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Synopsis
A stunning novel of courage, camaraderie and deadly enemies from the Sunday Times bestselling author of Centurion and The Emperor's Exile.
AD 58. BRITANNIA. TENSION IS SIMMERING. DANGER LIES ROUND EVERY CORNER FOR ROME'S BRAVE SOLDIERS ...
Fifteen years after Rome's invasion of Britannia, centurion Marco is back. The island is settled now, bustling with commerce. Macro's goal is to help run his mother's Londinium inn, and exploit his land grant. He's prepared for the dismal weather and the barbaric ways of the people. But far worse dangers threaten all his plans.
A gang led by an ex-legionary rules the city, demanding protection money and terrorising those who won't pay up. The Roman official in charge has turned a blind eye. Macro has to act. He needs the back-up of the finest soldier he knows: Prefect Cato. But Cato is in distant Rome. Or is he?
As the streets run red with blood, the army's heroes face an enemy as merciless and cunning as any barbarian tribe. The honour of Rome is in their hands ...
For readers of Bernard Cornwell, Conn Iggulden and Ben Kane - unputdownable fiction from an author who knows the Roman world like no other.
IF YOU DON'T KNOW SIMON SCARROW, YOU DON'T KNOW ROME
Praise for the Eagles of the Empire novels:
'Scarrow's novels rank with the best' Independent
'Blood, gore, political intrigue' Daily Sport
'Always a joy' The Times
(P) 2021 Headline Publishing Group Limited
Release date: November 11, 2021
Publisher: Headline
Print pages: 352
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
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The Honour of Rome
Simon Scarrow
Centurion Macro: a hero of Rome, looking forward to a peaceful retirement in Britannia, or so he thinks . . .
Petronella: wife of Macro, looking forward to the same
Androcus, Hydrax, Barco, Lemulus: an edgy crew sailing into troubled waters . . .
Parvus: ship’s boy with the heart of a lion
Portia: mother and business partner of Macro. An entrepreneur in tooth and claw . . .
Denubius: her handyman, and more
Tribune Salvius: a young aristocrat looking forward to returning to Rome
Procurator Decianus: a flawed bureaucrat sent to Britannia as a punishment
Governor Paulinus: an ambitious man looking to make a name for himself by completing the pacification of Britannia
Malvinus: leader of the ‘Scorpions’ and a man who makes offers it is dangerous to refuse
Pansa: his second in command
Cinna: leader of the ‘Blades’ with ambitions to make his gang the most powerful in town
Naso: a ‘Blade’ with a nasty streak running right through him
Ramirus: retired Camp Prefect, looking forward to drinking his retirement away in peace
Cordua: wife of Ramirus
Tibullus: officer in charge of an isolated outpost not far from Camulodunum
Laenas, Herennius, Ancus, Vibenius: retired veterans, willing to enter battle one last time
Cardominus: a native guide who does not get on with the natives
Mabodugnus: an elderly chief of the Trinovantes
Prasutagus: King of the Iceni, but sadly stricken with terminal illness
Boudica: wife of Prasutagus, a fierce defender of her tribe’s interests
Prefect Cato: best friend of Centurion Macro. An accomplished soldier without permission to be in Britannia
Claudia Acte: lover of Cato and former mistress of Emperor Nero, who thinks she died in exile
Lucius: son of Cato by his dead wife
Cassius: a ferocious-looking mongrel with a ferocious appetite
Caius Torbulo: a cargo gangmaster with a quick eye for business
Camillus: an innkeeper on the road between Londinium and Camulodunum
Gracchus: the owner of a tannery in Londinium who is being skinned by the gangs
‘There’s a boat approaching,’ Centurion Macro said, and pointed down the river. The grey-streaked curls above his brow stirred in the cold breeze as he squinted over the water. The others on the deck of the Dolphin turned to see a small, low craft being propelled by four men at the oars, while another three sat in the stern and one more stood in the bows, holding a rope to steady himself. It had rounded a bend in the Tamesis no more than a quarter of a mile away and was approaching fast. Macro swiftly calculated that it would soon overtake the sluggish merchant vessel carrying his wife and himself upriver to Londinium. Although the men wore no armour and Macro could see no spears or other weapons, something about their demeanour caused a wary tingle at the back of his neck.
‘Are we in any danger?’
He turned to his wife, Petronella, a heavily built woman with an oval face fringed with dark hair, who was only a little shorter than Macro. They had been together for a few years now and she knew that, though Macro had left the army, his senses were well honed to detect any potential threat.
‘I doubt it, but better to be safe than sorry, eh?’
He left Petronella to watch the approaching boat and addressed the captain of the merchant vessel in a casual tone. ‘A word with you, Androcus.’
The captain caught the warning look in Macro’s eye and followed him aft to where the baggage lay, covered by a goatskin. Macro folded the covering back and undid the latch of the chest holding his kit. Reaching inside, he rummaged for his sword belt then quickly buckled it on, adjusting it so that the handle of the sword settled into its usual place against his hip. He handed a spare sword belt to Androcus. ‘Put it on.’
The captain hesitated and glanced towards the oncoming boat. ‘They look harmless enough. Are weapons really necessary?’
‘Let’s hope not. But in my experience it’s better to have them at the ready and not need them than not have them ready and need them.’
Androcus took a moment to digest the comment before he took the belt and hurriedly fastened it around his slim hips. ‘Now what?’
‘Let’s see what they do.’
A dull sun shone through the grey overcast, bleakly illuminating the river and the drab landscape on either bank. The sound of the oars splashing into the water carried over the surface to those aboard the merchant ship. The boat held its course and passed within thirty feet of the larger vessel, and Macro saw the man in the bows scanning the deck, his gaze quickly passing over what cargo was visible before settling on Macro and Androcus. Like the others, he wore a cloak, and his hair was tied back with a leather thong.
Macro cleared his throat and spat over the side as he raised his hand in greeting, making sure that his cape opened enough for those on the boat to see the handle of his sword protruding from the scabbard. ‘Hello, friends. It’s a cold afternoon to be out on the river, eh?’
The man in the bow nodded and grinned as he muttered an order in the native dialect to his companions. The men at the oars rested and their craft began to slow at once. ‘Aye, cold enough.’ He switched to a heavily accented Latin. ‘You bound for the town?’
‘We are,’ Androcus replied. ‘And you?’
The man gestured upriver. ‘A fishing village a couple of miles that way. Looking forward to our supper. May the river god keep you safe.’
He tapped a finger to his forehead in farewell and then spoke in dialect again to the men at the oars. They took up the strain and the low craft lurched forward and continued upriver, water swirling in its wake.
Androcus let out a relieved sigh. ‘Seems there was no cause for concern after all.’
Macro watched the boat surge away as it made for the next bend in the river. Mist was spilling out from the reeds along the bank, and the boat disappeared from view even before it reached the bend. ‘I’m not so sure. What reason do you imagine they have to be out on the river on a cold winter afternoon?’
‘How should I know? Some might ask the same question of a captain crossing from Gaul at this time of year.’
Macro reflected a moment. ‘That village he mentioned. Do you know of it?’
Androcus shook his head. ‘There are several along the river, but none as close as he says.’
‘Are you certain?’
The captain looked offended. ‘I’ve been plying my trade between Londinium and Gesoriacum for the last five years now. I know the Tamesis like the back of my hand. I’m telling you, Centurion, the nearest village is at least ten miles away. That said, there might be some settlement at the end of any of the creeks that feed into the river. But none that I’m aware of.’ He turned to look in the direction the boat had taken. ‘You may be right. I don’t like the look of those men.’
‘You don’t say.’ Macro sniffed. ‘I think we may be in trouble. I don’t think it’s safe for us to stop for the night.’
‘Sail at night?’ Androcus shook his head. ‘No chance of that.’
‘You said you know the river.’
‘By daylight, yes.’
‘It’s still the same river at night,’ Macro countered. ‘I have every confidence you’ll be able to guide the ship a safe distance from those men. What’s the worst thing that can happen? If we run aground, it just means we’ll have to wait until the tide rises and floats us off.’
‘If we sail into a mudbank at any speed, the impact could take the mast down.’
‘Then take it slowly. Even if you lose the mast, it’s better than losing your ship, your cargo, your crew, your passengers and your life to a gang of river pirates.’
The captain rubbed his jaw. ‘When you put it like that . . .’
‘That’s exactly how I am putting it. We keep going.’
Macro turned away and made his way back along the deck towards his wife. He offered her a reassuring smile. ‘We’re not stopping along the riverbank tonight.’
‘Why? Because of those men?’ Petronella responded shrewdly.
He nodded. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’
‘Are they dangerous?’
‘It’s best we don’t wait around to find out.’ He paused to think briefly and called out to Androcus. ‘Have you and your lads got any weapons?’
‘Some axes, knives and the belaying pins.’
‘What about armour?’
‘We’re sailors, Centurion, not soldiers. Why would we have armour?’
‘Fair point,’ Macro conceded. ‘Just make sure your men are armed, and keep your eyes skinned when we get moving again. If we are attacked, it will be a fight to the death. Pirates won’t want to leave any witnesses alive. No quarter will be given. Understand?’ He looked round the crew to make sure they grasped the seriousness of their plight.
‘What about me?’ asked Petronella.
Macro regarded her thoughtfully She might be a woman, but since they had met, he had seen her deck more than a few men with her solid punch. She was as fierce and formidable in a fight as many men he had known. He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Just try not to kill too many of our lads in the darkness, eh?’
As the winter sun declined towards the horizon, the crew and passengers kept watch for any signs of danger from the reed-lined banks on either side.
‘We gave up a comfortable life in Rome for this?’ Petronella gestured at the bare landscape. The Tamesis, being a tidal river, exposed broad expanses of mudbanks as the tide ebbed. Beyond the reeds at the water’s edge, low mounds were dotted with clumps of brambles and trees stripped of their leaves.
She shook her head and shrank into the fur collar of her cloak as Macro shrugged. He had been discharged from the army nearly two years earlier. They had set off for Britannia soon after but had been delayed in Massillia for several months when Petronella had fallen ill. Once she had recovered Macro had been keen to complete the journey as swiftly as possible, even if that meant crossing the sea in the depths of winter. In addition to the generous bounty he had received from the imperial treasury in thanks for his many years of honourable service, he had also been granted a parcel of land at the military colony of Camulodunum. More than enough to set him up comfortably for retirement, he reflected with a smile.
‘Oh, it’s not so bad here,’ he replied.
‘No?’ She glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘Why would Rome want to turn this . . . bog into a province?’
Macro laughed, his lined face creasing up and emphasising the handful of scars etched across the skin. He wrapped an arm round her shoulders and drew her close. ‘You’re not seeing it at its best. When summer comes, it’s quite different. There’s rich farmland, forests teeming with game. The trade routes with the rest of the Empire are opening up to all manner of creature comforts.’ He paused to nod towards the rows of wine jars tightly packed into the grass matting in the hold. ‘Give it a few years and Britannia will be no different to any other province. You’ll see. Ain’t that right, Androcus?’
The captain was standing on the small raised deck at the bows, scanning the river ahead. He turned and nodded. ‘Aye. There’s more ships crossing between here and Gaul every month. You should see Londinium now, miss. It’s grown from a trading post into a huge town in the space of a few years. Bit rough and ready at the moment, but it’ll be a fine place once things settle down.’
‘Hmph,’ Petronella muttered, and returned her gaze to the dismal sprawl of mud and mist stretching out on either side.
Macro frowned and slowly sucked in a breath, sensitive to the likelihood that anything he might say would not improve matters. That was how it was with women, he thought to himself. If you could not read their minds and say what they wanted to hear, it was best to say nothing. However, silence ran the risk of provoking the accusation that men were unfeeling, insensitive brutes incapable of being supportive of their wives. Accustomed as he was to the battlefield, it perplexed Macro that there was no winning strategy in such matters. Women had their men completely outflanked, and all that remained was to retreat into the corner and face the end with defiant stoicism.
The captain glanced up at the band of cloud moving in from the east. ‘Let’s hope that’s not snow.’
Macro followed the direction of his gaze and nodded. It would be dark in an hour or so, and he did not relish the prospect of spending another freezing night aboard the ship.
‘So what’s waiting for you in Londinium?’ asked Androcus. ‘A posting to one of the legions, is it?’
Macro shook his head. ‘I’m done with soldiering. Me and the wife are here to make some money and live out a comfortable retirement. I own a half-share in an inn. My mother’s been running it for the past few years.’
‘Oh? I might have heard of it.’
‘The Dog and Deer is the name of the place. In a good position, not far from the river. Doing a brisk trade, according to her letters.’
‘The Dog and Deer . . . No, can’t say I know it. But then I don’t spend much time in Londinium. Just long enough to unload my cargo and take on the next load before sailing back to Gaul. I take my drink at a place on the quayside.’
‘If you want to give my place a try, I’ll stand you the first drink,’ Macro offered companionably.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Androcus smiled. ‘I may well take you up on that.’
A movement amongst the reeds of the nearest bank drew both men’s attention. A moment later, a startled heron struggled into the air and flew off across the water. The pair exchanged a relieved smile and returned to their vigil.
The temperature dropped sharply the moment dusk gave way to night. Androcus, anxious about running aground in the darkness, ordered his crew to take in two reefs to slow the ship down. The Dolphin glided upriver in the middle of the broad expanse of the Tamesis. Their progress seemed unbearably slow to Macro, and he cursed Androcus for being too timid to risk continuing under full sail. However, it was the other man’s ship and Macro knew better than to try to tell the captain how to do his job. Besides, he needed to keep alert for any sign of danger. If it came to a fight, he would be the only one aboard trained to deal with it; he had little confidence in the crew being able to defeat a gang of river pirates who were accustomed to killing and looting.
Petronella was standing beside him, hefting a belaying pin to test its weight. Macro put his arms around her and held her close for a moment before speaking softly into her ear. ‘If anything happens and it goes badly for us, get away however you can. Even if that means jumping over the side and swimming for it. When you get ashore, make for my mother’s place. She’ll take care of you.’
They fell silent and, like the captain and his crew, kept watching for any sign of the boat that had passed them less than two hours earlier.
‘Look there,’ Macro said, and pointed to the south bank. In the gloom he could barely see the two figures that had emerged from the stunted undergrowth and climbed a small mound overlooking the river. They paused to look towards the Dolphin before breaking into a trot down towards the bushes at the foot of the mound and disappearing from view.
‘What are they up to?’ asked Androcus.
‘Tracking us, I imagine. If there’s any way you could make this tub go faster, it would be a good idea to see to it now.’
The captain raised his hand briefly before he responded. ‘There’s virtually no breeze. It’s the tide that’s doing most of the work. And that’ll help those pirates if they attack, since they have the lighter craft.’
The fear in his voice was palpable, and Macro turned and grasped him by the shoulders as he spoke in a fierce undertone. ‘Listen, if it comes to a fight, your crew will be looking to their captain. You set the example on the ship. So take a deep breath and get a hold on yourself, Androcus.’ He eased his grip and patted the man on the arm. ‘Besides, you’ve got me, and I’ve been in more battles than most. I’m more than a match for any bog-hopping barge bandits. Hold your nerve and we’ll come through this and reach Londinium safely. Is that clear?’
‘Y-yes.’ The captain cleared his throat. ‘I’ll do my duty.’
‘Good for you.’ Macro chuckled reassuringly. ‘For now, just get us upriver fast as you can.’
Androcus approached his crew, who were lining the side facing the south bank, scanning for any further sign of the pirates, and quietly ordered them to shake out one of the reefs. A moment later there was a rustle of leather and a faint phwap as the breeze filled the sail and the water gurgled along the waterline. Scanning the banks on either side, Macro could see that they were making some progress now. Overhead, heavy clouds rolled in from the east, beneath them a greater darkness indicating rain, or snow. If fortune was on their side, the weather would make it harder for the pirates to find them in the darkness. On the other hand, Macro reflected, the same weather might conceal the approach of an enemy vessel until the very last moment. With that in mind, he decided that it would be best to talk to the crew while there was still time to think clearly.
‘Lads,’ he spoke just loud enough for the crew to hear him clearly, ‘a word with you. Those pirates will be thinking that the Dolphin is just another cargo ship, with a crew they can easily overwhelm. They’ll be depending on our fear to weaken any resistance we offer. That’ll be their best weapon against us. So we have to show them we’re not afraid. If they come for us, I want to hear you give them as bloodthirsty a greeting as possible. And we don’t wait for them to get on board before we fight ’em. Find something to throw at the bastards as soon as they draw close. And if they attempt to get aboard, we meet them at the ship’s rail and knock them on the head before they can get a foot over the side. If you have the urge to run from the fight, just remember, there’s no place to hide. So we drive ’em off or go down fighting, eh?’
He paused and looked over the dark figures standing before him. The ship’s boy remained at the steering paddle. Macro recalled what he had learned about the crew during the short voyage from Gaul. Besides the captain, there was his first mate, Hydrax, a burly, good-humoured man who seemed a competent sailor. He had stuffed an axe in his broad leather belt. Beside him stood the other two sailors, Barco and Lemulus, both of whom had been friendly in their dealings with the two passengers. Barco had armed himself with a stout boathook while his companion carried a belaying pin. The captain had Macro’s spare sword and stood with his hand resting on the pommel. It was then that Macro realised he had not learned the name of the ship’s boy. The lad, no more than twelve or thirteen, had not spoken a word the entire time and had been addressed by his crewmates simply as ‘boy’ whenever they had spoken to him.
‘Lad,’ Macro called over to him. ‘What weapon have you got?’
The shadow at the stern reached his spare hand to his side. There was a dull rasp and he raised his arm, revealing the just discernible shape of a dagger blade.
‘Good,’ Macro responded. ‘Then we all know what we must do.’
‘What about your wife?’ asked Androcus.
‘I’ll feed them their own balls,’ Petronella purred menacingly, and Macro was pleased to hear the men laugh in response. They were as ready for a fight as any bunch of civilians could be, he decided.
Something brushed his forehead, and he glanced up to see fine shapes swirling down from the darkness. Snow, then, not rain. The first small specks soon gave way to large, feather-like flakes that settled on the deck and the cloaks of those watching for danger. In moments the dark timbers of the upper works of the Dolphin were covered in a thin layer of snow. Macro had to shield his eyes as he squinted across the water, blinking as the blizzard blew at an angle into his face.
‘Can you see anything?’ asked Petronella.
‘Not much, but then neither can they.’
The falling snow had a deadening effect on the sounds around the ship. On all sides the twisting specks blotted out even the vaguest hint of the banks beyond the dark flow of the river, so that the vessel felt cut off from the world, with no sense of direction.
‘We’ll have to lower the sail,’ said Androcus. ‘We’re steering blind and I can’t see anything more than fifty feet away. If we run aground now, we’ll lose the mast, if not the whole ship and her cargo if the hull is breached.’
‘Hold your course,’ Macro replied firmly. ‘A little longer. Just until the blizzard abates.’
‘Who says it will? It’s too dangerous.’
The captain turned to his crew and was about to shout an order when the snowstorm passed beyond them. On either side they could see the banks of the Tamesis again. More by luck than any nautical expertise, the Dolphin seemed to be almost exactly in the middle of the river; there was no danger of her running aground as Androcus had feared. Ahead of them the dark band of the blizzard receded swiftly.
Then, emerging from the snow, moving at an angle across their course, came the dark outline of the pirates’ boat. Its crew worked the oars hard as they were urged on by their leader to close in on their prey.
‘Here they come!’ Macro called out, and the crew of the cargo ship turned to look in the direction he was pointing. It was already clear that there was no chance of escape. The boat would cut directly across their bows.
Lowering his arm, Macro looked round at the others, their faces clearly visible thanks to the faint loom of snow that covered the deck and picked out the rigging in fine white lines against the night sky. It was pleasing to see that Androcus and his men no longer looked so terrified. Their expressions were grim and they appeared to be resigned to fighting a battle they could not avoid. Petronella’s expression, by contrast, was deadly. Her head was slightly lowered and her dark eyes glowered as she clenched her teeth.
‘That’s my lady.’ Macro smiled. ‘Give those bastards a thrashing they’ll never forget.’
She sniffed with derision. ‘They’re not going to live long enough to forget when we’re through with them.’
Macro nodded and turned back to watch the approaching pirates. Their boat had drawn ahead slightly, but they made no attempt to change course towards the cargo ship.
‘The odds are almost even.’ He spoke calmly to reassure the sailors. ‘And they’ll have to climb the side to get at us. We have the advantage. All we have to do is hold our nerve and stop them getting aboard. Once we kill or wound some of ’em, they’ll lose heart and scarper. Are you with me, lads?’
Androcus and his crew nodded uncertainly.
Macro thrust his sword into the air. ‘Then let’s give them something to be afraid of.’
He let his jaw drop, sucked in a deep breath, then roared, ‘For the Dolphin!’
Far from working the crew up, he saw them flinch slightly, and he clenched his spare fist and gestured to them. ‘Come on, let’s hear it from you! Dolphin! Dolphin!’
The others joined in, hesitantly at first, but then, as their resolve hardened, louder and louder, brandishing their weapons at the pirates. The men in the boat turned to look across the water until their leader bellowed to the men at the oars and they continued to propel the craft forward, ahead of the cargo ship.
Macro edged towards the bows to keep the boat in sight. ‘They’ll be turning towards us any moment.’
As he watched, the boat pulled directly ahead of the cargo ship and slowed to match its pace.
‘What are they waiting for?’ asked Androcus.
Macro strained his eyes ahead for a moment before he replied. ‘I don’t know. Unless . . .’
He climbed onto the small platform in the angle of the bows and grasped the shroud as he glanced round, straining his ears for any sounds other than the soft creak of the rigging and the muffled swish of the boat’s oars from ahead. Then he heard a cry from the darkness to his left, and turned towards the south bank as a voice on the pirates’ boat called out in response. He felt a chill grip the pit of his stomach. The pirates’ plan was obvious. The first boat would wait until the new arrival was in position, and then they would attack the cargo ship from both sides. Macro had been counting on being at the head of the fight, but now he would have to divide his tiny force and place Androcus in command of half of it. He was not convinced the ship’s captain had the heart for such a fight.
‘Listen here, Androcus,’ he began calmly. ‘I want you to take two of your men and defend the port side. Hydrax can fight alongside me and my wife.’
‘What about the boy?’
Macro glanced at the slight figure holding the tiller of the steering paddle. ‘Tell him to stay where he is and keep the vessel on course. He won’t be much good in a fight. Not enough to make a difference. But lend him a knife in any case. He may need it.’
‘If you say so,’ Androcus replied grudgingly.
Macro caught his arm. ‘Remember, this is a fight to the death. We drive them off or they will kill us all. There is no other outcome. They won’t spare any witnesses to their piracy.’
The captain nodded. Macro released his grip and the man made his way aft.
‘Do you think we can rely on him?’ Petronella asked quietly.
‘What choice do we have?’ Macro forced a smile. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Hmph.’
The two parties moved to either side of the ship and made ready as they watched the second boat surge across the current. There was a brief shouted exchange before both smaller craft turned towards the Dolphin and raced downstream, closing quickly as they made for each beam of the cargo ship. Macro drew his sword and tested his grip in the icy air to make sure that his fingers were supple and could be relied on to grasp the handle tightly.
As the first boat closed in, he saw a figure rise up between the rowers and take aim with a bow. An instant later, an arrow hissed close overhead and Hydrax flinched and ducked. There was just time for the pirates to attempt a second shot; this time the iron head of the arrow buried itself in the timbers beneath Macro with a sharp splintering crack. Then the boat glanced off the bows and swept down the side. The dark shape of a boarding hook arced over the rail, struck the deck and was instantly hauled tight so that the points lodged in the wooden frame and secured the boat to the ship.
Macro raised his sword and hacked at the thin rope stretched over the rail, but it slipped towards him at the last moment and the blade bit into the wood. He tore it free as the first of the pirates was hoisted by two of his comrades, sailing up and over the side to land on the deck. He was lithe and nimble and did not stumble as he readied a short axe in one hand and a dagger in the other. There was a thud from the other side of the vessel as the second boat came alongside, and the pirates gave a lusty cheer, but there was no chance for Macro to turn and look before he rushed the first enemy to board the Dolphin. The pirate crouched as he swung his axe back, but Macro powered forward before the man could strike, easily parrying the dagger, then slamming shoulder first into the pirate’s chin and sending the lighter man flying backwards to crash onto the deck. Macro was standing over him before the man could snatch a breath, and he drove his short sword down into his opponent’s throat and twisted it left and right before tearing the point free and backing off to face the next pirate.
A second man vaulted over the rail between Macro and Petronella, while a third clambered up just beyond Hydrax. Macro twisted round, but before he could move, fingers closed round his ankle. The pirate he had knocked down was scrabbling on the deck, gurgling horribly as blood pulsed from his wound, splattering black across the snow-covered planks. He had dropped his axe, but his dagger was still in his other hand, and now he slashed at Macro’s calf. The point went high, tearing through the hem of Macro’s breeches and scoring a shallow wound. Macro swung his other boot into the man’s head, kicking hard. It took two blows before the wounded pirate released his grip and freed Macro to help Petronella. She was locked in a tight embrace with a shorter man, and snarled as she flailed at the back of his head with her belaying pin. As Macro watched, she butted her head against her foe’s nose, and then bit into his cheek. The pirate let out a shocked cry of pain and made to punch her with the fist grasping his axe.
‘Not my bloody wife you don’t!’ Macro bellowed. He grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it viciously so the axe head slapped into the pirate’s back, driving the air from his lungs in a loud gasp. Then he drove his sword at an angle up into the pirate’s side before thrusting him against the rail, where Petronella gave him a violent thrust so that he toppled with a splash into the river.
There was no time to share a brief moment of triumph. Macro saw that Hydrax had been driven to his knees by a blow from a studded club. At the same time, the pirate sensed the danger from behind him and glanced over his shoulder just as Macro brushed past Petronella and charged towards him. Spinning round, the pirate swung his club, knocking aside the sword that Macro had raised to
Petronella: wife of Macro, looking forward to the same
Androcus, Hydrax, Barco, Lemulus: an edgy crew sailing into troubled waters . . .
Parvus: ship’s boy with the heart of a lion
Portia: mother and business partner of Macro. An entrepreneur in tooth and claw . . .
Denubius: her handyman, and more
Tribune Salvius: a young aristocrat looking forward to returning to Rome
Procurator Decianus: a flawed bureaucrat sent to Britannia as a punishment
Governor Paulinus: an ambitious man looking to make a name for himself by completing the pacification of Britannia
Malvinus: leader of the ‘Scorpions’ and a man who makes offers it is dangerous to refuse
Pansa: his second in command
Cinna: leader of the ‘Blades’ with ambitions to make his gang the most powerful in town
Naso: a ‘Blade’ with a nasty streak running right through him
Ramirus: retired Camp Prefect, looking forward to drinking his retirement away in peace
Cordua: wife of Ramirus
Tibullus: officer in charge of an isolated outpost not far from Camulodunum
Laenas, Herennius, Ancus, Vibenius: retired veterans, willing to enter battle one last time
Cardominus: a native guide who does not get on with the natives
Mabodugnus: an elderly chief of the Trinovantes
Prasutagus: King of the Iceni, but sadly stricken with terminal illness
Boudica: wife of Prasutagus, a fierce defender of her tribe’s interests
Prefect Cato: best friend of Centurion Macro. An accomplished soldier without permission to be in Britannia
Claudia Acte: lover of Cato and former mistress of Emperor Nero, who thinks she died in exile
Lucius: son of Cato by his dead wife
Cassius: a ferocious-looking mongrel with a ferocious appetite
Caius Torbulo: a cargo gangmaster with a quick eye for business
Camillus: an innkeeper on the road between Londinium and Camulodunum
Gracchus: the owner of a tannery in Londinium who is being skinned by the gangs
‘There’s a boat approaching,’ Centurion Macro said, and pointed down the river. The grey-streaked curls above his brow stirred in the cold breeze as he squinted over the water. The others on the deck of the Dolphin turned to see a small, low craft being propelled by four men at the oars, while another three sat in the stern and one more stood in the bows, holding a rope to steady himself. It had rounded a bend in the Tamesis no more than a quarter of a mile away and was approaching fast. Macro swiftly calculated that it would soon overtake the sluggish merchant vessel carrying his wife and himself upriver to Londinium. Although the men wore no armour and Macro could see no spears or other weapons, something about their demeanour caused a wary tingle at the back of his neck.
‘Are we in any danger?’
He turned to his wife, Petronella, a heavily built woman with an oval face fringed with dark hair, who was only a little shorter than Macro. They had been together for a few years now and she knew that, though Macro had left the army, his senses were well honed to detect any potential threat.
‘I doubt it, but better to be safe than sorry, eh?’
He left Petronella to watch the approaching boat and addressed the captain of the merchant vessel in a casual tone. ‘A word with you, Androcus.’
The captain caught the warning look in Macro’s eye and followed him aft to where the baggage lay, covered by a goatskin. Macro folded the covering back and undid the latch of the chest holding his kit. Reaching inside, he rummaged for his sword belt then quickly buckled it on, adjusting it so that the handle of the sword settled into its usual place against his hip. He handed a spare sword belt to Androcus. ‘Put it on.’
The captain hesitated and glanced towards the oncoming boat. ‘They look harmless enough. Are weapons really necessary?’
‘Let’s hope not. But in my experience it’s better to have them at the ready and not need them than not have them ready and need them.’
Androcus took a moment to digest the comment before he took the belt and hurriedly fastened it around his slim hips. ‘Now what?’
‘Let’s see what they do.’
A dull sun shone through the grey overcast, bleakly illuminating the river and the drab landscape on either bank. The sound of the oars splashing into the water carried over the surface to those aboard the merchant ship. The boat held its course and passed within thirty feet of the larger vessel, and Macro saw the man in the bows scanning the deck, his gaze quickly passing over what cargo was visible before settling on Macro and Androcus. Like the others, he wore a cloak, and his hair was tied back with a leather thong.
Macro cleared his throat and spat over the side as he raised his hand in greeting, making sure that his cape opened enough for those on the boat to see the handle of his sword protruding from the scabbard. ‘Hello, friends. It’s a cold afternoon to be out on the river, eh?’
The man in the bow nodded and grinned as he muttered an order in the native dialect to his companions. The men at the oars rested and their craft began to slow at once. ‘Aye, cold enough.’ He switched to a heavily accented Latin. ‘You bound for the town?’
‘We are,’ Androcus replied. ‘And you?’
The man gestured upriver. ‘A fishing village a couple of miles that way. Looking forward to our supper. May the river god keep you safe.’
He tapped a finger to his forehead in farewell and then spoke in dialect again to the men at the oars. They took up the strain and the low craft lurched forward and continued upriver, water swirling in its wake.
Androcus let out a relieved sigh. ‘Seems there was no cause for concern after all.’
Macro watched the boat surge away as it made for the next bend in the river. Mist was spilling out from the reeds along the bank, and the boat disappeared from view even before it reached the bend. ‘I’m not so sure. What reason do you imagine they have to be out on the river on a cold winter afternoon?’
‘How should I know? Some might ask the same question of a captain crossing from Gaul at this time of year.’
Macro reflected a moment. ‘That village he mentioned. Do you know of it?’
Androcus shook his head. ‘There are several along the river, but none as close as he says.’
‘Are you certain?’
The captain looked offended. ‘I’ve been plying my trade between Londinium and Gesoriacum for the last five years now. I know the Tamesis like the back of my hand. I’m telling you, Centurion, the nearest village is at least ten miles away. That said, there might be some settlement at the end of any of the creeks that feed into the river. But none that I’m aware of.’ He turned to look in the direction the boat had taken. ‘You may be right. I don’t like the look of those men.’
‘You don’t say.’ Macro sniffed. ‘I think we may be in trouble. I don’t think it’s safe for us to stop for the night.’
‘Sail at night?’ Androcus shook his head. ‘No chance of that.’
‘You said you know the river.’
‘By daylight, yes.’
‘It’s still the same river at night,’ Macro countered. ‘I have every confidence you’ll be able to guide the ship a safe distance from those men. What’s the worst thing that can happen? If we run aground, it just means we’ll have to wait until the tide rises and floats us off.’
‘If we sail into a mudbank at any speed, the impact could take the mast down.’
‘Then take it slowly. Even if you lose the mast, it’s better than losing your ship, your cargo, your crew, your passengers and your life to a gang of river pirates.’
The captain rubbed his jaw. ‘When you put it like that . . .’
‘That’s exactly how I am putting it. We keep going.’
Macro turned away and made his way back along the deck towards his wife. He offered her a reassuring smile. ‘We’re not stopping along the riverbank tonight.’
‘Why? Because of those men?’ Petronella responded shrewdly.
He nodded. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’
‘Are they dangerous?’
‘It’s best we don’t wait around to find out.’ He paused to think briefly and called out to Androcus. ‘Have you and your lads got any weapons?’
‘Some axes, knives and the belaying pins.’
‘What about armour?’
‘We’re sailors, Centurion, not soldiers. Why would we have armour?’
‘Fair point,’ Macro conceded. ‘Just make sure your men are armed, and keep your eyes skinned when we get moving again. If we are attacked, it will be a fight to the death. Pirates won’t want to leave any witnesses alive. No quarter will be given. Understand?’ He looked round the crew to make sure they grasped the seriousness of their plight.
‘What about me?’ asked Petronella.
Macro regarded her thoughtfully She might be a woman, but since they had met, he had seen her deck more than a few men with her solid punch. She was as fierce and formidable in a fight as many men he had known. He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Just try not to kill too many of our lads in the darkness, eh?’
As the winter sun declined towards the horizon, the crew and passengers kept watch for any signs of danger from the reed-lined banks on either side.
‘We gave up a comfortable life in Rome for this?’ Petronella gestured at the bare landscape. The Tamesis, being a tidal river, exposed broad expanses of mudbanks as the tide ebbed. Beyond the reeds at the water’s edge, low mounds were dotted with clumps of brambles and trees stripped of their leaves.
She shook her head and shrank into the fur collar of her cloak as Macro shrugged. He had been discharged from the army nearly two years earlier. They had set off for Britannia soon after but had been delayed in Massillia for several months when Petronella had fallen ill. Once she had recovered Macro had been keen to complete the journey as swiftly as possible, even if that meant crossing the sea in the depths of winter. In addition to the generous bounty he had received from the imperial treasury in thanks for his many years of honourable service, he had also been granted a parcel of land at the military colony of Camulodunum. More than enough to set him up comfortably for retirement, he reflected with a smile.
‘Oh, it’s not so bad here,’ he replied.
‘No?’ She glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘Why would Rome want to turn this . . . bog into a province?’
Macro laughed, his lined face creasing up and emphasising the handful of scars etched across the skin. He wrapped an arm round her shoulders and drew her close. ‘You’re not seeing it at its best. When summer comes, it’s quite different. There’s rich farmland, forests teeming with game. The trade routes with the rest of the Empire are opening up to all manner of creature comforts.’ He paused to nod towards the rows of wine jars tightly packed into the grass matting in the hold. ‘Give it a few years and Britannia will be no different to any other province. You’ll see. Ain’t that right, Androcus?’
The captain was standing on the small raised deck at the bows, scanning the river ahead. He turned and nodded. ‘Aye. There’s more ships crossing between here and Gaul every month. You should see Londinium now, miss. It’s grown from a trading post into a huge town in the space of a few years. Bit rough and ready at the moment, but it’ll be a fine place once things settle down.’
‘Hmph,’ Petronella muttered, and returned her gaze to the dismal sprawl of mud and mist stretching out on either side.
Macro frowned and slowly sucked in a breath, sensitive to the likelihood that anything he might say would not improve matters. That was how it was with women, he thought to himself. If you could not read their minds and say what they wanted to hear, it was best to say nothing. However, silence ran the risk of provoking the accusation that men were unfeeling, insensitive brutes incapable of being supportive of their wives. Accustomed as he was to the battlefield, it perplexed Macro that there was no winning strategy in such matters. Women had their men completely outflanked, and all that remained was to retreat into the corner and face the end with defiant stoicism.
The captain glanced up at the band of cloud moving in from the east. ‘Let’s hope that’s not snow.’
Macro followed the direction of his gaze and nodded. It would be dark in an hour or so, and he did not relish the prospect of spending another freezing night aboard the ship.
‘So what’s waiting for you in Londinium?’ asked Androcus. ‘A posting to one of the legions, is it?’
Macro shook his head. ‘I’m done with soldiering. Me and the wife are here to make some money and live out a comfortable retirement. I own a half-share in an inn. My mother’s been running it for the past few years.’
‘Oh? I might have heard of it.’
‘The Dog and Deer is the name of the place. In a good position, not far from the river. Doing a brisk trade, according to her letters.’
‘The Dog and Deer . . . No, can’t say I know it. But then I don’t spend much time in Londinium. Just long enough to unload my cargo and take on the next load before sailing back to Gaul. I take my drink at a place on the quayside.’
‘If you want to give my place a try, I’ll stand you the first drink,’ Macro offered companionably.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Androcus smiled. ‘I may well take you up on that.’
A movement amongst the reeds of the nearest bank drew both men’s attention. A moment later, a startled heron struggled into the air and flew off across the water. The pair exchanged a relieved smile and returned to their vigil.
The temperature dropped sharply the moment dusk gave way to night. Androcus, anxious about running aground in the darkness, ordered his crew to take in two reefs to slow the ship down. The Dolphin glided upriver in the middle of the broad expanse of the Tamesis. Their progress seemed unbearably slow to Macro, and he cursed Androcus for being too timid to risk continuing under full sail. However, it was the other man’s ship and Macro knew better than to try to tell the captain how to do his job. Besides, he needed to keep alert for any sign of danger. If it came to a fight, he would be the only one aboard trained to deal with it; he had little confidence in the crew being able to defeat a gang of river pirates who were accustomed to killing and looting.
Petronella was standing beside him, hefting a belaying pin to test its weight. Macro put his arms around her and held her close for a moment before speaking softly into her ear. ‘If anything happens and it goes badly for us, get away however you can. Even if that means jumping over the side and swimming for it. When you get ashore, make for my mother’s place. She’ll take care of you.’
They fell silent and, like the captain and his crew, kept watching for any sign of the boat that had passed them less than two hours earlier.
‘Look there,’ Macro said, and pointed to the south bank. In the gloom he could barely see the two figures that had emerged from the stunted undergrowth and climbed a small mound overlooking the river. They paused to look towards the Dolphin before breaking into a trot down towards the bushes at the foot of the mound and disappearing from view.
‘What are they up to?’ asked Androcus.
‘Tracking us, I imagine. If there’s any way you could make this tub go faster, it would be a good idea to see to it now.’
The captain raised his hand briefly before he responded. ‘There’s virtually no breeze. It’s the tide that’s doing most of the work. And that’ll help those pirates if they attack, since they have the lighter craft.’
The fear in his voice was palpable, and Macro turned and grasped him by the shoulders as he spoke in a fierce undertone. ‘Listen, if it comes to a fight, your crew will be looking to their captain. You set the example on the ship. So take a deep breath and get a hold on yourself, Androcus.’ He eased his grip and patted the man on the arm. ‘Besides, you’ve got me, and I’ve been in more battles than most. I’m more than a match for any bog-hopping barge bandits. Hold your nerve and we’ll come through this and reach Londinium safely. Is that clear?’
‘Y-yes.’ The captain cleared his throat. ‘I’ll do my duty.’
‘Good for you.’ Macro chuckled reassuringly. ‘For now, just get us upriver fast as you can.’
Androcus approached his crew, who were lining the side facing the south bank, scanning for any further sign of the pirates, and quietly ordered them to shake out one of the reefs. A moment later there was a rustle of leather and a faint phwap as the breeze filled the sail and the water gurgled along the waterline. Scanning the banks on either side, Macro could see that they were making some progress now. Overhead, heavy clouds rolled in from the east, beneath them a greater darkness indicating rain, or snow. If fortune was on their side, the weather would make it harder for the pirates to find them in the darkness. On the other hand, Macro reflected, the same weather might conceal the approach of an enemy vessel until the very last moment. With that in mind, he decided that it would be best to talk to the crew while there was still time to think clearly.
‘Lads,’ he spoke just loud enough for the crew to hear him clearly, ‘a word with you. Those pirates will be thinking that the Dolphin is just another cargo ship, with a crew they can easily overwhelm. They’ll be depending on our fear to weaken any resistance we offer. That’ll be their best weapon against us. So we have to show them we’re not afraid. If they come for us, I want to hear you give them as bloodthirsty a greeting as possible. And we don’t wait for them to get on board before we fight ’em. Find something to throw at the bastards as soon as they draw close. And if they attempt to get aboard, we meet them at the ship’s rail and knock them on the head before they can get a foot over the side. If you have the urge to run from the fight, just remember, there’s no place to hide. So we drive ’em off or go down fighting, eh?’
He paused and looked over the dark figures standing before him. The ship’s boy remained at the steering paddle. Macro recalled what he had learned about the crew during the short voyage from Gaul. Besides the captain, there was his first mate, Hydrax, a burly, good-humoured man who seemed a competent sailor. He had stuffed an axe in his broad leather belt. Beside him stood the other two sailors, Barco and Lemulus, both of whom had been friendly in their dealings with the two passengers. Barco had armed himself with a stout boathook while his companion carried a belaying pin. The captain had Macro’s spare sword and stood with his hand resting on the pommel. It was then that Macro realised he had not learned the name of the ship’s boy. The lad, no more than twelve or thirteen, had not spoken a word the entire time and had been addressed by his crewmates simply as ‘boy’ whenever they had spoken to him.
‘Lad,’ Macro called over to him. ‘What weapon have you got?’
The shadow at the stern reached his spare hand to his side. There was a dull rasp and he raised his arm, revealing the just discernible shape of a dagger blade.
‘Good,’ Macro responded. ‘Then we all know what we must do.’
‘What about your wife?’ asked Androcus.
‘I’ll feed them their own balls,’ Petronella purred menacingly, and Macro was pleased to hear the men laugh in response. They were as ready for a fight as any bunch of civilians could be, he decided.
Something brushed his forehead, and he glanced up to see fine shapes swirling down from the darkness. Snow, then, not rain. The first small specks soon gave way to large, feather-like flakes that settled on the deck and the cloaks of those watching for danger. In moments the dark timbers of the upper works of the Dolphin were covered in a thin layer of snow. Macro had to shield his eyes as he squinted across the water, blinking as the blizzard blew at an angle into his face.
‘Can you see anything?’ asked Petronella.
‘Not much, but then neither can they.’
The falling snow had a deadening effect on the sounds around the ship. On all sides the twisting specks blotted out even the vaguest hint of the banks beyond the dark flow of the river, so that the vessel felt cut off from the world, with no sense of direction.
‘We’ll have to lower the sail,’ said Androcus. ‘We’re steering blind and I can’t see anything more than fifty feet away. If we run aground now, we’ll lose the mast, if not the whole ship and her cargo if the hull is breached.’
‘Hold your course,’ Macro replied firmly. ‘A little longer. Just until the blizzard abates.’
‘Who says it will? It’s too dangerous.’
The captain turned to his crew and was about to shout an order when the snowstorm passed beyond them. On either side they could see the banks of the Tamesis again. More by luck than any nautical expertise, the Dolphin seemed to be almost exactly in the middle of the river; there was no danger of her running aground as Androcus had feared. Ahead of them the dark band of the blizzard receded swiftly.
Then, emerging from the snow, moving at an angle across their course, came the dark outline of the pirates’ boat. Its crew worked the oars hard as they were urged on by their leader to close in on their prey.
‘Here they come!’ Macro called out, and the crew of the cargo ship turned to look in the direction he was pointing. It was already clear that there was no chance of escape. The boat would cut directly across their bows.
Lowering his arm, Macro looked round at the others, their faces clearly visible thanks to the faint loom of snow that covered the deck and picked out the rigging in fine white lines against the night sky. It was pleasing to see that Androcus and his men no longer looked so terrified. Their expressions were grim and they appeared to be resigned to fighting a battle they could not avoid. Petronella’s expression, by contrast, was deadly. Her head was slightly lowered and her dark eyes glowered as she clenched her teeth.
‘That’s my lady.’ Macro smiled. ‘Give those bastards a thrashing they’ll never forget.’
She sniffed with derision. ‘They’re not going to live long enough to forget when we’re through with them.’
Macro nodded and turned back to watch the approaching pirates. Their boat had drawn ahead slightly, but they made no attempt to change course towards the cargo ship.
‘The odds are almost even.’ He spoke calmly to reassure the sailors. ‘And they’ll have to climb the side to get at us. We have the advantage. All we have to do is hold our nerve and stop them getting aboard. Once we kill or wound some of ’em, they’ll lose heart and scarper. Are you with me, lads?’
Androcus and his crew nodded uncertainly.
Macro thrust his sword into the air. ‘Then let’s give them something to be afraid of.’
He let his jaw drop, sucked in a deep breath, then roared, ‘For the Dolphin!’
Far from working the crew up, he saw them flinch slightly, and he clenched his spare fist and gestured to them. ‘Come on, let’s hear it from you! Dolphin! Dolphin!’
The others joined in, hesitantly at first, but then, as their resolve hardened, louder and louder, brandishing their weapons at the pirates. The men in the boat turned to look across the water until their leader bellowed to the men at the oars and they continued to propel the craft forward, ahead of the cargo ship.
Macro edged towards the bows to keep the boat in sight. ‘They’ll be turning towards us any moment.’
As he watched, the boat pulled directly ahead of the cargo ship and slowed to match its pace.
‘What are they waiting for?’ asked Androcus.
Macro strained his eyes ahead for a moment before he replied. ‘I don’t know. Unless . . .’
He climbed onto the small platform in the angle of the bows and grasped the shroud as he glanced round, straining his ears for any sounds other than the soft creak of the rigging and the muffled swish of the boat’s oars from ahead. Then he heard a cry from the darkness to his left, and turned towards the south bank as a voice on the pirates’ boat called out in response. He felt a chill grip the pit of his stomach. The pirates’ plan was obvious. The first boat would wait until the new arrival was in position, and then they would attack the cargo ship from both sides. Macro had been counting on being at the head of the fight, but now he would have to divide his tiny force and place Androcus in command of half of it. He was not convinced the ship’s captain had the heart for such a fight.
‘Listen here, Androcus,’ he began calmly. ‘I want you to take two of your men and defend the port side. Hydrax can fight alongside me and my wife.’
‘What about the boy?’
Macro glanced at the slight figure holding the tiller of the steering paddle. ‘Tell him to stay where he is and keep the vessel on course. He won’t be much good in a fight. Not enough to make a difference. But lend him a knife in any case. He may need it.’
‘If you say so,’ Androcus replied grudgingly.
Macro caught his arm. ‘Remember, this is a fight to the death. We drive them off or they will kill us all. There is no other outcome. They won’t spare any witnesses to their piracy.’
The captain nodded. Macro released his grip and the man made his way aft.
‘Do you think we can rely on him?’ Petronella asked quietly.
‘What choice do we have?’ Macro forced a smile. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Hmph.’
The two parties moved to either side of the ship and made ready as they watched the second boat surge across the current. There was a brief shouted exchange before both smaller craft turned towards the Dolphin and raced downstream, closing quickly as they made for each beam of the cargo ship. Macro drew his sword and tested his grip in the icy air to make sure that his fingers were supple and could be relied on to grasp the handle tightly.
As the first boat closed in, he saw a figure rise up between the rowers and take aim with a bow. An instant later, an arrow hissed close overhead and Hydrax flinched and ducked. There was just time for the pirates to attempt a second shot; this time the iron head of the arrow buried itself in the timbers beneath Macro with a sharp splintering crack. Then the boat glanced off the bows and swept down the side. The dark shape of a boarding hook arced over the rail, struck the deck and was instantly hauled tight so that the points lodged in the wooden frame and secured the boat to the ship.
Macro raised his sword and hacked at the thin rope stretched over the rail, but it slipped towards him at the last moment and the blade bit into the wood. He tore it free as the first of the pirates was hoisted by two of his comrades, sailing up and over the side to land on the deck. He was lithe and nimble and did not stumble as he readied a short axe in one hand and a dagger in the other. There was a thud from the other side of the vessel as the second boat came alongside, and the pirates gave a lusty cheer, but there was no chance for Macro to turn and look before he rushed the first enemy to board the Dolphin. The pirate crouched as he swung his axe back, but Macro powered forward before the man could strike, easily parrying the dagger, then slamming shoulder first into the pirate’s chin and sending the lighter man flying backwards to crash onto the deck. Macro was standing over him before the man could snatch a breath, and he drove his short sword down into his opponent’s throat and twisted it left and right before tearing the point free and backing off to face the next pirate.
A second man vaulted over the rail between Macro and Petronella, while a third clambered up just beyond Hydrax. Macro twisted round, but before he could move, fingers closed round his ankle. The pirate he had knocked down was scrabbling on the deck, gurgling horribly as blood pulsed from his wound, splattering black across the snow-covered planks. He had dropped his axe, but his dagger was still in his other hand, and now he slashed at Macro’s calf. The point went high, tearing through the hem of Macro’s breeches and scoring a shallow wound. Macro swung his other boot into the man’s head, kicking hard. It took two blows before the wounded pirate released his grip and freed Macro to help Petronella. She was locked in a tight embrace with a shorter man, and snarled as she flailed at the back of his head with her belaying pin. As Macro watched, she butted her head against her foe’s nose, and then bit into his cheek. The pirate let out a shocked cry of pain and made to punch her with the fist grasping his axe.
‘Not my bloody wife you don’t!’ Macro bellowed. He grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it viciously so the axe head slapped into the pirate’s back, driving the air from his lungs in a loud gasp. Then he drove his sword at an angle up into the pirate’s side before thrusting him against the rail, where Petronella gave him a violent thrust so that he toppled with a splash into the river.
There was no time to share a brief moment of triumph. Macro saw that Hydrax had been driven to his knees by a blow from a studded club. At the same time, the pirate sensed the danger from behind him and glanced over his shoulder just as Macro brushed past Petronella and charged towards him. Spinning round, the pirate swung his club, knocking aside the sword that Macro had raised to
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