The wagon was still smouldering, occasional little licks of flame running across its planks. Pathetic belongings lay abandoned on the ground: a smashed amphora, a lone shoe, a woman’s torn veil. The first corpse was slumped by the wagon. The vultures rose at their approach, ungainly and reluctant. Dressed in a coarse tunic, the man lay on his back. The carrion birds had not been long at their feast. Despite their feeding, the two wounds were still evident in his chest. The tearing of the flesh showed the killers had taken trouble to retrieve their arrows. The other corpse was further off. This victim was stark naked, staked out. He had been tortured. Valens looked in horror at the blackened, burnt soles of his feet, and the bloody mess where his genitals had been.

‘Arabs,’ Narses said.

Valens gestured at the wagon. ‘What hidden treasure could they think he might reveal?’

‘Arabs,’ Narses said again. ‘It gives the tent-dwellers pleasure.’

The scouts clattered back.

‘Tracks heading north-east. Camels and horses, a couple of mules, probably from the wagon, a few are going on foot,’ Aulus reported.

‘How many?’ Valens asked.

‘In total, more than ten, less than twenty.’

‘How long?’

‘Recent, an hour, maybe two.’

‘We should either bury or cremate the dead,’ Decimus said.

‘There are no trees,’ Aulus said, ‘and the wagon is already charcoal.’

‘If they were locals, they were followers of Zoroaster,’ Narses said. ‘We should leave them exposed.’

‘We cannot leave them to the vultures.’ The idea appalled Valens.

‘So custom is only king when it fits your sensibilities?’ Narses said.

Although it was repugnant, Valens knew the Persian was right. ‘Untie that one, lay them both out respectfully. In case they worshipped the Olympian gods, put a coin in their mouths and sprinkle a pinch of earth on each.’

As they carried out the order, Valens stood respectfully by. But there was something else that had to be done.

‘Aulus, can you track the tent-dwellers?’

‘I am a Gaul. We are born hunters.’

‘You could follow their trail in darkness?’

‘Of course.’ Aulus looked somewhat affronted. ‘Anyone with eyes could, and I was a scout for the Third Augusta in Africa. But why?’

Valens picked up the ripped veil. ‘There was a woman with the wagon.’

‘She was unlucky.’

‘We are going to rescue her.’

‘Have you taken leave of your senses, sir?’ The last word was an afterthought. ‘Our mission is to free some Sassanid princeling, not every woman taken by the nomads.’

Valens steeled himself to face this new challenge to his authority. Before he could speak, unexpected aid came from Narses.

‘I would not leave anyone in the hands of the Arabs.’

Aulus, furious and truculent, looked for support from the others.

‘The officer is right,’ Clemens said.

‘But there are more of them than us,’ Aulus exclaimed. ‘Why put your hand in a nest of rats?’

‘We are soldiers,’ Valens said, ‘and they are nothing but ragged tent-dwellers.’