‘Yes, we are headed for Persia – the very heart of the Persis Satrapy. But we seek something that might secure the current borders and prevent war. There is a scroll . . . ’
She cut him off, her brow knitting in confusion. ‘Nothing can prevent war between your empires. I know this.’
He shrugged his shoulders and turned to look up to the moon again. ‘It seems whimsical at best – the scroll may not even exist, or it might have long since been lost. But we’ve got to try to find it. Countless thousands of lives – Roman and Persian – could be spared if we succeed.’ When he turned back, her expression had softened just a little.
‘This is a noble cause,’ she conceded. ‘Fanciful, but noble. One worth fighting for. The threat of war between your empires hangs over this valley like a black cloud and so I pray you find what you are looking for.’ Her eyes narrowed as if reassessing the Roman mission. ‘Yet those camel riders you met today were but scouts. Do you realise what waits on any who intrude on the shahanshah’s lands?’
Pavo nodded grimly. ‘The Savaran? If I had a follis for every time I have heard them mentioned in hushed and frightened tones in these last weeks,’ he swiped a hand before him as if swatting an imaginary moth. ‘Regardless of their might, I will be marching east.’
She ran the tip of a finger along the delicate bridge of her nose, then wagged it at him. ‘You are not telling me everything. I can see it in your eyes, and in your frown that comes and goes when you fidget with that talisman.’
Pavo gawped, realising he was unconsciously gripping the phalera medallion through his tunic. He slumped and let a dry chuckle escape. ‘Aye, there is more. Though nothing that should trouble you. Indeed, it is even more whimsical than the notion of the scroll.’ He swept a hand up to the eastern tip of the valley. ‘I lost my father when I was a lad – probably the same age as you when you lost your mother to . . . ’ he froze.
She nodded for him to continue.
‘Well I thought my father had died, many years ago.’ He lifted the phalera from his tunic and smiled as he traced the inscription on it. They sat by the spring and Pavo told his story. She listened to his every word. When he had told her everything, they each talked about their happier childhood days. By the time tiredness caught up with them, both were smiling.
When he stood to return to his tent, Izodora rose with him.
‘Today, when we chose to save you and your men, I wasn’t sure we made the correct choice. Even tonight, when I spoke with the village elders, I was troubled by the decision. Now, I know I have chosen wisely.’ She turned in the moonlight and picked her way into the darkness.
Pavo strolled back to his tent, his heart warmed by the conversation and her parting words. He lifted the silk rag from his belt and inhaled Felicia’s scent, then clutched the phalera as he looked over his shoulder, to the moon in the east. Some things in life were worth fighting for, he affirmed, and some he would happily die for.
When he ducked inside the tent, Zosimus muttered some sleepy, gibberish about being attacked by evil goats, then Sura’s eyes popped open and his trademark mischievous grin appeared from nowhere.
‘You dirty bugger!’ he whispered.
Pavo considered protesting his innocence, but simply shrugged and fell into his cot with a chuckle.
Chapter 10
The following morning at dawn, the men of the column climbed the steep path from the valley and filtered onto the golden desert flatland outside the Maratocupreni crevasse. Now they readied themselves to set off once more to the south-east. Izodora had persuaded the elders to provide twenty-five camels from their herd to carry the burden of shields and tents. She had also agreed to let the legionaries with the gravest wounds from the camel raider skirmish remain in the valley to be tended to. Now just over one hundred of the original three centuries would march onwards.
Pavo watched Izodora as she walked amongst the men, flanked by two Maratocupreni riders in their leather cuirasses and helms, handing two water skins and parcels of bread to each legionary. It seemed his words to her last night had convinced her of the nobility of their quest. But there was something else, a finality and sadness in the way she beheld the legionaries. He recalled her words of warning about the Savaran. A shiver gathered at the base of his spine and tried to march up his back, but he shrugged the growing dread away.
A hundred thousand iron riders will not stop me going east.
‘Eyes front, dirty bugger,’ Sura interrupted his thoughts.
‘Aye, are you doing this, or not?’ Zosimus growled, stabbing a finger into Pavo’s chest.