Ferox sighed, and put his boot on the man’s chest so that he could drag his sword free. One of them had got away.

Vindex appeared. ‘You all right?’

‘I’m getting old.’

‘Aren’t we all?’ the Carvetian replied. ‘I count three.’

‘Three.’

‘Bugger,’ Vindex said.

VII

Zeugma

Seventh day before the Kalends of April

‘SO SOMEONE WAS watching?’ Hadrian said. ‘And one got away, so whoever it is will know that Azátē’s message reached us?’ They were in the principia of the fortress on the edge of Zeugma, the morning after they had come across the Euphrates. Hadrian had been busy at a feast the night before, but Ferox had handed the jar with its message to Sosius, because he knew that the acting governor trusted the man. Personally, Ferox thought that Sosius was as reliable as a snake, and realised that he must tell Bran who had sworn vengeance on the man. He did not want the young warrior to do anything hasty or foolish, like leaving witnesses.

Sosius was his usual surly self, so Ferox left him as soon as he had handed over the message and given a brief summary. Orders had come to report to the principia at dawn and spend time describing what he had seen to a draughtsman. At the second hour, he was summoned to see the acting governor, who studied the plans and drawings, and asked a long series of questions, first about Nicopolis, then briefly about Domitius and finally the message from the princess and the men who had pursued them.

‘Pity you did not find anything out about them.’

Ferox had explained how they had cut off the dead men’s heads and then dressed them in the Brigantes’ clothes before draping them on and around the waggon and setting fire to it.

‘Won’t fool the man who got away, will it?’ Hadrian had snarled.

Ferox remained impassive. He had no choice but to obey Hadrian if he was to protect his family and others about whom he cared a good deal. However, he was not about to let Philo and especially Indike put themselves in danger again and did not trust the senator not to order them to go back to Nicopolis and spy for him. The story would spread that their escort was dead, the cart burned and husband and wife vanished. Even Hadrian should not want to send them back when they would have to explain away surviving such an attack.

‘Well,’ Hadrian picked up one of the plans and studied it. ‘These really are good, very good. You never cease to amaze me, Ferox, you truly do not.’ Ferox had lost count of the tasks given to him by Hadrian over the last years. None were easy, most highly dangerous, and if he had survived them, plenty of the men he had led were dead or maimed for whatever life was left to them. Somehow it was never enough, and Hadrian’s hold over him remained. Sometimes he wondered whether it might be simpler to kill the man and flee the empire. He doubted that Hadrian would be able to strike at his family from the grave, but could not quite be sure. It did not matter, for he had sworn an oath to serve and could not break it unless it clashed with his higher oath to the empire. Neither had been taken willingly, but that did not matter. His grandfather, the Lord of the Hills, had raised him to despise oath-breakers. So he must keep going, like a hero of legend bound by a curse, or like Hercules or Herakles or whatever you wanted to call him, although the demigod seemed to enjoy himself with a lot of women on his journeys, since so many dynasties claimed him as ancestor. Being a demigod obviously came with privileges.