Only a drop or two of blood had seeped onto the centurion’s tunic around the shaft. When he opened his mouth to speak or gasp for breath, the blood spewed out. It splashed the stone floor an instant before Sestius’ body fell to cover the splotch. The scream the centurion could not voice for choking burst from Sabellia’s lips instead.
Perennius caught Gaius by the wrist. “You’re all right?” the older man demanded. Gaius’ eyes were glazed, but he bore no obvious signs of injury. He did not answer Perennius. Instead, he leaned on his sword as if it were a cane.
Sabellia was weeping and mopping at the blood on Sestius’ face. She was probably unharmed. It wasn’t the time to check that, anyway. Calvus anticipated the agent’s question, nodding as soon as the agent’s eyes fell on her. “Nothing touched me,” she said. Then she added, “They were part of the group that attacked us in Rome.”
“I guess everybody’s figured that out,” said the agent bitterly. He turned back toward the younger Illyrian. “If Gaius’d kept his mouth shut, we might even’ve learned why. Well, maybe we can….”
Ursinus was not dead. He had rolled over, but he had been unable to summon enough strength to rise to his hands and knees. He saw Perennius coming, trailed by the tall woman. The Gaul made another attempt to rise. It too failed. His lips blew a froth of blood. The hole in his chest was making liquid, sucking sounds as Ursinus tried
to breathe. He spat, drooling a line of blood and saliva down his chin.
“It’s over, Ursinus,” the agent said. “We’re going to help you now.”
“Bastard,” the Gaul whispered. “Don’t you think / know it’s over?” But he relaxed none the less, letting the tension go out of arms that had trembled as they failed to lift him.
“Get some wine,” Perennius hissed in an aside to Calvus. To the dying man, the agent said, “Were you supposed to ambush us here, then?”
Ursinus coughed red-shot phlegm that the agent wiped away with the hem of his own tunic. “Mithra,” the Gaul said. He forced a smile. “We were running away. One of the things what was giving us orders had its mask slip. Hell if I was going to stick around after that, dragon be damned. Not if God offered to come down and wash me in blood.” It was an unfortunate expression and brought on another fit of coughing.