Docilosa sensed it first. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked sharply.

Deep in thought, Fabiola did not react.

The litter came to an abrupt halt, jolting her into awareness.

There was silence for a moment, and then the air filled with terrifying screams. They came from all around them, and Fabiola froze.

‘Fabiola!’

She came alive at the sound of Secundus’ voice.

Soft hissing noises were followed by thumps and shouts of pain. Arrows, thought Fabiola. An ambush. Would the gods never leave her alone?

‘Get out! Quickly!’

Docilosa looked terrified, but Fabiola took her arm and forced her to follow. Death awaited them if they stayed put. Pulling aside the curtain, she forced her way through a dense clump of branches to the ground. Muttering to herself, Docilosa came too. Sextus was waiting, and protectively ushered them forward. He looked shame-faced.

Ducking down, Fabiola moved to the front of the litter. Three of Secundus’ men were crouched there, holding their shields together to form a protective screen. Alarm filled her. The road ahead had been blocked with a combination of large rocks and pieces of fallen deadwood, completely preventing the slaves from carrying the litter past. And from behind the barrier’s protection, cloaked figures were firing volleys of arrows at the ex-legionaries. Thanks to the low-hanging branches and the poor light, their faces were obscured. Whatever their ambushers’ identity, they had moved fast to set the trap after the scouts had returned.

Her head turned this way and that, trying to assess the situation. There was only one body in clear sight, that of a veteran. An arrow jutted from his open mouth, a fatal shot that would have given an instant of blinding pain before total oblivion. She couldn’t see the remaining five, or Secundus.

‘Where is he?’ she asked.

‘On the other side of the litter,’ replied one of the ex-soldiers grimly. ‘Kneeling behind his scutum like us.’

‘We can’t stay here,’ protested Fabiola. ‘They’ll pick us off one by one.’

Reinforcing her point, two barbed shafts thumped into the litter just over their heads. The slaves moaned in fear. Jeers and insults from their attackers followed.

Sextus and the three veterans stared at her mutely. Fabiola realised that low-rankers were used to following orders, not initiating them. They would hardly obey her either – a woman whom they did not trust. Fabiola was therefore very relieved when Secundus appeared behind her. Given the choice of whether to bear arms or protect himself, he had opted for the safer option of using a shield. He was accompanied by five others, one of whom had a broken arrow protruding from his left arm. It meant that the sole fatality so far was the unfortunate lying in front of the litter.

They all waited to see what Secundus would say.

‘There’s only one way out,’ he said. ‘And it isn’t by retreating.’

‘Why not?’ asked Fabiola. At least they knew the route that lay behind. Who knew what was ahead?

‘I heard voices back there.’

‘So did I,’ added the oldest of the group.

This was met with uniform scowls.

‘Another group waiting to butcher us if we run,’ said a sallow-faced veteran with pockmarked cheeks.

‘There are more of them than we thought,’ muttered Secundus. Crouching down, he beckoned.

His men immediately huddled closer and, knowing she had to be guided in such situations, Fabiola did the same.

‘We charge the fuckers,’ declared Secundus confidently. ‘Go straight across the barrier.’

‘Just like old times,’ interjected the sallow-faced man.

There were fierce nods of agreement. Faced with death yet again, the veterans felt the familiar thrill of battle. Along with the pumping adrenalin and the knot of fear in their bellies, it felt good. None of them had ever shirked their duty; they would not do so now.

‘Does the first one over the summit get a corona muralis?’ asked another.

Everyone except the two women laughed.

Secundus saw their confused look. ‘It’s the golden crown given to the first man on top of an enemy wall,’ he explained.

‘What shall we do?’ asked Fabiola, keeping her voice as calm as possible. ‘Tell us.’

Docilosa moved closer and clutched her mistress’ hand; alongside Sextus snarled silently.

Pleased by their willingness, Secundus smiled. ‘We’ll form a small wedge. There are few men who can withstand it,’ he said. ‘These dogs will be no different.’

‘We have no shields,’ said Fabiola stoutly. ‘Does that matter?’

Respect filled the one-armed veteran’s eyes. ‘Don’t worry,’ he replied. ‘Both of you will be in the middle.’

‘And on the other side?’

‘We make a run for it. If enough of them are dead, they’ll have lost the stomach for a fight. Otherwise, there’s a small settlement not far beyond the trees which should provide safety.’

‘Should?’ Fabiola enquired archly.

Secundus shrugged. ‘If the gods are smiling on us.’

‘And the slaves?’

Secundus grimaced. ‘They’re untrained and unarmed. Have to take their own chances.’

‘We have no spare weapons. Save yourselves,’ Fabiola ordered the four slaves. ‘Run into the trees when we attack. With luck, they’ll never find you. Head back to Brutus’ house in Rome if you can.’

A couple of them nodded fearfully.

Then mistress and servant stared at each other; Docilosa’s face full of uncertainty.

Another volley of arrows hit the shields of the veterans at the front.

‘Give me a dagger,’ said Docilosa abruptly.

‘That’s the spirit,’ grinned Secundus.

One of his men tugged a pugio from his belt and handed it over.

They did not delay any longer. Keeping their helmeted faces low behind their scuta, the ex-soldiers moved away from the protection of the litter. Fabiola and Docilosa scuttled behind them, with Sextus by their side. The sallow-faced man assumed the lead position, while three others formed each side of the wedge. Ushering Sextus and the two women within, Secundus and the injured veteran closed up the rear.

Cries of alarm rose as their ambushers saw what was about to happen. More arrows flew through the air.

‘Now!’ cried Secundus.

Mud squelched underfoot as they broke into a run.

Twenty paces and the ground began to grow uneven. The wedge’s speed slowed dramatically as each person had to look where they placed their feet. Fabiola concentrated hard on staying upright, knowing that a fall would probably be fatal.

‘Don’t stop!’ yelled Secundus. ‘Keep moving!’

Clambering over rough logs with protruding branches that ripped and tore at their lower legs, the veterans pushed up on to the barrier. They were close enough now to make out the faces of their enemies. In between helping Docilosa find her footing and managing not to lose her own, Fabiola scanned the shouting ruffians, searching for any she might recognise.

Two men hurled themselves at the sallow-faced veteran who led the wedge’s point. The first got a shield boss full in the face and went down screaming. Wary now, his comrade slowed down a trifle. Then he lunged viciously at the ex-legionary’s foot with his curved knife. As the thug bent down, the next man in line leaned over and stabbed him through the chest with his gladius. A gush of blood spattered on to the rocks; now two of their ambushers were out of action.

The wedge advanced slowly up the barrier, arrows and small rocks banging off the shields. Several more thugs slammed into it, trying to reach the veterans. They met swift ends from efficient sword thrusts. All that needed to be done was disable the enemy, Fabiola realised. It was not necessary to kill each one. After a gladius blade had opened a man’s belly or sliced deep into the muscles of his arm or leg, he wasn’t about to pose any further problem. Respect and a little hope filled Fabiola as they continued. It was terrifying, and incredible, to witness. She could easily imagine how an enemy might be punched apart using the ‘V’ shaped formation in a battle.