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ruins where Vitus watched the courtyard. His eyes were red and the officer looked tired. Lucius held out the skin to his commander. “Did the night pass uneventfully, Primus?”
    Vitus shook his head. After several long drinks from the skin, he poured some water over his face. He swished out his mouth and spit onto the top of the hot stone where it immediately evaporated from the heat. “If I never cross sand again it means Jupiter mightily blessed his humble adherent. Everything is gritty and never have I been so filthy. Last night was as bad as the night before: little sleep.”
    Lucius could see that much sand had been removed from the courtyard. Oddly enough, no inscriptions or writing could be seen. The ancient walls were blank except for the disturbing ways the blocks fit together. Basket after basket filled with sand was raised and dumped over the side of the edifice. Vitus took another drink then spoke. “Still no entrance found. In the middle of the night the damn wind began howling. It sent the slaves and camels into fits. The animals pulled at their tethers. Some of them broke free and ran into the desert. Again, the slaves fell on each other. Seemed a better plan to let them pummel one another bloody than have them fall on us. They say the gangly Britons fight that way: one falls on a legionnaire’s pilum, impales himself while the other attacks. Sign of savages, tactics like that. We let them beat each other senseless.”
    “How strange. Is some superstition attached to the desert wind, perhaps?” Lucius asked, puzzled.
    The Primus took another drink. “Oddly, the mild breeze would not indicate the overwhelming roar of the winds. The origin of what echo or phenomenon creates the howling squall is beyond my ken. Maybe it is an oddity of this part of the desert, some strange rock formation channeling the gale to mimic some demonic flute somewhere over the dunes, echoing to this forgotten place. Never in many years of service to Caesar have I encountered such strangeness.”
    “How did Anok Sabé, our rebellious Egyptian, fare as an example to the others?”
    Vitus stared at the excavations. “Not well. His agitations continued long after your journey east. Once ungagged, it only allowed him to squeal and shout about this place: some long-hidden evil vaguely known by the natives. He had special knowledge to share he claimed, given his proud lineage. After we replaced the gag, I had him put in the excavation pit for the night to temper his rebellion. At dawn, he was in some state that is near a hysterical catatonia. Eyes fixed on some unseen evil, mouth agape and a trickle of drool like an idiot. Unfortunately, his ability to piss and shit himself has not subsided. He is lying in an unusual state in one of the tents on the north side of the ruins, flesh pale and eyes wide.”
    “They say some Egyptians believe that when they die, they go to the afterlife and place their heart on a scale in front of their gods. If they are found worthy, they go to a paradise they call The Field of Reeds,” Lucius said and smiled. “If their gods were as powerful as Jupiter, I think conquering them would have been impossible.”
    The Primus cast a glance over his shoulder. “The primitive beliefs of these savages interest me little, Prior. Is the water unloaded?”
    Lucius glanced back to where the slaves loaded empty skins and urns onto the camels. “Should be by now, Primus.”
    The officer sighed. “The prattle of savage religions and such tires me. Return to your camp and maybe on the morrow my humor will be better.”
    “Given the circumstances, doubtful,” Lucius said dubiously.
    The officer turned. “One final unpleasantness, Prior. Our deserting auxiliaries took more than their fair share of the food. Split what you have. Bring a third of your share on the morrow so we can stay supplied. Ration what you have. It bodes ill to have more mouths eating than food to put in them.”
    “For the glory of Rome,”