Authors: Valerio Massimo Manfredi
They advanced with great caution, worried more about keeping quiet than about covering any great distance. When they stopped at dawn the next morning, they had gone a little over a mile. Their position was critical: they were too close to the camp and without shelter. They would be spotted if a patrol passed on the eastern rim of the gorge.
They decided to separate into three groups, spaced out by about three hundred paces each, so they wouldn’t be discovered all together if a patrol should arrive. They continued to advance in the hope of finding a refuge.
Centurion Aelius Quadratus, who was leading the small vanguard, heard the scuttling of hoofs at the top of the gorge and ordered his comrades to flatten themselves against the wall. Antoninus, who was at his side, turned back to warn the others.
Antoninus arrived just in time: an instant later and the group with Balbus, Uxal, Lucianus and the asses would have come into full view. They waited, holding their breath, until they heard the sound of a gallop fading off in the distance, then caught up with the others, who had made ready for the worst, prepared to sell their lives dearly before giving in.
‘The gods are protecting us,’ said Metellus. ‘We’ll go forward. We have no choice.’
They covered another mile, protected at times by the shadows cast by the crags and spurs rising on the eastern side of the gully, their hearts pounding at the thought of being seen, until they found a shelter big enough to conceal them from sight. The passage of periodic floods had carved out a section of the crumbly sandstone between two layers of silica, creating quite a deep cavity, tall enough for a man to stand inside. They entered in haste, first the pack animals and then the men, and finally relaxed, allowing themselves a little rest.
Metellus sent Publius and Antoninus to explore the walls. Their task was to find a point from which they could keep watch over the surrounding territory, the Aus Daiwa camp, if it was still visible, and the circle of guard towers, which they fervently hoped were behind them by now.
The two men, wearing only their short tunics, climbed up to a rocky ledge from which they could continue all the way up to the rim, and they stood guard for the rest of the day, offering the others the security of knowing they were being watched over.
When they climbed back down at dusk, they sensed a certain excitement among the men inside the cave, and discovered that Septimius and Lucianus had brought down a male ibex with their javelins and were skinning him.
‘By Hercules!’ exclaimed Antoninus. ‘The commander was right about you being good hunters!’
‘I’m half Celt,’ replied Septimius. ‘We learn to hunt boar before we learn to talk.’
‘I’m half Greek,’ said Lucianus, ‘and I love roasted meat. I can’t wait!’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ retorted Metellus. ‘We’re still too close to the camp. The smoke and the smell would give us away. We’ll eat the meat raw. It’s just as nourishing that way.’
‘Raw meat?’ yelped Uxal. ‘Not easy for a toothless old man like me. I’ll just have some chickpea flour and water.’ But his companions chopped up the heart and liver with their daggers to allow him to join in the feast. They cut up what was left and wrapped the pieces in the fibre mats, hoping to roast or smoke them as soon as possible.
They joked and teased, but underneath their good humour lay a palpable apprehension, an irrepressible fear that hovered among them. The fear that their refound liberty might come to an end, sooner or later, and that destiny might not give them the time to take their own lives before falling into their enemies’ hands.
The howling of a jackal saluted a thin crescent moon and marked the start of the first guard shift for Centurion Sergius Balbus and legionary Septimius. They took up their positions, armed only with daggers and swords, in the shelter of two big boulders at the centre of the gully at a distance of about ten paces from each other. They watched in silence, ears straining to hear any slight sound, eyes wide to spot any moving shadow.
Every now and then, Balbus called out to his comrade, ‘Hey, Blondie! You still there?’
‘I’m here, Centurion,’ he’d answer back. ‘I’m here.’
T
HE MARCH BEGAN AGAIN
at the end of the second guard shift, and after a while the terrain became a little less challenging. The bottom of the gully widened, the sides were lower and their slope was not so steep. The stones they trod had been smoothed by the effects of wind and water, with the dual advantage of facilitating their passage and making it impossible to leave traces that the enemy could possibly use to hunt them down.
The white limestone of the boulders and walls reflected a tenuous light that let them see where they were putting their feet. Before dawn they had covered perhaps three miles in total silence and complete tranquillity. They could begin to hope that the rest of their march might be free of obstacles, but in reality no one dared to believe this, as if everything had been too easy up to that moment.
They found a refuge which kept them out of sight for the day and waited there until evening. Metellus sent Lucianus and Severus, who seemed to work well together, to explore the surroundings and make sure that no one was following them. The two scouts did not have much scope for movement in such a flat and barren region, but they served as a kind of outpost which safeguarded the others from unwanted surprises and could forewarn them of the approach of any Persian patrols or caravans: while the first put them in danger of death, the second could mean salvation.
They proceeded in this way for four more nights until they reached a point at which the gorge widened into a river bed covered with pebbles and gravel, studded with thorny bushes and aromatic plants. They stopped to hold council.
‘From here on we’re out in the open,’ said Metellus. ‘Any patrol would spot us immediately. We can neither turn back nor remain sheltered by this gully forever. Uxal is the person who knows the area best, and his opinion will count for more than anyone else’s.’
‘I don’t have much to say,’ began Uxal. ‘I think our only option is to follow this dry river bed. The banks are still quite high and offer some protection. If there’s a problem we’ll lie flat on the ground and wait until the danger has passed. The darkness of night still helps to hide us, although the moon is getting much brighter. If I remember correctly, after two or three legs of our journey we should meet up with the trail of the caravans headed towards the oasis and towards the Ocean shore, and at that point our chances of making it will improve daily.’
‘By the gods! The man is a true strategist,’ exclaimed Balbus in a sarcastic tone. He turned towards Uxal. ‘You’ll soon be better than Commander Aquila himself.’
‘If you have a better idea,’ sniffed Uxal, ‘no one is stopping you from telling us about it. I say what I know and propose what I think is best.’
‘Balbus was joking,’ broke in Metellus. ‘And I agree with you. We can only hope that fortune continues to assist us. What concerns me is how short we are on food. We’ll have run out in just a couple of days, and our water is nearly used up as well. This is the problem we have to deal with.’
‘Notice how the vegetation in the river bed is becoming more abundant? That means we should manage to find water soon. If you’re worried about food, I think I know where we can find some once we get to the oasis of Khaboras. If we get desperate there’s always the asses.’
‘Well, then,’ said Metellus, ‘let’s resume our march, and may fortune assist us. The only precaution we can take is to send a man ahead for reconnaissance, and post another at the rear to cover our backs. There’s no more that we can do.’
Antoninus was chosen as their scout and Quadratus as rearguard, each at a distance of about half a mile from the little convoy. At the first light of dawn, both men joined up with their comrades to report back.
They continued in this way for two more nights, covering about two
parasangs
, which corresponded to a little more than six Roman miles. On the morning of the second leg, Quadratus appeared at the meeting point with a troubled expression.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Metellus.
‘I’ve noticed something, Commander. Someone, that is, who seems to be following me.’
‘How many of them are there?’
‘One.’
‘One man alone? Strange.’
‘I saw one man. And I’m almost sure he’s alone.’
‘On horseback?’
Quadratus nodded.
‘The Persians move in quite sizeable squads,’ broke in Uxal. ‘It’s practically unheard of for one of them to go out alone, if only because, should he discover something, he would have no way of reporting back without losing contact.’
‘You’re right,’ agreed Metellus. ‘So who could it be?’
‘I have no idea,’ replied Quadratus. ‘I saw him in the distance on the top of a hill, once or twice, and then he disappeared.’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ said Metellus. ‘Double back towards him and take him by surprise, in the hour before dawn, if possible. Take Publius with you, he’s agile and quick, and try to find out what it is this bastard wants from us. Be careful not to take any unnecessary risks. Don’t show your faces. Our aim is to discover his intentions without exposing ourselves.’
‘We’ll do our best, Commander,’ replied Quadratus. ‘You can count on us.’
‘Good. Rest now for a while, then. You’ll set off tonight. Take your swords and daggers – you may need them. At the slightest sign of danger, turn back and try to catch up with us as quickly as possible. We’ll wait here for you.’
‘Of course, Commander,’ replied Quadratus.
He and Publius stretched out on a mat in the shade of a big tamarisk bush. At the end of the last guard shift, they took their weapons and set off in the opposite direction to the route they had been following. They made their way very cautiously, moving low between the sparse bushes, shielding behind ridges and boulders. The dim moonlight made it easy enough to pick out the features of the landscape and the crystal-clear sky shimmered with a multitude of stars. Quadratus abruptly motioned for his companion to stop.
‘What is it?’
‘Can’t you smell it? Smells like burning.’
‘You’re right. I can smell it now as well.’
‘A fire. A campfire. Not too far away.’
‘Shall we go and have a look?’
‘Yes, but stay low to the ground. We don’t want to run any risks.’
Leaving a few paces between them, they advanced with the utmost care, anxious not to make a sound, feeling the ground with their feet and hands to avoid sending stones rolling and revealing their presence. They had covered perhaps half a mile when Quadratus signalled Publius by making an owl’s hoot: the signal they were used to using during military campaigns to indicate the proximity of their objective. Publius hooted back and slowly moved in.
Quadratus was pointing his finger at an extinguished campfire which still gave off a vague odour of smoke. Both men took a quick look in every direction, then approached the site.
Quadratus plunged his hands into the ashes. ‘They’re still warm. He didn’t even bother to douse the fire.’
‘You’re right,’ replied Publius, running the ashes through his fingers. ‘Maybe he didn’t want to waste what little water he had with him.’
‘Don’t be foolish. Sand will put out a fire. It’s almost as if he wanted to lure us here to . . .’
He didn’t have time to finish what he was saying. Publius was nudging him to get his attention. He was gesturing wide-eyed with an expression of fear and astonishment.
Directly in front of them, no more than twenty feet away, was a horseman sitting immobile on his mount. They could make him out quite well in the moonlight: he was slightly built, like a boy. He wore trousers and a tunic and his face was almost completely covered by a strip of black cloth fixed at either side of his face to a kind of felt head-covering of a style they had never seen.
‘Is he armed, do you think?’ whispered Publius.
‘I’m afraid so,’ replied Quadratus. ‘Don’t move. We don’t know what’s going through his head.’
The horsemen touched his heels to the flanks of his horse and began to slowly circle the two men. The silence of the night was absolute in that moment, yet the sound of the horse’s hoofs was nearly imperceptible.
‘It’s as if he’s not touching the ground!’ whispered Publius again, and he turned to get a full view of the mysterious horseman.
‘Don’t move!’ hissed Quadratus. ‘Do not challenge him. He won’t strike us from behind. If you keep twisting around like that, he’ll think we’re afraid.’
‘That’s the truth!’ admitted Publius between his teeth, and froze to the spot.
The horseman completed his brief circuit around the two unmoving men and the campfire, and stopped again directly in front of them. A bow suddenly materialized in his hands, an arrow nocked into the taut string.
‘It’s over,’ muttered Publius. ‘Farewell, Centurion, I’ll see you in Hades.’
Quadratus did not answer. He was staring at the tip of the arrow as if spellbound. The horsemen held his aim for a few moments, then slowly released the bowstring. He put the weapon away, spurred on his horse and vanished instantly over the top of a line of hills.
The two men looked each other in the face without saying a word, then headed back at full pelt towards their camp.
They reached their comrades just as dawn was about to break and told them what had happened. Metellus listened attentively, then turned to Uxal. ‘What do you think? Who could it have been? Not a Persian scout, that’s for sure. Why would he have spared them?’
‘No, I don’t think it was a scout put on our trail. He would not have stopped at threatening them with a bow, and he wouldn’t have been alone. All we can say is that this fellow doesn’t want anyone in his way. If he met up with one of us again or if we crossed his path, he wouldn’t hesitate to let that arrow fly.’
‘I think so as well,’ said Quadratus. ‘He had all the time he needed to run us through, if he had intended to. He just wanted to make it clear that we should give him a wide berth. And that if he finds us sniffing around his trail again, he won’t think twice about striking back.’