Legionary(37)

Gallus looked up, sheathing his spatha. He fixed his gaze on Carbo.

‘If you had given me a chance to explain, Tribunus,’ Carbo muttered through taut lips, ‘I would have told you; Yabet organised the pooling of the water last night.’

‘Aye, so it appears,’ Gallus offered flatly. ‘And now we rely on you alone to guide us.’

Carbo offered nothing other than a steely glare, then he turned away to ready his century.

Gallus looked to the ruined barrack roof. There, the local vultures fluttered, eagerly eyeing Yabet’s fresh corpse.

‘The little bastard,’ Zosimus said, beholding the guide’s body, scraping at his cropped scalp and shaking his head.

‘What’s our next move, sir?’ Pavo asked.

Gallus eyed him. ‘We push on. We must. Water is our priority now.’

‘The camel rider and Yabet, sir – do you think they were just out to rob us?’ Pavo asked, frowning at the purse in Gallus’ hands. ‘What if . . . ’ he peered out through the broken fort gates.

‘Let’s assume it was merely brigandage for now,’ Gallus replied, weighing the purse. ‘Now see to it that the centuries are formed up.’

‘Yes, sir.’

When Pavo had gone, and he went unwatched, Gallus dug a coin from the purse and examined it. It bore the image of a blazing fire pit, with two figures standing either side of it. An odd chill passed over his heart as he gazed at the featureless faces of the two. This was a pure-silver Persian dirham, he realised. To share this knowledge with the men might destroy morale. He tucked the purse away and filled his lungs.

‘Gather your equipment. We move on, and we make haste.’





A thunderstorm raged over Bishapur, bringing with it precious rain. Ramak stood silent and unnoticed in the doorway of the grand hall of the Palace. He toyed with the silver dirham, a blaze of lightning tearing across the sky, bringing the coin’s temple motif to life and lighting his eyes like a fire. He looked from the coin and into the hall. Three tall arches opened up the north wall of the high-vaulted chamber, offering a panoramic vista of the night sky and myriad guttering torches from the lower city, spread out below and cowering under the tempest.

The floor of the grand hall was crowded with finery and the spoils of war. Fine sculptures, ancient shields and ornate pottery. Then there was a line of suits of armour from spahbads past. Many of them had lived and died as his puppet, he enthused. At that moment, his eyes settled on the lone, ox-like figure standing at the end of this line, by his father’s armour. Spahbad Tamur gazed through the arches and into the night. He was muttering to himself, or perhaps to his dead father. Doubts, fears. I have conditioned him well, Ramak thought. Fear will keep this oaf by my side. Then, when my ambitions are realised, I can dispense with him as I did his father . . . then perhaps I can bring his son to heel?

So little stood in the way of his ambitions now. There was just the splinter in the flesh that was Emperor Valens’ desperate bid to find the lost scroll. He looked back down to the coin and grinned. That ember of Roman resistance would be snuffed out soon enough.





Chapter 9





After leaving the accursed fort, the column marched south-east and into the endless golden flats for another day and a half without incident – the only enemies being the fierce heat, the arid desert air and the near empty water skins. Deprived of the camels, they once more carried their shields and the scraps of rations not stolen by the dromedarii. The going underfoot both helped and hindered the pace of the march. When it was unbroken, the pace quickened, but when they came across pitted, cracked land, men stumbled and slowed. There had to be an oasis or a spring of some sort soon – the map was marked with such locations, but finding them precisely would be next to impossible without an experienced guide. With Yabet dead and the camel riders gone, they were in dire trouble.

Despite this, they had been glad when the ruin of that accursed fortlet had fallen away into the haze behind them; if some follow-up raid had been planned to finish off the mission, then they would find nothing but two graves at that place: Yabet’s and that of the long-dead legionary skeleton. Carbo, Baptista and the Flavia Firma men had carried out the burials with full Christian rites.

‘Slow!’ Gallus barked from the head of the column. As one, they dropped the pace to a walk. All necks stretched to look ahead.

Pavo saw nothing. But he felt something underfoot. A tremor.

‘Riders?’ Sura said, stepping forward from the front rank.

The heat haze rippled, then shapes emerged from the south-east. Thrashing, knotted legs, pained groaning and trilling cries. Camel riders, hundreds of them. Easily twice as many as the legionary column, a tall dust cloud billowing up behind them. They wore loose white robes, whipping in their slipstream. They wore linen scarfs on their heads. A few carried hide and cane shields and some held spears. All of them carried bows.