The Emperor Series Books 1-4. Conn Iggulden

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 as he hit the yard. Three men came through the gap he had left this time, with two more visible as they struggled up over the slippery bodies.

      All the women drew their knives and the torchlight caught the blades, even down in the yard's blackness. Before the men's eyes could adjust to the gloom, the women were on them, gripping and stabbing.

      Gaius came awake with a start. His mother Aurelia sat by the bed, holding a damp cloth. Its touch had awakened him and, as he looked at her, she pressed it to his forehead, crooning gently to herself. In the distance, he could hear screams and the clear sounds of battle. How had he remained asleep? Cabera had given him a warm drink as the evening darkened. There must have been something in it.

      ‘What is going on, Mother? I can hear fighting!’

      Aurelia smiled at him sadly.

      ‘Shhh, my darling. You must not excite yourself. Your life is slipping away and I have come to make your last hours peaceful.’

      Gaius blanched a little. No, he felt weak, but sound.

      ‘I am not dying. I am getting better. Now, what is happening in the yard? I should get out there!’

      ‘Shhh, shhh. I know they said you were getting better, but I also know they lie to me. Now be still and I will cool your brow for you.’

      Gaius looked at her in disbelief. All his life, this shambling idiot had been coming to the fore, dragging away the lively, quick-witted woman he missed. He winced in anticipation of the screaming fit that would follow a wrong word from him.

      ‘I want to feel the night air on my skin, Mother. One last time. Please leave so that I may dress.’

      ‘Of course, my darling. I'll go back to my rooms now that I have said goodbye to you, my perfect son.’ She giggled for a moment and sighed as if she carried a great weight.

      ‘Your father is out there getting himself killed instead of looking after me. He has never looked after me properly. We have not made love in years now.’

      Gaius didn't know what to say. He sat up and closed his eyes against the weakness. He couldn't even hold his hand in a fist, but he had to know what was going on. Gods, why wasn't there someone around? Were they all out there? Tubruk?

      ‘Please leave, Mother. I must dress. I want to sit outside in my last moments.’

      ‘I understand, my love. Goodbye.’ Her eyes filled with tears as she kissed his forehead and then the little room was empty again.

      For a moment, he was tempted simply to fall back on the pillows. His head felt thick and heavy and he guessed the drug Cabera had given him would have kept him under till morning if his mother hadn't had one of her ideas. Slowly, he swung his legs out and pressed his feet against the floor. Weak. Clothes. One thing at a time.

      Tubruk knew they couldn't hold much longer. He ran himself ragged trying to cover a gap where two other men had once stood beside him. Again and again, he spun barely in time to meet the attack of those who were creeping up on him as he killed those in front. His breath came in wheezing gasps and, for all his skill, he knew death was close.

      Why would they not break? Damn all the gods to hell, they must break! He cursed himself for not arranging for some sort of fallback position, but there really was none. The walls were the only defence the estate had and these trembled on the brink of being completely overwhelmed.

      He slipped in blood and went down badly, the air rushing out of him. A dagger punched into his side and a dirty bare foot tried to crush his face, pressing his head down. He bit it and distantly heard someone scream. He made it to one knee too late to stop two scrambling figures dropping down into the yard. He hoped the women could handle them. Gingerly he felt his side and winced at the trickle of blood, watching it for air bubbles. There were none and he could still breathe; though the air tasted like hot tin and blood.

      For a few moments, no one came at him and he was able to look around the walls. Of the original twenty-nine, there were fewer than fifteen left. They had worked miracles up on the wall, but it wasn't going to be enough.

      Julius fought on, despairing as his strength flowed from his wounds. He pulled the dagger out of his flesh with a groan and instantly lost it in the chest of the next man to face him. His breath was burning his throat and he looked into the yard, seeing his son come out. He smiled and the pride felt as if it would burst his chest. Another blade entered him, shoved down into the gap between his breastplate СКАЧАТЬ