‘What are you doing?’ asked the quartermaster. ‘I’m going for a piss. It would take both of you to hold it for me, but after all these years of practice I can just about manage on my own.’
Mico and the other legionaries waited for Lollius to disappear behind the hut before they started laughing. Cassius wandered away from them and looked to the west. After a couple of miles, the patchwork of fields ran into flat, dusty steppe. He called Mico over.
‘This is the edge of the picket line?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Directly to the south was the edge of the city; they could still see the tops of the tomb towers. To the north, perhaps ten leagues away, was an undulating line of hills.
‘So tell me what you saw.’
‘It was the third hour of night. I was here with Colias.’ Mico turned to check that Lollius was still out of earshot. ‘We were both supposed to stay awake but as usual we took it in shifts. I went first. I saw these lights coming up from the south, parallel to the road. When they got close, I woke Colias and we went over to have a look. It was unusual — what with the curfew and everything.’
‘So they must have turned off the main road earlier than we did.’
Mico nodded. ‘There were about a dozen of them and a cart. I recognised a few faces.’
‘They were carrying torches?’
‘Two at the front, two at the back. This one fellow came forward and showed us his papers. Seemed a bit odd — them being out of uniform — but we saw the prefect’s stamp and let them go on their way.’
Lollius returned from behind the hut, tightening his belt as he walked. He stood next to them, dabbing his weeping eye with a cloth.
‘Now, this is most important,’ said Cassius. ‘Try to show me the exact direction they took.’
Mico got his bearings, then walked back to the hut. ‘We were sitting inside here, looking out of the window. I reckon it was something like this.’
Cassius examined the direction of the legionary’s outstretched arm then looked up at the sun.
‘North-east. After how long did you lose sight of the torches?’
‘Perhaps an hour.’
‘We must try to find their trail.’
Lollius summoned the two sentries and pointed at Cassius. ‘Do whatever this officer tells you. I’ll man your post. Got any food?’
‘Just our lunches, sir,’ volunteered one of the men meekly.
‘That’ll do.’
As Lollius headed back to hut, Cassius asked him a final question.
‘This cart, sir. How wide apart would the wheels have been?’
Lollius answered over his shoulder without stopping. ‘Eight or nine feet.’
Cassius waited for the quartermaster to go inside then turned to Mico.
‘You’d agree with that?’
‘Yes, sir. Big one. And well-laden. Would have left deep ruts.’
Cassius called Indavara over. With a concerned glance up at the banks of grey cloud sliding in from the west, he led the four men out to where the fields ended.
‘So you spoke to them somewhere round here, Mico.’
‘About exactly here I would say, sir.’
Cassius dug the toe of his boot into the ground. There was a top layer of dark sand with pebbles and firm soil underneath. Cart-tracks would surely show — but the only marks visible were hoof-prints.
‘Goats, sir,’ said Mico. ‘The locals bring them through here all the time, for grazing where the fields have overgrown — might have covered the tracks.’
‘We must still look. Men, you are searching for a cart-trail — lines about eight or nine feet apart. Two horses towing it, men walking in front, behind or at the sides. Call out if you see anything.’
Cassius placed himself in the middle, then positioned Indavara and Mico to his left, the two sentries to his right. He stationed the men ten yards apart then ordered them forward, directly north-east.
After half an hour, they were a mile from the picket line. Cassius called the men together. All five of them had seen multiple trails made by boots or animal hooves but there had been no sign of carts. Either the marks had since been obscured, or they had simply missed them. As cloud continued to roll in above them, Cassius set the men back to work.
By the time another mile had been covered, his eyes were stinging from staring intently at the ground. Moments earlier, Indavara had called him over to a cart-trail. The wheel marks had been clear, maybe even wide enough; but they were accompanied by only a single set of hoof marks. It couldn’t have been Gregorius’s group.
Cassius called a halt once more, and shook his head as the others joined him. ‘They must have come through here.’
‘I’m sure of it, sir,’ answered Mico.
‘We shall turn back and check this area again. The further we go, the more likely we are to stray off their path.’
‘Sir, I have an idea.’
Mico pointed to a dwelling a mile to the north. Smoke was rising from a chimney.
‘Goat-herder lives there. Nice old boy — we bought some milk off him the other week. I’ll wager he knows this area like the back of his hand. Can’t hurt to ask if he’s seen anything.’
‘Go.’
With not a single new trail spotted, Cassius was about ready to give up by the time Mico returned. The news was good.
‘We’re in luck, sir. He was out on one of the old nomad tracks a couple of days ago — saw a trail. Noticed because he’s never known anyone else use it. Says you can see the wheel marks clear as day. Two miles east of here.’
‘He’ll show us?’
‘He’s heading over there now. He’ll want paying of course.’
Cassius saw a small figure walking quickly away from the dwelling. The Syrian waved.
‘To the horses,’ said Cassius, already running.
The two sentries were sent back to their post and a muttering Lollius rejoined Cassius, Indavara and Mico as they rode across the plain to meet the goat-herder. The old man had covered the distance with admirable speed. He was squatting by the side of a narrow track but stood and bowed when the Romans arrived. The left side of his body was covered with a bright pink rash from ear to ankle. He pointed down at the ground.
One wheel-track was very clear, the other less so. Cassius dismounted and paced out the distance.
‘About right.’
‘Looks like you’ve found it, grain man,’ said Lollius, turning his horse around.
Cassius looked along the track. It ran as far as he could see, heading a little north of north-east.
‘Has to be it,’ he whispered to himself. A drop of water landed on his hand. He looked up; and two more drops splashed on to his face.
‘Caesar’s balls.’
Hunched low, with his thighs pressed against the saddle, Cassius held on tight as his horse charged through the palm grove. He’d already survived a couple of near misses with protruding roots, and — as the path took an abrupt turn around a tree — he only just avoided a local man carrying a barrel on his head. The Syrian might easily have been knocked flying but there was no gesture or shout of protest. Cassius grinned; there were some advantages to being an officer of the Roman Army.
Riding out to the east of the city to find Venator at least gave him a few moments’ relief from what was becoming a monumentally frustrating day. The rain continued to fall — light but insistent — and Cassius found himself staring up at the sky every few moments, hoping desperately that the cloud would clear.
The decision to follow the trail was an easy one; his brief time at Palmyra had yielded nothing particularly promising and he could always return if the cart-tracks led to a literal or metaphorical dead-end.
Simo and Indavara were busy packing. With no idea how long they might be out in the desert, or where the trail might take them, Cassius had told the Gaul to buy enough food and water for a week. Lollius seemed relieved that he would no longer have to play babysitter, and had even agreed to procure a mount for the old Syrian, who had readily assented to act as their guide. He seemed most concerned about what he would do with his goats but had pledged to meet them back at the trail at midday. Cassius had spent the last hour looking for Venator. Nobody seemed to know where he was, and only after questioning a tribune had Cassius discovered the prefect was in fact out at the city’s eastern walls, overseeing some construction work. He had also managed to fit in a visit to the clerk, who’d promised to get the remaining four legionary records transcribed on to papyrus immediately.