and shoulders. With a last reproachful glance at the sand spit that had killed him he allowed himself a single sip from the final water skin and set off westwards.
At first it was merely a trial. The furnace temperatures made it difficult to breathe and he could feel the skin on his arms melting, but he made reasonable progress. Very soon it became a torment. The relentless heat seemed to suck the strength from his legs. The sand shifted beneath his feet and he found himself fighting for every step. His mouth and nose might as well have been filled with sand. Grit scraped his eyeballs and his vision blurred, making it difficult to keep his course. Water. He must have water. But Tiberius knew that when the water skin was empty he was finished, so he denied himself until he could endure no longer, then denied himself again. What seemed like a mile later, he scrabbled for the water skin and gulped down a single mouthful, though it took all his resolve not to drink more. He risked a look back the way he’d come and let out a tormented groan. A few hundred paces away the dark bulk of Hercules lay in the sand. He had been walking for what seemed like hours and he had travelled only a quarter of a mile. A lesser man might have fallen on his sword in despair, but Tiberius Claudius Crescens was no lesser man. His brutal upbringing had had but a single purpose. To make him hard. Hard as the iron that forged his sword. Hard as the stones he had carried to build his strength. His father had taught him to hate, and to endure. He slung the water skin over his shoulder by its leather strap and began walking again.
The makeshift hood suffocated him, but when he removed it the super-heated air burned his face and throat and the sun seared his scalp like a fish on a griddle. The heat played tricks with his mind. At one point he marched at the centre of a full cohort of legionaries, fully equipped with sword, shield and spear, their helmets glistening and their centurions calling out the marching beat. Every one carried a full water skin that sloshed and gurgled with each step he took, but the moment Tiberius turned to ask for a drink the whole unit vanished. A mile later his father rode past on a pale horse, even though he was long dead, but when Tiberius picked up his pace to ask the questions he’d always wanted to ask, the horse turned into a dog and ran into the desert.
He would have kept the sea to his right, but the sea was long gone. That told him he was lost, but it didn’t matter because when he saw his tracks he realized he had been walking in circles. When he saw the city moving towards him he started laughing. Through his delirium he knew that it was just another joke the gods were playing on him. He only felt threatened when he saw the armoured giants. They shimmered across the flat plain, growing larger with every step and walking three feet above the ground. Well, he would fight them. He drew his sword and it felt good in his hand. But the reality was that he’d thrown the sword away with his empty water skin twenty minutes earlier. When a hand touched his shoulder, he believed he was fighting for his life. He would have killed anyone who said he was pleading for it.
XV
‘He is not coming back. We all die if we stay here.’ The sailors’ spokesman, Susco, the Nubian sailmaster, was a big man but heat and thirst had shrivelled him like a piece of animal hide in a fire. His words emerged as a choked, belligerent challenge from a throat dry as dust. Behind him his shipmates stood in a tattered, swaying line, red-rimmed eyes squinting from faces blackened by the sun. Valerius noted that they had waited until the water had been distributed to make their challenge. It had given them renewed strength and fuelled their determination.
‘We should go, tonight when the sun sets,’ Susco continued. ‘East. If the tribune could not reach help in the west on a horse, we must go east.’ Valerius nodded, not in agreement, but because he understood the logic of desperation. Susco mistook it for approval. ‘We will take all the water and travel light. We can make sixteen miles before dawn.’
‘Aye,’ a ragged growl of approval from the sailors.
‘No.’
The Nubian shook his head. ‘You are outvoted, tribune, and outnumbered.’
Valerius laughed at his naivety. ‘Do you think you are in the Senate, Susco? Do you believe that what you say carries some sort of authority? Then you are mistaken. There is no vote. I command here and as long as I command we stay.’
‘It is you who are mistaken,’ Susco growled. ‘There are no patricians and no plebs here. Just desperate men looking for a chance of life and their fair share of what they are entitled to. If you want to stay, we’ll take what’s ours and go.’ Susco took a step forward, his fists bunched, and there was a growl as the men moved with him towards the tent. Valerius felt Serpentius moving in behind him, but he made a calming motion with his left hand. This could still be settled without violence.
‘And what about them?’ Valerius pointed to the two injured sailors lying in the shade of the makeshift awning. ‘Will they get their fair share too?’
Susco shrugged. They would die soon enough and had not been part of his plan, but he knew his supporters would never abandon their shipmates. ‘We’ll carry them.’
‘Then you won’t make sixteen miles. More like six. And what will you find? Exactly the same as you have here. More sand, more rocks and more sea. Only you won’t have shelter and your water will run out by noon and you’ll be dead by nightfall.’ Valerius sensed confusion in the men behind Susco. The sailmaster had convinced them that anything was better than the hell they were suffering here, but if Valerius could persuade them they would be better off together they still had a chance. ‘And what if you do leave at nightfall and Tiberius is just five miles down the beach, with help? Those who stay will be drinking sweet water and on their way back to civilization while you are dying by inches in the sand.’
Susco glanced to his shipmates for support, but one glance told him he’d lost them. His shoulders slumped and Valerius sighed with relief.
‘We-’
‘A Roman officer does not negotiate with scum, tribune.’ Domitia’s imperious voice rasped through the silence like a saw blade and Valerius saw the men stiffen. He turned. She was standing just outside her tent, tall and straight as a legionary centurion, her small breasts rising and falling beneath the thin shift. She glared at the sailors, eyes filled with contempt and the utter conviction of a lineage that gave her dominion over men like these. ‘Mutineers and deserters deserve no water and they will have none. Get back to your places or I will have you cut down by my guards. My father will hear of this when we reach Antioch. The punishment for mutiny is death and you can be sure I will urge him to show no mercy.’
The big sailor stared at Domitia. ‘We won’t take orders from a girl and we won’t be treated like dogs,’ he said. ‘We’ll have the water now and we’ll butcher you to get it if we have to.’ When Susco spoke there was a catch in his voice that betrayed his intentions and Valerius knew in that moment that he would have to kill him. With a growl the crew moved towards the tent and he felt the familiar glow of coming battle flare inside him. He drew his sword and heard the distinctive hiss of another blade being unsheathed as Serpentius stepped to his side.
‘Are you willing to die for it, Susco? Or you? Or you?’ Valerius was smiling now. The savage smile of a born killer. A victor’s snarling mask. To the men facing him, he seemed to grow, a warrior god come to earth, the scarred face offering only one thing: death. ‘A water skin is no good to a man with a cut throat or a hole in his guts. Get back to where you belong. We’ll issue the next ration at first light and Tiberius will be back before noon. Obey my order and there will be no executions. Obey and we will all get out of this alive. You have my word on it.’
They backed away, unwillingly, but they went. He knew they would return.
When they were a safe distance away he turned to Domitia. Her eyes had lost none of their certainty.
‘I expected more of you, tribune,’ she snapped. ‘Your duty is to protect me.’
He took her by the arm and pulled her back to the tent. She made no attempt to break away. ‘My duty is to get as many people out of this alive as I can, lady, and you have just made that more difficult. In fact, I think you may have killed us all.’
She looked at him and he wondered if it was contempt in her eyes. Only later did he realize it was pity. ‘Perhaps you are not like my father after all.’
He left her and went to where Serpentius was sharpening his long sword.
‘They’ll be back,’ the Spaniard said. ‘And we should be ready for them.’
Valerius nodded absently. ‘I made a mistake. I should have killed Susco.’
‘Better that way.’ Serpentius spat dryly. ‘They only had a few sailors’ knives; it would have been like killing rabbits. Might be different later.’
