‘Better to feel the sorrow than not be alive to feel it,’ he said eventually, knowing it meant little. ‘I just seem to keep on living.’

‘That is because the souls in the Otherworld are in no hurry to have your gloomy face join them,’ she said. ‘Can’t say I blame them, either. So you keep living, husband.’ The seriousness had gone. ‘Your children need a father.’

‘And a mother.’

‘Oh, I’ll be all right. After all, you’re the one going off in the company of men sworn to kill you!’

XXVIII

Piroboridava

Seventh day before the Ides of July

PISO WAS LUCKY that he was hit by a falx swung one-handed rather than brought down with full force. The blow dented the top of his borrowed helmet and knocked the tribune out cold and the Dacian bounded over his body, calling for the others to follow.

This was the second attack of the day at the line of barrels and filled sacks between the praetorium and principia and there was little space to fight. Bran was limping, and was knocked off his feet when the warrior swung his shield. He rolled as he landed, and slashed his gladius at the Dacian’s ankle and felt the edge bite. The man screamed, dropping his shield and cutting down, but Bran rolled again out of the way, and Vindex chopped into the Dacian’s neck.

‘Up you get, lad. Between the two of us we’ve still got a pair of good legs.’

Another Dacian came at them, then hesitated as the two men spread as far apart as was possible in the alleyway. Vindex could see that the Brigantian and the legionary at the barricade were holding back the rest. He feinted to the right, drawing the man’s gaze, but the warrior was quick and parried his real attack. Then Bran slashed behind the Dacian’s right knee and he fell. Vindex stabbed down to finish the job. He was panting, his chest sore from a blow in the first attack that had not penetrated his mail, but had probably broken a rib or two.

The Dacians gave up for the moment, and judging from the quiet they had withdrawn everywhere else as well. An arrow zipped between Vindex and Bran and they did a lurching run to the shelter of the barricade. A slave and an auxiliary dragged the unconscious tribune away.

‘Bastards,’ Vindex said to no one in particular.

‘You should not have let him go,’ Bran said once again.

‘Will you let up? They didn’t ask me, did they, and wouldn’t have listened even if they had.’

‘Then we should have gone.’

‘Hopped our way there, I suppose.’

Bran lowered his voice. ‘I do not trust the tribune who sent him. He’s a useless shit.’ They were both peering over the top of the barricade, but could see no sign of any more warriors or of the archers.

Vindex guffawed. ‘I’m rubbing off on you, aren’t I? Well copy me, son, and you could end up a thousand miles from home on one leg and struggling to breathe! Oh bugger me, you already are.