‘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.’
‘Did you say that he was wearing a kind of black veil that covered his mouth?’ asked Metellus.
‘That’s right, wrapped up around the top of some strange headgear. He was wearing a tunic that crossed over in the front and was fastened by a belt, with trousers and boots.’
Metellus thought immediately of the horseman with the veiled face that he’d seen among the warriors in Shapur’s entourage that day in Edessa, and then once or twice again during their long journey across the Persian high plains.
‘He’s a strange one, all right,’ observed Severus. ‘He follows us, but he won’t tolerate us following him.’
‘He’s not necessarily following us,’ observed Balbus, who hadn’t spoken up till then. ‘Maybe he’s just on the same road. Maybe he’s fleeing from someone or something, just as we are.’
‘It’s possible,’ agreed Metellus. ‘I don’t think he’ll give us much cause for concern. Let’s continue on our way. We’ll move on now, for as long as it stays cool. When it gets too hot, we’ll stop in a sheltered spot, if we find one, or we’ll build a makeshift shelter ourselves. In marching order, men. We’re off.’
He set off first, followed by Balbus and Quadratus. The second group was formed of Uxal, Septimius and Lucianus with the asses, and the last of Antoninus, Severus, Martianus, Publius and Rufus, who always kept his javelin at the ready, even while marching.
Dawn was not long in coming, announced by a thin pink strip to their left, becoming a luminous arch that put the stars out one by one. The endless barren countryside, sculpted by the half-light and tinted by the mix of midnight blue and rosy dawn, was transformed when the sun appeared. The terrain which had been peopled with fleeting shadows turned into a blinding, chalky waste land, a formless slab above which the shimmering air created dancing apparitions.
When he saw that his men were dripping with sweat, Metellus ordered them to stop and to fashion a shelter from the sun using the mats they carried and some sticks. The asses were let loose to graze on the tamarisk shrubs and on other plants with a globular shape and an intensely green colour which managed to grow in the midst of the stones.
They lay down alongside each other, covered their faces with rags and tried to sleep. Rufus remained on guard along with Publius, who continually scanned the horizon for any sign of life.
‘There he is,’ said Publius suddenly.
‘Who?’
‘Him. The archer on horseback.’
‘I don’t see anything.’
‘Over there. See, near the dust-devils. On the top of that hill.’
‘You certainly have got good eyesight. Now that you’ve pointed him out I can see him too. What’s he doing?’
‘Nothing. He’s stock-still in the middle of the desert on his horse.’
‘Isn’t his brain burning up?’
‘Don’t ask me. Who knows where he comes from? Who knows who he is? They say that Asia is so big that it covers the rest of the world. There are lands populated by one-legged monsters, and others where the inhabitants don’t have faces – just an eye in the middle of their chests.’
‘And you believe that?’
‘I don’t know, but that fellow’s nothing like us, I can tell you that. He appeared in front of us as though he’d come out of nowhere. And how do we know what’s behind that black veil that covers nearly his whole face? Centurion Quadratus has got guts, you know that, but he turned white as a sheet when he saw that bastard smack in front of us in the moonlight with that arrow aimed straight at him.’
‘Everyone looks white as a sheet in the moonlight.’
‘Shut up, will you?’ Quadratus broke in. ‘I’d like to sleep an hour or two, if you’ll let me.’
The two men fell silent, but they kept their eyes on the small dark shape immobile on top of the hill.
‘If you want to know what I think,’ said Rufus in a whisper, ‘he doesn’t intend to pass us. He’s letting us go first so he’ll have no surprises.’
‘Or he doesn’t know where the hell to go and he’s following us because he hopes we know the way.’
‘Yeah, maybe. Anyway, the commander’s right. Let him stew in his own juice, and we’ll mind our own affairs. Sooner or later he’ll disappear.’
And in fact he vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. Rufus and Publius were distracted for a moment by the asses, who were wandering off, and when they turned their gaze back to the hill the horseman had disappeared in the quivering whitehot air.
TOWARDS EVENING they ate some dry dates and a few walnuts, swallowed down their last ration of water, served by Martianus in a wooden bowl, and set forth again, marching up the dry river bed.
They walked all that night and all the next, with very little food in their stomachs and no water. Their weariness was becoming unbearable. The strain of years of unceasing toil and brutal treatment could certainly not be eased by forced marches and rationed food. They went forward by dint of willpower alone and the steadfastness forged of endless hardship.
Uxal was the one who worried Metellus most: his age, the continuous exertion and the emotions generated by their adventure seemed to weigh more heavily on his frail frame than on anyone else’s.
Finally, by the dawn of the third day, the vegetation in the river bed had become so plenteous that Uxal himself urged the others to push on instead of stopping to prepare a shelter for the day.
‘What’s the hurry?’ asked Metellus. ‘We’ve waited so long, what’s another day?’
‘I’m sure that we’re close now,’ replied Uxal. ‘See those birds? They’re finches. They need water every day. You’ll see.’
He wasn’t wrong. In less than two hours, the temperature had changed ma
rkedly and a lush thicket appeared in the middle of the river bed.
‘I’ll go first,’ said Uxal. ‘You never know. Wait for me here and stay out of sight.’
He strode off alone and when he returned a little while later his hair and clothes were wet and his mouth was open in a smile that could have been called radiant if he’d still had his teeth.
‘Water,’ he said.
‘Water?’ repeated Metellus incredulously.
‘And dates, and pistachios. All you want.’
Metellus said nothing, but in his heart he thanked his ancestors and Clelia’s beneficent spirit for protecting him. He set off after Uxal, leading the others to the top of a little knoll, and from there he stopped to contemplate the scene of their salvation. He stood and watched as his men ran towards a copse of palm trees and luxuriant tamarisks, and did not dare to believe that another step towards their freedom had been accomplished.
‘Water and food,’ he mused as he walked to catch up with the others, ‘will give us the strength and courage to continue. It can only get better from here on. We’ll find villages, markets and caravans that can take us far away from this inferno.’
Metellus thought of his son and it felt as if Titus had always been with him, trusting in his return, sending him the water that he would soon be drinking. He was convinced that the benevolent thoughts of those who loved him could bend events to his advantage, and to the advantage of his comrades.
The water gushed from between two limestone rocks and filled a natural basin all the way to its rim. From there it spilled through a little crack and bubbled down into a cascade that fed a rivulet that trickled away amid shiny pebbles and clean sand.
The men had stripped completely. They cupped the water between their hands and tossed it at each other, laughing like boys, washing away the sweat, dust and filth that encrusted their bodies and hair. Metellus joined in that collective bath after having quenched his thirst. It felt as if all his strength was back and, with it, his faith in the future.
When they got out of the pool it was nearly midday. They stretched out in the shade to dry off and rest, leaving Martianus on guard outside the oasis.
Lucianus noticed that there were animal tracks all around. ‘We’ll find meat here as well,’ he said. ‘When night falls, gazelles, ibex and antelopes come here to drink. We’ll just lie low and patiently wait for the right moment to strike.’
‘Will we be able to light a fire?’ asked Severus.
‘I think we’re out of danger,’ replied Uxal. ‘We’re miles away from Aus Daiwa and it’s been such a long time since we escaped. They won’t have a clue where to look any more, and besides, this is a caravan route. The smoke of campfires is hardly an unusual sight. We can do it at night, and shield the fire with our mats, or with palm leaves or whatever else we can find.’
‘I’m against it,’ replied Metellus. ‘But if you all agree I’m willing to risk it. We’ve been sorely lacking sustenance and a joint of roast meat is too great a temptation even for a legion commander.’
The men laughed and then, one after another, surrendered to their fatigue. They spent the rest of the day gathering figs – they weren’t ripe yet, but they were edible – and pistachios to roast on the fire once it had been lit.
Lucianus and Septimius had their comrades move away from the water so they could prepare their trap. Rufus joined them with his inseparable javelin and the three of them waited in silence until darkness fell. The asses were let loose so that their presence would reassure the wild animals.
The wait was longer than expected. A young gazelle approached shortly after sunset but smelled something in the air and sprang away in huge bounds. Next came a jackal, which had a leisurely drink and trotted away. The bigger animals didn’t arrive until it was pitch black: an antelope and a couple of ibex. Lucianus aimed with his bow, taking advantage of the faint light of the moon, and let fly. The female ibex, hit in the thigh, tried nonetheless to run away but Rufus was ready and flung his javelin, striking her flank.
The animal dropped to the ground, kicking, while the male and the antelope leapt off, vanishing in the dark. Septimius finished the female off with his knife, skinned her and cut her into pieces. Meanwhile, Uxal was trying to light a fire, nomadstyle: rubbing a sycamore stick against the hollow of a dry tamarisk branch. He soon tired, but Balbus and Quadratus took over, quickly learning the technique. After a while, the continued friction caused the tamarisk branch to start smoking and a little flame burst out.
It was the first true meal they’d had after two years of imprisonment, and Uxal had even managed to flavour the meat with a savoury herb that grew between the stones.
‘If only we had a little wine . . .’ mused Antoninus. ‘Can you imagine? I don’t know what I’d give for a sip of Massico.’
‘We have this water,’ said Metellus. ‘That’s miracle enough.’
‘Commander,’ said Rufus, ‘we’ll make it now, won’t we? They’ll have stopped searching for us by now.’
Metellus broke off a stalk of wild oak and twirled it between his fingers for a moment, in silence, before he answered. ‘You always have to put yourself in the enemy’s mind. If you were them, what would you do? Would you give up?’
Antoninus did not reply.
‘We’ll take what comes,’ added Metellus. ‘Every day is a day gained. We can make it, I do believe that. With every passing hour we’re closer to freedom. But they won’t be giving up any time soon. We can be sure of that. So douse the campfire, hide the traces, load up the asses and we’ll leave.’
They set off and the little column was soon swallowed up by the night.
10
A CARAVAN APPEARED on the top of a hill at a distance of about three or four miles: a dozen loaded camels and a small escort of horsemen. They looked like dark shadows because the sun was behind them, and their route seemed to be running more or less parallel to the one that Metellus and his men were taking, as they continued along the river bed so as not to be noticed. More than once, the commander had strayed several hundred paces to the left or right to check how visible their little convoy was; he was reassured to see that the heads of the tallest men barely emerged from the top of the banks, and were practically indistinguishable in the darkness by anyone who was not aware of their presence.
He had decided to continue to proceed only by night because the strategy had produced excellent results, but they began their march earlier, at dusk, and they kept it up until a few hours after dawn, when the sun rose. In this way they managed to increase the distance covered by each leg up to seven or eight miles.
The waterway at the centre of the river bed widened as they advanced and seemed increasingly like a torrent, surrounded by an abundance of vegetation and visited by many animals, including groups of partridges and bustards that often contributed to enriching the diet of Metellus’s men and filling out their frames. Apart from Uxal, they were all quite young and their physiques reacted well, after such lengthy privations, to the scarce but nourishing food they were able to procure for themselves. But what gave them vigour was, above all, their enthusiasm for their refound freedom and their firm determination never to be deprived of it again, at any cost.
They continued to advance with this spirit, always keeping up with the caravan they had sighted. They imagined them to be a group of merchants accompanied by servants, camel drivers and an escort; every night they camped on the shores of the torrent, lighting a fire to cook their dinner.
Halfway through the second leg of their journey, after having seen the caravan, the torrent disappeared suddenly, swallowed up by the earth, and for nearly eight miles they didn’t see it again. They had plentiful water supplies, but were always rather short of food.
One evening Quadratus approached Uxal, who was busy roasting something on a stone brought to a red heat in the embers. ‘What is that?’ asked the centurion. ‘It sure smells good.’
‘Delicious stuff,’ said Uxal. ‘Taste.’
; Quadratus took some and the other comrades followed suit.
‘What was it?’ asked Severus when he had finished. ‘I’ve never had that before.’
‘Larvae,’ replied Uxal.
‘Do you mean worms?’ exclaimed Severus with a disgusted expression.
‘Call them what you like. What’s important is that you’ve eaten,’ said Metellus behind them. ‘I can’t afford to let your energy fail. We need every spark we’ve got.’
They continued for two more legs of three parasangs and were relieved to see the torrent reappear; it never abandoned them again, for the rest of their journey. At the end of the sixth leg, as the day was dawning, they came within sight of an area covered with lush palm trees between which their torrent wound its way until it poured into the Khaboras, a great river which dominated the valley with its glittering presence. It flowed from north to south between two low sandstone banks, where it had carved out a passage. Caravans could be seen everywhere, camped among the palm groves and along the shores of the river, and more seemed to be coming from every direction. On the eastern side of the grove there was a village of low greenbrick houses plastered with mud.
‘The oasis of Khaboras!’ exulted Uxal. ‘What did I tell you?’
‘I never doubted it,’ said Metellus, laying a hand on his shoulder, ‘and we’re very grateful to you. You, Uxal, are the true leader of this expedition. Without you we would never have managed to get this far. But I’m afraid we’re not in the clear yet. These places are crossing points for traffic coming and going in every direction. And no one knows that better than our enemies. I’m certain that among the caravans, or in the village houses, there are Persian spies or even soldiers in disguise.’
‘What do you propose we do, Commander?’ asked Quadratus.
‘I say we send Uxal forward with Septimius and a couple of asses. Septimius will pretend to be a servant, and thus won’t need to talk, and he can return here every night to report back to us. When Uxal has negotiated passage with a caravan, we’ll come forward and arrange to continue our journey, in the hopes that this time we’ll be distancing ourselves from danger once and for all.’
Empire of Dragons Page 11