Legionary(49)

Centurion Quadratus gasped from a few paces behind. ‘Maybe we should follow that little bastard – perhaps he knows the way to water?’

A weak, croaking chuckle toppled from Pavo’s chest at this, in spite of his fatigue. Sura joined in and soon the rest of the column did too. Pavo saw Gallus with Carbo, up ahead. The iron tribunus turned his head a fraction at the sound of laughter. A cocked eyebrow was the closest the man came to showing his approval.

Zosimus fired back at Quadratus. ‘Water? Who needs water?’ he held his hands out and looked up as if enjoying the sun. ‘It could be worse than this . . . a night sleeping under Quadratus’ bunk . . . death by farting!’

Now the column broke out in an even louder chorus of desperate laughter. The noise echoed out over the countless miles of dunes all around them. Even Baptista and his men joined in. At the last, it seemed, adversity had bound them together in some small way.

Pavo trudged on, trying to focus on memories of Felicia, trying to draw inspiration from the phalera around his neck. His gaze hung on the sand before him as they marched over dune after dune, until the sun began to fall. Now the blinding light dulled to a tired orange and the dunes cast long shadows across the land.

Just then, an unexpected faint breeze picked up. Pavo’s skin chilled despite the dry heat. He drew his gaze up and around. The dunes were a dark red now, and the south-eastern horizon was a deep blue speckled with the first stars. But there was something else. A murky shape swirled there, between sand and sky. A colossal, writhing mass – as if the dusk had come to life in a fury.

‘What in Hades?’ Felix croaked, mopping the sweat from his brow and squinting at this billowing mass.

‘What is that?’ Sura added.

All around, the staggering ranks came to a halt atop the lip of one lengthy dune, gawping at the mass. The breeze picked up and lifted the linen rags on their heads. Few thought of the comfort the breeze provided as the shape grew broader and broader, until it was as wide as the horizon itself and stretched high into the sky.

Pavo gawped, seeing dune after dune swallowed up as the thrashing mass came for them at speed. A single sand grain carried by the breeze stung against the burnt skin of his face. He touched a hand to his cheek, then looked up at the approaching dark wall. A howling pierced the air; a gale that brought with it a spray of sand. Pavo’s mind flashed with those haunting images; the nightmare of Father, the storm that always consumed him.

He looked across the lip of the dune to see Carbo, wide-eyed likewise, his linen headscarf whipping in the sudden squall. ‘It is a sandstorm – take shelter!’ the centurion cried out. No sooner had he uttered the cry than the wall of swirling, darting sand raced across the last few dunes like a predator, the roar growing deafening. The ferocious wind cut through the next nearest dune and threw up sands at the gawping legionaries.

Baptista cried out, wide-eyed; ‘God have merc - ’

The roaring gale consumed his words utterly.

It seemed to suck the air from Pavo’s lungs, battering him. White lights flashed in his field of vision as the sand stung at his eyeballs and raked at his skin. He caught only flashes of those around him. Sura, staggering, blinded, trying to wrap his linen scarf over his face in vain. Quadratus, chasing one fleeing camel and clawing at the packs on its back. Gallus crying out to his men, his words for once defeated by the roar of the sandstorm.

Fingers grappled Pavo’s arm. He spun round, shielding his eyes. Through the cracks in his fingers he made out Zosimus, bawling something at him from only inches away. The few words he made out sounded weak and distant.

‘ . . . the tent! . . . Quadratus . . . .the tent!’

Pavo blinked and looked this way and that. He saw that Quadratus had hauled a tent pack from one of the camels. The big Gaul was flailing at the flat goatskin in an attempt to unravel and provide some kind of cloak that they could shelter under. But the skin was flapping in a fury as if eager to soar off with the gale. Zosimus beckoned him then dipped his head and fought his way through the storm’s ire. Pavo followed. The three used their weight to peg down three corners of the goatskin, and they cried out to Sura to come and secure the fourth. Meanwhile, Gallus and Carbo tried their best to bring the rest of the men together, ready to cram as many as possible under this desperate shelter.

Sura staggered through the tumult and leapt to throw himself onto the goatskin, but before he landed, the storm picked up and showed all its strength. As if being snatched away by a god, the goatskin was gone, sucked up into the air. In that instant, the faces around Pavo disappeared too and the sand grew thick as stone. Every inch of flesh burned under the bombardment of the burning grains and then the squall blew him from his feet. When he tried to stand, he was blown back, one step, then another, then he found himself staggering away. He fell down the side of another dune, tumbling round and round. When he stood, panic raced through his veins as he realised he had completely lost his bearings. How far had he strayed? Eyes shut tight from the blinding sand, he covered his mouth to suck in a breath, coughing as the sand coated his mouth. He roared with all the force he could muster;