Beast of burden
The sergeant grabbed the unfortunate by the hair. Yanked up his head. His sword raised above his head ready to strike. The thief turned his head. Maciste recognised the face. He missed a heart-beat.
Maciste cried out. In return another silencing lash tore across his back. But Maciste had not cried out at the burning pain. It was the sight of the poor unfortunate. On all fours. The sergeant stood with sword-arm poised. Above Menander’s neck. The thief was Menander, the real prince. About to lose his head.
What the hell was he doing here! It took all Maciste could do to contain his shock. How the hell he did not cry out the name. He looked away. He hid his shock .. staring down at the ground. His head in a whirl. Heart thumping. What the fuck! What was the real Menander doing here? Was he out of his mind?
How the hell did Maciste get himself out of this mess. He guessed what had happened. Menander had found him gone. Had come searching. Guessing rightly where his friend had come. And why.
Menander had got too close. And got himself taken prisoner. Parthians assumed they’d nabbed some goat-shagger out to steal food. But Menander had come looking .. meaning to rescue his friend. Got himself captured. And landed Maciste in a mess. Up to his neck in it. The fool!