childish fantasy came over him. Why not just saddle Pale Horse, slip away and all alone ride west, never to return to the bustling irritations of Arete? But straight away he knew it was impossible. What about Maximus and Demetrius – and Calgacus? And then the big question: where would he go? To sit in his sun-drenched garden on the cliffs of Tauromenium or to drink by the fire in the high-roofed hall of his father?
At length it was Romulus who started them moving again, pointing out somewhat reproachfully that now they would not reach the ruined caravanserai that marked the half-way point by nightfall. Ballista said it did not matter. Maximus loudly and repeatedly said that it was a blessing in disguise: such places were undoubtedly crawling with snakes; the open air was far, far safer.
The afternoon followed the pattern of the morning, the river to the left, the wide emptiness of the sky and the land, the broad road along the plateau always unrolling to the south. As in the morning, sometimes they followed the road down into ravines, the horses' hooves sending showers of stones ahead, sometimes the road climbed straight out again, and sometimes it took its time, meandering down to the river and running along the floodplain, through the tamarisks and date palms, until a suitable opportunity appeared to regain the plateau.
The low winter sun was throwing long shadows to their left, making strange elongated beasts of horses and riders, when something happened. It started quietly. Maximus leant over, touched Ballista's knee and jerked his head back in the direction they had come. Ballista pulled his mount round to one side to see better. The cavalryman on rear point duty was in sight. He was a long way off but rapidly catching them. He was galloping, although not flat out. The south wind was making the dust his horse kicked up stream out behind them. The column came to a halt. Realizing he was observed, the cavalryman gathered the ends of his cloak in his right hand and waved them in the air, the usual signal for Enemy in Sight.
He was still some way off. They waited, all eyes not on the cavalryman but looking beyond him to see what might appear. The five equites singulares with the column fanned out into a line. Behind them the servants waited phlegmatically with the pack animals. The scribes and messengers talked rapidly among themselves. They all looked very frightened, except the scribe with the Spanish accent, who waited as impassively as any of the soldiers.
Nothing had shown itself by the time the cavalryman brought his horse to a halt before Ballista.
'Dominus, Sassanid light cavalry, bowmen – about fifty or sixty of them – about three miles away.'
'Which direction are they heading?'
'They were coming from the west, down from the hills to the river.'
'Did they see you?'
'Yes.'
'Did they chase you?'
'Not straight away. They waited until their lead group had reached the river, then they started to follow me, but at a walk.'
'Lead group?'
'Yes, Dominus. They were split into five groups stretched out over the three or four miles between the hills and the river.'
'Had they seen the rest of us?'
'I don't think so, Dominus.'
Allfather, but this looks bad, thought Ballista. Everyone was looking at him, waiting. He tried to block them out and think clearly. He looked around. Still nothing to be seen.
The man on point to the left, the east, was only a couple of hundred paces away; beyond him was the cliff down to the river. To the west the scout was about 400 paces out. Straight ahead to the south neither of the scouts could be seen, but the fresh wind was carrying a wide line of dust towards them from some miles away.
'Romulus, where exactly are we?' Ballista worked hard at making his voice sound calm, possibly even slightly bored.
'Just under twenty miles out of Arete, Dominus, just over twenty-five short of Castellum Arabum. The disused caravanserai is about three miles ahead.'
'Is there any shelter up in the hills to the west – a fort or settlement, occupied or not?'
'Only the village of Merrha to the north-west. It is occupied and walled, but the Sassanids are between us and it.' Romulus brightened. 'But we can go to the disused caravanserai. Its walls still stand, and we can reach it long before the Persians catch up with us.'
'Yes, it is tempting. But I think that it is possibly the last thing we should do.' Ballista circled his arms, calling in the men from left and right. 'Romulus, which of the equites singulares here has the best mount?'
Before the standard-bearer could answer, another cheekily cut in. 'No question about that, Dominus, me.' The man grinned. Demetrius whispered in Ballista's ear: 'Antigonus.'
'Right, Antigonus, I want you to go and bring in the two scouts from out in front. Meet us back at the last grove of date palms we passed through, down by the river. We will wait for you there. If we are not there, the three of you are to make your own way either to Arete or Castellum Arabum. Save yourselves as best you can. There is not a moment to lose. I will explain when you return. Take care.'
While Antigonus set off to the south at a gallop, the column retraced its steps to the north, also at a gallop. Once they were in the stand of trees, Ballista rattled out orders to put them in a new formation, his voice little above a fierce whisper. They were to form a wedge, an arrowhead. Ballista was to be the point, Maximus close to his right and half a length behind him, three equites singulares beyond and behind him. Romulus and the other four equites singulares were to comprise the left side of the formation. Demetrius and the Spanish scribe were to ride right behind Ballista, then the rest of the staff and the servants with the packhorses.
Ballista quietly, and he hoped calmly, explained what he was about. The aim could not be simpler: they were to break through the group of Sassanids closest to the river. With luck, the Persians would be taken by surprise as they charged out of the shelter of the date palms. Again with luck, this group of Persians down by the river would at that moment be out of sight of the others up on the plateau, buying the Romans just a little time. Anyway, once through the nearest group, the Romans would ride flat out for Arete and safety. With yet more luck, the night would hide them from the pursuing enemy.
It was growing dark among the date palms. The shadow of the cliff stretched out across the Euphrates. The temperature was dropping quickly. The wind worried at the palm fronds and tamarisks. The waters sucked at the banks. It was hard to hear anything clearly and difficult to see in the gathering gloom. Somewhere on the other side of the river a jackal barked.
'How do you know we are in a trap?' Maximus whispered, his mouth very close to Ballista's ear. The northerner took his time replying, wondering how to put his suspicions into words.
'The Sassanids between us and Arete are not acting like a normal scouting party looking for information. If that is what they were they would have chased the one of us they saw, chased him flat out – catch him and they could go home, out of danger. Instead they are moving south at a slow walk, strung out across the plain between the river and the hills. They have been sent on a flank march to catch any of us who escape from the main ambush. That line of dust in the sky to the south – it might just be the wind, but to me it looks all too like the sort of dust raised by a lot of cavalry moving fast.'
The sound of a scatter of stones and the first of the Persian horsemen appeared. They rode out of the wadi and on to the floodplain, advancing in the gathering gloom. As the scout had said, they were light cavalry, horse archers. Dressed in tunic and trousers, they were unarmoured. One or two had metal helmets, but the majority were bareheaded or wore just a cloth cap or bandana. Each had a long cavalry sword on his left hip, some had a small round shield on their left arm. There seemed to be at least fifteen of them. If they had ridden in any particular order, it had been dissipated by the descent into the ravine. Now they rode in a loose group, three horses across and four or five deep. They came on at a walk, their horses stepping delicately.
The Sassanids were getting close. Even in the gloom Ballista could make out their long hair, the glitter of their dark eyes. They were getting too close. Any moment now one of them would see the immobile forms waiting in the deeper shadow of the palm grove. Ballista could feel his heart beating as he sucked in air to fill his lungs.
'Now! Charge! Charge!' he yelled, kicking his heels into Pale Horse's flanks. There was a second's pause as the gelding gathered his quarters and then they were crashing through the reeds which fringed the grove and hurtling towards the Persians. There were exclamations of surprise, shouts of warning. The enemy tugged swords from scabbards. Their horses had come to a halt, some wheeling pointlessly. Ballista aimed at a point between
