Free Dawn Wind by Rosemary Sutcliff Page B

stumbled, and swung her past him, just as a handful of the raiders, waking to what was really happening, came yelling out of the chaos after them.
    Snatching one backward glance, he turned behind her, Dog racing leashed at his side, and together they hurled themselves across the street into the shadows opposite. A narrow alley-way opened to them, and they tore down it, then swerved right into another. They were in the street of metal-workers now, and squat forge chimneys rose along the way, dark and fireless against the sky; and they swung left again into a tangle of mean streets, just as the first of the hunters burst howling into the far end of the street behind them.
    After that they lost all count of time or distance. It was like being hunted through the twisting ways of a nightmare; streets that seemed to stretch out to infinity with no cover in them, and the shells of the ruined houses crowding close to stare down at them with blind eyes as they ran; and always the yammer of the hunt behind. But Owain, who was choosing the way, knew every gap and short cut and dark corner of Viroconium now, as well as the girl did, and soon the dusk would be thick enough to cover them; and darting and turning and twisting in their tracks like hares, the time came when the cry of the hunt grew fainter and seemed to lose purpose behind them. And they knew that for the moment, at all events, they had shaken off their pursuers.
    They were in the garden of a big house when they stopped to listen and draw breath. It was full dusk by now; the clouds were racing bat-winged overhead, and the rising wind was hushing among the dark masses of holly and juniper, driving the first chill drops of rain before it. And from the town, seemingly from two or three quarters at once, came the distant sounds of the hunt questing to and fro, faintly querulous like hounds that had lost the scent, while from the direction of the Forum they could make out other shouts and the lowing of cattle where men were still rounding up the scattered herd. Owain was catching great gasps of air, and as the drubbing of his heart quietened, he heard Regina’s quick panting breaths like those of a little hunted animal. But even as he listened, it seemed to him that the sounds of the hunt were drawing nearer, and in the same instant Regina gave a terrified gasp. ‘They’re coming this way!’
    He reached out his free hand and caught hers. He knew that she could not run much more, and they were a long way now from any of the gates. ‘Come!’ he whispered. ‘Up to the house. Better cover among the ruins.’
    She gave a little sob of exhaustion, but turned instantly to follow his pull.
    It was hard to run with both arms cumbered, but he knew that if he let go of Regina she probably wouldn’t make the house at all, and he could not risk Dog turning back to give battle on his own account. So he struggled on, desperately, his heart bursting against his ribs. It seemed a mile, though in truth it was not much more than a spear-throw, before they were panting against the half wall of a colonnade from which most of the little painted columns had fallen; and as they checked there, the sounds of the hunt swept nearer behind them. ‘Over the wall and get round to the back!’ Owain gasped. He thrust Regina over the fallen debris, scrambling after her. The house doorway gaped before them and they stumbled in over the jagged remains of the door timbers, groped their way through the tangle of the fallen upper storey, found another door and came out into the ruins of the slaves’ quarters and outbuildings behind. The first rain was spattering on the dry pavement as they checked again to listen and look about them.
    They were in a narrow courtyard, at the far end of which a hawthorn tree leaned drunkenly across the broken wall that shut out the street. Owain saw it jaggedly outlined against the last stormy brightness of the west, and knew that they were in the house of Ulpius Pudentius who