Postumus had them moved into one room to make guarding the two centurions easier. Macro endured the first few days of confinement well enough, while Cato sat at the window and gazed out over the fort towards the battlements, fretting at their inactivity. Around them the men went about their duties in a routine and unhurried manner. The watches changed at regular intervals. The men rose at first light, drilled for an hour and then took their morning meal. Afterwards there was more training until the sun had risen high enough to beat down on the fort and the surrounding desert in a searing glare.Then the soldiers retreated to the shade and only the sentries remained, patrolling the walls in the sweltering heat that even the lizards avoided as they clung to the rough plaster in patches of shadow and waited for the stifling midday hours to pass.

Their guards brought them food twice a day, and readily responded to any further requests for food and drink since the two centurions were technically not under arrest. Yet. The window of their shared room overlooked a narrow alley between the headquarters and the single storey hospital building. Cato had considered dropping down into the alley as a means of escaping their confinement, but then reflected that there was no point. What could it achieve? They couldn’t leave the fort, and any attempt at escaping from their room would simply give Scrofa the excuse to have them placed in a cell. So Cato sat at his window and reflected on the wider situation with a growing sense of frustration, and anxiety.

The days passed, and every so often a patrol left the fort and marched off in a faint haze of dust that was visible for a while over the squat towers of the main gate.

Then, after several days, as the men of the cohort took shelter from the midday sun, Cato was sitting at the window, hands propping up his chin as he stared towards the distant foothills that marked the entrance to the wadi leading down to Heshaba.

‘Centurion . . .’ A voice called out softly.

Cato started, turned back to Macro. ‘Did you hear that?’ But his friend was sound asleep on his bed.

‘Centurion, down here.’

Cato cautiously leaned out of the window, and saw Symeon pressed against the wall directly beneath him. The guide waved a hand and smiled a greeting.

‘Symeon! What are you doing here?’

‘Sh! Not so loud. I need to speak to you. Here, take this.’The guide took aim and tossed a loop of rope up to Cato, who caught it awkwardly and then glanced inside the room to find something secure to tie the end to. He turned back to Symeon.

‘Wait.’ Cato crossed the room to Macro and shook his friend’s shoulder. Macro stirred, then sat up with a jerk, eyes blinking.

‘What? What’s going on?’