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Several of the slaves threw down their arms in surrender and were slaughtered. The rest tried to make a fight of it from behind a grove of small trees, but their pursuers cut them down to a man. The dust of the sage land became their shroud, the dry brush their sepulcher.
Severus and his surviving legionaries fought their way to the summit of the bluff and suddenly halted, oblivious to the murderous onslaught raging around them, and stared in stunned fascination at the disaster below.
Pillars of fire rose and merged into a coil of smoke that unwound and reached upward like a serpent. The fleet, their only hope of escape, was burning along the river's edge. The enormous grain ships they had commandeered in Egypt were being incinerated under great sheets of rolling flame.
Venator pushed his way through the front rank and stood beside Severus.
The centurion was silent; blood and sweat stained his tunic and armor.
He gazed in frustration at the sea of flame and smoke, seeing the blazing sails disintegrate in a maelstrom of sparks, the dreadful reality of defeat branded in his eyes.
The ships had been anchored on the shoreline and lay naked and exposed.
A force of barbarians had engulfed the small body of seamen and torched everything that could burn. Only a small merchant ship had escaped the conflagration, its crew somehow beating off their attackers. Four seamen were struggling to raise the sails while several of their shipmates strained at the oars in their struggle to reach the safety of deep water.
Venator tasted the falling soot and the bitterness of calamity in his mouth. Even the sky itself seemed red to him. He stood there in helpless rage. The faith he had placed in his carefully executed plan to safeguard the priceless knowledge of the past died in his heart.
A hand was laid on his shoulder and he turned and stared into the strange expression of cold amusement on Severus's face.
"I had always hoped to die," said the centurion, "drunk on good wine while lying on a good woman."
"Only God can choose a man's death," Venator replied vaguely.
"I rather think luck plays a heavy role."
"A waste, a terrible waste."
"At least your goods are safely hidden," said Severus. "And those escaping sailors will tell the scholars of the Empire what we did here."
"No," said Venator shaking his head. "No one will believe the fanciful tales of ignorant seamen." He turned and gazed back at the low hills in the distance. "It will remain lost for all time."
"Can you swim?"
Venator's eyes returned to Severus. "Swim?"
"I'll give you five of my best men to cut a passage to the water if you think you can reach the ship."
"I . I'm not certain." He studied the waters of the river and the widening gap between the ship and shoreline.
"Use a piece of debris for a raft if you have to," Severus said harshly.
"But hurry, we'll all be meeting our gods in a few more minutes."
"What about you?"
"This hill is as good a place as any to make a stand."
Venator embraced the centurion. "God be with you."
"Better he walk with you."
Severus turned and swiftly selected five soldiers who were unwounded and ordered them to protect Venator on their run for the river. Then he went about the business of reforming his ravaged unit for a final defense.
The few legionaries clustered around Venator-Then they made their dash for the river, shouting, and hacking their way through a loose line of startled barbarians. They cut and slashed like madmen on a bloody rampage.
Venator was exhausted beyond feeling, but his sword never hesitated, his step never faltered. He was a scholar who had become an executioner. He was long past the point of no return. There was only grim stubbornness left now; any fear of dying had disappeared.
They fought through the mad whirl of fiery heat. Venator could smell the odor of burnt flesh. He threw off another shred of his tunic and covered his nose and mouth as they fought through the smoke.
