They had ridden on in the morning; in the greyness of predawn, through the long, canted shadows of sunrise, and into the heat of the day. By the fourth hour they came to a watering hole. The horses and mules were very tired, the men hardly less so, and they had halted.

Although hardened by the long journey since Zeugma, Valens was stiff and sore when they dismounted. The woman had ridden pillion, clinging on behind Zabda. The Palmyrene had had to lift her off the horse and place her upon the ground. Her clothes were ruined, and she had not yet spoken a word. Zabda hovered anxiously over her, his receding forehead turned this way and that, like some moulting hen bird, as he regarded her carefully from different angles. The other soldiers had gathered around, offering spare tunics and cloaks, a drink from a flask or a bite to eat. She had sat silent and withdrawn, ignoring their ministrations. There was a simplicity to the soldiers. Usually licentious, often brutal, and capable of terrible cruelty, yet if someone – usually a child or a woman – sparked their sympathy, their solicitude was infinite. After a time Valens had ordered them to their duties; the horses and mules would not see to themselves.

They had left the mules standing in line, the lead reins thrown on the ground. The head of the foremost mule was turned and secured to its pack to prevent it moving. The bell-mare was released from her traces, and led to water with the horses that had been ridden and the spare mounts. They were taken to the watering hole two at a time so they did not cause a commotion. After the horses had drunk, they were hobbled and unsaddled. They were given a little hay as the men brushed their backs and first checked their feet, then cleaned their eyes, nostrils and dock with a damp cloth. Finally, when they had cooled down, they were fed a mixture of oats and hay, and given a salt lick from the stores. After the horses, the mules were fed and watered. Their feet and legs and backs were examined, and their rigging adjusted, but they were not unloaded.

Clemens’s horse had gone lame, and he joined Decimus and Valens in selecting a replacement from the remounts. That done, they had worked together to improvise a saddlecloth and tack so that the woman could ride the quietest of the remaining spare horses.

‘Need to keep an eye on her,’ Decimus said. ‘A lot of women commit suicide after they have been raped.’

‘How is she going to kill herself out here?’ Clemens asked. ‘She has not got a knife or anything.’

‘Drown herself.’

‘In that pond?’

‘Throw herself off the horse.’

‘Be lucky to die.’

‘Wander off into the desert.’

‘And risk the tent-dwellers catching her?’