At this, one of the leather-armoured horsemen broke from the approaching five hundred and hared after the fleeing raiders. This rider sported a helm with a long, swishing plume. With the grace of a centaur, the rider nocked and loosed arrow after arrow. The seven fleeing desert raiders were punched from their mounts one by one. Only one slipped away and disappeared back into the heat haze from where he had come.
Pavo released his tight grip on the phalera and allowed himself to breathe again. He glanced back over the dark-red mess that stained the plain. Camels and men lay tangled, jutting white bone and spilled guts adding to the glistening crimson film that coated everything. The stench of blood and open bowels was rife in the baking sun and a cloud of flies buzzed eagerly over this feast while a venue of vultures screeched overhead. Amongst the carnage, the surviving legionaries stood, panting in disbelief, some retching into the gore. Carbo stood with them, his spatha bloodied and his chest heaving. Gallus stood nearby, his face plastered in blood and taut with fury. More than half of the column had been slain, he realised. He saw the gawping, lifeless faces of many from his century and from Quadratus’ – many he had considered good friends. A hardness gripped his heart at this – a hardness he saw reflected in Sura’s stony gaze at the scene. They called this the soldier’s skin. It was welcome at times like this.
‘Who are they, sir?’ Habitus muttered, eyeing the approaching five hundred.
Pavo frowned. ‘I don’t know, but keep your shield up.’
‘There is no need,’ a voice spoke. Carbo stood a few feet away, cleaning his spatha with a rag. The man’s well-weathered features were clad in the filth of battle.
‘Sir?’ Pavo hesitated, glancing to the riders, hearing their chatter and the whinnying of their mounts as they came closer.
‘The Maratocupreni have made their choice,’ Carbo said. ‘If they wanted to side with the camel raiders, you would be dead by now. We all would.’ He sheathed his blade then flicked out a finger and jabbed it to the ground. ‘Lower your shields and sheathe your weapons.’
Pavo saw the blood-spattered Gallus approaching, gathering the legionaries together. He had taken the lead from Carbo and was ordering them to lower their weapons likewise.
‘You’d better be right about this,’ Gallus said, casting a frosty look at Carbo, then eyeing the mysterious riders.
Pavo watched as the rider with the long, swishing plume rode to the fore, the rest following in a loose pack. They slowed to a trot then came to a halt a few strides from Gallus and Carbo. Their skin was swarthy, they sported narrow, fine features, and almost all of them were clean-shaven. They wore smears of kohl on each cheek, just under the eyes. They eyed the filthy Roman banners with narrowed eyes. The lead rider’s face was cast in shade from the helm.
‘Tribunus Gallus of Legio XI Claudia Pia Fidelis,’ Gallus saluted. ‘Your intervention was timely.’ His tone was terse, almost suspicious.
‘Ah! Typically warm Roman gratitude,’ the lead rider laughed mirthlessly.
This one was slender and small, Pavo realised, noticing the narrow shoulders upon which the composite bow hung. And there was something else. The voice was husky but light.
Then the lead rider removed the helm, revealing the dusky and delicate face of a young woman. Her almond-shaped eyes dominated her face, her neat nose and pursed lips. The whipping, swishing plume was in fact sleek, dark locks scooped up in a tight topknot, the tail draped down her back.
‘Izodora of the Maratocupreni,’ she introduced herself.
The smears of kohl on her cheeks gave her a fearsome glare. Fearsome yet comely, Pavo mused. Then her gaze snapped onto him. Instantly, he looked away, embarrassed.
‘You chose to loose upon the desert raiders and not us. Why?’ Gallus continued.
‘They were desert raiders, yes, but they were not here for mere brigandage. I have clashed with them before – they spill blood for Persian coin. I chose to loose upon them because they were the aggressors,’ then her gaze hardened, ‘or at least that is how it seemed. You and your men seem to have strayed far from the Roman borders and into the desert. Perhaps I should have chosen differently?’ She sat tall on her saddle and cast Gallus a glare that almost matched that of the tribunus. ‘So, where are you headed, Tribunus Gallus?’
Gallus did well not to hesitate. ‘We were on patrol when our camel escort deserted us,’ he nodded through the thick pack of buzzing flies to the slain dromedarii amongst the desert raiders. ‘Then they gathered this band and tried to slay us. We have been without fresh water for days.’