Symeon stared at him intently. ‘I swear to you, on the life of my son, that he will be safe with me. Now, hand me the reins.’

For a second Macro was still, weighing up the situation. He did not want to leave Cato, yet to try to continue with him to the fort would almost certainly mean death for both of them.

‘Sir!’ One of the auxiliaries pointed down the track. ‘I can see ‘em!’

Macro let the reins drop from his grip and shaded his eyes. Symeon scooped the reins up before the centurion could change his mind.With one hand steadying Cato he led the horse down the side track.

‘Wait here a moment,’ he called back. ‘Until I’m out of sight. Then go. They’ll follow you.’

As soon as Symeon and Cato had dropped below the level of the main track the decurion wheeled his horse round. ‘Let’s go!’

The auxiliaries followed him, kicking their heels in and yelling at their mounts to urge them on. Macro waited a moment, torn between staying with his friend and getting to the fort as swiftly as possible to give the order to send out a column to rescue him. Then he gripped the reins and thrust the heels of his boots into the side of his horse and set off after the auxiliaries. As he took a last glance towards the gully into which the two figures had disappeared, Macro vowed to himself that if any harm came to Cato he would not rest until Symeon paid for it with his life.

Symeon steered the two horses into the dried river bed and followed its course for a moment until there was a looping bend.Then he reined the animals in and waited. The horses were exhausted, and snorted and breathed heavily as they scuffed the ground with their hooves.

‘Shhh!’ Symeon said softly, and gently patted the neck of his horse. ‘Let’s not give ourselves away, eh?’

In the distance he could hear the faint drumming of a number of horses, getting closer. Symeon offered up a silent prayer that his pursuers would be single-minded enough to chase after Macro and the others and ignore the quiet side track. The sound of their approach swiftly grew louder and Symeon felt his body tense as he waited for them to pass. Beside him, Cato suddenly straightened up in his saddle, his eyes flickering open and then staring about as he gazed at his surroundings in confusion.

‘What . . . Where am I?’

‘Quiet, boy!’ Symeon grabbed his forearm tightly. ‘I beg you.’

Cato stared at him, then clenched his eyes shut as another wave of dizziness overcame him. With a convulsive heave he threw up, over his mail vest and down the glistening flank of his horse. He spat weakly to clear his mouth, then slumped forward again, his mind wandering as he muttered, ‘Because it’s my fucking tent . . . that’s why.’