“He climbed down into the road. He could hear the rhythm of Coenus’s gallop. He stood in the middle of the road. ‘Coenus!’ he shouted. If Philokles and Theron were big men, Coenus was bigger, and middle age had not diminished his size. A life of constant exercise kept him fit. He was clutching his left side, and blood flowed freely down his belly. ‘What are you doing here, boy?’ he croaked. ‘By the light of my goddess’s eyes!’ He was holding his horse with his knees, despite the wound in his sid...e. Satyrus had his knife on a cord over his shoulder. He pulled it over his head, opened the brooch that held the shoulder of his chiton and stepped out of the garment. ‘Bandage your side,’ he said, tossing him the garment. ‘What happened?’ ‘We’re attacked!’ Coenus said. He turned his head at the sound of hoof beats. ‘They’re well behind you,’ Satyrus said. He was suddenly afraid. ‘Attacked?’ ‘Sauromatae,’ Coenus said. He used Satyrus’s chiton as a pad to staunch the blood, and Satyrus stood on tiptoes to help him tie it as tightly as possible.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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