A few pointed heads nodded at the words of Pharas. But the majority shouted against them. This was cowardice. Had the old man lost his balls? It was time he climbed the funeral pyre. How dare these Sassanids trespass into the realm of the Heruli? They would make the grass run red with Persian blood.

Pharas was not cowed. The Persians would not follow far. If they did, then the Heruli would turn on them. But even if they defeated the Sassanids, that would not force a passage through the Walls of Alexander. They still could not plunder the rich lands beyond.

Fuelled by much kumis, many diners abused Pharas. Too old to satisfy a woman, he should ask a friend to cut his throat. His wife would be glad to hang herself by his ashes. If he wanted a long peaceful life, he should go and live in some Greek city – one the Heruli would not visit! Fuck off, you aged coward!

Naulobates had had a servant beat a drum for silence. When he spoke, his high, thin voice was heard by all.

‘We are not Persians who grovel before a despot. We are not Romans who hold their tongues before a dictator. We are free Heruli. Pharas has spoken his mind. Others have unveiled their thoughts. I am the elected war leader. I have listened, and now I will decide.’ Naulobates paused, his eyes suddenly unfocused, perhaps hearing voices others could not make out. ‘We will meet the Sassanids four miles south of the river. I will lead the centre, Andonnoballus the left, Artemidorus the right. My blood brothers Aruth, Uligagus and Pharas will ride by my side. As an honour, our Roman guests can join my band.’

There had been no choice for Valens. If they had refused to fight, the Heruli would have deemed them cowards. The future was not promising for those so regarded in the camp of Naulobates. If they remained in their tents, and the Heruli lost, the Persians would kill them anyway. It had been best to accept with an air of gratitude.

Valens stood, holding his horse’s bridle, with the other five survivors of his mission. At least even the Heruli had deemed the boy Sasan too young to fight. He remained safe in their tent. The Greek slave girl could look after him. Unless the Persians won, in which case his fate was uncertain. If he was not killed when the camp was sacked, presumably he would return as a prisoner to the Castle of Silence.

Valens regarded the standard with the bear and the massed ranks of the Persians. He had enlisted in the army to see battle. Now it was imminent, he was not so sure. A great part of him wished he was back in the tent with Prince Sasan. A distant war is a glorious thing.