Behind his big, square beard, Narses pulled a face. ‘Nothing but an avaricious fantasy typical of a Roman,’ he said. ‘You forget that I went to the south-east coast when I was stationed in Hyrkania. The islands are poor, and their inhabitants primitive. In the summer they live off roots, and in the winter dried fruit. They do not even drink wine. At their feasts they light a bonfire, sit around it, and throw hemp on the flames. They sniff the smoke and become intoxicated. Eventually they stand up and dance, and burst into song.’

‘I heard it was full of huge serpents, and strange-coloured fish,’ Clemens said.

‘It depends what colour you expect of a fish,’ Narses said. ‘Mind you, the serpents do grow to a prodigious length.’

‘It is the women that interest me,’ Hairan called back over his shoulder. ‘Apparently they copulate out in the open, let anyone have a go.’

‘I think that is somewhere else,’ Valens said, ‘perhaps some tribes in Armenia.’

‘Oh well,’ said Hairan, not disheartened, ‘was it not here that the Queen of the Amazons entertained Alexander for thirteen nights and days? That man had staying power.’

‘Not in the more reliable sources,’ Valens said.

‘There are bound to be some women.’ Hairan was not to be deflected.

‘You should write a book,’ Clemens said. ‘The sexual mores of all the peoples of the world.’

‘A fine idea,’ Hairan said. ‘It would take much dedicated practical research.’

They had become so used to Lucia that her presence did nothing to inhibit their talk.

They camped on the beach, and built a fire of driftwood. Having carefully scanned the water to be sure that it was free of the rumoured serpents, the men stripped and swam naked in the sea. Narses volunteered to stand first watch. Like every Persian, he had a prim aversion to public nudity, both his own and that of others. He kept his gaze fixed inland. As the soldiers splashed about, roaring from the cold water, Lucia sat on the beach, tending the fire. If she was offended by the sight, she gave no sign. As with their conversation, the men paid her no more heed than they would a bath attendant or a statue.

With their bows, Aulus and Narses had each shot a brace of duck on the way down. After their swim, when the men were dry and clothed, and safe from any real or imagined water snakes, they plucked and gutted the birds. Valens went to skewer one on his sword, but Decimus produced proper iron spits.

‘Use your blade to cook, and the fire will ruin it, make the steel brittle,’ Decimus said. ‘Isn’t that right, Clemens?’

The armourer grunted an affirmative.

‘If your sword breaks in combat,’ Decimus added, ‘you are totally fucked.’

Clemens looked vaguely put out, perhaps at the pronouncement of the horse master on his own area of expertise.