mistrustful, ringed them. The gates slammed shut.
The centurion stepped down from the wall walk and appraised them closely.
'You are deserters.'
'No,' said Calgacus. 'Our patronus, the commander of these Dalmatians, ordered us to leave.' The Caledonian decided to take the initiative. 'If you could direct us to the house of the member of the Boule called Barlaha, we will return his son to him.'
'Oh no.' The centurion grinned. 'I can take care of that.'
Beside him, Calgacus felt Maximus stiffen. Calgacus put out a hand to restrain him.
The centurion gestured for the child to come to him. Unaware of the tension, the boy walked over to the officer. Reaching him, he turned and, in formal Attic Greek, thanked his rescuers. The centurion motioned a soldier to lead him away.
Calgacus was not ready to give up yet. 'We must see the governor Valens straightaway. Our patronus, Marcus Clodius Ballista, is an amicus of his, and we have much information about the Sassanids.'
'Oh, you will see the governor, but not the traitor Valens.' The centurion smiled unpleasantly. 'Valens fled to the west when ordered to report to Samosata. Given the emergency, Macrianus the Elder, as Comes Sacrarum Largitionum and the commander of what remains of Valerian's field army, has been forced temporarily to assume maius imperium over the whole East. Macrianus has appointed his amicus, the noble ex-consul Gaius Calpurnius Piso Frugi, to be governor of Syria Coele.'
Calgacus said nothing.
'I have no doubt that the new governor, Piso Frugi, will want to see you. Especially as I understand that your patronus, Marcus Clodius Ballista, led the emperor Valerian into a Persian trap and the barbarian has now justly been declared an enemy of the Roman people.'
The centurion smirked. 'Oh yes, the noble Piso Frugi will want to question you — although probably not until you have spent a few days in the cells under the palace.'
Calgacus remained silent.
'Now give up your weapons.' The centurion was thoroughly enjoying the moment.
Calgacus looked at Maximus and shook his head. Slowly, the Caledonian unsheathed first his sword then his dagger and threw them down in the dust at his feet. The others followed his lead.
At a signal from the centurion, soldiers came forward and efficiently searched the unarmed men. Calgacus winced as his wounded arm was wrenched. Their mounts, Pale Horse among them, were led away.
'All in all, a good morning's work,' the centurion said to his second-in-command.
'Just so, Dominus,' replied the optio. 'Three freedmen of a hostis arrested, four deserters apprehended and, to come, the gratitude of a member of the Boule whose son we will return.'
'Take them away.' The high country north of Edessa going up to the Euphrates and Samosata all looks much the same. But Ballista knew where he was as soon as he saw the lone pike standing stark on the horizon.
They had been riding hard all day. Two or three times, Persian patrols had closed to investigate. They had veered away, no explanation necessary, when they saw the golden ornaments on the bridle of the Sassanid officer's horse. No easterner in his right mind would interfere with a man going about the business of the King of Kings.
Now, the sun was low. Elongated shadows stretched out as they rode up to the crest. Tired and sore, Ballista composed himself in preparation for what he was about to see. It was not chance that the Sassanids had led them this way. Ballista halted his mount and looked up.
Turpio was just recognizable. Birds had pecked out his eyes; some of the flesh on his face was gone. Being impaled on the pike had prevented the scavengers of the earth reaching his head. What remained was barely corrupt. Although it seemed an age, it had only been five days. Ballista looked at his friend. Don't cry Over the happy dead But weep for those who dread To die.
The Persian officer broke into Ballista's thoughts. 'It was the will of Mazda.' Garshasp was also looking up at the grisly thing on the pike. 'I saw him die. Your friend died well.'
'He never lacked courage. Once, at Arete, he came this close' — Ballista snapped his fingers — 'to killing your king. As you say, the will of the gods.'
'When I was commanded to bring you this way,' Garshasp continued, 'I was told you were not to bury him. I am sorry.'
'Thank you. I would have done, even though the burial rites of Romans like him are not those of my people. We often burn our dead warriors.'
Garshasp grunted. 'Let us move on. It would be best to camp beyond the battlefield.'
Even in shadow, the valley of tears was a horrible sight. The tidal wave of war had swept its debris across its length. Everywhere were strewn discarded, hacked shields, bent and broken swords, the snapped shafts of arrows and, everywhere, the corpses of men and beasts. Here they lay in ones and twos. There, to the right, leading to the isolated hill rising from the floor of the valley, a thick carpet of them, where the Sassanid cavalry had broken Legio VI Gallicana. Another hideous pile on the slopes, where those too wounded to walk had been killed after the surrender.
The horses, unnerved by the scent of death, placed their hooves nervously amidst the carnage. A vulture, too gorged to fly, waddled off a bloated corpse. Some of the dead were more decayed than others. Ballista half remembered Turpio telling him it was all to do with climate and diet; damp westerners rot more quickly than desiccated men from the east.
They rode on after the sun had gone down. Garshasp was evidently as keen as the others to put some distance between them and the dead. Eventually, he called a halt.
Their new status as envoys had brought temporary eastern servants for Ballista and Cledonius. The two Roman officers sat on the ground and watched their horses being groomed and their tents erected. The sharp north wind made the latter tricky; sudden gusts flicked leather sheets aside, coiled guy ropes around limbs.
Cledonius sent away the youth who would have seen to Ballista's dressings. By the guttering torchlight, Cledonius did it himself. The ab Admissionibus had been kept by Valerian's side and had thus been spared some of the hardship of the march. Now, his long, thin face was close to the northerner; his hands worked deftly. They talked together softly in Latin.
'Ballista, it is — what? — over twenty years since you came into the imperium as a hostage for the good behaviour of your father's tribe — not that it has always curbed the inherent ferocity of you Angles. Anyway, you have spent more than half your life, not just in the imperium, but connected to the imperial court, and at times you are as naive as the day you emerged out of your damp northern forests.' Cledonius smiled affectionately. 'Of course Valerian knows that Macrianus loathes us — although I would say rather more you than me. I have never punched one of his sons in the balls.'
'So Valerian wants our embassy to fail?'
Cledonius shook his head in mock-wonder at Ballista's obtuseness. 'That is the general idea. Thanks to you, Valerian knows he was betrayed by Macrianus. But only a few know it. And those now within the imperium might find it hard to be believed. So Valerian has created a public spectacle where the lame one must break his oath to value the safety of the emperor above everything. At the very least, such despicable lack of loyalty and flagrant disregard of the gods will give a very poor start to Macrianus's campaign if he intends to elevate his odious sons to the throne. At best, it gives Gallienus in the west a just cause for war: revenge on the oath-breaker who betrayed his father, Valerian.'
Ballista thought for a moment. 'Why has Shapur agreed to the embassy?'
'Harder to say.' Cledonius shrugged. 'The King of Kings has not chosen to confide in me. But it seems he is equally well served by our success or failure.'
Now it was Ballista's turn to shrug. Immediately, he wished he had not. It hurt. 'Explain.'
Cledonius waited for a servant, who had come to tell them that their tents were ready, to move out of earshot. 'If, as expected, Macrianus rejects the demand to ransom Valerian, then Shapur has an excellent cause for the war to carry on. But on the other side of the coin, if, by some divine intervention, we get Macrianus to give up what is demanded, then Shapur gets a huge amount of gold and silver and certain other things which make his glory all the greater and, I feel sure, Mazda will guide him to another good and just reason for the fighting to continue.'
'Either way, we end up back on our bellies before the Sassanid throne.' Ballista sounded depressed. 'And then…'
