So far, Acilius Glabrio had made no contact. Perhaps, for whatever reason, the senator was communing with the god. Yet, Murena reflected, the time is ripe for treason.

The news from the north was not good. The public despatches spoke of victories, strategic gains, and a prudent early withdrawal into winter quarters. The private letter from Volusianus told a different story. The Praetorian Prefect urged Murena to added vigilance. The campaign in Gaul had failed. Besieging the rebel Postumus in the city of Autun, Gallienus had been wounded by an arrow. The imperial field army had fallen back across the Alps. The Emperor was in Milan. It was thought he would live. Yet there was no certainty, and Gallienus was incapacitated.

The unsuccessful expedition had given Acilius Glabrio another, very personal grievance. A cavalry column led by the general Ballista had not returned from Gaul. It was thought to have been destroyed or captured by the rebels. Among its number was a cousin of the senator.

More fish were being immolated on the altar. Such a thing would be unimaginable in Murena’s home province. Across Syria, fish were widely considered sacred. Many of the great temples had elaborate marble ponds in which swam carp and other prized fish. They lived long lives, were cared for and fed; sometimes they wore jewels like earrings. Killing them was sacrilege. Mankind found innumerable ways to worship the gods. It was no part of the brief of a frumentarius to judge the religious beliefs of others. Unless, of course, they were devotees of a proscribed cult, like the Christians.

Acilius Glabrio still stood alone.

The thoughts of Murena continued to dwell on the east. The abortive campaign into Gaul, and the injury to the Emperor, made it ever more necessary that the mission to the Castle of Silence fail. Prince Sasan must remain a Persian prisoner. Events in the west left Rome even more unready for war with the Sassanids. No excuse to invade could be offered to Shapur.

Murena wondered where the caravan had reached. Had it crossed Mesopotamia yet? Was it in Persia? There was no way of telling. Severus was a resourceful commander. Yet, if the traitor had carried out his orders, Severus would be dead, and Valens would have assumed command. Valens was young and inexperienced. The soft and pampered youth owed his commission in the Horse Guards to patronage untouched by merit. And Valens was a heavy drinker. When his parents had been killed he had fallen into maudlin lethargy and drunken self-pity. Murena had appointed Valens to fail. If the gods were kind, Valens, guided by the malign hand of the traitor, would have led his men to disaster, and their bones would already be whitening in some distant desert.

The ceremony was drawing to a close. Acilius Glabrio turned to leave.