‘Shit!’ he cried out, as the leading man loomed high above him, sword raised ready to slash down with a killing blow. Cato saw the triumphant glint in the man’s dark eyes and the teeth clenched in a feral grin. Then Cato stumbled and sprawled painfully on the ground. Instinctively he rolled over and raised his arm. The man was as before, only now his eyes were wild with surprise. The shaft of an arrow protruded from his chest. His sword slipped from his hand and clattered on to the track beside Cato. Then he slipped from the saddle and fell to the ground with a heavy thud that drove the wind from his lungs in an explosive grunt of agony. Cato snatched up the weapon and rose into a crouch. The other horsemen were only an instant away, already swerving round the riderless horse. Cato glanced at Macro, who had stopped several paces further on and turned towards him.

‘Run, Macro! Don’t stop!’

‘Fuck that.’

Macro took a step towards Cato but the latter shouted, ‘There’s nothing you can do. Go!’

Momentarily torn, Macro delayed for a fatal instant and the next horseman clattered forward, his mount knocking Macro flat on his back. But before the man could strike an arrow thudded into his stomach, doubling him over in the saddle before he rolled off to one side. The men behind, confused and frightened by the unerring accuracy of the bowman, reined in and looked up towards the fort. A third arrow tore through the throat of the nearest rider and he toppled from his saddle clutching at his neck with a strained gurgling noise as the blood poured from his wound.Then one of his comrades shouted something and the two survivors wheeled their mounts round and galloped back down the track, bent flat over their horses, not daring to look back. Cato watched them for a moment, chest heaving, and then he let his grip on the sword relax. They were saved. He turned to Macro.

‘All right?’

‘Fine.’ Macro gulped down some breaths. He nodded at the three bodies on the ground. ‘Bloody good piece of archery that.’

Cato turned to glance up at the parapet above the gatehouse. Brightly lit by the setting sun, Symeon lowered his bow and waved.

Cato bowed his head, and behind him Macro chuckled.

‘Remind me never to try to raid one of his caravans.’

07 The Eagle In the Sand

CHAPTER FIVE