Sixteen steely men of the Flavia Firma were dotted around the other intact sections of battlement and by the ruined gates. Each of them was alert, eyes searching the gloom outside. Good men, Gallus thought. Only Baptista, the pious and belligerent optio, gave him cause for concern. The man seemed bitter at playing a secondary role in this mission, and his attitude had been fractious to the morale of the column. And then there was Centurion Carbo. An odd individual, Gallus surmised, taciturn and guarded. His gaze fell to the opposite corner of the fort. Carbo was there, still. For many years, Gallus had adopted an outright distrust of all he met. Trust had to be earned, and this man shielded too many secrets for his liking. A man who had miraculously returned to the empire having dwelt within the dark mines in the heart of Persia. The only confirmed survivor of the slaughter at Bezabde. The man had already fuelled young Pavo’s hopes with his claims that the lad’s father had survived Bezabde too.
As if sensing eyes upon him, Carbo glanced around the fort furtively, then his gaze snagged on Gallus. The pair stared at one another for but a heartbeat, until Carbo looked away and swiftly descended the steps into the fortlet. There, he crossed paths with Yabet who offered some suggestion, resting a hand on his shoulder. Just then, a muted call brought a rustle of activity and a change of watch. Gallus saw Baptista beckoning his men down from the battlements. At the same time, stretching Claudia legionaries shuffled from their tents, readying to replace them. When Gallus glanced back to the spot where Carbo had stood, it was empty.
He barely had time to frown at this before he heard footsteps approaching, flitting up the steps to the battlements. He turned, expecting to see one of his men coming to take up a sentry post here. Instead, Carbo rose into view.
‘You do not sleep, it seems?’ Carbo asked.
‘Nor you?’ Gallus countered.
Carbo ignored the question and held out a skin. ‘We have pooled our water supplies for those who need it most.’
Gallus eyed the man guardedly.
‘Take it. If you’re performing a double-stint on the walls then you’ll need it.’
Gallus took the skin and sipped at it. The water was cool and refreshing indeed. He nodded and lifted the skin in appreciation.
‘Until morning, Tribunus,’ Carbo said, before turning to descend the stairs.
Gallus watched his every step.
Darkness clung to Gallus’ every sense, as if he was trapped in the reeds at the bottom of a murky lake. Pain rolled through his head like a thundercloud and his body was wracked with stabbing pains. He grunted, unsure if this was some nightmare or otherwise. Then he heard a distant voice calling to him. At once, the darkness fell away, as if he was shooting for the surface.
‘Sir . . . sir!’
‘Felix?’ he grunted, prising his eyes open. He squinted through a bleary film, the sunlight blinding. Shapes stood over him.
‘Sir, they’re gone!’
Gallus fumbled, trying to stand.
‘Help him up!’ he heard Quadratus bark. At once, a sea of hands lifted and steadied him. Now his head pounded like a Gothic war drum. His mouth was dry, shrivelled and rife with a bitter, burning taste. He shook his head, panting for air, then wiped at his eyes. He was on the same spot on the corner of the battlements. It was well past dawn. The men of the Claudia stood all around him on the battlements or on the fort floor below, looking up, their faces etched with fear.
‘What happened?’ he croaked.
‘The camels are gone,’ Felix replied, fighting the tremor of panic in his voice.
‘The camels, the dromedarii riders, the rations, the supplies, nearly everything!’ Sura added.
‘Gone?’ he roared, grappling the crenelated walls and glowering down to the spot outside where the riders and beasts had been camped. Deserted. The land in every direction was empty too. Then he pushed back and squinted to look across the battlements. ‘The sentries saw nothing?’
Pavo was first to respond; ‘Not a thing, sir. We found them up here at dawn, slumped, muttering and incoherent like you.’
‘The dromedarii have betrayed us,’ Yabet said, his eyes wide in realisation. ‘But someone . . . ’
‘But someone in here was in league with them,’ Gallus cut in, his vision and thoughts sharpening at last. His gaze fell upon the water skin lying by his feet. He lifted it; it was missing only the few sips he had taken.
‘Sir?’ Felix frowned.
But Gallus stood and brushed past them, then flitted down the steps and into the fortlet, the pounding in his head stoking his fury. He strode between the embers of cooking fires and came to a halt before Carbo’s tent. The Flavia Firma legionaries nearby watched Gallus’ approach, rising to their feet when the scowling Baptista stood first. The Claudia men rushed to gather around too.