Free The Eagle's Vengeance by Anthony Riches Page A

until his brother regained his wind and returned to the fight, at which point the two men would clearly overwhelm him with their combined pace and ferocity. Realising that he needed to overcome the man facing him in the next few strokes or face inevitable defeat, the Roman stepped into the next attack and pushed Radu’s swords wide before snapping a vicious butt into his face, the crushing impact sending the Sarmatae reeling away with blood streaming down his face from his broken nose.
    Grasping at the fleeting opportunity he had created, the Roman took two quick strides to Ram, tossing his own weapons aside and smashing the stooped tribesman’s head back with a vicious uppercut before grasping his tunic and spinning him round, wrapping one arm across his face. Whipping out his dagger he put the weapon’s point under his captive’s jaw, pressing its point on the spot where a simple thrust would open the blood vessel beneath the skin. The Sarmatae reacted instinctively, biting down hard on the tunic-covered arm that was holding his head back, stiffening with a squeal of pain as Marcus quickly moved the knife’s point to the soft flesh beneath his ear and pushed it into the gap between cartilage and skull to send a thin runnel of blood down his captive’s neck.
    ‘If you bite me again I will make a gift to you of this ear, as a memento of our fight today. That, and your brother’s head.’
    Radu shook his head and advanced towards the two men, ignoring the blood that masked his lips and chin, crabbing sideways in search of an angle at which he could renew his attack on the Roman only to be frustrated as Marcus manhandled his brother round to negate the threat.
    ‘You’ve lost. I could cut his throat and take his swords in less time than it takes to tell, and you wouldn’t be much of a challenge now that I understand your rather crude style. Stand down.’
    Before the younger twin had time to reply a commanding voice rapped out from behind him.
    ‘Leave it!’
    Marcus craned his neck over Ram’s shoulder, jerking the dagger’s blade fractionally to ensure that the Sarmatae stayed quiet. Drest was approaching them across the parade ground with a hard grin, and as he passed Radu he patted his man on the shoulder.
    ‘You lost to a man with more battlefield experience. Learn from that, eh? And next time, you might want to give him a little more warning. It seems that the centurion here has something of a temper once he’s roused.’
    Radu shook his head dourly, re-sheathing his swords as he spoke to Marcus with a dismissive tone to his voice.
    ‘If this fight were real I would have killed you by putting my iron through my brother. We take no prisoners!’
    Marcus pushed Ram away, bending to wipe the dagger’s point on the grass before dropping it back into its sheath and reaching for his swords.
    ‘I will remember that. And perhaps next time we spar you can give me a little more warning, so that I won’t have to resort to such ungentlemanly conduct to fight the pair of you off.’ He turned to Drest. ‘That was a little more intense than I was expecting, not to mention somewhat sooner than I thought we’d planned it?’
    The Scythian shrugged.
    ‘This way it looked somewhat more convincing than would otherwise have been the case. And this way we had an audience of men all baying for blood, and one man in particular who was sufficiently distracted for Tarion to perform his magic.’
    The Roman resisted the temptation to look around at the spot where Procurator Avus had been standing a moment before.
    ‘And it worked?’
    Drest shrugged again.
    ‘I have no idea. But I hear no cries of “thief” , which is always a good sign …’
    The Thracian tipped his head towards the waiting cohort, and Marcus turned just in time to see the thief pass something to Tribune Scaurus and slip away between two centuries, a wink of gold catching his eye as whatever it was changed hands. He glanced at Drest before walking away