‘Sir?’ Rufus was puzzled, but sensed the senior officer wanted some response. ‘Rain is wet,’ he allowed after a while, since he must humour a senior officer especially when they were alone. ‘A lot of rain is very wet.’

‘Quite so – and it may fall on us wherever we are.’ Arrian appeared delighted with the conclusion. ‘Wisdom, my dear fellow, wisdom, and in this case learned from the very wise. Wishing to be somewhere else is fruitless and no more than deceiving ourselves. Bad things could easily be happening to us if we were actually where we wished to be. Thus, you are wet when it rains, wherever you are. Far better to accept our lot in life with equanimity.’

Or be under a roof and somewhere warm, Rufus thought, although he had sense enough not to say anything. A small voice inside his head whispered that his despair was obvious and that the tribune was trying to encourage him, but he was too bone weary to be offended.

‘Come, we must continue our quest!’ Arrian sounded genuinely excited and sped off across the hilltop, only to stop abruptly. ‘Wait!’

Rufus froze, staring around him for signs of danger. There was always a risk of bandits in any desolate place on a wild night like this, but he could see no sign of anyone or even any animal, let alone one likely to pose a danger. Bandits, for all their moral failings, could show sense sometimes and who but a soldier under orders would be out on a night like this.

Arrian had bobbed down, crouching on his haunches and scrabbling at the ground. ‘Look!’ he said. ‘They’re everywhere. I knew it!’ He almost bounced to his feet and held out a large chunk of pottery. ‘Look!’

Rufus could see nothing remarkable, but he took the piece and obediently inspected it. There was a heavy rim and the curve suggested that it had been part of a large bowl, which did not explain the tribune’s excitement.

‘I knew it,’ Arrian said again. ‘The shape of the hill was so clear – certainly not natural. This was once a city. Centuries ago, perhaps a thousand years ago, men dwelt here and called this home, tilled their fields and fought their wars.’ He was almost shouting, and not simply to be heard over the howling wind. ‘Thus this hill we have cursed as we climbed amid thunder and lightning was once hearth and home to men not so very different to us. Will one day strangers pick over the fragments of our lives, do you think?’

The tribune strode away before Rufus could respond, leaving him holding the shard and wondering whether he was supposed to keep it.

‘Come on, man, don’t dawdle!’ Arrian called back, so Rufus dropped the pottery and scurried after the tribune. His boots crunched as they broke more fragments, so there was no shortage if Arrian wanted any more of the stuff. ‘Hurry!’ Arrian sounded impatient, almost angry, and as the wind had dropped away his voice was very loud. ‘Come on, we have a job to do!’