Zoe watched her from the treeline, breathing shallowly. Her palm felt moist against the dagger’s hilt. The day was overcast but mild. She could hear the river somewhere to her right. The girl had shed her fur-lined cloak and taken off her sword belt. Her skimpy leather jerkin barely covered her large breasts.

The bridge was out of sight but less than fifty yards away. There were three more Iron Virgins guarding it. Arminia would be far ahead, still pushing south for Rome, but she’d taken steps to cover her retreat.

Zoe had been walking for two days. She felt exhausted. The rebels must be following, but one girl could move faster than an army. The day after the battle she had seen thick smoke behind her, and guessed they’d put Cremona to the torch. But fear would race ahead of them unless it was stamped out. Perhaps these girls were watching for deserters.

The sentry shook her blonde hair back and hunkered down to gather up more stones. Zoe drew a breath and held it, stealing forward through the leafless trees. The mulch felt soft beneath her sandals. Somewhere overhead, a raven croaked. The German girl glanced up, then muttered something in her language. She straightened and took aim across the road.

Zoe allowed her one last throw, then rushed her from behind. Her hand clamped round the sentry’s mouth before the startled girl could even gasp. Smelling the Barbarian’s sweat, she bent her over backwards and stabbed her in the left breast, then the right. The blade sank through the yielding flesh. The girl convulsed and snorted. Zoe hugged her, held on tight and jammed a final thrust beneath her ribs.

The sentry slumped against her like a heavy sack of grain, and Zoe dragged her back into the trees. She eased the body to the ground. The girl looked very young. Zoe patted the blonde head, her face expressionless. Then she was up and moving, as if challenging the sudden deathly hush.

She wiped the bloody dagger on the dead girl’s folded cloak, then sheathed it and took up her walking staff. There was no way she could sneak up on the others. She would have to bluff her way across the bridge. Stepping out onto the road, she walked towards the river, her heart becoming louder with each pace.

The road curved round a thicket and the bridge came into sight. There were two guards waiting at the nearer end. One was pacing restlessly; the other girl sat on the parapet. A third praetorian loitered at the far end of the span. All three still wore their breastplates, and their swords.

Zoe kept on walking and the restless girl looked round. A helmet masked her upper face. She had a buckler slung across her back. Her lips thinned with suspicion as she moved to block the way. Her friend stayed seated, watching sullenly.

"Hold up there, you little tramp," the first girl challenged Zoe. Her Latin had a guttural tone. The spear she held stayed pointing at the sky. Zoe halted, trying to look timid. She gripped her walking staff defensively.

"Who is the true Emperor?" the German girl demanded.

Zoe moistened her dry lips. "Vitellius, my lady." The courtesy amused the girls, but not in a nice way. The Virgin on the parapet eyed Zoe’s shabby tunic. "I’d say she was one of the army’s whores."

Zoe glanced at her and shrugged. The girl was helmetless. Her muscled belly showed beneath her breastplate and the jerkin under it. "I’ve comforted our soldiers," muttered Zoe. "I told this to your friend along the road …"

"Maybe you should comfort us," the first girl leered at her. Zoe chewed her lip. The Virgin laughed. "Get along," she said derisively and stepped aside. Zoe let her shoulders slump. She took a step, and felt the girl go tense.

"What’s that on your cheek?" the Virgin murmured. Zoe frowned, and registered a spot of sticky warmth. She knew at once that it was blood, a stray drop from the sentry. She went for them before they could react.

Bringing up her staff, she jabbed the seated girl with it. The young praetorian gave a winded grunt. The impact pushed her backwards off the bridge’s parapet, and her arms flailed out in panic as she fell.

Zoe swung the staff towards the other girl at once, but the bitch had the reactions of a cat. She used her spear to block the blow. The two shafts clashed and locked. The Virgin’s blue eyes glared at Zoe through her helmet sockets. They both heard her companion’s wailing cry.

The first girl was still falling. Zoe kicked the other Virgin in the groin. The Barbarian groaned and staggered back, and Zoe slammed the staff against her ribs. She heard a thud behind her as the first girl hit the slope. Her wail cut off abruptly and her body tumbled on into the gorge.

The sentry from the far end of the bridge was rushing over. Zoe brought the staff up quickly underneath the reeling Virgin’s jaw. The girl spun round and crumpled, spitting blood over the flagstones. Zoe shrugged out of her pack and drew her gladius from its hiding place.

The third girl had a longer sword and swung it viciously. Zoe dodged away from it and scrambled up onto the parapet. The Virgin wavered, knowing that her foe might spring at her. She backed a few yards down the bridge, then climbed onto the parapet herself.

Zoe waited, breathing hard. The guard began to prowl along the wall. To Zoe’s left, the girl she’d hit was trying to find her feet. To her right, there was a gulf of empty space. The river echoed in the gorge below them. It felt like she’d have half a mile to fall.

The Virgin lunged and aimed a backhand swing at Zoe’s head. The gladius barely turned the blade, and Zoe felt her balance start to go. She caught herself and stumbled back. The Virgin followed through. Zoe slashed and stabbed at her. The German girl retreated prudently.

Zoe glimpsed a movement from the corner of her eye. The other guard was picking up her spear. Zoe flicked her gaze from one opponent to the other. They had her cornered up here now. Her only options were to fight or fall.

The spear was thrust towards her and she beat it to one side. The other girl moved in on her at once. Zoe spun around on the precarious parapet and ducked beneath the Virgin’s scything blade. She drove her sword into the girl’s bare midriff, and pushed it steeply up towards her heart.

The blonde girl howled in agony, then gagged and gouted blood. Zoe ripped the blade back out and let her topple backwards into space. She watched the plunging body for a moment, then wheeled to face the last guard once again.

The girl was snarling, bloody-mouthed. She jabbed her spear at Zoe. The Greek girl dodged the iron point and sprang into the air. Before the Virgin could recoil, Zoe struck her with both feet and slammed her body down against the road. Despite the cushion of firm flesh, the impact jolted her. She dragged her blade across the Virgin’s throat.

The praetorian croaked and spasmed beneath her, then flopped lifelessly. A pool of crimson spread across the stones. Gripped by passion, Zoe bent and kissed her hot, wet mouth. She’d rejected the arena, but the killing lust had never gone away.

Breathless now, she wiped her lips and clambered to her feet. The distant roar of water matched the thunder in her head. "There’s some comfort for you, girl," she muttered. Picking up her staff again, she carried on across the empty bridge.

* * *

Somebody had told her it was seven days to Rome. The long, straight road stretched dauntingly ahead. She followed it through wind-stripped woods and over grassy hillsides. But when she came to a horizon, she would always find another one beyond it.

She didn’t encounter many fellow travellers, and those who passed her stared suspiciously. A shadow of foreboding seemed to hang over the land. It wasn’t just the winter closing in. She guessed that news of the defeat had gone ahead of her. Then, a few miles further on, she found a reason for the wariness.

A cross had been erected at the roadside, and the body of a man was nailed to it. There were ravens tearing at the corpse. They flapped away as Zoe ventured closer. The eyeless figure watched the road. Its ravaged flesh had started to decay.

Zoe hesitated, then passed under its blind gaze. The ravens croaked at her resentfully. There was a piece of parchment nailed above the corpse’s head. Zoe had never learned to read, but she had a good idea what it said.

No doubt it was a warning from Arminia’s Iron Virgins. This Man Betrayed His Emperor, or something of the like. Zoe glanced around her, but the landscape seemed deserted. A bitter wind was blowing from the north.

She carried on along the road. It pointed, arrow-straight, towards her goal. That night she sheltered in a barn as rain beat on the roof-tiles. Next morning, tired and hungry, she set off again before the sun was up.

The rain had passed, but the early morning air was dense with mist. The shapes of trees loomed out of it like ghosts. Something rustled in the grass: a rabbit or a fox. Then she heard a man cry out from somewhere up ahead.

Zoe felt her hackles rise. She halted on the road. Whatever might be in her path, she could easily slip round it in the mist. But the cry had sounded raw and edged with anguish. A man’s voice, and a stranger’s, but it went against her instincts to pass by.

Loosening her gladius, she started prowling forward. She heard the sound of hammer blows. The man cried out again. The strokes were steady and deliberate. Somebody was relishing their work.

She left the road and moved into the meadow to her right. A row of sharpened stakes poked through the mist. Zoe paused, then picked her way between them. A cooking pot lay in the grass. She saw the ashy remnants of a fire. Judging from the trampled ground, a cohort must have camped here. Perhaps they’d been pulled back to Rome. Or maybe they had scattered to the winds.

The hammer blows began again. The victim yelled a curse at his tormentors. He was lying on his back, arms spread. Two figures crouched beside him. Their black cloaks made them look like giant crows.

The Virgin with the hammer brought it swinging down once more. The nail drove deeper through her victim’s palm. His wrists were tied to the beam beneath his shoulders. He arched his spine in agony. "You bitch!"

The two praetorians smirked beneath their visors. The one with the hammer licked her lips. The other girl took hold of the man’s jaw. "It’s because of cowards like you we lost the battle at Cremona. There’ll be deserters hung at every crossroads when we’re done."

The girl with the hammer brought it up, and felt it snag on something. She looked around in puzzlement. A sword blade had been laid across the tool. Zoe towered over her, impassive but remorseless. "He’s brave enough to tell you what you are."

The German’s blue eyes widened through her visor. She made to jerk the hammer free, and Zoe booted her across the jaw. The girl flopped backwards with a squawk. Her comrade scrambled up. As she tried to draw her sword, Zoe thrust the gladius at her bare stomach. The blade sank in beneath her breastplate, through the vee of the Barbarian’s ribs. It scraped against her vertebrae. The girl’s fair skin went white from loss of blood.

Zoe heard the thud of hoofbeats coming through the mist. She tried to drag the gladius free. The dying Virgin drooped. The sword blade had gone in too deep, and now it was stuck fast. Zoe pushed the girl away and left the man still groaning on the ground.

Dodging through the mist, she glimpsed the rider following. Another Virgin, helmeted and cloaked. Doubtless she’d been on patrol while her sisters nailed their victim. Now she drew her long sword and came pounding in pursuit.

Zoe had snatched her walking staff from where she’d set it down. An iron trident-head was in her pack. But she needed time to put the two together. She weaved between the wooden stakes. The Virgin wavered, looking for a gap.

Zoe shrugged her burden off and drew the triple point. Her hands were moist with sudden sweat. The iron felt cold and heavier than lead. She fumbled it onto the staff as the horse squeezed through the barrier. The rider gave an atavistic cry.

The head was fixed with metal pegs, but she had no time to fit them. The Virgin rode at her along the stakes. Zoe clenched her body, as if paralysed with fright. She kept the trident close against the ground. The German girl crowed eagerly and made to ride her down. Zoe let the horse get close, then screamed and thrust the trident at its face.

The animal pulled up and reared in panic. The startled girl slid backwards off its rump. She fell onto the line of stakes, and one of them impaled her. The point erupted from her midriff, glistening with gore.

The skewered Virgin screamed and tried to wriggle. Blood spilled down her belly, then came spurting from her mouth. Zoe watched her mewl and twitch. She felt her heartbeat quicken. Ashamed by her arousal, she picked up the German’s sword and slashed her throat.

The girl convulsed and then hung limp. Her horse was waiting skittishly nearby. Zoe went back the way she’d come, towards the feeble groans of the deserter. The girl she’d kicked was on her knees and trying to crawl away. Zoe kicked her flat again, then crouched to pry the nails out of the wood.

"What’s your name?" she asked the man. He muttered: "Sejanus," through gritted teeth. She dragged the long nails from his palms, then used the dead guard’s cloak to stem the bleeding. "I’ll bind the wounds up in a moment," she said evenly, and turned back to the dazed praetorian.

The girl was lying belly-down, too stunned to find her feet. Zoe stripped her black cloak off and spread her limp arms out to left and right. A deadfall branch lay nearby, as thick as a man’s forearm. She laid it across the Virgin’s back and bound her wrists to it with strips of cloth.

Then she grasped a breastplate-strap and dragged the stunned girl over to a tree. Sitting her up against the trunk, she hunkered down and slapped the Virgin’s face.

"All right then, you dozy bitch. I want to hear about the lady Livia."

The girl blinked at her stupidly. "Caesar’s mistress? What is she to you?"

Zoe’s smile was humourless. "She made me what I am. Your friends would still be with us if it hadn’t been for her." She pulled her dagger out and pricked the Virgin’s throat with it. "So is she living in his palace now?"

The blonde girl curled her lip. "He has his wife and family. She only comes to him when she is called. You’ll have to hunt for her through every brothel. But you’ll never even get to Rome alive!"

Zoe raised an eyebrow. "I’ve been doing well so far."

"Your goddess Fortune only has to blink," the Virgin sneered. "Our Sun-Wheel Cohort guards the road. You’ll be like carrion crushed under a cart." She stared at Zoe bitterly. "I know you: you’re the slut who bested Hilde. She’s waiting for you on the way. I can almost hear you squealing on your cross …"

"Can you now?" said Zoe. She got up and walked away. A horse was tethered nearby with a yoke and pair of ropes attached to it. She guessed the girls had used it to hoist crosses into place. Leading it round behind the tree, she looped the ropes round both ends of the branch.

The German girl looked back over her shoulder. "What are you doing?" she asked uncertainly.

"Just wondering how loud you’ll squeal," said Zoe. She jabbed her dagger at the horse’s rump.

The animal surged forward and the pair of ropes jerked taut. The Virgin was pulled back against the tree. The branch strained vainly at the trunk, then snapped like a dry stick. The girl’s arms were wrenched backwards and the splintered bough gouged deep into her back. She screamed with pain and arched her spine, her breastplate heaving as her bosom swelled. Then the sharp ends reached her lungs, and she coughed a spray of scarlet as she died.

Zoe waited till her head flopped forward, then quieted the horse and set it loose. She went over to Sejanus and tore more cloth to bind his bloody hands. He was eyeing her uneasily. "What kind of girl are you?" Zoe stared back coolly. "I’m the kind who’s good at getting what she wants."

She pulled her gladius out of the dead Virgin next to him, and swabbed the bloody blade on the girl’s cloak. "I mean to get to Rome," she said. "These girls won’t need their horses. But I have to say, I never learned to ride ..."

The deserter had a haggard look. He gave his head a shake. "I have a farm to go back to. You see how welcome I would be in Rome!"

"You might find a physician there. Or don’t you want someone to save your hands? As for me, I saved your life. I’d do the same again."

He chewed it over for a while, then nodded heavily. "All right then, girl. We’d better share a horse. You’re going to have to hold the reins, and leave the words and footwork up to me ..."

They took some food and wine from the praetorians, then clambered clumsily onto a horse. Sejanus sat in front and Zoe snuggled up behind him, bracing him in the saddle as she reached around to take hold of the reins. "I’ll tell you when to steer," he said, and heeled the horse’s ribs. The animal moved onto the road, and clattered slowly forward through the mist.

* * *

Zoe didn’t like this mode of transport. The ground looked much too far away, and her arse was aching from the horse’s gait. But it gave her legs a rest after the endless miles she’d walked. She’d had to leave her staff behind, but the gladius hung ready at her hip.

They made good time across the rolling landscape, past cypress groves and isolated farms. The closer that they came to Rome, the more people they saw. The rhythm of life down here seemed undisturbed. The onset of the winter was more relevant than war. The rebels from the north were Romans too.

"This is the Flaminian Way," said Sejanus to Zoe. The road stretched out ahead of them. The horseshoes clicked against the paving stones. Zoe noticed small stone houses set back from the road. The doors were sealed. They had no windows. She took a while to realise they were tombs.

"The rich build mausoleums along the highways into Rome. It lets men see the greatness of their line." Sejanus shrugged carelessly, his eyes still fixed ahead. But Zoe’s gaze was drawn back to the sepulchres on both sides of the road.

There was a sudden whirring sound. Her muscles tensed at once. Then she heard and felt a thud which jolted him and quivered through her breasts. She knew immediately it was an arrow. Sejanus groaned wretchedly and started falling sideways off the horse.

She let herself fall after him. Another arrow hissed above her head. The plunge was terrifying, but she landed on his body. The impact slammed the breath out of her lungs. Sejanus did not complain. The fatal shaft was buried in his chest. Zoe slithered off him and lay doggo at the roadside. The horse reacted skittishly. A third shaft struck the flagstones and bounced clear.

Three girls in black praetorian cloaks appeared between the tombs. They stepped into the road ahead. The archer was still nocking her next shaft. "This one’s for your hammer," called another gleefully. "The deserter’s dead already, so we’ll crucify his whore."

Zoe twisted round to look. There were two more Virgins on the road behind her. One was big, with cropped blonde hair and muscular bare arms. A carpenter’s pouch hung at her belt and a heavy mallet dangled from her hand.

None of the girls had drawn their swords. Their postures were relaxed and arrogant. The one who’d spoken looked familiar, even with her helmet. Zoe realised it was Hilde, left to guard this last stretch into Rome.

She crawled into the roadside grass. The Virgins sauntered closer. One had her hand poised by her sword, the fingertips and thumb rubbing together. "Come on, bitch, we’ll make it quick. A day or two at most!" That was Hilde, full of spite. The others sniggered as they crossed the road.

Zoe darted over to the nearest sepulchre. She put her back against the stone and drew her gladius. The girls ranged out to right and left. They hadn’t seen the weapon. Zoe waited, breathing hard. The shadow of a stormcloud dulled the light.

A girl sprang round the corner. Zoe stabbed her in the belly. The guard hunched forward with an anguished sob. Zoe forced the blade up till it grated on her breastplate. The girl’s face twisted miserably. She didn’t have the stomach left to scream.

Zoe ripped her sword back out. She fled on through the jumbled maze of tombs. Some were long-forgotten, wrapped in shrouds of thorns and ivy. The ground was lumpy underfoot, as if the dead were restless in their graves.

She glimpsed the archer and dodged back. A arrow sped between the sepulchres. Zoe crouched behind a tombstone, listing to the sound of boots through brambles. The sky was leaden overhead. She felt a spot of rain against her cheek.

The archer prowled past, her long cloak snagging on the thorns. As she paused to tug it loose, Zoe sprang and slashed at her. The gladius split the girl’s left arm and made her drop the bow. Zoe had drawn her dagger too, and sliced the Virgin’s throat below her chinstrap.

Blood streamed down into the breastplate, soaking her plump cleavage. The archer gurgled thickly and collapsed. Zoe plunged her crimson blades into the weedy earth, and snatched the bow and arrow in their place.

A third praetorian lunged around the nearest mausoleum, and Zoe drew and loosed instinctively. The arrow struck the girl when she was just six feet away, an inch above the neckline of her breastplate. The shaft drove through her body with a force that flipped her backwards, her long legs kicking high into the air. Zoe glimpsed the bloody point protruding from her back. The Virgin struck the tomb and slithered flat.

Zoe threw the bow aside and grasped her blades again. She eased between two sepulchres. A feral cat went scampering away. The heavens above were black, but there was clear sky in the distance. The sun’s rays glinted on the roofs of Rome.

Then she caught a glimmer at the corner of her eye, and ducked as something hurtled past her head. It was the hammer wielded by the crop-headed praetorian. The woman aimed another swing, and Zoe backed away, evading it. Before she could retaliate, Hilde moved in from the side. The girl was pale with fury and her long Germanic sword-blade caught the light.

Zoe glanced from one face to the other. She edged around, both blades extended. Hilde gestured to her muscled friend. The Virgins pounced together. Zoe struck out at them both. Her sword deflected Hilde’s, while her dagger ripped the hammer-girl’s right arm.

She followed through at once, while the praetorians were still reeling. She stabbed the big girl with both blades and left the weapons buried in her flesh. As the stricken body lurched, she seized the fallen hammer and sent it tumbling into Hilde’s chest. The breastplate gave a hollow bong and the Virgin was knocked backwards. The hammer-girl mewed pitifully and slumped against a bramble-covered tomb.

Zoe took a nail out of the dying woman’s pouch, then picked the heavy mallet up again. Hilde had been winded and lay wheezing on her back. She was trying in vain to raise herself as Zoe came and sat down on her belly.

"Remember me?" the Greek girl said. "I bested you before. Remember a girl called Nadia? Well, this one’s just for her."

She placed the iron nail against the Virgin’s panting chest, above the breastplate, angling for the heart. Hilde tried to clutch at her, but Zoe raised the hammer, then brought it slamming down against the spike. Hilde’s mouth gaped open and her spine arched off the ground. Her scream could probably be heard in Rome. Zoe struck the nail again. The blonde girl bucked and heaved. Blood came oozing from her mouth as her head rolled to one side and she went limp.

Zoe straightened wearily and let the hammer drop. The slaty clouds were passing, letting rays of light come streaming through the murk. She dragged her sword and dagger from the guts of the big girl, and walked back through the tombstones to the road.

Sejanus lay crumpled where he’d fallen. The horse was spooked and pacing aimlessly. Ignoring them, she stepped back onto the Flaminian Way and began to walk towards the gates of Rome.