Valens swung around, dropping into a crouch. The guard by the door was drawing his sword. Valens hurled himself at him. Grabbing his beard, he dragged him close. The long Sassanid blade was trapped between their bodies. Valens plunged the dagger into the man’s side. With his free hand, the Persian clawed at Valen’s eyes. Ignoring the pain, Valens struck again. Three times the steel punched deep into flesh. The blood was hot on Valens’s hand and arm.

The Persian was grievously hurt, perhaps mortally. But he was not giving up, and he was strong. His fingers closed around Valens’s throat, crushing his windpipe. Flashes of light danced in Valens’s vision. He had to finish this man now, or he would die here.

With a last despairing blow, Valens plunged the dagger into the side of the Persian’s neck.

The pressure on Valens’s throat was gone. The guard swayed, then toppled sideways, half into the room.

Dragging air into his lungs, Valens used the door frame to push himself upright.

The Persian on the landing was down on his knees. In his hands were blue coils of intestines. With futile urgency he was trying to force them back into place.

Valens moved behind him, yanked his head back by the hair, and slid the blade down into the soft hollow of his throat. The tip of the steel scrapped off bone, but went more than deep enough.

It was quiet. Just the wind coming through the window of the room.

Valens gazed up at the trapdoor.

Had the lookout heard anything?

There was no bolt on the underside of the trapdoor. Why would there be?

Infernal gods! Just come, if you are coming.

Fuck it. He couldn’t wait forever. If the sentinel descended, Valens would deal with him like the other two bastards.

Valens went back into the room.

The rug was ruined with blood.

The old man held the boy tight in the crook of his left arm. In his right was a tiny knife, the sort of thing with which you might peel an apple. He shouted something in Persian.

‘Easy, grandfather.’ Valens moved slowly, calculating his leap.

‘Not another step!’ The aged Persian knew Greek. ‘I will not let you harm him.’

Valens spread his hands wide. ‘I have not come to harm him.’

‘You will not take us alive.’

Valens looked at the boy. ‘You are Prince Sasan, son of Prince Papak?’

The boy nodded.

‘I am Marcus Aelius Valens, a soldier of Rome. My men are outside with horses. We have come to rescue you.’

Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

The Castle of Silence

‘NADUK,’ THE OLD MAN WHISPERED.

Turning, Valens saw the huge figure filling the doorway.

Naduk the zendanig smiled. ‘Never trust a Roman.’

Unlike the guard, the warden was not foolish enough to draw a long sword in a confined space. His dagger only looked small because his hand was so large.