He clicked his tongue and urged his horse forward, until he was a short distance ahead of the column. Macro stared at him for a moment and spoke quietly to Cato. ‘Well, what do you make of him?’

‘I’m not sure. If he knows the area as well as he says, then I can see why Florianus uses him. But there’s something about him that doesn’t seem right.’

‘What is it?’

Cato shook his head. ‘I’m not quite sure. I just can’t believe a man turns his back on his family and friends for such a long time so easily. He’s interesting.’

‘Interesting?’ Macro shook his head. ‘Mad more like. Maybe he’s just had a little too much of the desert sun.’

The column of horsemen reached the small Essene community of Qumran as the sun dipped down behind them, casting long distorted shadows before the riders. Qumran was a small settlement made up of simple houses that lined dusty narrow streets. The people warily acknowledged the greetings offered to them by Symeon as he led the column through the village towards the small fort built on a slight rise a mile beyond Qumran. Beyond the fort lay the Dead Sea, stretching out towards the mountains that rose up, fiery coloured and forbidding, in the red glow of the sun settling in the west. The fort was little more than a fortified signal station and a thin trail of smoke wafted from the brazier in the main tower that was kept alight at all times. It was defended by a half-century of Thracian auxiliaries under an ageing optio who greeted them warmly as the column rode in through the gateway.

‘Glad to see some new faces, sir.’ He smiled as Macro dismounted and returned the optio’s salute. ‘Haven’t seen any Romans for over a month now.’

Macro yawned and stretched his back before giving his buttocks a firm rub to restore some of the circulation lost after a day in the saddle. He ached, stank of sweat and was covered in dust.

‘I need a bath. I don’t suppose there’s a bath-house here.’

‘No, sir.’

‘What about back there, in Qumran?’

‘There is, sir. But we’re not allowed to use their baths.’

‘Why’s that?’ Macro said irritably. ‘I’ll pay ‘em good money.’

‘They’re Essenes, sir. Friendly enough but they won’t share any food or facilities with us, in case we contaminate them.’

‘What is wrong with this fucking land?’ Macro exploded.’Has the sun boiled everyone’s brains? What are Essenes? Not another bloody sect, surely.’

‘Sorry, sir.’ The optio shrugged. ‘That’s how it is. My men are under strict orders not to cause the Essenes any offence.’

‘Oh, very well then. Just find quarters for our men and then feed ‘em. I’m going for a swim.’

‘A swim, sir?’

‘Yes. In the sea.’