‘We’re in trouble again,’ Zosimus whispered when Pavo drew level with him.
‘Aye,’ Pavo agreed, then glanced down at the deeper dust they marched through – it was gradually becoming coarser and sandier. His boots seemed to sink a few inches into this with every stride, then pull at his soles as he made to take the next, ‘and the going is harder underfoot.’
As if sensing the change of fortune, Gallus called back over his shoulder ‘By the end of the day we’ll be at the next spring. Mithras wills us on, men. He and the sun are kin. The brother of Mithras will not spite us.’ At this, a hoarse but raucous cheer erupted from the XI Claudia men. Gallus nodded over to Carbo. The man was withdrawn as usual, his lips twitching in some inner dialogue, but he noticed Gallus’ prompting and took his cue, clutching his Chi-Rho and crying to his men. ‘God marches by our sides. Feel his strength in your every stride.’
The men of the Flavia Firma responded with a baritone roar that reverberated all around and belied their scant number; ‘Nobiscum Deus!’
Days passed and the surrounding land seemed to defy their efforts as they wandered ever-further from imperial territory. The golden flats seemed infinite, the horizon utterly unchanging between dawn and dusk. Dust stung their eyes and clung to the backs of their throats. Every man’s shins and ankles were now red and bleeding. Towards the end of the morning on the fifth day after leaving the Maratocupreni, and the twentieth day of their trek overall, the legionaries could only think back wistfully to the relatively clement lands around that hidden valley. The four springs Izodora had charted for them had been found and nearly drained. But the last of them had been two days’ march previously. Now their skins were drained and utterly dry.
They halted near noon, clinging to the sliver of shade offered by a rare pile of rocks. Gallus and Carbo saw their men close to collapsing from sheer exhaustion, and gave the order for armour to be shed and loaded onto the camels. The camels groaned at their extra burden, but the men gasped in relief at shedding of those heavy garments. When they set off next, they would march in helms, boots and tunics, and carry just their sword belts and spears.
Pavo sat in the dust, his back resting against the rock – hot despite being in the shade. He chewed tenaciously on one of his last slivers of hardtack. Eventually he spat it out – the morsel barely dampened with saliva. He sighed and let his head slump forward onto his knees. Behind closed eyelids he could see the crystal clear waters of the fountains in Constantinople, the endless tumbling torrents of the River Danubius, and he longed to feel the freshness of a winter’s breeze on the plains of Thracia. But the sun glared down on him without pity, gradually dragging the cloak of shade away from the rock until its rays stung at his legs.
Sura nudged him and jolted him from his thoughts. ‘Here, he’s a bit eager, isn’t he?’ he croaked.
Pavo looked up to see Quadratus stepping out from the shade, squinting to the south-east.
‘How many days of marching did you say we had left, sir, before we reach the Persian Gulf?’ the big Gaul quizzed.
All heads twisted to Gallus. Blistered and cracked lips, bloodshot and narrowed eyes, burnt and gaunt faces awaited his response.
Pavo knew the answer would not help morale – not in the slightest. They had spent some twenty days on this march. By Yabet’s estimate – assuming the man had spoken the truth at all – of forty days that meant at least another twenty days left.
‘We have some way to go yet, Centurion,’ Gallus replied cautiously after studying the map.
‘Aye, then what’s that?’ Quadratus stabbed a finger out, smoothing his dust-coated moustache with the other hand.
As one, the men of the column rose, curiosity overcoming fatigue.
Pavo stood with them and squinted at the rippling heat haze out to the south-east. The gold and azure of the horizon seemed to flash with white and . . . green?
‘It might be an oasis?’ Felix suggested, stabbing out his tongue in a vain effort to dampen his lips.
Gallus frowned and looked to Carbo. The Flavia Firma Centurion shook his head in doubt.
Pavo thought again of Izodora’s warnings.
‘We will find out soon enough,’ Gallus replied. ‘Lift your weapons and form up.’
The column set off, all eyes trained on the strange dancing colour ahead. Their footsteps were silent thanks to the thick dust, and the exhausted panting of moments before was bated and nervous now. The horizon drew closer, and the strange flickering green seemed to come and go more frequently. Eventually, just as the sun reached its zenith, they saw that the flatland was rising, and a gentle ridge in the land lay ahead. The green shimmering seemed to lie just beyond the ridge.