Doctor Who_ Byzantium! - Keith Topping [94]
Many of the Zealots objected to the Roman descriptions of them as terrorists. They were freedom-fighters, they argued, a resistance movement dedicated to the freedom of their people and their adopted city from the oppression of any occupying force.
Benjamin, on the other hand, admired the term. If the terror being felt was by Romans, then he was proud to be the instrument of that terror.
He spun quickly around the next corner, his feet slipping on a patch of half-dried mud. His arms pin-wheeled as he fought to maintain his balance and, with the grace of Jehovah, he staggered on for five or ten paces and was then back running again at his fastest.
The chasing group was led by the three Roman legionnaires from the forum, Cecius Corvectionious, Octavius Hamhabisu and Marinus Topignius, all veteran members of the elite, premier-division squad of captain Drusus Felinistius. The heart-bursting chase left many trailing in its wake, but not these three. For they could run all day and all night, up and down mountains with backpacks full of rocks, if it was required of them by their captain, or their general, or their emperor.
These were hard men who had seen service and wars across the empire. In Judaea. In Britain. In Germanicus.
Different colours, different shades, in each land mistakes were made, but not by them. As each new dawn faded, they fought the indigenous tribes with their primitive weapons and tactics, never fearing for one second that they, or their legions could lose.
Romans didn’t lose.
At the corner, as the Jewish boy almost came crashing to the ground, Marinus, leading the pursuers, came within inches of the assassin’s back. But then with lightning speed, the boy slipped away again from the Roman’s grasping hands, increasing his lead by three yards, four, five, six...
Leather-soled sandals created a rapid pitter-patter on the bare, impacted dirt of the twisting streets. More of the chasing group were dropped until there were only Roman soldiers, and fewer of them than before, left running.
Roman soldiers, and the boy.
And then, from the shadows of yet another corner, a shape emerged and collided with Benjamin, sending him spinning and sprawling to the ground. The impact was bone-crunching and, for a second, everyone chasing stopped dead in their tracks. Then, despite the ache in his side, Benjamin the Zealot raised himself from the ground and held out his knife before him.
‘Come ye, and taste this mighty weapon, Roman dogs.
You sons of mother-whores. Whom shall be first to feel her bittersweet kiss?’
Marinus Topignius held out his arms to stop any of his offended colleagues from rushing past him and tackling the child-assassin alone. ‘Be not foolish now, lad, we mean you no harm,’ he said feeling idiotic at talking to the boy in such a hackneyed way. The Jew had killed in plain sight. His life was done and he knew that. The only alternative now to a date with the stauros and the javelin on Beylerbey hill, was to be hacked to pieces here and now by Marinus and his brother warriors, at least one or two of whom he would, in all probability take with him.
Marinus didn’t particularly like the idea of that and, judging from the lack of those rushing to get past him, neither did many of his fellow legionnaires.
The stand-off was broken suddenly, and with little ceremony.
Marinus felt a pressure behind him and turned his head to find the bear-like figure of Erastus, the cadet trainer, moving through the crowd of static soldiers.
‘Leave this child to me,’ he grunted as he moved towards Benjamin.
‘I shall slay you,’ shouted the Zealot, juggling his knife from hand to hand.
‘You shall try. Of that I have no possible doubt,’ Erastus noted, sadly. One life ends here, Jew, and it shall not be mine.’
A heavily-booted foot lashed out and caught Benjamin on the point of his elbow, throwing the