Something moved at the edge of his sight, along the rim of the wadi. He studied the spot carefully but saw nothing. Turning slightly in his saddle, he looked all around cautiously. Somewhere close by, a soft cascade of rocks trickled down the steep incline of the wadi. Marcus assumed it was another goat like the others he had seen a few miles back.
He leaned down to secure the skin water bag to his saddle, just as a rock came flying at his head. The horse let out a high-pitched whinny and backed sharply, and Marcus quickly straightened in the saddle.
Four men leaped up from their hiding place along the rim of the wadi and ran toward him. Swearing, Marcus tried to get control of his horse. One of the men scooped up a rock and armed his sling as he ran. Marcus ducked as another rock flew past his head. The horse reared sharply, and Marcus barely held his seat as one of the men reached him and tried to drag him off.
As the horse came down, two robbers went for the bridle. Marcus kicked one man in the face, knocking him back. Another leaped. Dodging, Marcus let the momentum take the man across the saddle and flipped him off the horse.
Terrified, the horse let out another high-pitched whinny and reared again, lifting one man off the ground and breaking the hold of the other. Someone grabbed Marcus from the side. Jabbing his elbow into the attacker’s face, Marcus sank his heels into the horse’s flanks. The animal leaped forward, riding straight for another sicarius in front of him. The man managed to dive to one side out of the way, then, coming to his feet, he swung his sling.
Pain exploded in Marcus’ head as the stone struck its mark. His fingers loosened on the reins, and he lost his balance. He could hear the legionnaire’s words echoing around him: “Put your head in a lion’s mouth, expect to have it taken off.” He felt hands on him, dragging him from the saddle. He tried to fight them off, but it was no use. He hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of him. As he gasped for air, one of the sicarii kicked him in the head, another in the side. A final kick to his groin consumed him in fiery pain, and he slid gratefully down a funnel of darkness.
He roused far too soon.
“Stinking Roman pig!” someone said and spit on him.
In a haze of pain, Marcus felt hands yanking in a frenzy at his possessions. Someone pulled the gold pendant from around his neck. Another dragged off his belt, taking with it the gold aurei hidden within it. They picked him over like vultures. When he felt one of them trying to slide the gold signet ring his father had given him from his finger, Marcus clenched his fist. A backhanded blow was delivered to the side of his head. He tasted blood and fought for consciousness. His fingers loosened, and he felt his father’s signet ring stripped from him.
Voices came through the crushing fog.
“Don’t cut him yet. The tunic is good linen. Get it off him first.”
“Hurry up! I hear a Roman patrol coming.”
“The tunic will bring a good price.”
“Do you crave being nailed to a cross?”
The tunic was stripped from him.
“Dump him in the wadi. If they find him, they’ll come looking for us.”
“Hurry up!” one of them hissed, and they grasped his heels and dragged him.
Marcus groaned as rock tore his bare back. They dropped him near the edge. “Hurry up!” One man began to run while the one who remained drew a curved knife.
“Roman raca,” the man said and spit in Marcus’ face. He saw the blade come down and instinctively rolled. He felt the knife slice along his ribcage as he fell over the edge of the wadi. He hit a narrow ledge, then rolled and slid down the jagged bank. The man above him cursed roundly. The others were shouting from a distance. The sound of hooves beat against the earth.
Groaning, Marcus clawed for a handhold. The searing pain in his side took away his breath. As he looked up toward the ledge, his vision doubled and blurred, the world spinning around him. Fighting nausea, he lay helpless, halfway down the steep bank of the wadi, wedged against an outcropping of rocks.
The sound of horses came closer.
Marcus tried to call out, but the words came out in a deep groan. He tried to pull himself up, but fell back and slid a few more feet down the steep incline.
The horses were on the road just above him.
“Help me . . . ,” he rasped, fighting to stay conscious. “Help me . . .”
The sound of hooves receded and a cloud of dust drifted down into the wadi.
Silence fell. No bird sang. No breeze rustled the meager grass or brittle brush. There was only the sun beating down on him, an orb of hot, merciless light.
And then there was nothing.
Hadassah arranged the small amphoras, vials, and boxes on the shelf while Rashid and Alexander carried in an examining table. She had been thinking of Marcus all morning. She closed her eyes, wondering why unease filled her. She had not glimpsed him since that day he had bumped into her before the baths. Why was he so strongly in her mind now?