Saviour of Rome

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He lay in a shallow depression overlooking the dusty valley. The relentless Iberian sun beat down fit to melt the jagged rocks beneath him and the top of his skull burned like glowing coals despite the cloth scarf covering his face and head. Only the pitiless predator’s eyes remained visible to strike fear in anyone who looked upon them. He’d been stalking the convoy all this long, hot day, but it was only in the last few minutes that he finalized his plan of attack. He went over it once more in his mind before squirming backwards to where the others crouched, invisible behind the brow of the hill.

‘They have to cross the river at the old ford below Vulture Cliff.’ He drew a rough map in the sand with the point of his dagger and the ten men leaned close to catch his whispered words. ‘That’s where you’ll stop them.’

‘How?’ A throaty growl from a heavily bearded man with brick red features and eyes turned to mere slits by years of squinting into the Asturian sun. ‘There are thirty of the hook-noses guarding the wagons.’

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