Last came three sturdy Gauls, chosen by Quintus because of their affinity with the hunting dogs. One in particular, a squat, tattooed man with a broken nose, spent all his free time with the pack, teaching them new commands. Like the other slaves, the trio had been toiling in the fields under Agesandros’ supervision that morning. It was sowing time, when they had to work from dawn till dusk under the hot sun. The diversion of a bear hunt was therefore most welcome, and they chatted animatedly to each other in their own tongue as they walked. In front of each man ran a pair of large brindle dogs, straining at the leather leashes tied around their throats. With broad heads and heavily muscled bodies, they were the opposite of Fabricius’ smaller dogs, which had tufted ears and feathered flanks. The former were scent hounds, while the latter relied on sight.

The sun beat down from a cloudless sky as they left behind the fields of wheat that surrounded the villa. The sundial in the courtyard had told Quintus it was only just gone hora secunda. The characteristic whirring sound of cicadas was starting up, but the heat haze that hung in the air daily had not yet formed. He led the way along a narrow track that twisted and wound through the olive trees dotting the slopes above the farm.

Having traversed an area of cleared earth, they entered the mixed beech and oak woods that covered most of the surrounding countryside. Although the hills were much lower than the Apennines, which ran down Italy’s spine, they were home to an occasional bear. It was unlikely that he would find traces this near the farm, however. Solitary by nature, the large creatures avoided humans if at all possible. Quintus scanned the ground anyway, but seeing nothing, he picked up speed.