Lucius shrugged. “I’m always careful.”
Syphax laughed. “Except when you’re not.”
“That’s because sometimes you get in a situation where careful isn’t good enough to keep you alive, and I very much intend to get through this one alive.”
Once they settled into camp for the night, Lucius organized the scouts he wanted to take and the supplies they’d need. After he’d finalized his plans, he sought out Ariazate and her brother.
Lucius took the siblings aside and looked around to make sure no one was close enough to listen. “I’m going to be gone for a few days. Stick close to Tribunus Quietus. Syphax will make sure no one bothers you.”
Ariazate bristled. “We can take care of ourselves.”
“I know you can, but I’d rather you not have to kill again if it can be avoided.”
Ariazate nodded, acknowledging the point. “Be well, Roman, and good luck.”
“I’ll see you two later.” He smiled at them and tousled Tigran’s black hair before returning to Syphax to receive any final instructions.
When they left before dawn the next morning, their party numbered sixteen legionnaires, three men to wrangle the spare mounts and pack animals and one of Pater Tiridat’s men to guide them should they need it. As they walked their mounts through camp, Ariazate emerged from her tent, hair disheveled, and waved to Lucius before returning to sleep.
Mylitos, walking beside Lucius, looked at his centurio, brows raised.
“Yes, Miles Mylitos?” Lucius asked pointedly around a yawn.
The short man of Illyrian origin studiously returned his gaze straight ahead. “Nothing, Centurio.”
As soon as they cleared the gates, they mounted up, though they kept their pace measured until they had more daylight. They made good time, despite trading speed for a certain amount of quiet and stealth. Tiridat’s man led them down the path they’d been on the day before until he found the side trails that were inaccessible to a full cohort but were ideal for a small scouting party. By the end of the day, they saw no tails save for those on the occasional deer wandering about the wooded mountains. They stopped at a secluded place to camp for the night, then started fresh the next morning, breaking camp just after first light.
“You expect to find anything, Centurio?” Mylitos asked, joining Lucius near the front of the small party.
Lucius rode in silence as he watched their Armenian guide, Varghat, slip into the woods as he worked ahead of their main party. “I hope not. But I’d rather find nothing and be thought over-cautious than the other way round.”
“True.”
Lucius patted his pony’s neck, their breath steaming in the cold mountain morning air. “I don’t like this cold though. Snow’s an enemy we can’t fight.”
“No, Centurio, not unless you’re owed favors from powerful gods.”
Lucius chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve accrued those kinds of favors. We’ll have to hope for a bit of luck to keep us from freezing our asses off.”
“That and a few good sets of woolens,” Mylitos replied.
“Damn it, where has that man gone?” Lucius hissed just above a whisper.
No one answered the rhetorical question. Varghat had disappeared with only a brief word to one of Lucius’s legionnaires about wanting to drift ahead to check out something he’d heard in the distance. He’d been gone too long, and Lucius was reluctant to break cover to search for him, especially if the man had actually found something worth inspecting.
A frigid splatter of rain bounced off his nose. Looking up, he closed his eyes and shook his head, his jaw clenching. “Of course.”
“At least it’s not snow, Centurio,” Mylitos whispered just loud enough for Lucius to hear.
“Shut up, Miles.” Lucius was usually better at absorbing the good-natured banter some of his men liked to use to stave off nerves, but right now he wasn’t in the mood for anything but silence. And the return of their wayward scout.
A snapping branch drew Lucius’s attention. He held his breath, turning his head so he could point his ear down the narrow trail in front of them. When the bird call Varghat liked to use sounded, Lucius heaved a sigh of relief. Mylitos whistled the counter sign. Lucius never could get the knack of whistling more than an off-tune shrill note. He could whistle loudly when he needed to, but he couldn’t make notes let alone realistic bird calls.
Varghat emerged around a distant bend in the trail and raised a gloved hand in greeting. Lucius, waving his men to hold back, nudged his gelding forward to meet Varghat.
“You were gone for a while,” Lucius said by way of greeting.
“Sorry about that, Centurio. I was curious about something,” Varghat replied in his Armenian accented Hellenic.
“Did you find anything?”
Varghat nodded. “I found a Parthian scout, at least from the few glimpses I saw. He was working his way west and south.”
“The way we just came from. Care to show me?” Lucius asked.
“If we keep it small. You and maybe two or three other men.” Varghat scratched at his thick beard.
Lucius nodded and turned around, picking the three best scouts. “The rest of you wait here. No fires, keep out of sight, and be ready to move out quickly.”
He didn’t wait to hear responses before turning around. They were professional and knew the stakes. Rejoining the Armenian, the party of five disappeared down the path into the steadily thickening drizzle. Lucius hoped the weather stayed wet instead of shifting to snow. It would be easier to disappear and rejoin the rest of the cohort as their trail blended into the muddied mess of nearly a thousand passing men and horses. If it snowed, they’d leave a clear trail through the fresh snow alerting anyone following them they’d been spied.
The five men wound their way over the game path, ducking under branches laden with rain. By the time they’d ridden an hour, Lucius was nearly soaked through. The only thing keeping him warm was the quality woolens Syphax had procured for their venture. Riding in silence, they halted when Varghat raised a hand to stop them, then dismounted.
Lucius joined him on the ground and signaled for the three scouts to step down as well. “Josephus, you stay with the horses,” Lucius whispered.
The legionnaire nodded and gathered the reins of the horses, stepping under a particularly large pine to shelter from the rain. Varghat looked them over, then tapped his head. Removing his helmet, Lucius set it on his saddle, then ran a hand through his shortly cropped hair. With their helmets left behind, there wouldn’t be any shiny metal to give them away. Their black cloaks would blend well enough into the shadows of the forest made gloomy with gray clouds.
