The Governor's Man by Jacquie Rogers (best beach reads TXT) 📕

in understanding and pointed to the front, where Quintus was sitting on his chestnut in the pathway of the Augusta, making his crazy play for time. No sign of the support coming from the east.

Seems the Gods aren’t going to oblige us with a Hercules or a Hector. So I’ll have to do.

He prepared to heave his way through the ranks. But Drusus grabbed his arm. The boy unshouldered his shield and held it out. It was a generous offer, and Tiro thought for all of three seconds before accepting. The boy might yet need it himself, but to be frank if Drusus got engaged in fighting then it was already over, and Quintus and Tiro would be dead. He grinned at Drusus, holding his thumb up, and set off all the lighter for the heavy round burden.

Now Tiro’s years of wrestling paid off handsomely. He ploughed low through the ranks packed together on the bridge, ignoring swearing and shoving. He made much better progress once off the bridge. Besides, the men ahead of him were so caught up by the sight of their new Emperor in a single combat challenge, even a Jovian thunderbolt wouldn’t distract them.

But the man facing Quintus wasn’t the Governor. It was a taller man, one who threw his cloak off with a familiar disdainful gesture. Quintus raised his sword to engage, and with that movement his sleeve moved up to reveal a white bandage. Tiro opened his mouth to shout a warning, and at the same time the tall bastard — Somebody Labienus? — stepped forward, halving the distance to his opponent. He brought his own left arm across his body, and then straightened it to hit out with the boss of his shield, buffeting Quintus hard on his burned arm.  Quintus made no sound but his face went white, and he dropped his own left arm, turning away instinctively to protect it. Tiro saw immediately that this movement opened his right side to attack. He dropped his head and sprinted like an enraged bull through the soldiers in front, scattering them. Labienus heard him coming and whirled round, shield and sword up. Tiro fell into a skid, sliding along the wet ground. He was holding Drusus’s shield aloft.

‘Take it, sir!’

The frumentarius reacted immediately. Tiro was relieved to see that not even his injured arm slowed him much. He scooped up the shield while Labienus was wrong-footed. Using the weight of his swinging body, Quintus shoved in a blow with the little round shield, metal-edge uppermost.  Labienus spun round, raising his sword in a hacking downward blow. Quintus had to leap desperately to avoid being sliced.  The two men exchanged a series of sharp parries, neither making ground. Tiro could hear Gaius Trebonius screaming at his champion. ‘Kill him! Kill the fool!’ Quintus was beginning to drag his leg. Only a little, but Tiro could see it. No time for gentlemanly behaviour. Let’s fight dirty.

At that moment Marcellus shouted to his bugler to wind the horn for attack. The Aquae Sulis vexillation surged forward, and a free-for-all began. The bulk of the legion couldn’t see what was happening, but the front ranks charged at Marcellus and his men. Labienus glanced away, allowing Quintus to get closer. Quintus’s sword traced a glittering path of movement that confounded the taller man, without quite allowing Quintus to penetrate his defence.

Satisfied that Quintus was holding his own, Tiro looked around for the nearest target. To his vast satisfaction he found Lucius. Fighting lust rose in him, red hot. He reached Lucius before the boy even saw him, diving low to pull him down into the mud. Stabbing him would be too quick. Instead he smashed his fists into him, with great pleasure. He pulled Lucius bodily off the ground, ready to dash him back down and grind that pretty face to shreds. But the boy managed to rip himself away, leaving part of his torn tunic behind. To his regret Tiro saw Lucius run away, throwing his shield at Tiro. Tiro dodged and caught the shield up out of the mud.

‘He didn’t even swing his fucking sword,’ grumbled Tiro, settling Lucius’s shield on his arm and looking round for his next victim.

‘Woah there,’ said a familiar gravelly voice. ‘Watch who you hit. Come to help an old mate, I have.’  Prefect Felix Antonius grinned and stepped to Tiro’s right side. They both turned and swung their shields in practised unison, catching two legionaries unaware and rendering them out of play, probably permanently. Tiro grinned too.  He was beginning to have fun. Until he glanced towards Quintus, and realised the boss was now faced by two more men and still parrying with Labienus. The odds seemed a little unfair. With a signal to Antonius, Tiro extracted himself and plunged in to support the frumentarius. All about him was a frenzy of men, mostly slogging it out in pairs.

Tiro reached Quintus and popped up beside him, encouraged to see the Italian gaining ground. The point of Quintus’s gladius whipped in and out, faster than anyone could cope with. One of his adversaries was down, slashed across the belly and wailing. Tiro took on the other, leaving Labienus to Quintus. Tiro thrust his shield forward and down, sweeping the legs from under his opponent. The man landed awkwardly on the ground with Tiro on top. Tiro smashed the shield into the man’s face, then grabbed his dagger, reversed it in one smooth swift move and smacked the pommel into the exposed throat. There was a gurgle, then silence and Tiro let his opponent’s head fall back, crooked and ghastly.  He leapt to his feet to find another legionary coming at him. This time, not from the front. The bastard crunched his shield sideways into Tiro’s ribs, and there was a horribly loud crack. Tiro would have sworn except he couldn’t breathe. Shit, am I dead? He had no time