And now I have taken her almost to safety, to Ripa. The first promise that I have not broken in a long time. He felt something at that thought, a warmth deep in his chest. The satisfaction of a task completed. I’d forgotten what it is to feel . . . good. To have honour.

And he felt something else, an echo of his life before Lykos and slavery, before Jael’s betrayal and Kastell’s death, when life had been more than just a consuming need for vengeance or survival. She has reminded me what it is like to be a man, not just a trained killer. That feels good, too.

She looked up at him, perhaps feeling his eyes upon her.

‘What?’ she said, a smile warming her face.

‘Nothing,’ he muttered and looked away.

They stepped out of the forest; the road and river left a gaping hole amongst the trees that reminded Maquin of the dark entrance to the catacombs beneath Haldis. Ripa appeared before them: a stone tower on a high hill overlooking the sea. It was guarded by a stout wooden fortress, a town of wood and thatch spilling from the hill’s slopes and down into a bay. Columns of smoke rose up into the sky. The river curled languidly towards the sea through a plain of tall grass, the smell of salt and sound of gulls in the air.

They walked on the road, which was built upon an embankment, beside them fields of tall grass swaying in a strong breeze. Maquin felt exposed and self-conscious now that they were out in the open. Vulnerable. Been in the wild too long.

As they followed the road from the forest that led to Ripa something nagged Maquin.

Where are the people? The children?

‘Something’s wrong,’ Maquin said.

As they crested a slight rise they saw what. Black-sailed ships dotted the bay – lots of them.

A blockade. Maquin stopped walking, pointed to the bay. Fidele stared, her brow creased with worry.

‘That smoke doesn’t look right,’ she said.

She was right. Even as Maquin watched thick black columns of smoke appeared, close to the harbour.

Ripa is under attack.

‘We should get back to the forest,’ Maquin said.

They turned, hurrying back. Before they’d gone a dozen strides a shape appeared in the darkness that enveloped the river’s entrance to the forest. A sharp prow emerged like a spear bursting through a body. A lean hull, low to the water, oars rising and falling in constant rhythm.

Maquin grabbed Fidele and dragged her down the embankment into the long grass that edged the road. Once under cover Fidele pulled Maquin to a halt.

‘I must see,’ she hissed at him.

‘We should leave, get away,’ he said, all his instincts screaming to run, to survive.

‘Go where? There is nowhere else to go. This is the only safe place.’ There was a tremor in her voice.