‘I do not wish to kill you, but if that is the only way to save my folk then that is what I will do, Brasus, son of Cotiso.’ She gave a pitying smile. ‘You should make peace with your gods.’

‘Lady, I live to prepare for death and ascent.’

The woman’s eyes never left him as she began to walk in a slow circle. Lightly clad and smaller than her opponent, she must have decided that speed was her best chance. Well, let her think that. There was no honour in killing a woman, but this was no mere woman but a queen, and just the way she balanced each step and held blade and shield poised and ready showed a warrior of rare skill. Her magic had held this place against their attacks, so perhaps this was the most fitting way for it to end. Brasus did not relish killing her, but this was his task and once it was done, he could send his men away and then take his own knife, place it against his throat and free his soul. Thus it would be.

Brasus had his shield up, his falx held one-handed like an ordinary sword. That gave the blows less power while retaining its reach. Still they circled, watching. He took two paces forward, falx high, but she gave way the same distance, then followed as he in turn retreated. She was fast.

Enica glanced to one side, and even when he did not take the bait, came on, slashing with her sword. He parried the blow on his shield, swung the flax, but the queen had danced out of the way and her sica moved as fast as the storm’s lightning and came under his shield to strike low on his armour. A scale snapped, but the tip of the blade did not go through the padded jerkin onto which it was sewn.

They clashed again, twice, with no more than splinters from shields and light blows that did not break through his armour. When they were close Brasus saw that there was a livid red bruise on the queen’s cheek and that one of her eyes was darkened. The sight was oddly unnerving, for such blemishes did not belong to the queen, let alone the demon or the witch she had become in his mind.

Brasus’ back was slick with sweat for the day was hot, a day for a man to sit in the shade by a stream and dream of love and long life.

Brasus threw his shield at the queen, forcing her back and making her slash wildly to push it away. He took his falx in both hands and went at her, cutting down and slicing a quarter of her shield from the left side. A great sigh went up from the watching Romans, until she ducked, running towards him, dodging a second strike by the falx and slashing so hard at his side that scales split and he felt the edge bite into his flesh. She was past him and he turned to face her, his thigh wet as the blood flowed down.