He strode back towards the horses. Symeon squeezed Miriam’s shoulder gently one last time, then set off after Macro, calling out to his men to leave the fires and come with him. Cato hesitated a moment. He was sick of the suffering that he had witnessed in this province. Sick of his part in its perpetuation. The image of the boy he had slammed his shield down on to flashed through Cato’s mind. A boy the same age as Yusef. He felt a great sadness settle on him like a heavy burden. Something had to be done about the situation. Cato needed to bring some good out of it all. Just to feel clean again. ‘Miriam?’

She looked up.

‘We will find him, and bring him back,’ said Cato. ‘I promise I won’t rest until we do.’

07 The Eagle In the Sand

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

‘So where’s this city of yours?’ Macro asked as they rode down the worn track between the steep-sided hills.

Symeon gestured to his right. ‘In there.’

Macro and Cato turned towards the sheer rock faces towering up on the other side of the valley. There seemed to be no break in the cliffs, and rising up in the distance beyond were the rocky peaks and crags of yet higher hills.

‘Rocks, rocks and more rocks,’ Macro grumbled. ‘Petra - the name says it all.’

Cato nodded wearily. He was at the end of his endurance.There had been no rest in the days of Bannus’ assault on Fort Bushir, and afterwards they had ridden relentlessly down the line of the mountains that ran along the Jordan valley, pursuing Bannus and the small band of his followers who had survived their defeat at Bushir. Symeon, at the head of a select party of the Nabataeans, had driven them on, grim-faced, forever scanning the way ahead for the least sign of Bannus. They had sighted him once, from the peak above the village of Dana. Before them stretched a vista of smaller mountains and hills that gave out on to the wide barren basin of the lower Jordan valley.The air was so dry and clear that little of the detail was lost in the distance and from where they stood they could see the foothills on the far side of the valley, thirty or forty miles away. Even Macro was impressed by the spectacular vista. Then Murad gave a shout and pointed towards the hills further to the south. A thin column of tiny black specks was climbing a distant ridge, and a faint puff of dust marked their progress. Symeon shouted a command and they set off again, riding hard to catch up, but soon the distant horsemen had crested the ridge and disappeared from sight.