Vendetta

He wakes up. His instincts are sharpened. Someone is coming up the stairs. Too quietly. He crouches and graps a stiletto. Steps are coming closer. 

He hides next to door. Revolver barrel sticks from doorstep. Figure is crouched a bit. 

He jumps forward and graps the arm. Revolver goes off. Both are blinded from flash and ears are rinning. He holds gunman's arm and pumps stabs with the knife. Figure cries out and folds. Last strike he aims at the throat. 

He hears how men yell downstairs. He runs before his bed and takes trousers and twin barrel lupara under it. 

He steps carefully in dark house. When he is at the lowest step, two figures move in the kitchen. One of them fires but misses. He empties both barrels at the figures. Outside men yell yet again. How many goddamn crooks are there? 

He reloads and after catching breath he yanks the front door open. One figure fires a shot, he feels sudden pain in his right arm. Lupara drops. Cursing he crouches at the balkony. Bullets rip the blanks. He draws Johnson pocket revolver from his pocket with left hand and stands up. He empties the cylinder. He crouches again and gasping reloads the revolver. Pain in the arms is daunting. But as no further shots are fired, he draws his belt off and wraps it around his bicep. There's only one thought in his head:

He has to warn others. 

--- 

Matteo! Mi padre, he's injured!

Hassling fills the balkony as Matteo is helped inside. He is plain and tired, but alive. 

- Mi figlio, mi caro figlio, what's happened? 

-They... came... at my house, Matteo gasps.

-How many, his godfather asks. 

- Five. Three in and two outside. All of them are now dealt with. I... reckon they were Martelli guys. 

- Martelli... Porgo! He is gonna suffer for this! godfather yells and shakes his fist. 

- Nicolosi! Come out! I'm here to make an offering! 

They look at each other. Men draw weapons and rush for windows. There are three cars and twenty armed men in their headlights at the front. Luparas, rifles, pistols. 

- What you want, you son of a bitch? 

Young man, with a big scar on his face, laughs heartily. 

- Watch your mouth, old man. I'm here to make you an offering, in the name of Giorgio Martelli. 

- Spit it out! 

- Very well. You give us half the share of your moonshining business. We've  heard you make good bucks with it. Then, you give us quarter of the doorman business you've got. 

- And what we get in return? 

Man laughs again. 

- So that we don't destroy you! Think, for once, you old hubby. The pigs are after us all! They want to see us hanged. We must unite, to fight them. 

- You have got a big mouth, young man. Is this how you mother taught you to talk to elders? She was a whore like the rest of the Martelli! Hear your own words. You want all but give nothing in return. I may be old but I have my mind still! You are gonna have even bigger mouth now! 

Godfather raises his pistol. Matteo's cousin empties his lupara at the man's head, blowing it off. Guns blaze. Matteo shoots through a window. Left hand and blood loss, accompanied by darkness, make aiming hard, but he empties his revolver at the Martellis. Couple of them leap from behind the cars and throw firebottles at the house. They are cut down but bottles shatter and fire starts to spread. Rest of the Martellis run into darkness. 

-Quick, we have to get everyone out! 

Later, they all stand on the street, watching their home burning down. 

- This. Is. War, godfather gasps. Flames reflect from his dark eyes. 

- We'll revenge this. All, Matteo says and clasp godfather's shoulder. 

- You will. You will, godfather says. A lone tear runs down his grooved cheek. 

Nicolocies wouldn't die without a fight. 

*

It all

Sound
Sound of return
Return
To hell
Hell
of fire and death
Fire and death in a valley
A valley
A valley far away
Far away, in the highs
In the highs of the blue sky
The blue sky, raining death
Raining death, to people
People, like you, my friend
My friend, brother in arms

Brother in arms, who
Who was eager to serve
Eager to serve but unfit for war
Unfit for war, as some are
As some are...

As some are, sitting there
Sitting there at high tables
At high tables, playing check
Playing check with young lives
Young lives, bleeding for cause
For cause, none can remember
 None can remember how it began

Began to cry, my mother
My mother held a letter
A letter with stamps
With stamps...

As they stood

They stood in rows, five to six men thick. Damp, misty air was sullen. Breeze of autum made men shiver, coldness crawled through lorica segmentata. Weird noises and howls had ecchoed at woods whole night. Men from North Africa, men from Sicily, men from Hispania had never experienced scenery like this. Woods were so dark and thick that they'd swallow armies without a hiccup. Tired and hungry they waited commands from their officers.

- Any signs of scouts?

- No. They left at morning. They should have been back by now.

Around centurias crews of Scorpios made their weapons ready. Auxiliaries stringed their bows. Legionaries made final checks on their gear.

- Horse! watchman shouted.

Lonely horse rambled through field of stumps, left after cutting trees for fortress. It had a rider.

Closer could be seen that rider had no head. His torso was strapped on the back of the horse.

- Movement!

A lonely man walked from same direction as the horse had come. He carried something in his hand. The man stopped just out of range of bows. He threw the thing on ground. Scout's bloody, liveless head rolled.

The man started shouting, sounding angry and arrogant at same time. He had a maille and colourful tunic. A sword hung on his waist.

Suddenly he stopped. Legionaries became. Silence continued couple heartbeats. Then, in shadow of the woods started howls, high pitch yells and deep growls. They came closer. Centurias shouted orders. Archers ran in front of ranks. Their hearts beated like they would like to tear from the chest. Fear and excitement flowed through veins.

Tree line started to crowd with warriors. Different clans separated from the rest, bearing colours and marks of kin. Some had shields. Most had spears. Some had big axes. With many hung smaller axes by belts. Leaders and best of hirds carried swords and helmets with nacelles.

Fortress was surrounded. Outer ring was made of barbarians, inner ring out of legionaries. The center was the fortress. Scorpios were winded up. Long steel arrows could pierce through a horse. Crews' muscles were warmed up. Their brothers in arms standing down below had had no change yet to warm themselves in cold. It seemed likely it was going to change.

- Can you hit the guy? NCO asked his Scorpio launcher.

- Perhaps. That bastard is nearly too far away.

The old man grapped his shield and draw out his sword. Barbarians leaped forward launching shivering howl.

- Archers! Pull! Launch!

- Scorpios! Launch!

Dozens of arrows flew through air. Archers launched them as rapidly as they could get strings pulled all the way back.

- Archers! Back!

After command archers started back pedaling and running. Scorpios continued to rain death above tribesmen. Heavy arrows could do serious harm even against shields.

- Prepare Pilums!

Legionaries grabbed their javelins and waited.

- Launch!

Enemy's archers stood at tree line and launched wild shots towards Romans. At that distance they couldn't do much harm through lamellar armor and shields, but there were always those lucky hits.

Tribesmen threw their own javelins and others started to poke with their spears. Roman shield wall stood unbreachable. Without form and order barbarians tried to find a way to bust war machine's defences.

As shafts broke and despair rose, they pulled their axes and swords and begun hacking. Sharp gladii stroke like vipers behind the scutums. Wild swings of savages met cool, calm thrusts. Most of tribesmen had little armor, so they fell fast. Hirdsmen were much touher for their maille protected them against swords. Still, slowly but surely hirdsmen after another begun fall, when wounds to arms and legs made them weak. Bodies of fallen hindered movement.

Tribesmen started to fall back. They were followed by accurate shots from Scorpios. Eventually there were only legionaries and wounded and dead barbarians. Field was full of gear, dropped or thrown away. When everything seemed clear, centurias ordered to check enemy bodies. Those still alive were killed, unless they seemed valuable hostages.

The battle was over, but war would continue to the death or victory.

* (Opening scene from Gladiator, made a little bit more realistic. No fire arrows, no armor cleaving swords, no odd leather armor, no dark furs.)