'I said, 'Why did you lie to your men?' ' Bathsiba's voice was pitched low. Above the rattle of equipment, the heavy footfalls and laboured breathing of men and horses, she could not be heard beyond the three of them. 'You have travelled this way before. You know we will not be safe when we reach the mountains. There is only one path through the high country. We could not be easier to follow if we were unrolling a thread behind us.'
'Sometimes a lie can cause the truth.' Ballista grinned. He felt oddly light-headed. 'Ariadne gave Theseus the ball of string to find his way out of the labyrinth when he went in to kill the minotaur. He promised he would marry her. But he abandoned her on the island of Naxos. If he had not lied Ariadne would not have married the god Dionysus, Theseus would not have had a son called Hippolytus, and Euripides could not have written the tragedy of that name.'
Neither Bathshiba nor Haddudad spoke. They were both looking at him strangely. Ballista sighed and started to explain. 'If I had told them the truth – that the Persians may well catch and kill us before the mountains, and that even if we get that far they will probably kill us anyway – they might have given up, and that would have been the end of things. I gave them some hope to work towards. And who knows, if we get to the mountains, we might make our own safety there.'
Ballista looked closely at Haddudad. 'I remember the road passes through several ravines.' The mercenary merely nodded. 'Are any of them suitable for an ambush?'
Haddudad took his time replying. Ballista and Bathshiba remained silent. The Arab mercenary had served Bathshiba's father for a long time. They knew he was a man whose judgement was sound.
'The Horns of Ammon, not far into the mountains – a good killing ground.'
Ballista signalled it was time to remount. As he hauled his tired frame into the saddle, he leant over and spoke quietly to Haddudad. 'Tell me just before we reach the Horns of Ammon – if we get that far.'
Night fell fast in the desert. One moment the sun was high in the sky, the next it was dipping out of sight. Suddenly Ballista's companions became black silhouettes and the dark came crowding down. The moon had not yet risen, and, even if the horses had not been fit to drop, it was not thought safe to continue by starlight.
Just off the track, they made camp in near-total darkness. By Ballista's order there were only three shuttered lanterns lit. They were positioned to face west, away from the pursuers, and when the horses were settled they were to be extinguished. Ballista rubbed down his mount, whispering quiet, meaningless endearments in the grey gelding's ears. He had bought Pale Horse in Antioch the year before. The gelding had served him well and he was very fond of the big-hearted animal. The smell of hot horse, as good to Ballista as the scent of grass after rain, and the feel of the powerful muscles under his smooth coat soothed him.
'Dominus.' The voice of a trooper leading up his mount broke Ballista's reverie. The soldier said nothing else. There was no need. The man's horse was as lame as a cat. As they so often did when needed, Maximus and Calgacus appeared out of the darkness. Without words, the elderly Caledonian took over seeing to Pale Horse and the bodyguard joined Ballista in checking the other horse. They walked it round, made it trot, inspected its hooves. It was hopeless. It could go no further. With a small jerk of his chin, Ballista indicated to Maximus to lead it away.
The trooper held himself very still, waiting. Only his eyes betrayed his fear.
'We will follow the custom of the desert.' At Ballista's words the man exhaled deeply. 'Tell everyone to gather round.'
Ballista collected his helmet and a pottery wine jar and placed them on the ground next to one of the lanterns, which he opened completely. The small party formed a circle in the light, squatting in the dust. The lantern threw harsh light on to their tense faces, accentuating their features. Somewhere a desert fox barked. It was very quiet afterwards.
Ballista picked up the wine jar, drew the stopper and drank deeply. The wine was rough in his throat. He gave it to the man next to him, who drank and passed it on. Maximus came back and hunkered down.
'The girl will not be included.' Ballista's voice sounded loud to himself.
'Why not?'
Ballista looked at the trooper who had spoken. 'I am in command here. I am the one with imperium.'
'We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.' The soldier looked down as he flatly intoned the ritual words. Bathshiba got up and walked away.
When the empty jar was passed back to Ballista he dropped it at his feet. He raised his right boot and brought it down on the jar. There was a loud snap then a series of sharp clinks as it shattered. Studying what he was doing, he stamped his heel, three, four more times, breaking the vessel into small shards. He crouched down and selected thirteen similar-sized pieces, which he laid out in a row. He picked up two of them. With one he scratched the single Greek letter theta on the other. He scooped up all thirteen shards and dropped them, the twelve blank and the one marked, into his upturned helmet and rattled them around.
Ballista stood and held the helmet. Everyone was watching it as if it contained an asp. In a sense it did. Ballista felt his heart beating hard, his palms sweating as he turned and offered it to the man on his left.
It was the scribe from North Africa, the one they called Hannibal. He did not hesitate. His eyes locked with Ballista's as he put his hand in the helmet. His fingers closed. He withdrew his fist, turned it over and unclenched it. On his palm lay an unmarked shard. With no show of emotion he dropped it on the ground.
Next was Demetrius. The Greek boy was trembling, his eyes desperate. Ballista wanted to comfort him, but he knew he could not. Demetrius looked to the heavens. His lips mouthed a prayer. He thrust his hand into the helmet, clumsily, almost knocking it from Ballista's grip. The twelve shards clinked as the boy's fingers played over them, making his choice. Suddenly he withdrew his hand. In his fingers was an unmarked piece of pottery. Demetrius exhaled, almost a sob, and his eyes misted with tears.
The soldier on Demetrius' left was called Titus. He had served in Ballista's horse guards, the Equites Singulares, for almost a year. Ballista knew him for a calm, competent man. Without preamble he took his shard from the helmet. He opened his fist. There was the theta. Titus closed his eyes. Then, swallowing hard, he opened them, mastering himself.
A sigh, like a gentle breeze rustling through a field of ripe corn, ran around the circle. Trying hard not to show their relief, the others melted into the night. Titus was left standing with Ballista, Maximus and Calgacus.
Titus smiled a sketchy smile. 'The long day's task is done. Might as well unarm.' He took off his helmet and dropped it, lifted his baldric over his head, unbuckled his sword belt and let them fall too. His fingers fumbled with the laces of his shoulder guards. Without words, Maximus and Calgacus closed in and helped him, lifting the heavy, dragging mailcoat off.
Unarmed, Titus stood for a moment, then bent and retrieved his sword, unsheathing it. He tested its edge and point on his thumb.
'It does not have to be that,' said Ballista.
Titus laughed bitterly. 'A stepmother of a choice. If I run I will die of thirst. If I hide the reptiles will find me, and I have seen what they do to their prisoners – I would like to die with my arse intact. Better the Roman way.'
Ballista nodded.
'Will you help me?'
Ballista nodded again. 'Here?'
Titus shook his head. 'Can we walk?'
The two men left the circle of light. After a time Titus stopped. He accepted a wine skin that Ballista offered and sat down. He took a long pull and handed the drink back as Ballista sat next to him. Back in the camp the lanterns went out one by one.
'Fortune, Tyche, is a whore,' Titus said. He took another drink. 'I thought I would die when the city fell. Then I thought I would escape. Fucking whore.'
Ballista said nothing.
'I had a woman back in the city. She will be dead now, or a slave.' Titus unfastened the purse from his belt. He passed it to Ballista. 'The usual – share it out among the boys.'
They sat in silence, drinking until the wine was gone. Titus looked up at the stars. 'Fuck, let's get it over with.'
Titus stood up and passed over his sword. He pulled his tunic up, baring his stomach and chest. Ballista stood close in front of him. Titus placed his hands on Ballista's shoulders. The hilt of the sword in his right hand, Ballista laid the blade flat on his left palm. He brought the point up ever so gently to touch the skin just below Titus'
