Three Hands In The Fountain

He looked as I remembered: nothing special. Unkempt, badly dressed, missing teeth: a typical rural slave. No more crazed than most passers-by on the streets of Rome. You would avoid knocking into him by accident, but you wouldn't look at him twice. If I was out late at night, and he made the offer casually, I might even accept a lift from him.

`I'm not alone. The Urban Cohorts are riding hard behind. Give yourself up.'

His only reply was another aggressive swipe of the axe, cutting off fine branches above my head. Immediately he followed up with a lower stroke the other way. In the army I had been taught to take on Celts wielding long broadswords this way – but as a soldier I had been armoured, with weapons of my own, not to mention ranks of snarling colleagues forming impenetrable blocks on either side.

I stepped towards him. Light flashed; he whirled the axe again. I leapt like a Cretan dancer, heels to buttocks, saving my legs. Grabbing at a branch, I landed safe then put a tree between us. I managed to crack off the branch partially, but a long green strand of bark peeled back and caught fast. Useless.

Dear gods, this was a town boy's nightmare: I wanted to be walking decent pavements where the criminals followed proper rules of misconduct and where I could drop into a winebar when the pace grew hot. Here I was, facing a desperate axeman in a misty wood, starved, exhausted, deserted by, my only helpers, and now risking amputation of my lower limbs. As a way of earning a salary it stank.

I dragged at the branch and this time it broke free. The stem was thick enough to make the axe bite if he hit it. Better still, the far end divided into a mass of twiggy branches, which were still in leaf. As Thurius made his next swing, I dodged the glinting blade: Then I jumped at him, thrusting the great bunch of long twigs full in his face. He started back, stumbled, lost ground. I pressed on, dashing my branch again at, his eyes. He turned and ran. I followed but the branch caught in the undergrowth and I lost hold of it. I let it go and kept running.

Thurius was pounding hard, still towards the track. I veered off to one side, putting myself between him and escape from the estate. Smashing down bushes, we struggled on. A fox broke cover suddenly and scampered away. A jay lumbered off with its strange laboured flight and a harsh cry. Once again I fancied – I heard hoofbeats, this time much closer. Breathing hurt. Sweat was pouring off me. My aching legs could hardly keep going. Even so, as Thurius reached the track I was gaining; then, my foot skidded on a clump of fungi and dropped into a hole, making me pull up with a cry of anguish. I managed to stay upright, but my boot turned over under me. I hopped free of the squashed and slimy toadstool stems, slipped again, then stepped wincingly after Thurius. He stopped and glanced back, then set off down the track.

Ignoring the pain; in my ankle I began to hop with what had to be one final sprint. A twisted ankle rights itself,

I though it prefers time to settle. I had no time. My strength would give out at any moment. But I would catch him first if I could.

I heard a horse whinny. My heart sank, imagining he had a tethered mount somewhere. Then Thurius threw out his arms. Horse and rider had crashed out of the wood on the far side, and were galloping straight at him,

He couldn't stop. He stumbled and lost the axe. The horse reared over him, but was reined back. Thurius staggered, still, keeping upright, still determined to escape. He feinted with one arm at the horse, ducked its hooves, and hurled himself down the track again. I had kept running. I crashed past the horse, glimpsing a familiar rider, who dragged it sideways to give me space. Then I caught up and launched myself on to Thurius.

I flung him down, face first in the leafmould. I was so angry that once I made contact he stood no chance. I fell on his back, making sure I landed heavily. I pinioned his arms and clung on, commanding him to give up. He wrenched sideways, still thrashing. I pulled him up bodily and smashed him face down again. By then the horseman had dismounted and come rushing up., Next minute, my furious helper was booting Thurius in the ribs as if he meant to finish him.

`Steady!' I yelled, leaning out of the way of the flying boots. It stopped both of them. Thurius finally capsized with his face in the ruts of the track.

Still astride my captive, I started controlling my breathing. `Nice action,' I gasped, looking up at the other man.

`Basic training,' he answered.

`Oh, you never lose it.' I managed to grin, though extra, exertion was a trial. `I don't suppose you would consider throwing up the governorship of Britain and entering into a formal partnership with me?'

Julius Frontinus – soldier, magistrate, administrator, author and future expert on the water supply smiled modestly. A look of genuine yearning crossed his face. `That might be one of history's great "What if?" questions, Falco.'