The Furies of Rome by Robert Fabbri

his horse to a trot, mindful of its footing amongst the tree roots. From further ahead came the deep-throated barks of Castor and Pollux, although the dogs themselves were now out of view. Seeing that the undergrowth was still thin and the lie of the fallen-leaf-covered ground was clear, he urged his horse into an easy canter, following the direction of the dogs’ noise, across the line of the hill, deeper into the wood as Titus whooped with excitement next to him. The hunting slaves could just be glimpsed through the cover, fifty or so paces away, expertly weaving their horses between the trunks as they tried to keep pace with the dogs. Glancing back, Vespasian could see Magnus and Domitian, who was struggling to keep up on his pony, passing under the first of the trees. His horse navigated its own twisting path through the obstacles with Vespasian just guiding it in the direction of the barking. From up ahead came a shout followed by a human cry of fear. Vespasian could see the hunting slaves change direction and head downhill as Castor and Pollux’s barks became fiercer with growls rolling in their throats.
    Vespasian tugged on the left rein so that his mount followed the slaves downhill, a sense of urgency growing unbidden within him as he ducked and dodged overhanging branches; Titus and Sabinus came with him, their heads low about the horses’ necks.
    A guttural, rattling snarl accompanied by a human howl of pain followed by the growl-barks of dogs fighting caused Vespasian to lose all caution and accelerate his mount forward as something unseen fizzed past him. He crashed through the wood, branches whipping about him, as the canine frenzy became increasingly more savage; the hunting slaves had dismounted, at least that’s what he assumed, as he glimpsed their horses running off unaccompanied. Breaking out into a small clearing he saw a flurry of shiny black fur twisting and writhing on the ground on what looked to be, at first glance, a red mattress but after a moment he realised was the bloodied body of a horribly mauled man; the sheen to the dogs’ pelts was his blood. Just next to the carnage, one of the hunting slaves knelt over his companion who lay on his back; an arrow protruded from his shoulder and another was stuck in his gut. As Vespasian jumped from his horse and rushed forward, the kneeling slave juddered and went suddenly rigid, his eyes wide open; he dropped his companion’s hand and, with a slow start that quickly accelerated, keeled over to lie on his side exposing a shaft buried in his temple as yet another unseen object hissed within a couple of paces of Vespasian’s head.
    ‘To your left, Father!’ Titus shouted.
    Vespasian glanced in that direction to catch glimpses of a couple of figures, dressed in the colours of the forest, pelting away, bows in hand, jumping obstacles and swerving around trees. ‘After them, Titus,’ he ordered as he ran towards the dogs, hoping that there may be a little life left in the victim; enough, perhaps, to answer a few questions. But whether there was or not he could not tell and he did not dare risk coming between Castor and Pollux and their prey, so reluctant did they seem to desist from their ravaging; one, although Vespasian could not tell which, so covered in gore were they, had an arrow embedded in its hind left thigh.
    ‘I’ll sort them out, sir,’ Magnus called, jumping from his horse and putting two fingers to his teeth as Sabinus went crashing through the wood after Titus. A shrill whistle rent the air, changing note up and down; the dogs reacted immediately, the snarls tailing off and their bloodied teeth leaving the fresh meat of their victim who was, much to Vespasian’s annoyance, obviously dead. They turned to look at their master and immediately the one with the arrow wound began to whine. ‘What have they done to you, Castor, you poor boy?’ Magnus said, getting down to his knees and taking his wounded dog’s head in both hands. He