Macro looked up at him briefly and grinned, then he passed out of sight. The legate followed Hamedes into the tomb, then came the rest of the auxiliaries and archers, several of them carrying lit torches. The last man, bearing a coil of rope over his shoulder, entered the tunnel and the bright glow of his torch wavered and faded and then there was only the faint scrape of iron-nailed boots on the floor of the tunnel and echoed comments which gradually faded away. Cato sat still for a moment, uneasy with the burden of his fears and suspicions. Then he glanced irritably down at his arm in the sling and slowly eased it free and attempted to flex it. At once there was a red-hot shooting pain through his shoulder joint and he groaned and stilled his arm. When the pain had receded, he eased the sling back on and looked down at the pitch-black entrance to the tunnel. Whatever happened in the tomb, there was nothing he could do about it now. Without Cato being aware of it, his left foot began to twitch in an agitated rhythm as he settled back on his rock and waited for Macro and the others to return.

The passage was wide enough for two men to walk abreast, but the incline was steep and Macro found that he had to step cautiously down the pitted rock surface to avoid slipping. By the wavering and flaring light of his torch and the one ahead of him held by the archer, he could see that the walls of the tunnel were painted with detailed depictions of the native gods and kings. Sometimes the kings, wearing the combined crowns of the upper and lower Nile realms, were making offerings to the gods. In other images they were leading their armies to war. The images were interspersed with the incomprehensible but strangely beautiful script of the ancients that Macro had grown used to seeing on the religious buildings that dotted the province. The air in the tunnel was warm and damp-smelling and the further they went down into the rock, the more the walls and roof seemed to close in about him. It was an illusion, he told himself. He had never liked enclosed spaces and the fact that Ajax and his men lay in wait ahead only added to the burden of apprehension that settled on Macro.

They had gone at least a hundred paces when the floor of the tunnel evened out slightly and made the going easier. Macro glanced back to make sure that the others were not too bunched up, and then gave the order for the party to halt. The echoing footsteps slowly died away and the tunnel fell silent.

‘What is it?’ Aurelius whispered. ‘Why have you stopped?’