Free The Eagle In The Sand by Simon Scarrow

got a moment. Give me your reins.’
    Before he could assent, Cato felt them being pulled from his left hand. He grabbed one of the saddle horns as Macro urged his beast on, drawing Cato’s horse abruptly after him. As they fled from the brigands Cato’s vision cleared a little more, but he was still terribly dizzy and the urge to throw up was stronger than ever. Around him he saw that most of the auxiliaries had broken from the fight and were galloping away from the brigands, along the ridge. Behind them the struggle continued round the handful who were still trapped. But already some of the footmen were pointing excitedly at the fleeing Romans and shouting to their mounted comrades. Bannus quickly tried to bring his men to order, but his prey had half a mile’s start on him by the time his horsemen began their pursuit. However, their beasts were light, and the riders wore little or no armour, so they moved swiftly and soon began to catch up with the Romans. But the auxiliaries were well mounted, having the pick of the horses in the province, and soon the greater stamina of the army mounts began to tell as the brigands became strung out, only a handful of their horses able to keep up with the auxiliaries.
    ‘Stay on the track!’ Symeon called out. ‘Follow it all the way to the fort!’
    Cato’s dizziness came and went more and more frequently and he feared that he might lose consciousness. Macro kept glancing back with a concerned expression; it was clear that Cato’s head injury was more serious than it had first appeared.Then it happened. Cato blacked out and started to topple from the saddle. Macro saw it just in time and reined his horse in, letting Cato’s draw level so that he could catch his friend and hold him up. He looked round desperately, but most of the auxiliaries were already ahead of them.
    ‘Help me here!’ he bellowed.
    The rearmost man glanced back, met the centurion’s eyes for an instant and then turned away and urged his horse on. Symeon too heard the call, and instantly wheeled his mount about and galloped back towards Macro.
    ‘What’s happened to him?’
    ‘Took a blow to the head. He just fainted. How far are we from Bushir?’
    Symeon glanced round at the track. ‘Two, maybe three hours’ hard ride.’
    ‘Damn. They’ll catch up with us long before then.’
    Symeon said nothing. He knew it was true.With Cato needing to be supported Macro would steadily lose ground to their pursuers.
    ‘What will you do, Centurion?’
    Macro looked back at the distant figures of the horsemen following them. He frowned for a moment and then nodded to himself. ‘All right. You take him on. I’ll try to delay those bastards for as long as I can.’
    Symeon stared hard at him. ‘Leave him.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I said leave him.You won’t delay them long enough for the two of us to get away. Either he dies, or all three of us will.’
    ‘I can’t,’ Macro said helplessly as he glanced down at Cato’s pale face slumped against his shoulder. ‘He’s my friend. More than a friend: he’s like a son. I won’t leave him to die.’
    Symeon glanced at their pursuers and then turned back to Macro with a grim expression.’All right, you lead him on. Stay on the track. I’ll ride with you and hold them off.’
    ‘What with?’
    ‘This.’ Symeon raised his bow. ‘A few miles further on the track branches off towards a village.There’s a winding gully beside the road. When we reach it, do exactly as I say. Understand?’
    Macro stared a moment, tortured by doubt, then nodded.
    ‘Good! Now let’s go!’
    They rode on, either side of Cato, bracing his limp body so that he stayed in the saddle. But their speed was greatly reduced and every time Macro looked back he saw that the fastest of the enemy riders was drawing closer. Ahead, the rearmost of the auxiliaries was steadily drawing away, a dim shape amid the dust kicked up by his comrades in front of him. Macro cursed them for a moment, before