A few fires away, Carbo, Baptista and the Flavia Firma men seemed equally drawn. Given their fatigue, the men of the XI Claudia and the XVI Flavia Firma had spoken little since the battle with the camel raiders, but every man had fought for every other in that clash, and the animosity seemed to have faded. Baptista looked up at that moment, catching Pavo’s eye. The man’s lips grew thin and his nose wrinkled, then he gave an almost imperceptible nod. Grudging respect at last? Pavo wondered, nodding in reply.
The Maratocupreni warriors soon set down their armour and weapons and came to eat. They sat amongst the Romans in silence or quietly chattered amongst themselves, their charcoal locks hanging long and loose. They seemed a modest and affable people, very much in contrast to their battlefield demeanour. And the five hundred or so of them that had ridden to the rescue of the Roman column seemed to be the sum of their army. Bar the families and the few archers who had been left behind to guard the crevasse, this was all there was of the Maratocupreni. Pavo combed his memories – he was sure he had read of them before, but the detail remained elusive.
He heard a dull chatter from one of the recesses high up on the crevasse wall. The orange flame of a campfire danced there, and Pavo recognised the tones of Izodora, along with the jagged and clearly angered words of a pair of Maratocupreni elders. He saw Izodora stand, utter some clipped parting message, then turn away from the fire to descend the stairs to the valley floor. That will have been a wintry conversation no doubt, he mused with a hint of a grin as he watched her descend.
‘She’s pretty,’ Sura mused by his side, ‘but I bet she’d turn your cock to ice.’
Pavo was torn from his thoughts by this erudite observation. But indeed she was striking in her appearance, her almond eyes sharper than a blade. And her vixen-like, nimble hips moved gracefully. Like a strip of silk in the breeze. At that moment, he thought of the strip of red silk in his belt. Of Felicia. Guilt needled at his heart.
‘You’re thinking about it, you dirty bugger!’ Sura gawped in mock-disgust.
‘No, I was just . . . ’ he shook his head clear of the thought.
‘Ach, not to worry,’ Sura shrugged and picked a morsel of bread from his teeth with a splinter of wood. ‘Felicia’s probably been at it every night back in Constantinople.’
Pavo bit back a riposte, then stood. ‘Right, I’m washing and then I’m calling it a night,’ he nodded to the area by the fires where some of the goatskin contubernia tents had been set up. He picked his way through the campfires and over to the green end of the valley and the spring. There, the moon had risen to dominate the narrow window of night sky above. The scent of the grass and the feel of it brushing on his feet momentarily allowed him to imagine he was in another land – far from the arid dust. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the cooling mizzle and fecund plains of Thracia. He cupped his hands under a jagged outcrop of rock and collected water from the trickling spring, then lashed it across his face and the dark stubble on his scalp. It soothed and calmed him, washing the last traces of dust from his skin. He gazed up at the moon and wondered if, somewhere out there, the moon gazed down upon Father. ‘Even if only to reclaim your bones, Father, I will find you.’
Sorrow stung behind his eyes and he turned away to go back to the tents. But he was stopped in his tracks. Izodora stood there, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight.
‘Forgive me, I assumed I could wash here?’ he stammered.
‘You did. You can,’ she replied dryly. ‘I’m just waiting on you to finish.’
Pavo looked over her shoulder to see that Habitus had found some last reserves of energy to play with a pair of Maratocupreni children. The little girl clasped one hand and the boy the other, while the beanpole legionary spun on the spot, lifting them and whirling them around. Their laughter was pleasant to his ear. ‘I don’t know what my tribunus said to you, but every one of these men is grateful for your coming to our rescue today. Had the camel raiders not cut us down, then thirst would have finished us.’
Her gaze remained flinty. ‘Do you know how much I have risked by bringing you here? The elders,’ she jabbed a finger up at the cliff face alcove where she had come from, ‘they say I have brought demons to our home. They want my warriors to arm and cut your throats tonight while you sleep.’
Her words turned Pavo’s blood to ice. He caught sight of the white-robed archers strolling along the higher alcoves on the cliff wall, quivers full. ‘I . . . we’re just soldiers. We mean you no harm . . . ’
‘Your men will not be harmed,’ she cut him off. ‘I am in charge here, not the elders.’