left, rippling in the heat from the fierce sun, lay the endless line of hills he recognized from Corbulo’s sand table. Somewhere to the northeast stood Tigranocerta and he prayed that the general was right and the Armenian fortress’s commander would stay where he was. If the Armenian broke his word and decided to change his allegiance from Tiridates to his brother, Valerius’s little force would be crushed between two armies like a grape in a wine press. Even now Vologases could already be crossing his front and Corbulo’s plans would be smashed to dust along with the thousands of men he led.
‘Do you think they are out there?’
Hanno turned wearily in the saddle. His eyes were just visible in the folds of the dust-caked cloth that covered his helmeted head and his shoulders, but Valerius sensed he was smiling. The Syrian shook his head. ‘We would have seen signs. More activity ahead; cavalry patrols seeking out our spearhead.’ He waved a hand behind them to where the other cavalry units were hidden in a plume of yellow. ‘Dust.’ Of course, an army as large as that of the Parthian King of Kings would perpetually carry with it a cloud that cloaked it like a ready-made shroud.
Hanno removed the cloth from his face and spat. He had a feel for this land that no man who wasn’t born here would ever match. ‘Every sign of movement we have seen has come from the south, and nothing since we moved into this valley.’ Valerius had never thought of the grasslands they were crossing as a valley, but he supposed it was true. The hills to the north were matched by mountains to the south which had started as low foothills the previous morning, but now created the formidable barrier that stretched eastwards to the far horizon. Unbroken. Yet somewhere out there was Corbulo’s gap. If it existed. He dashed the thought from his mind, remembering the specific instructions he had been given. Riding behind them beside Serpentius was an engineer who had been with Corbulo from the start. The man had created Corbulo’s sand table and he brought with him a leather scroll case containing detailed maps: maps he had drawn during the general’s expedition during the consulship of Petronius Lurco. The gap was there. All Valerius needed to do was reach it before the Parthians.
‘And we’re sure we packed the special equipment?’
Hanno laughed. It was the third time Valerius had asked the question. For answer he adjusted the unfamiliar heavy shield that hung behind him and cursed its awkward unwieldiness. Valerius tested the sword slung on his back in a harness designed by Serpentius so he could draw it over his right shoulder. The cavalry spatha Corbulo had given him was a fine weapon, but the Medusa-pommelled gladius he had carried since Boudicca’s death was a talisman that had accompanied him this far and he would have felt naked without it.
When the sun dropped close to the western horizon he began to fear that they’d missed the valley entrance. The chances of finding it in darkness would be slim for the sharp-eyed Thracian scouts even with a three-quarter moon to aid them. Fortunately one of the patrols stumbled upon a shepherd and his two herder sons and Valerius set off with Hanno to their camp to question them.
The man and the younger boy sat by the fire that had alerted the Thracians to their presence. The elder son stood belligerently by the flock of about thirty skinny, ragged sheep daring any of Hanno’s men to come near them.
The shepherd waved Valerius to the place of honour on the upwind side of the fire and Hanno crouched beside him and made the traditional salutations in his own language. Valerius’s nostrils twitched at the rank animal smell emanating from his host, but he nodded as the man answered Hanno’s questions, revealing a mouthful of blackened teeth.
‘He says he has seen no Parthian patrols,’ the Syrian translated. ‘Or he would have driven his flock to the higher pastures on the hills yonder. The Parthians would take his sheep, unworthy though they are, and cheat him. He knows the Roma are honest men who would never deprive him of his livelihood and would be happy to negotiate a price.’
‘Ask him if he knows of the Cepha gap.’
The shepherd shook his head, but Valerius saw a flash of understanding in the dark, liquid eyes of the boy, probably less than ten years old, sitting opposite him.
‘Ask him again, but more forcefully.’
Hanno grinned, but when he spoke his voice contained a hard edge and the shepherd glanced nervously at Valerius before he replied.
‘He says, yes, now he understands what you mean, but he knows it by a different name, the Road of Sorrow, for this is the way the kings of Parthia and Seleucia have ever ridden to milk the lands of Armenia.’
‘Tell him he will be well rewarded if he takes us there.’
The smile didn’t reach the shepherd’s eyes and he gestured regretfully to his sheep.
‘Alas,’ Hanno translated, ‘he says he and his family must stay with their sheep. Without them they will starve when winter comes, as the north wind says it soon must. And there are wolves from the mountains; you have doubtless seen their tracks. He honours you, but he must decline, though he will gladly provide you with directions.’
The shepherd nodded and smiled ingratiatingly.
‘Then the boy will take us.’ Valerius pointed to the younger son and two of Hanno’s escort lifted him to his feet.
The father began to wail, but Hanno snarled at him and he lapsed into silence. ‘Now he is willing.’ The Syrian grinned at Valerius.
‘No, the boy will take us. I do not trust the father. He would find some means of slipping away in the night. Bring him.’
They remounted, leaving the shepherd standing beside the fire with the older son, who had abandoned his charges.
‘What will we do with them.’ Valerius understood it was not a question, but a reminder. ‘If we leave them behind and a Parthian patrol stumbles on them as we have…’
‘I know, prefect.’ The Roman’s voice was harsher than he intended, but Hanno’s expression didn’t alter. ‘Make sure they are fed first.’
The Syrian issued the order and as they galloped off Valerius could hear him laughing. ‘Aye, a full belly will make a cut throat all the easier to bear.’
‘They are here.’
Valerius cursed as he heard the scout’s whisper to the Third Thracian commander. The column had reined in a few hundred paces from the northern entrance of the Cepha gap, in the shadow of the hills, while a patrol checked for the enemy.
‘How many?’ Hanno demanded.
‘Perhaps seventy, a reinforced patrol.’ Only now did Valerius recognize the voice of Hassan, the Damascus trader’s son. ‘The usual mix of archers and spearmen, if their mounts are to be believed.’
‘Seventy? You are certain? And you weren’t seen?’
‘Does a vole see the hunting owl on the first pass? Does the hare see the eagle?’ White teeth grinned in the darkness. ‘They are camped in the centre of the valley, but their sentries are weary and have grown careless. Janos slipped past them and checked as far as the great river. Is that not so, Janos?’
‘Seventy, my life on it,’ agreed another voice.
‘Aye, so be it,’ Hanno said. ‘When we charge them you will be the first to meet their spears.’
‘Wait!’ Hassan turned at the sound of Valerius’s voice. ‘If you slipped past them once, can you do it again, this time with twenty men?’
‘If I may choose them. The valley is broad enough for it to be done.’
‘Is it worth the risk of discovery?’ Hanno sounded doubtful.
‘If so much as a man escapes, Vologases will send every sword, spear and bow he can get into the saddle and they will be on us before daybreak. Can we take that risk?’
For answer, the Syrian made his dispositions. ‘Janos, pick out your men. Archers, eh? Hassan, position your scouts and be ready to take out the guards at the first sign of an alert. Tribune, I would beg the honour of allowing the Third Thracians to make the attack.’
‘Very well.’ Valerius nodded. ‘But I want you here by my side. You are too valuable to lose to a stray arrow. We will deploy twelve squadrons.’
He saw Hanno’s grin of acceptance, but he knew the Syrian would be disappointed to miss the battle, if it could be called a battle with a numerical superiority of six to one and the element of surprise in favour of the attackers. But he could take no chances. Not a man could be allowed to escape.
