Brixus drew his sword and looked round at his men as he raised the weapon. In response they grasped their weapons and held them up to show that they were ready.

‘To the guards’ barracks.’ He spoke just loudly enough for them all to hear. ‘Go in hard. Show no mercy.’

There was a low growl of assent from Taurus and muttered comments from the others, then the leader led the way along the side of the wall, keeping to its shadow as he limped towards the barracks, a hundred paces away. The muffled sound of voices carried across the compound, light-hearted chatter interspersed with the cries of glee and groans of men playing a game of dice. There was no sound from the slave barracks. They would be too exhausted to do much but sleep after they had eaten their evening ration of barley gruel. Besides, Brixus reflected, most slaves were forbidden from talking in such estates, for fear that it might encourage them to plot against their masters.

They were no more than fifty feet from the entrance to the barracks when the door suddenly opened and a finger of rosy light spilled out across the compound, revealing the men ?, hurrying along the base of the wall. Two guards stood in the L entrance to the barracks holding empty jars, which they were | taking to the well to refill. They stopped dead and stared at j| the raiders before one of them reacted.

‘Alarm!’ he shouted, then turned towards the door and he repeated the cry. ‘Alarm!’

Brixus turned to his men and thrust his spare hand towards Pindar. ‘Take your men and clear the walls of sentries. The rest of you, follow me!’

He thrust his sword towards the entrance of the barracks and bellowed as loudly as he could into the cold night air. ‘Attack!’

2

A party led by Pindar ran to the steps leading up on to the wall and made for the nearest of the sentries. In the compound, dark figures raced towards the barrack doors, a savage roar tearing from the throat of each man as the raiders surged forward. Brixus did his best to keep up, but was hampered by his old wound and swiftly overtaken by most of his men. The two unarmed guards who stood at the entrance quickly recovered from their surprise and, dropping their jars, they turned and raced back inside.

Roused by the commotion, the first of the defenders had already reached the barrack doors, armed with a short sword and dagger. Barefoot, he was a well-built man with grey hair and lined features. From the swiftness of his reaction and the steady manner in which he planted his feet squarely on the ground, it was clear he had once been an experienced soldier. He glanced at the wave of men converging on him and then shouted back over his shoulder.

‘To arms! Form up on me.’

A handful of men managed to join him before the raiders charged into them. The ex-soldier neatly ducked a swinging club and slammed his sword into the side of the first raider, knocking him off his feet. He collapsed with a groan, clutching his side, and tripping up one of his comrades who sprawled in front of the guard and was despatched with a swift thrust between his shoulder blades.