Rufus followed, watching as the tribune threaded his way through a series of mounds. Up close, he realised that they were heaps of stones, the remains of ancient houses and walls. Some were still waist high, and he clambered through what might once have been a gate in an outer wall to join Arrian as the tribune stared out. Below them, the slope was almost sheer as it dropped away.

‘Well,’ Arrian said after a while, ‘at least we are still in Syria. That is a comfort.’

‘Though we should be well advised to be content with our lot wherever we are,’ Rufus replied, trying his best to match the tribune’s flat tone. In truth he could make out very little. A deep valley opened below them, with another ridge on the far side and at least one more crest beyond it. The view was much the same in other directions. Rufus knew his eyesight to be less good than that of most men, especially in the darkness.

‘There is the Euphrates!’ Arrian was pointing. ‘See, where the land seems so much lighter. That is moonlight on water and the only water of that size must be the great river. So there is proof that we are in Syria and the kingdom of Osrhoene is there on the far bank. Can you make out the cluster of lights some way beyond? I guess that must be one of their cities. If it were earlier in the night, there would be more to see, but now all good men should be tucked up in bed with all good women.’

‘Or bad women?’

‘It is a matter of taste,’ Arrian conceded, ‘and I suppose opportunity… Well, no matter, let us turn to the problem in hand. We have a better idea of where we are, which begs the question of where is VIIII Hispana? Some three thousand of our own men are out there somewhere, with another thousand auxiliaries, not counting all the lixae and other odds and sods.’

Rufus shook his head. ‘I see no sign. None at all.’

‘Yes, it is somewhat disconcerting. Legionaries are noisy creatures as a rule, who tend to make their presence known. It is mean spirited of them to choose this moment to change the habits of a lifetime.’ Arrian had the flat accent of his province, his Greek very correct, even old fashioned, but spoken at a steady pace so that Rufus always understood every word. Syrians tended to gabble and since his arrival Rufus had often struggled to understand them. ‘Yet there is no sign,’ Arrian went on, ‘none at all. I fear the inevitable conclusion is that they are all lost. Most careless.’

‘Strictly speaking, sir, are we not lost?’

‘Not anymore. We know where the river is, and up there in the sky is the Dog’s Tail, so we ought to be able to find our way back as long as the weather does not change again. But that is all beside the point. Our task in this merry exercise was to be the quarry. We stole away before dawn. They had been told to keep a close eye on us and hunt us down by midnight at the latest, and that hour has long passed.’