‘Well, he’s finished suffering now. Look at him grin, all his teeth in the air. He’s laughing at us, all our scheming, our worrying, all the little tricks we’re thinking up to prolong our miserable lives by a mere hair’s breadth. He knows that you’ve got to die and there’s not much you can do about it. That’s why he’s laughing. Don’t you think?’
‘Maybe. But he’s wrong. There’s not an instant of our lives that isn’t worth living. Even when I was surrounded by the worst squalor, the fact of living was important for me. The fact of seeing my friends, of seeing the dawn and the dusk, of hearing the birds sing or the jackals howl at night. It’s hope that keeps us going. Hope never dies. The hope of seeing my son, for instance.’
‘Ah, your son . . .’
‘In a few days it will be his birthday. If I were home we’d celebrate. I’d give him his own set of armour – I’d already spoken with a good craftsman who said he’d make it for me. And a military tribune’s cloak. How he dreamt of that! He’s a good boy, you know. He studies hard, respects his teacher. He’s intelligent and affectionate. When I came home from headquarters at night, he’d run up to me and unhook my sword from its belt, help me unlace my leggings. He’d bring me clean towels for my bath and sit there on the rim of the tub, asking me all kinds of questions.’
Uxal sighed. ‘It must be lovely to have children.’
‘If you’re lucky it is. Have you had children?’
‘How? To have children you need a wife. Who’d want someone like me? Sometimes I wonder what they might have looked like. Your son, what does he look like?’
‘He’s a handsome child,’ said Metellus. ‘He’s got deep black eyes like his mother’s, and his skin is soft and smooth, a beautiful golden colour.’
‘Isn’t he anything like you?’
‘Oh, certainly, of course. I think so. His character is like mine, his mannerisms, even the way he walks.’
‘You’ll find him again,’ said Uxal. ‘I’m sure of it.’
Metellus didn’t answer. His head dropped and he fell silent.
All at once, noises broke through the night air, the echoes of neighing horses, distant shouts. The two men exchanged an apprehensive look.
But almost immediately Uxal gave a toothless chuckle. ‘They don’t have a clue. Hee-hee-hee!’
‘Shut up,’ hissed Metellus. ‘You want them to find us?’
‘Don’t worry. They have no idea which way to turn! You know why? If there’s one thing they’re certain of, it’s that no one has ever got out of the third level alive. And that’s just how we stole away! By this time they’re searching everywhere: in the shacks, in the rubbish dump, in the hay loft. They’re checking the prisoners one by one, stripping them down, making them parade before the guards. I saw it happen once, a long time ago. Look!’ he said suddenly. ‘They’ve crossed over to the other side.’ He pointed at lights moving along the rim of the gorge on the side opposite the camp. ‘Do you know how far they’ve had to go to get over there? I’ve heard say that the gully is impassable for miles and miles, both upstream and down. That’s why they built the camp in that location.’
After a while, the horsemen were swallowed up by the night. Metellus checked the position of the stars and said: ‘It’s time for the second guard shift. I’ll go and wake Quadratus. You should try to get a little sleep yourself.’
When he was able to stretch out on the dry sand, in the natural warmth of the cave, Metellus felt at peace with himself and with his surroundings, and protected in that hidden recess. He slept a deep, albeit brief, sleep.
The light of the sun woke him, and Uxal’s voice: ‘What do you say to a shave, Commander?’
‘What?’
The old man was standing in front of him with a bowl of water, a sponge, scissors and a razor.
‘Where did you find those things?’
‘When I went back to get food and water, I saw there was plenty of other stuff in the storehouse and I helped myself. In the state you’re in, people will be able to tell from a mile away that you’re escaped convicts. A nice clean shave will make you look like gentlemen.’
Metellus willingly subjected himself to the torture as Uxal scraped away at his cheeks with a razor that had known better times and with scissors that must have been used to clip sheep. Despite all that, first Uxal and then all the others expressed their approval and they all lined up to receive the same treatment. That simple rite made them feel somehow that they’d been readmitted to respectable society and seemed almost to bode the return to a normal life.
THEY CAREFULLY rationed supplies during their stay in the cave, thinking of the journey ahead of them, but Publius and Lucianus, who had served in Palestine and Arabia, soon noticed the presence of plants that produced small tubers tasting like hazelnuts which were very nourishing. They would go out after dark to gather them, camouflaging themselves with a coating of dust.
Trapping the asses was no simple task. Ropes were made by braiding plant fibres, nooses were fashioned and snares set, sacrificing a fair number of perfectly good tubers as bait. But in less than three days they had captured three asses, two females and a young male. They were brought, bucking and kicking, to the shelter to accustom them to the presence of humans and to the food they provided.
The men used the same fibres they had braided to trap the asses to make mats which they slept on and which could be used in the future for any number of purposes.
One day Metellus and Antoninus studied a way to climb up the gorge wall, and under cover of darkness they reached the rim, from where they had a view of the Aus Daiwa camp. From their vantage point they could see the agitated comings and goings of a number of patrols. Light signals flashed over the great deserted expanse that stretched in every direction to the horizon. They were still looking for them. They hadn’t given up yet.
Metellus decided to wait another couple of days before moving out, since in two days’ time there would be a new moon and the cover of complete darkness.
The men swathed the asses’ hoofs, loaded their armour on the beasts’ backs and covered them with mats. When the last glimmer of daylight had died away, they set off. They were in fine form, thanks to their forced rest and the nourishing food that had sustained them.
They advanced with great caution, worried more about keeping quiet than about covering any great distance. When they stopped at dawn the next morning, they had gone a little over a mile. Their position was critical: they were too close to the camp and without shelter. They would be spotted if a patrol passed on the eastern rim of the gorge.
They decided to separate into three groups, spaced out by about three hundred paces each, so they wouldn’t be discovered all together if a patrol should arrive. They continued to advance in the hope of finding a refuge.
Centurion Aelius Quadratus, who was leading the small vanguard, heard the scuttling of hoofs at the top of the gorge and ordered his comrades to flatten themselves against the wall. Antoninus, who was at his side, turned back to warn the others.
Antoninus arrived just in time: an instant later and the group with Balbus, Uxal, Lucianus and the asses would have come into full view. They waited, holding their breath, until they heard the sound of a gallop fading off in the distance, then caught up with the others, who had made ready for the worst, prepared to sell their lives dearly before giving in.
‘The gods are protecting us,’ said Metellus. ‘We’ll go forward. We have no choice.’
They covered another mile, protected at times by the shadows cast by the crags and spurs rising on the eastern side of the gully, their hearts pounding at the thought of being seen, until they found a shelter big enough to conceal them from sight. The passage of periodic floods had carved out a section of the crumbly sandstone between two layers of silica, creating quite a deep cavity, tall enough for a man to stand inside. They entered in haste, first the pack animals and then the men, and finally relaxed, allowing themselves a little rest.
Metellus sent Publius
and Antoninus to explore the walls. Their task was to find a point from which they could keep watch over the surrounding territory, the Aus Daiwa camp, if it was still visible, and the circle of guard towers, which they fervently hoped were behind them by now.
The two men, wearing only their short tunics, climbed up to a rocky ledge from which they could continue all the way up to the rim, and they stood guard for the rest of the day, offering the others the security of knowing they were being watched over.
When they climbed back down at dusk, they sensed a certain excitement among the men inside the cave, and discovered that Septimius and Lucianus had brought down a male ibex with their javelins and were skinning him.
‘By Hercules!’ exclaimed Antoninus. ‘The commander was right about you being good hunters!’
‘I’m half Celt,’ replied Septimius. ‘We learn to hunt boar before we learn to talk.’
‘I’m half Greek,’ said Lucianus, ‘and I love roasted meat. I can’t wait!’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ retorted Metellus. ‘We’re still too close to the camp. The smoke and the smell would give us away. We’ll eat the meat raw. It’s just as nourishing that way.’
‘Raw meat?’ yelped Uxal. ‘Not easy for a toothless old man like me. I’ll just have some chickpea flour and water.’ But his companions chopped up the heart and liver with their daggers to allow him to join in the feast. They cut up what was left and wrapped the pieces in the fibre mats, hoping to roast or smoke them as soon as possible.
They joked and teased, but underneath their good humour lay a palpable apprehension, an irrepressible fear that hovered among them. The fear that their refound liberty might come to an end, sooner or later, and that destiny might not give them the time to take their own lives before falling into their enemies’ hands.
The howling of a jackal saluted a thin crescent moon and marked the start of the first guard shift for Centurion Sergius Balbus and legionary Septimius. They took up their positions, armed only with daggers and swords, in the shelter of two big boulders at the centre of the gully at a distance of about ten paces from each other. They watched in silence, ears straining to hear any slight sound, eyes wide to spot any moving shadow.
Every now and then, Balbus called out to his comrade, ‘Hey, Blondie! You still there?’
‘I’m here, Centurion,’ he’d answer back. ‘I’m here.’
9
THE MARCH BEGAN AGAIN at the end of the second guard shift, and after a while the terrain became a little less challenging. The bottom of the gully widened, the sides were lower and their slope was not so steep. The stones they trod had been smoothed by the effects of wind and water, with the dual advantage of facilitating their passage and making it impossible to leave traces that the enemy could possibly use to hunt them down.
The white limestone of the boulders and walls reflected a tenuous light that let them see where they were putting their feet. Before dawn they had covered perhaps three miles in total silence and complete tranquillity. They could begin to hope that the rest of their march might be free of obstacles, but in reality no one dared to believe this, as if everything had been too easy up to that moment.
They found a refuge which kept them out of sight for the day and waited there until evening. Metellus sent Lucianus and Severus, who seemed to work well together, to explore the surroundings and make sure that no one was following them. The two scouts did not have much scope for movement in such a flat and barren region, but they served as a kind of outpost which safeguarded the others from unwanted surprises and could forewarn them of the approach of any Persian patrols or caravans: while the first put them in danger of death, the second could mean salvation.
They proceeded in this way for four more nights until they reached a point at which the gorge widened into a river bed covered with pebbles and gravel, studded with thorny bushes and aromatic plants. They stopped to hold council.
‘From here on we’re out in the open,’ said Metellus. ‘Any patrol would spot us immediately. We can neither turn back nor remain sheltered by this gully forever. Uxal is the person who knows the area best, and his opinion will count for more than anyone else’s.’
‘I don’t have much to say,’ began Uxal. ‘I think our only option is to follow this dry river bed. The banks are still quite high and offer some protection. If there’s a problem we’ll lie flat on the ground and wait until the danger has passed. The darkness of night still helps to hide us, although the moon is getting much brighter. If I remember correctly, after two or three legs of our journey we should meet up with the trail of the caravans headed towards the oasis and towards the Ocean shore, and at that point our chances of making it will improve daily.’
‘By the gods! The man is a true strategist,’ exclaimed Balbus in a sarcastic tone. He turned towards Uxal. ‘You’ll soon be better than Commander Aquila himself.’
‘If you have a better idea,’ sniffed Uxal, ‘no one is stopping you from telling us about it. I say what I know and propose what I think is best.’
‘Balbus was joking,’ broke in Metellus. ‘And I agree with you. We can only hope that fortune continues to assist us. What concerns me is how short we are on food. We’ll have run out in just a couple of days, and our water is nearly used up as well. This is the problem we have to deal with.’
‘Notice how the vegetation in the river bed is becoming more abundant? That means we should manage to find water soon. If you’re worried about food, I think I know where we can find some once we get to the oasis of Khaboras. If we get desperate there’s always the asses.’
‘Well, then,’ said Metellus, ‘let’s resume our march, and may fortune assist us. The only precaution we can take is to send a man ahead for reconnaissance, and post another at the rear to cover our backs. There’s no more that we can do.’
Antoninus was chosen as their scout and Quadratus as rearguard, each at a distance of about half a mile from the little convoy. At the first light of dawn, both men joined up with their comrades to report back.
They continued in this way for two more nights, covering about two parasangs, which corresponded to a little more than six Roman miles. On the morning of the second leg, Quadratus appeared at the meeting point with a troubled expression.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Metellus.
‘I’ve noticed something, Commander. Someone, that is, who seems to be following me.’
‘How many of them are there?’
‘One.’
‘One man alone? Strange.’
‘I saw one man. And I’m almost sure he’s alone.’
‘On horseback?’
Quadratus nodded.
‘The Persians move in quite sizeable squads,’ broke in Uxal. ‘It’s practically unheard of for one of them to go out alone, if only because, should he discover something, he would have no way of reporting back without losing contact.’
‘You’re right,’ agreed Metellus. ‘So who could it be?’
‘I have no idea,’ replied Quadratus. ‘I saw him in the distance on the top of a hill, once or twice, and then he disappeared.’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ said Metellus. ‘Double back towards him and take him by surprise, in the hour before dawn, if possible. Take Publius with you, he’s agile and quick, and try to find out what it is this bastard wants from us. Be careful not to take any unnecessary risks. Don’t show your faces. Our aim is to discover his intentions without exposing ourselves.’
‘We’ll do our best, Commander,’ replied Quadratus. ‘You can count on us.’
‘Good. Rest now for a while, then. You’ll set off tonight. Take your swords and daggers – you may need them. At the slightest sign of danger, turn back and try to catch up with us as quickly as possible. We’ll wait here for you.’
‘Of course, Commander,’ replied Quadratus.
He and Publius stretched out on a mat in the shade of a big tamarisk bush. At the end of the last guard shift, they took their weapons and set off
in the opposite direction to the route they had been following. They made their way very cautiously, moving low between the sparse bushes, shielding behind ridges and boulders. The dim moonlight made it easy enough to pick out the features of the landscape and the crystal-clear sky shimmered with a multitude of stars. Quadratus abruptly motioned for his companion to stop.
‘What is it?’
‘Can’t you smell it? Smells like burning.’
‘You’re right. I can smell it now as well.’
‘A fire. A campfire. Not too far away.’
‘Shall we go and have a look?’
‘Yes, but stay low to the ground. We don’t want to run any risks.’
Leaving a few paces between them, they advanced with the utmost care, anxious not to make a sound, feeling the ground with their feet and hands to avoid sending stones rolling and revealing their presence. They had covered perhaps half a mile when Quadratus signalled Publius by making an owl’s hoot: the signal they were used to using during military campaigns to indicate the proximity of their objective. Publius hooted back and slowly moved in.
Quadratus was pointing his finger at an extinguished campfire which still gave off a vague odour of smoke. Both men took a quick look in every direction, then approached the site.
Quadratus plunged his hands into the ashes. ‘They’re still warm. He didn’t even bother to douse the fire.’
‘You’re right,’ replied Publius, running the ashes through his fingers. ‘Maybe he didn’t want to waste what little water he had with him.’
‘Don’t be foolish. Sand will put out a fire. It’s almost as if he wanted to lure us here to . . .’
He didn’t have time to finish what he was saying. Publius was nudging him to get his attention. He was gesturing wide-eyed with an expression of fear and astonishment.
Directly in front of them, no more than twenty feet away, was a horseman sitting immobile on his mount. They could make him out quite well in the moonlight: he was slightly built, like a boy. He wore trousers and a tunic and his face was almost completely covered by a strip of black cloth fixed at either side of his face to a kind of felt head-covering of a style they had never seen.
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