Hanno clenched his teeth. He too could see the danger.
‘Caecilius? Fallen over your own prick?’ demanded Balbus.
There was no answer. A moment later, a bulky-framed man with long greasy hair emerged partially into view. It took the blink of an eye for him to notice his companion’s body, to take in the arrow protruding from his chest. A strangled cry left Balbus’ throat. Frantic to regain the safety of the hut, he spun on his heel.
Quintus released. His shaft flew straight and true, driving deep into Balbus’ right side with a meaty thump. The bandit cursed in pain, but managed to get through the doorway. ‘Help me,’ he cried. ‘I’m hit.’
Shouts of confusion and anger rang out from within. Hanno heard Balbus growl, ‘Caecilius is dead. An arrow to the chest. No, Sejanus, I don’t fucking know who did it.’ Then, apart from low muttering, everything went silent.
‘They know that I’m just outside,’ Quintus whispered, suddenly wondering if he’d bitten off more than he could chew. ‘But they have no idea that I’m on my own. How will they react?’
Hanno scowled. You’re not on your own, you arrogant fool. ‘What would you do?’
‘Try to get away,’ Quintus said, fumbling for an arrow.
In the same instant, loud cracking sounds filled the air and the back wall of the hut disintegrated in a cloud of dust. Three bandits burst into the open air, hurtling straight towards them. In the lead was a skinny man in a wine-stained tunic. He grasped a hunting spear in both hands. This had to be Pollio, thought Hanno. Beside him ran a massive figure carrying a club. Hanno blinked in surprise. It was not Balbus, because he was two steps behind, clutching the arrow in his side with one hand and a rusty sword with the other. Despite being twice Balbus’ size, the big man was his spitting image. The pair had to be brothers.
The two sides goggled at each other for a heartbeat.
Pollio was the first to react. ‘They’re only children. And one isn’t even armed,’ he screamed. ‘Kill them!’ His companions needed no encouragement. Bellowing with rage, the trio charged forward.
Perhaps fifteen paces now divided them. ‘Quick,’ Hanno shouted. ‘Take one of the bastards down.’
Quintus’ heart hammered in his chest, and he struggled to notch his arrow correctly. Finally it slipped on to the string, but, desperate to even the odds, he loosed too soon. His shaft flashed over Pollio’s shoulder and into the wreckage of the hut. He had no time to reach for another. The bandits were virtually upon them. Dropping his bow, he pulled the gladius from his belt. ‘Get out of here!’ he shouted. ‘You know what to do!’
Facing certain death if he stayed without a weapon, Hanno turned and fled.
‘Let him go!’ shouted Pollio. ‘The shitbag looks as if he can run like the wind.’
Quintus had just enough time to throw up a prayer of thanks to Jupiter before Pollio, leaping over a fallen log, reached him.
‘So you’re the one who would murder a man while he takes a piss,’ the bandit snarled, lunging forward with his spear.
Quintus dodged sideways. ‘He got what was coming to him.’
Leering, Pollio stabbed at him again. ‘It was a quicker death than the shepherd had.’
Quintus tried not to think of Libo, or of the fact that he was outnumbered three to one. Holding his gladius with both hands, he swept the spear shaft away. Sejanus, the big man, was still a few steps away, but already there was no sign of Balbus. Where is the son of a whore? Quintus wondered frantically. He might be wounded, but he’s still armed. The realisation made him want to vomit. The bastard’s coming to stab me in the back. All Quintus could think of doing was to place himself against a tree. Driving Pollio off with a flurry of blows, he sprinted towards the nearest one he could see, a cypress with a thick trunk. He could make a stand there.
To Quintus’ exhilaration, he made it.
The only trouble was that, a heartbeat later, he had the grinning bandits ringed around him in a semicircle.
‘Surrender now, and we’ll give you an easy death,’ said Pollio. ‘Not like the poor shepherd had.’
Even the wounded Balbus laughed.
What have I done? Somehow, Quintus swallowed down his fear. ‘You’re fucking scum! I’ll kill you all,’ he shouted.
‘You think?’ sneered Pollio. ‘It’s your choice.’ Without warning, he thrust his spear at Quintus’ midriff.
Quintus threw himself sideways. Too late, he realised that Sejanus had aimed his club at the very spot he was heading for. In utter desperation, he deliberately fell to the ground. With an almighty crack, the club smacked into the treetrunk. The knowledge that the blow would have brained him if it had landed drove Quintus to his feet. Seizing his opportunity, he slashed out at Sejanus’ arm and was delighted when his blade connected with the big man’s right arm. The flesh wound it cut was enough for Sejanus to bellow in pain and stagger backwards, out of the way. Quintus’ relief lasted no more than an instant. The injury wouldn’t be enough to stop the brute from rejoining the fight. To survive, he immediately had to disable or kill one of the other two.
With that, a sword hilt smashed into the side of his head. Stars burst across Quintus’ vision, and his knees buckled. Half-conscious, he dropped to the ground.
Hanno had probably run fifty paces before he glanced over his shoulder. Delighted that no one was pursuing him, he sprinted on for another fifty before looking back again. He was on his own. In the clear. Safe. So too, therefore, was Aurelia.
What of Quintus? he wondered with a thrill of dread.
You ran. Coward! Hanno’s conscience screamed.
Quintus told me to, he thought defensively. The idiot couldn’t bring himself to trust me with a gladius.
Does that mean you should leave him to die? his conscience shot back. What chance has he against three grown men?
Hanno screeched to a halt. Turning, he ran uphill as fast as his legs could take him. He took care to count his steps. At eighty, he slowed to a trot. Peering through the trees, he saw the three bandits standing over a motionless figure. Claws of fear savaged Hanno’s guts as he took refuge behind a bush. No! He can’t be dead! When Pollio’s kick made Quintus moan, Hanno was nearly sick with relief. Quintus was alive still. Clearly, he wouldn’t be for long. Hanno clenched his empty fists. What in the name of Baal Saphon can I do?
‘Let’s take him back to the hut,’ Pollio declared.
‘Why?’ complained Balbus. ‘We can just kill the fucker here.’
‘That’s where the fire is, stupid! It won’t have gone out yet,’ replied Pollio with a laugh. ‘I know you’re injured, but Sejanus and I can carry him between us.’
A cruel smile spread across Balbus’ face. ‘Fair enough. There’ll be more sport with some heat, I suppose.’ He watched each of his comrades take one of Quintus’ arms and begin dragging him towards the hut. There was little resistance, but they retained their weapons nonetheless.
This is my chance. All three men had their backs to him, and half a dozen steps separated Balbus from the others. Hanno’s mouth felt very dry. His prospects of success were tiny. Like as not, he’d end up dead, or being tortured alongside Quintus. He could still run. A wave of self-loathing swept over him. He saved you from Agesandros, remember?
Clenching his teeth, Hanno emerged from his hiding place. Grateful for the damp vegetation, which muffled the sound of his feet, he stole forward as fast as he could. Balbus was limping after his comrades, who were alternately grumbling about how much Quintus weighed and waxing lyrical about what they’d do to him. Hanno fixed his gaze on the rusty sword that dangled from Balbus’ right hand. First, he had to arm himself. After that, he had to kill one of the bandits. After that
… Hanno didn’t know. He’d have to trust in the gods.
To Hanno’s relief, his first target didn’t hear him coming. Taking careful aim, he thumped Balbus near the point where Quintus’ arrow had entered his flesh, before neatly catching the sword as it dropped from the screaming bandit’s fingers. Switching it to his right hand, Hanno sprinted for the other two. ‘Hey!’ he shouted.