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whole body was awash with pain, a thousand spear-points of agony stabbing at him relentlessly, and his ears were filled with the deafening sound of his own heartbeat. Then he saw Arceisius’s face bending close, his lips moving urgently.
    ‘Sir, he’s coming again!’ he said, his voice distant and muffled by the blood pumping through Eperitus’s ears.
    Suddenly, with a rush and a loud pop, his senses returned to him. Seeing the looming figure of Polites approaching from the corner of his vision, he thrust aside his pain and rolled onto his hands and knees, springing away just as the giant leapt towards him. With his brain beating hard against the inside of his skull and every muscle in his body protesting at the movement that was forced upon them, Eperitus sprinted to the opposite side of the human arena and, gasping, twisted about to face Polites, who had turned and was coming at him again, his massive body covered in sweat, dust and blood.
    Then Eperitus’s fighting instinct came back to him. New strength filled his limbs and his senses sharpened to a fine point once more. His eyes searched the arena for anything that would give him an advantage, acutely aware that Polites was closing on him. Beyond the circle of Thessalians, he heard the faint rustle of undergrowth trodden under careful feet, and the small sounds of armour and weapons knocking against each other. Odysseus was coming.
    ‘This time I will kill you,’ Polites announced in a deep, slow voice, staring at Eperitus with a mixture of frustration and hatred.
    Sensing the brigands close once more behind him, Eperitus knelt swiftly and picked up the rock he had spotted a moment before. It was smooth, round and large and he had to splay his fingers to fit it in his hand. Raising it above his head, he watched with satisfaction as the look on Polites’s face turned to fear and doubt. Then he took aim and threw the rock, hitting the giant square on the forehead. Polites looked at him blankly for a moment, his eyes blinking, before toppling backwards with all the slowness and rigidity of a felled tree.
    There was a moment of silence, followed by uproar. The short bandit pushed Arceisius aside and leapt forward, pulling his sword from its scabbard as he rushed across to where Eperitus was now being held by the others, his arms pinned behind his back.
    ‘HALT!’ boomed a voice from the slopes above.
    Eperitus turned to see Odysseus standing in the trees, his short legs planted firmly apart in the undergrowth and his arms crossed over his broad, muscular chest. Two spears were stuck in the ground beside him and his leather shield was hung across his back. A score of Ithacan soldiers were spread out across the slope, many of them aiming arrows at the bandits.
    At the sound of the king’s voice, the Thessalians stopped and looked up. The men holding Eperitus pushed him into the centre of the circle and drew their swords. The rest followed suit, and as the short bandit moved forward to the safety of his comrades Arceisius ran across to join his captain, bringing him his cloak. Eperitus threw the garment about himself, then knelt and pulled his squire down with him, wanting to keep as low a profile as possible if the arrows began to fly.
    ‘I am King Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes,’ Odysseus announced, his eyes travelling along the raised faces of the bandits. Their shields and spears had been piled in the undergrowth at the foot of the slope – left there as they had formed a circle about Eperitus and Polites – and now no man dared to retrieve them for fear of being shot down by the Ithacan archers. ‘You are in my kingdom without my leave. If you want to live, throw down your swords now.’
    ‘Don’t be fools,’ the short bandit shouted, looking around at his comrades. ‘If we throw down our weapons they’ll massacre us all. Keep your swords, lads; there are more of us than them – we can still make a fight of it.’
    ‘Think about what you’re