Free The Sword of Attila by David Gibbins

forget.’
    Macrobius peeled back the mangled chainmail on his left arm, revealing a broken Vandal arrow deeply embedded in his shoulder. ‘We’ve all got our decorations, Apsachos, decorations that will stay with us on our bodies to remind us of this day and our comrades who fell here. That’s all that matters. The generals with their heads in the clouds and the bishops to lead them can go to hell. And now drink up that second skin that the guards left us. I can hear the Alaunt baying at the gates. If we don’t go now, we’ll be the dogs’ lunch as well.’

4
    Flavius helped the last wounded man up and supported him as they trudged east through Carthage towards the harbours, following the route that Arturus had taken ahead of them to find his Nubians and retrieve his saddlebag. The city would not withstand the Vandals for long; as soon as they realized that the walls were undefended they would use grappling hooks to scale them and then open the gates for the others to follow. Flavius could sense their presence outside, a vast, restless force surging against the city, waiting for their forward scouts to reconnoitre the walls and give the signal for the final assault. He tried to quicken the pace, and after twenty minutes they had put the eastern wall a good quarter of a mile behind them. Near the sea front they passed the vast structure of the imperial baths, breaking the line of the sea walls. Ahead of them lay the famous land-locked harbours, built seven hundred years before by the Punic Carthaginians against the threat of Roman naval attack, a threat that became real when Scipio Aemilianus landed his forces from the sea and razed the city to the ground. The harbours were in sight now, rebuilt at the time of Julius Caesar, and after another twenty minutes, during which they passed villas and tenement blocks, they came to the edge of the complex just before the eastern promontory where the city jutted out into the Mediterranean Sea.
    The streets had been eerily quiet, almost devoid of people, but he could see a few dozen figures on the far side of the quay in front of the prow of a galley, the last ship afloat in the harbours. As they came closer he spotted Arturus in his cassock with the two Nubians and his mule, and beside them the white-bearded captain who had agreed to remain behind to pick up any survivors. Flavius hurried forward to the man, clapped his hand on his shoulder and spoke to him in Greek. ‘We are only sixteen in number. There are no more. Thank you for waiting,
kyberbetes.
’
    â€˜No need to thank me, Flavius Aetius. Remember, I too was once a tribune in my youth, the commander of a
liburnian
in the Adriatic fleet, the
classis Adriaticus.
Even now as a civilian I would never leave behind fellow warriors of Rome. You and your men have
virtus,
unlike those members of the garrison who have already fled.’
    â€˜When can we board?’
    â€˜Very soon. We are loading the last of the silver and gold plate of the Bishop of Carthage. It is by express order of the emperor’s
primicerius sacri cubiculi,
Heraclius.’
    â€˜That eunuch? The emperor’s wet nurse?’ Macrobius had joined them, and leaned over and spat. ‘Better you truss him on board and then dump him out at sea.’
    â€˜Treasure before men,’ another of the
numerus
grumbled. ‘It’s always been the way.’
    The captain looked apologetically at Macrobius. ‘You know the score, centurion. If I show up at Ostia with no treasure and only soldiers, Heraclius’ Goth thugs will drag me off to the Mamertine Prison in Rome and flay me alive. If I show up with treasure
and
soldiers, all should be well.’
    â€˜Best for Heraclius that you show up with treasure but no soldiers,’ Macrobius said. ‘Then that snivelling toad might live another day. I’ve got time for Valentinian, but his eunuchs can go and piss in hell.’
    Flavius looked at the