drew his sword and kept the horse walking with pressure from his knees. From the sudden stiffness in the arms around his waist, he knew Peppis was awake and alert, but for once staying silent.
The man looked like a Greek, with the distinctive curled beard, but, unlike the merchants of the town they’d seen, he had the air of a warrior about him. He smiled and called out again.
‘Stop, or you will be killed. Last chance.’
‘Renius?’ Marcus muttered nervously.
The old man scowled, but kept going, digging his heels into Apollo’s flanks to urge him into a trot.
An arrow cut the air, taking the horse high in the shoulder with a dull thumping sound. Apollo screamed and fell, pitching Renius to the ground in a crash of metal and swearing. Peppis cried out in fear and Marcus reined in, scanning the undergrowth for the archer. Was there only one, or were there more out there? These men were obviously brigands; they would be lucky to escape alive if they submitted meekly.
Renius came to his feet awkwardly, yanking out his sword. His eyes glinted. He nodded to Marcus, who dismounted smoothly, using his horse to block the sight of the hidden archer. He drew his gladius, reassured by its familiar weight. Peppis came off the horse in a scramble and tried to hide behind a leg, muttering nervously to himself.
The stranger spoke again, his voice friendly. ‘Do not do anything foolish. My companions are very good with their bows. Practice is the only way to fill the hours here in the mountains, that and relieving the occasional traveller of his possessions.’
‘There is only one archer, I think,’ Renius growled, staying light on the balls of his feet and keeping an eye on the scrub. He knew the man would not have stayed in the same place and could be creeping in to get a clean kill as they spoke.
‘You wish to gamble your life on this, yes?’
The two men looked at each other and Peppis gripped Lancer’s leg, making the horse snort with displeasure.
The outlaw was clean and simply dressed. He looked much like one of the huntsmen Marcus had known on the estate, burned a deep brown by constant exposure to the sun and wind. He did not look like a man given to empty threats and Marcus groaned inwardly. At best, they would arrive at the legion with no kit or equipment, a beginning he might never live down. At worst, death was a few moments away.
‘You look like an intelligent man,’ the outlaw continued. ‘If I drop my hand, you will be dead on the instant. Put your sword on the ground and you will live a few moments more, perhaps until you grow old, yes?’
‘I’ve been old. It isn’t worth it,’ Renius replied, already beginning to move.
He threw his gladius at the man, end over end in the air. Before it struck, he was leaping away into the shadow of the rock-side. An arrow cut the air where he had been, but no others accompanied it. Only one archer.
Marcus had used the moment to duck under his horse’s belly past Peppis, and came up running, throwing himself at the slope, trusting to his speed to keep him steady. He cleared the main ridge without slowing down and accelerated, guessing where the archer must be hiding. As he approached, a man broke from the cover of a grove of fig trees off to his right and he almost skidded as he turned to follow.
He had him in twenty paces along the loose rock surface, bringing him down from behind in a leap. The impact jarred the gladius from his hand and he found himself locked in a struggle with a man who was bigger and stronger than he was. The archer twisted violently in Marcus’ grip and they found each other’s throats with grasping hands. Marcus began to panic. The man’s face was red, but his neck appeared to be made of wood and he couldn’t seem to get a crushing grip on the thick flesh.
He would have called for Renius, but the man couldn’t have climbed the ridge with only one arm, and anyway he could not draw breath with the archer’s great paws on his throat. Marcus dug his thumbs into the windpipe and heaved all his downward weight onto them. The man grunted in pain, but the hairy hands tightened still further and Marcus saw flashes of white light across his vision as his body began to scream for air. His own hands seemed to weaken and he despaired for a second. His right hand came off the throat, almost without his conscious thought and began to hammer the grunting face. The white lights were streaked with flashes of black and his vision began to narrow into a dark tunnel, but he kept striking over and over. The face below him was a messy red pulp, but the hands on his throat were merciless.
Then they fell away, without drama, lying limp on the ground. Marcus sobbed in air and rolled off to one side. His heart was beating at an impossible speed and he felt light-headed, almost as if he was floating. He pulled himself onto his knees and his fingers scrabbled without strength for the hilt of his sword in ever-widening circles.
Finally, they closed on the leather grip and he breathed a silent prayer of thanks. He could hear Renius and Peppis calling for him below, but had no breath to answer. Staggering, he took a few steps back to the man and froze as he saw the eyes were open and looking at him, the heavy chest heaving as raggedly as his own.
Rasping words grated past the man’s smashed lips, but they were Greek and Marcus couldn’t understand them. Still panting, he pressed the sharp tip of the gladius against the man’s chest and shoved down hard. Then his grip slipped off the hilt and he collapsed in a sprawl, turning weakly to empty his stomach onto the ground.
By the time Marcus climbed stiffly back to the path, Peppis had recovered Renius’ sword and the gladiator was holding a pad of cloth to the wound in Apollo’s shoulder. The big horse was shivering visibly with shock, but was on his feet and aware. Peppis had to hold Lancer’s reins tightly as the horse stepped and skittered, wide nostrils and eyes showing his fear at the smell of blood.
‘Are you all right, lad?’ Renius asked.
Marcus nodded, unable to speak. His throat felt crushed and air seemed to whistle with each breath. He pointed at it and Renius beckoned him closer so he could take a look. He made the movement slow, so as not to alarm the horses.
‘Nothing permanent,’ he judged a moment later. ‘Big hands, judging by the prints.’
Marcus could only gasp weakly. He hoped Renius couldn’t smell the sour vomit odour that seemed to surround him in a cloud, but guessed he could and chose not to mention it.
‘They made a mistake attacking us,’ Peppis observed, his little face serious.
‘Yes, they did, boy, though we were lucky as well,’ Renius replied. He looked at Marcus. ‘Don’t try to speak, just help the boy strap the equipment to your horse. Apollo will be lame for a week or two. We’ll ride in turns unless those bandits have mounts nearby.’
Lancer whinnied and an answering snort came from further down the mountain. Renius grinned.
‘Luck is with us again, I see,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Did you search the body?’
Marcus shook his head and Renius shrugged.
‘Not worth climbing up again. They wouldn’t have had much and a bow’s no use to a man with one arm. Let’s get going. We can get off this rock by sunset if we keep a fast pace.’
Marcus began removing Apollo’s packs, taking the reins. Renius patted his shoulder as he turned away. The action was worth far more than words.
After a month of long days and cold nights, it was good to
