“So we agree then? You will provide me with the horses and men?”

Sulla sat with his back to the ruined wall, the light from the fire reflected in his blind left eye, his face hideously scarred. Six months of flight and hiding had thinned his once muscular body. His clothes were torn rags, the soles of his boots flapped loose, his hair had grown down to his shoulders, and a wild beard covered his face, which irritated his scarred flesh in the hot weather.

If I only had hands to scratch the mites! But she has denied me even that.

“We will indeed,” the man replied. “Although I would feel better if you had a hand I could shake.” The bandit leader smiled to his men, fifteen in all, who laughed at the joke. Sulla said nothing-he had endured far worse than cheap japes, as the ragged cloths tied about each of his wrists testified.

“Don’t worry, my friend, you can trust me,” the man continued. “I may be an outlaw, but Leander the thief always keeps his word.” The bandit stroked his short moustache, his eyes greedy.

“Very well,” Sulla said. “At dawn I will lead you to the treasure that shall be your payment, but now I must sleep. I am not as strong as I used to be.” He stretched out on the ground as best he could-and winced at the pain it caused.

Sulla closed his eyes to rest, yet he only feigned sleep. Instead, he slowed his breathing, and after a long stretch of silence the bandits began to murmur to one another. As they did, he listened carefully.

He could pick out Leander and his lieutenant, Barbec, speaking in low voices. Leander said something which made Barbec gasp.

Have they realised who I am? he wondered.

Soon after, he heard the scrape of a knife being sharpened across a whetstone.