She was a lean, attractive girl, with tumbling chestnut hair. Her breasts were heavy, jouncing as she ran. Her face should have been pretty, but was tense with terror now. Her wide eyes were as frantic as a fawn’s.

Her body was naked, slick with sweat. Her bare feet scuffed through drifts of fallen leaves. The wood was cloaked in red and gold, a melancholy beauty, but all she saw was dying and decay.

The hounds were barking eagerly. They sounded closer now. She gave a panicked bleat and pelted on. The leafy carpet rustled as small creatures skittered clear. If only she could hide so easily.

There was no way to escape the dogs. She could almost feel their breath against her thighs. Their barking had an edge to it, as if they hadn’t eaten for a week. Sobbing now, she blundered through the prickly foliage. In moments they were going to catch her up.

A tall oak loomed in front of her, its boughs spread open like her mother’s arms. She leaped at it instinctively, and got an arm around the lowest branch. Grunting through her gritted teeth, she hauled her body upward. The bark felt rough against her breasts. She clambered higher, whimpering with fear.

The hunting dogs arrived below her, baying furiously. She was fifteen feet above them, but their hunger seemed about to drag her down. Their dark eyes glared at her with real malice. She felt a plunge of panic in her gut.

Gasping, she braced her body in the fork of the big tree. Her breasts heaved as she tried to fill her lungs. One of the hounds sprang up to claw the trunk with its front paws. The girl recoiled instinctively and cringed.

Then she heard the crunch of footfalls through the fallen leaves, and glimpsed a saffron tunic down below. Other figures came in sight, advancing carelessly. She bit her pouting lip against her tears.

"Oh ladies, let me live!" she begged as the hunters gathered round her. They’d had their sport. She’d given no offence. A gentle-hearted country girl was all she’d ever been. The Mistress had no cause to punish her.

She fixed her pleading gaze onto the lady’s haughty face, and didn’t see the movement to her left. Then she heard a twang and whoosh, and felt like she’d been kicked below the ribs. The arrow’s impact jolted her. Her tearful face grimaced. The point carved steeply through her abdomen.

She croaked and clasped her midriff, and a second huntress loosed. The arrow struck the doomed girl in the gut. She gave a guttural cry and doubled forward, her large breasts swinging out like ripened pears. A third shaft punctured her left tit, the broadpoint chewing through into her heart. The girl squirmed round in agony, then closed her eyes and toppled from her perch.

Her last sensation was of flight and giddy weightlessness, and then her body thumped against the ground. The shaft in her breast was driven through her body, but her nerves no longer registered the pain. The dogs closed in to lick and snuffle at her warm, dead flesh. A sharp word from their mistress called them off.

The leader of the hunting party smiled complacently, and looked round at her eager entourage. "Perfect kill," she purred, and stirred the body with her foot. "Now let’s track down that other little slut."

* * *

The second slave-girl heard the anguish of her friend’s demise. She plunged on through the stifling undergrowth. After a pause, she heard the hounds take up the cry again. A blaze of panic almost blinded her.

She struck a tree and veered off at a tangent. The wood seemed full of disembodied snarls. A thicket blocked her path, and she flailed through it. The thorny barrier scratched her breasts, but she fought her way into a clearing.

Her wide eyes glimpsed a figure crouched beside an ashy fire. She thought it was a coltish boy at first. A youth with collar-length dark hair and eyes as black as olives. But this boy had a girl’s curvaceous grace.

The slave collapsed on hands and knees, and Zoe stared at her. The baying hounds had made her hackles rise. She’d hoped to stay unnoticed in this hollow of the wood, but the dogs would soon sniff out their naked prey.

She’d pulled her dagger from its sheath, deflecting sunlight with its razor edge. Her staff was leaned against the tree. A gladius lay ready by her side. A spitted rabbit sizzled in the low heat of the fire. Her belly grumbled at the interruption.

The naked girl was blonde, bedraggled – wild-eyed like a mare about to bolt. Her skin was grubby from the soil, with beads of vivid red across her breasts. She stared at Zoe’s dagger with a look of helpless dread. Then scurried closer as the hounds approached.

Zoe rose up from her crouch. She wet her lips. "What’s happening?" she hissed.

Before the girl could answer, they heard paws come rushing through the fallen leaves. The young slave sobbed and scrambled past to cower at her back. Zoe hunkered down and snatched a brand out of the fire, the blade still levelled in her other hand. The girl was clinging to her shabby tunic. The contact helped to anchor her own nerve.

A pair of dogs came bounding through the trees into the clearing. They skidded to a halt in front of her. Their furious barking made her muscles quiver. The hunger in their eyes was murderous.

One of them made a lunge at her. She jabbed the stick at it. The end was only smouldering now. The young slave’s fingers dug into her back. Zoe lashed out with her dagger and the dogs gave ground. She kicked the fire and sprayed them with hot embers.

The heat scorched through her sandal but she barely felt the pain. She let the dagger fall and seized her staff. There wasn’t time to panic as the dogs leaped in again. She jerked one end against a snarling mouth.

The dog recoiled. She turned to meet the second one’s attack. Swung the staff to fend it off, but it clamped its dripping jaws around the wood. Zoe wrenched the staff around and the dog was twisted with it. She scooped her dagger up again and plunged it deep into the heaving flank.

The other hound came at her and she tumbled back from it, then kicked it in the jaw with all her strength. The animal reeled sideways and she gripped the staff again, gyrating on the spot to flail at it. The dog retreated, yelping from a blow across the ribs. It turned and scampered back into the trees.

Zoe drew a shaky breath and clambered to her feet. The frightened slave was watching with round eyes. Her gaze flicked to the lifeless dog, as if expecting it to move. Zoe glanced at it as well. She had a sinking feeling in her gut.

"So whose were those delightful pets?" she asked.

"Domina Drusilla’s," said the blonde girl with a sniff. "Her father owns this land, and all of us. He lets his daughter and her friends use people for their sport. She plays at being Diana, but it is no game for us."

"What a bitch," said Zoe evenly. She peered around. The birds had fallen silent. She could hear the snap of twigs between the trees. Her heartbeat knocked against her ribs, and adrenalin was singing through her veins. But it wasn’t fear she felt, but scalding outrage. The fury of a former slave who’d rather die than be abused again.

She had vowed to slay the women who’d discarded her like trash. She had a lead on where Corinna lived. She needed to keep pushing on, not get involved in this. But her killing anger wouldn’t be denied.

Impulsively she grasped the slave-girl’s shoulders. "Keep running, and I’ll see that you get home." The girl blinked tearfully at her, then took off like a deer. Her bare skin gleamed and vanished through the trees.

Zoe drew her gladius and laid it in the leaves. She jabbed her dagger’s blade into the earth. Then she settled down beside the remnants of her fire, and checked the meat to see if it was done.

She was gnawing on the rabbit when a pair of girls emerged into the clearing. They peered at her in disbelief. She eyed them with expressionless disdain. The first was wearing nothing but a loincloth. She was bright-eyed, flushed and sweaty from the chase. Her companion wore a skimpy hunting tunic. The lightweight cloth was pasted to her breasts.

Both girls carried quivers, and had arrows notched to half-drawn hunting bows.

Zoe looked away and licked her fingers. She sensed the scowling girls advance on her. No doubt they loved to play at being Diana’s pampered nymphs. They hadn’t dreamed of Artemis, the proud and vengeful goddess of the Moon.

"Bitch! You killed my lady’s dog!" the first girl almost squeaked. Her bare breasts trembled with her indignation. She had a hard, flat accent. Zoe guessed she was a slave. But groomed and graceful, not like the poor peasant she was hunting.

Zoe glanced at it and shrugged. "It challenged me for this." She chewed another mouthful equably.

"This is private land," the other girl said haughtily, although she had a common accent too. "The Master owns those rabbits, and he’ll have you flogged for them."

They were closing in, their arrows aimed, but the bowstrings still half-drawn. The trespasser’s indifference had lulled them. Zoe raised an eyebrow. "And you think I’m coming with the two of you?"

The first nymph smirked unpleasantly. "Oh no. You’ll wait, until our lady comes."

Zoe held her gaze – then snatched her gladius from the leaves. She slashed the blade across the smug nymph’s thigh. Not waiting for the girl to scream, she rose up on one knee and grasped the dagger with her other hand. The nymph in the tunic gawped at her and tried to draw her bow. Zoe dashed it to one side and thrust the blade up hard beneath her ribs.

The girl hunched forward with a grunt, and Zoe shoved her backwards, then pivoted towards her stricken friend. The nymph had fallen sideways and was clutching at her gashed and bleeding leg. Her mewls choked off as Zoe laid the sword against her throat. Her breasts heaved tautly as she gasped for breath.

Zoe grinned with gritted teeth. "So how many nymphs are in Diana’s train?"

"She has two lady friends with her … their body slaves as well. And Ariyan, the mistress of her hounds ..."

Zoe’s gladius withdrew. The nymph sobbed with relief. "I’m not much of a huntress," Zoe told her evenly. "But I know it’s best to go for a clean kill."

She slashed the polished blade across the huntress’s slim throat. A spray of crimson pattered on the leaves. The nymph made a throttled wheezing sound and stuck out her sharp tongue. Blood spilled down between her breasts, and her body slumped to lie beside her friend’s.

Zoe felt the ache of lust that seemed to come with killing. She fought it back and straightened up again. Wiping sword and dagger on the clothing of the nymphs, she slid the pair of blades into their sheaths.

Other dogs were barking in the distance. Perhaps they had already scented blood. She took a bow and quiver, slung them both over her shoulder, and gathered up her bundle and her staff. The foliage was very quiet. The birds had not returned. Zoe glanced around once more, then loped into the dimness of the trees.

* * *

The girl in the tunic was still alive when the hunting party reached her. Despite her wound, she tried to raise herself. "My lady … we were ambushed by a harlot …" she lamented, grimacing with the pain of trying to breathe. "She killed my lady’s faithful hound … My lady’s loyal servant …" Then she coughed and choked on blood, and her woeful face flopped down into the leaves.

The woman at her side looked up in horror. "How dare somebody do this to your maids!"

But Drusilla was still gazing at the body of her hound. The corpses of her servants lay forgotten. Spots of colour glowed like embers on her pale cheeks. Her feline eyes were glittering with rage.

She was a sleek young woman with a natural hauteur: an image of the goddess, right enough. Her companions watched her anxiously. It seemed the wood was waiting for her word. She wore a silver diadem around her scraped-back hair. Her thigh-length tunic was a spotless white.

Breathing hard, she turned towards her spoilt ladyfriends. They didn’t look so predatory now. Cassia was on her knees beside the dead nymph’s body, while Lamia stood gnawing at her lip. Both wore tunics like her own, and Cassia had a sash round her slim waist. Their body-slaves had stripped down to their loincloths. A musky odour lingered in the air.

"She isn’t far ahead," said Ariyan.

Drusilla turned. The dark-skinned girl was crouching by the embers. She had another two dogs on the leash. They sniffed among the flattened leaves where Zoe had been sitting. The hunting-mistress murmured in their ears.

Ariyan was from Thrace, that wild province to the east. She organised the hunts and trained the hounds. Her skin was tanned to rosewood by the outdoor life she led, and her thick brown hair was knotted carelessly. She wore a saffron tunic with a dagger in her belt. Her hazel eyes were calm and confident.

A cold smile chilled Drusilla’s face. She fitted a fresh arrow to her bow. "It seems that we have fiercer prey to hunt," she told the others. "Let’s see who can track her down – but no-one finish her! I’m going to gut her while she’s still alive."

* * *

Zoe padded quickly through the silence of the trees. The leaves were like a canopy of fire. But the day was warm, although the year was waning. She felt a sweaty trickle down her back.

Then she heard the dogs again. They were coming after her. She pushed on through the foliage and reached a sheer slope that blocked her way. There’d been a landslip here, exposing tangled roots amid the naked earth. She clutched at them and clambered up. The barking of the dogs was getting closer.

At the top of the slope she squirmed around, and notched an arrow to her borrowed bow. It was years since she had used one, but the skill was seated in her sinews now. She squinted back the way she’d come, and saw a lean shape darting through the trees. Zoe’s muscles tightened and she let the bowstring twang. The arrow flashed away, and missed. The hound came racing on towards the slope.

Her heart leaped as she snatched another arrow from the quiver. The bow creaked as she drew it taut again. The arrow whooshed across ten yards. She heard the thud of impact. The snarling dog flipped over with a yelp.

The second hound was at its heels. She had no time to aim another shot. Zoe dropped the bow and hauled her gladius from its scabbard. The dog came scrambling up the slope, and she slashed its jaws and hacked into its throat.

The hound rolled up like an old sack. She seized the bow again. The leading huntress scurried into sight. She only wore a loincloth and her body had the litheness of a slave’s. She was full of her strength and running well, too eager to be first in at the kill. Zoe aimed between the leaves, and sent a whirring shaft into her chest.

The slave girl jolted to a stop, a crestfallen expression on her face. Then she wailed and clutched herself, but the rigid arrow wouldn’t be dislodged. Zoe watched, impassive, as the writhing nymph collapsed. The kill which she’d been in at, was her own.

Zoe slung the bow again, and scrambled down the slope to get her staff. As her fingers closed on it, she heard a hiss and then a muffled thunk. An arrow quivered in a bough, three feet above her head. She ducked and skittered clear between the trees.

Another shaft sailed after her. She heard it rustle through the screen of leaves. But the wood was getting thicker, too confined to use a bow. Reluctantly she tossed her own aside.

Pushing on, she reached a gully in the rising ground. The rocky cleft was thick with undergrowth. Zoe forced her way past slender branches. A sharp extrusion dug into her breast. The pain brought inspiration, and she pulled her dagger out, then peered around for something she could use.

Thirty yards behind, the lady Cassia was following her trail. Her painted lips were pursed, her blue eyes nervous. The day had begun as marvellous sport, but now the woods felt eerie. She hauled her bowstring back another inch.

She’d found the body of her slave with an arrow planted right between her breasts. The girl had sometimes warmed her bed, and Cassia felt a real pang of loss. And worse, she now had nobody to look after her hair. Her mass of auburn curls was mussed already ...

Then she saw her prey’s discarded bow. Her courage rallied. Most probably the bitch was running blind. Cassia hurried on and saw the gully just ahead. It was the only course to take. She eased into the undergrowth that blocked it.

A stout stick had been braced across the trail. She didn’t see it. Her gaze was on the leafy gloom ahead. She pushed forward, dislodging it, and the branch which it restrained came whipping round. A protruding twig had been hacked off and whittled to a point. It punched through Cassia’s flesh below her breasts.

The rich girl gawped in shocked dismay as the raw wood gored her body. She doubled up around the springy branch. Then Zoe lunged out of the shade behind her. She seized the huntress by her hair and drove the dagger through her swan-like neck. Cassia bucked convulsively, still impaled on the branch. She gurgled as her blood splashed through the leaves. Zoe held the stricken girl until her muscles slackened, then folded her face-down across the branch.

Panting, she pushed on again, and came into a clearing. She hunkered down and listened warily. Perhaps there was another way around the wooded hillock. The others might have got ahead of her.

She unfastened her bundle, and took out a trident’s head. A three-pronged spear might yet give her the edge. It had been a gift from Malleus, the blacksmith at her gladiator barracks. She slotted it onto her staff and fixed it into place with iron pegs.

A breeze stirred the branches overhead, but otherwise the wood was hushed around her. The "goddess" might have given up – but somehow Zoe didn’t think she had. She straightened up and moved across the clearing. And this time it was she who missed the trap.

A loop of rope was hidden underneath the fallen leaves. Zoe’s sandal scuffed it, and it closed around her ankle like a snare. She stumbled and began to fall, then felt herself wrenched upward. Next moment she was dangling in midair.

The trident had fallen from her grasp. She flailed instinctively. Her hip-joint grated as it took her weight. Everything was upside down. She tried to draw her gladius. A pair of figures rushed out of the trees.

Lamia stood back and let her slave disarm their quarry. The topless girl punched Zoe in the gut. Zoe gagged and curled her body upward. The nymph withdrew her sword and threw it clear.

"So you’re the bitch who’s trespassed on our sport," said Lamia. She swaggered forward, smiling haughtily. Zoe tried to focus on the girl’s inverted sneer. She sounded like a supercilious cow.

"We laid these traps to catch the girls we thought we would be hunting. So good of you to walk right into them." Lamia touched a dagger to her pouting lower lip. "My friend wants you still breathing … but I think we’ll make you squeal until she comes."

"Look at this," the slave girl said, and picked up Zoe’s trident. "Arena-bait is what she is, I’ll bet!" She jabbed the weapon goadingly. The points pricked Zoe’s skin over her ribs. Zoe gasped. The slave girl smiled. She aimed another stab. And Zoe seized the trident as it moved.

She jerked it from the nymph’s loose grip, then thrust the blunt end back into her chest. The winded girl lurched back, and Zoe spiralled on the rope. She drove the trident into Lamia’s breasts. The lady gave a startled wail, then screamed despairingly, while Zoe dug the triple tines in deep. The slave girl flew at her again and tried to claw her off. Relinquishing the weapon, Zoe grappled with the nymph, and pressed her face against her hot, moist skin. Disorientated though she was, she pulled her dagger out, and shoved the blade into the slave girl’s flank.

The nymph let out a mournful cry, and Zoe grasped her loincloth. Using it for leverage, she thrust the dagger up into her gut. It felt like stabbing downward, but the groaning girl was lifted off her feet. She choked and crumpled limply against Zoe, then slithered down into the bloody leaves.

Zoe hung there breathless for a moment. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. Then she bent her body double, craning up to hack at the taut rope. It parted after three attempts. She thudded down between the lifeless girls. As she clambered up again, she sensed another person watching her.

Zoe swung around and saw a dark girl in a saffron-yellow tunic. Her body had a panther’s grace. Her hazel eyes were narrowed watchfully. Zoe saw respect in them – but not for her as such. Rather for a fierce beast that this girl meant to challenge and to kill.

Ariyan prowled forward with her levelled dagger weaving left to right. Zoe eased away from her, and jerked the trident out of Lamia’s chest. They started circling warily, beneath the rustling leaves. The clearing felt like Rome’s arena now.

The girl in saffron had no chance – a knife against a trident. And yet she lunged and feinted daringly. Zoe realised she was buying time for someone else. Perhaps an archer aiming at her back …

Then she heard a creaking bow and flung herself aside. The arrow streaked past, skimming Ariyan’s ribs. Zoe knew she had just moments while the archer aimed another shot. She launched herself towards the brown-skinned girl.

Ariyan was still shaken by Drusilla’s near-miss. She flailed back as the trident plunged at her. She lost her footing on a root and tumbled over backwards. Her head smacked down on something in the leaves.

She heard the briefest rustling, like a dormouse she’d disturbed – and then another snare closed round her neck. The trap unfolded with a rush and dragged her body upwards. She gagged as she was hauled into the air.

Her body kicked and dangled as she scrabbled at her throat. A croaking noise was all the cry she made. Zoe swung away, towards the archer. Drusilla’s face was dumbstruck as she watched her hunting-mistress choke and die.

Her hands had frozen on the bow. Too late, she tried to line the arrow up. Zoe rushed her like a cat. Drusilla squealed, recoiling. Next moment she was on her arse with the trident’s middle point against her throat.

"Hail to thee, Diana," Zoe mocked her. "A goddess shouldn’t hunt what she can’t kill."

The lady cowered miserably, her dignity forgotten. Zoe panted, glaring down at her. Then, as she controlled her ragged breathing, she heard the sound of movement in the wood. Warily she glanced around and sensed the figures watching. Diffident – afraid of her – yet nursing a quiet anger of their own.

She turned back to Drusilla and withdrew the bloody trident. "Get your clothes off," she said shortly. "Let’s see how it feels to be a fawn."

Quivering, the lady stripped, exposing pampered flesh like ivory. The silver diadem stayed on her head. Zoe stared, and licked her lips, then gestured with the trident. "Now run, as if the dogs were after you!"

Drusilla turned and fled into the shadows of the wood. Zoe stood her ground and watched her go. She sensed the watchful presence fading back into the trees. It seemed their audience had a tryst to keep.

Drusilla blundered onward, sobbing – squealing as a thorn bush scratched her flesh. She cupped her stinging breasts and whimpered. Never had she felt so mortified. The little bitch would pay for this. She would be burned alive! Drusilla tried to nurse her rage, but waves of fear kept overwhelming it.

She wiped her tearful eyes – and stopped. A group of figures waited in her path. Bondsmen from her father’s fields. How dare they look on her! She covered herself awkwardly, and realised there were more of them behind her. A twinge of panic caught her throat. She peered around, wide-eyed.

"Greetings to you, Lady," said a solemn-faced old man. "And greetings from our daughters, who are dead."

Drusilla wailed in horror as the slaves surrounded her. "Get away!" she sobbed. "I’ll have you flogged …" Then she saw the ugly knives and sickles in their hands, and knew at last that she was cornered prey.

Zoe heard her screaming as the rusty blades sank into her soft breasts. The cry rang like a harpy’s through the wood. Ariyan’s lush body twisted limply on its rope. Lamia and her slave lay sprawled and still.

She unfastened the trident’s head and stowed it in her pack. The polished shaft became her staff again. The gladius and dagger were already in their sheaths. She guessed they wouldn’t stay there for too long.

A twig snapped. Zoe raised her eyes. The girl she’d saved was watching from the trees. Her naked flesh was wrapped in an old blanket. She nibbled at her lip, but didn’t speak.

Zoe smiled faintly, then took up her pack again. She walked away between the rustling trees. Her fury had been sated, but the hunt was far from over. She had a bitter tryst to keep, as well.