The bottom of the stream was solid rock, but overlaid by a fine silt. The disturbed sediment bloomed up and streamed away from each step the horses took. It turned the waters milky white in the moonlight.

Again Valens waited behind with Hairan. They stood on the bank watching the surface of the river. The stream was fast. Soon all evidence of the rest of the horsemen had vanished.

They swung into their saddles, and splashed into the stream. The water was shallow, only occasionally reaching the fetlocks of the horses. Valens restrained himself from singing. There was no way the tent-dwellers could track them now.

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

Adiabene

TWO DAYS IN THE SADDLE SEPARATED by a sleepless night had left them bone tired. For two hours they rode up the bed of the river. Their progress was slow, and it was hard to judge how many miles they had covered. Eventually, when they had climbed onto the bank, at least a third of the night had gone.

The land lifted here, and they could sense the solid mass of the mountains ahead. They made camp in a dry wash that ran down to the river. The depression shielded them from view, and there were no trees on its slopes, but from weariness as much as caution they did not light a fire. They were chilled and their clothes were wet as they saw to their mounts and ate their rations cold. Yet sentries had to be set. Each pair would stand guard for two hours. Although exhausted, he had volunteered for the first watch. He needed time to think.

Valens had earned his grudging respect. The young officer had faced down the mutiny after the death of Severus. He had imposed his will in going after the girl. During the rescue, Valens had played his part with courage, and had overseen the retreat with brisk efficiency. The callow youth of Zeugma had been toughened by the tribulations of the hard journey. He even looked different. He was leaner, stood taller, and moved with the growing assurance of command.

Murena had said that Valens was a broken reed. Young and inexperienced, he had turned to drink after the murder of his parents. There was no doubt that Valens would snap under pressure. Murena had been wrong. For all his experience and cunning, for all the information and contacts at his disposal, Murena was a bad judge of character. How could it be otherwise? The commander of the frumentarii lived in a world of lies and suspicion. No disinterested informant ever came forward. Every one denounced others, hoping to be rewarded. The soldiers themselves existed to uncover treachery – and found it wherever they looked. Innocuous conversations and letters were twisted to reveal malign intent. Immersed in a climate of untruth, all thoughts became tainted. Innocence was seen as stupidity, virtue as a condemnation of those in authority.