There were actually two bridges. The older was rickety and wooden, undoubtedly made by the population of the settlement on the far bank. The other was under construction. Its masonry piers jutted from the water, and the first two were spanned by well-proportioned arches of dressed stone. It caught the men unawares. They had viewed its like innumerable times, but had never expected to see such a thing here.

The warriors were waiting a hundred paces in front of the bridges. A dozen horse archers, commanded by an officer in elaborate, chased armour. They had their bows in their hands, but they sat their horses easily, confident in their numbers and skill in the face of these ragged, travel-worn horsemen coming down from the hills.

The sight of them gave Valens an unexpected shock. These were the first Persian soldiers they had seen since entering the realm of the Sassanids. Somehow, in the mountains, although hundreds of miles into enemy territory, Valens had almost forgotten they were in lands ruled by Shapur, the King of Kings. In a sense he had been right. Both empires, Roman and Persian, claimed to rule the mountainous regions within their borders. Yet neither exercised any lasting control. Occasionally they might send in a punitive expedition to burn a few villages. Otherwise, providing the inhabitants paid at least some nominal taxes, and did not too often plunder the neighbouring lowlands, the authorities left them alone.

A worrying thought struck Valens. What if the headman of Lucia’s village had sent a fast messenger along some other path? Were these soldiers waiting specifically for them? He was relieved that Hairan would do the talking.

They reined in. Valens forced himself to relax, keep his hand away from the hilt of his sword. His tense posture was mirrored by the rest of the party, and he wondered if the Persians would sense their unease.

Hairan alone seemed unaffected. The Hatrene nudged his mount up to that of the officer, greeted him with effusive formality.

The officer answered with reserve.

Hairan gave him the document written by the eunuch at the border. When he had read it, the officer spoke sharply. Valens had picked up enough Persian to gather that there was something missing or wrong with the document. With a courtly gesture, Hairan produced one of the little cameos, and presented it to the officer. Mollified, the officer slipped it into a purse on his belt.

The main business satisfactorily conducted, the officer surveyed the others. His gaze lingered first on Lucia. Hairan spoke rapidly, and Valens heard his own name and the word Antioch. The officer glanced over, said something dismissive, then turned to Narses. He snapped a question. Narses answered with a bow. The Persian replied, laughing unpleasantly. Valens caught the word Cilicia. Narses’s face went rigid, but he said nothing.

The officer gave Hairan some more instructions, then waved them through.