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it tried, in its agony, to buck its screaming rider off. The other exploded through a horse’s skull; it dropped stone dead, trapping its rider beneath it, spattering him and his colleagues with hot, sticky blood. This was enough for the remaining three, who turned and fled towards the gully that was now devoid of their two companions who had been left there as a rearguard.
    ‘Leave them to Pallo’s lot,’ Sabinus shouted as he and Ludovicus wheeled their horses back round towards the mules. Vespasian, burning with shame for having faltered, followed, leaving Hieron to deal with the unhorsed runaway who had now managed to pull himself free from his horse. He struggled to his feet, wiping the horse blood from his eyes, only to see Hieron’s blade flashing through the air at neck height. His severed head fell to the ground and was left staring, in disbelief, at his twitching, decapitated body as the last of his blood drained from his brain and with it his life.
    Baseos and Ataphanes had been busy. Three more of the runaways lay on the grass, feathered with arrows, and the sixth was making abreak for it. Sabinus drew his sword and galloped after him. The slave looked over his shoulder and, although he must have known that he stood no chance of escape, put on another turn of speed – but to no avail. Sabinus was upon him in an instant and, with the flat of his sword, struck him on the back of the head, knocking him cold.
    Vespasian looked down the hill towards the gully to see one of the three fleeing horsemen fall backwards off his mount, pierced by an arrow. His companions, seeing their escape blocked and their two erstwhile comrades lying on the ground with their throats ripped open, immediately wheeled their horses left and headed north, along the line of the gully, at full gallop. Vespasian urged his horse into a gallop, realising that they would escape unless he could cut them off. His desire to prevent the two men avoiding justice, heightened by the urgent necessity to redeem himself, produced a strange new sensation within him: blood-lust. The wind pulled at his horse’s mane as he raced diagonally down the hill, closing in on the two riders. He was aware of Sabinus and Hieron following behind him, shouting at him to wait, but he knew that there was no time.
    The angle between him and his targets quickly narrowed, he raised himself in his saddle and, with all his strength, launched a javelin at the lead rider. It buried itself deep in the horse’s belly, sending the creature spinning head over hoofs to land on its rider, snapping his back with a sickening crunch. The second man had to check his speed to negotiate a path around the thrashing animal, giving Vespasian the advantage that he needed to draw level. His adversary slashed wildly with his sword at Vespasian’s head. He ducked it and, at the same moment, launched himself at the now off-balanced rider. They came crashing to the ground, rolling over and over each other, trying to find a firm grip on any part of their opponent’s body, an arm, throat, hair, anything. Coming to a stop, Vespasian found himself underneath the runaway, winded anddisorientated. As he struggled for air, a fist smashed into his face and he felt a searing pain and heard a sharp crack as his nose was flattened; blood sprayed into his eyes. Two rough hands closed around his throat and he realised that he was fighting for his life; the desire to kill was replaced by the instinct to survive. Terrified he twisted violently left then right in an unsuccessful effort to prevent his assailant tightening his grip. His eyes began to bulge. He peered through streaming blood at the man’s face; his cracked lips tightened into a broken-toothed leer and his rancid breath flooded Vespasian’s senses. Vespasian’s flailing arms slammed wild punches into the side of his head, but still the downward pressure on his windpipe increased. On the point of blacking out he heard a dull thud and felt his