Centurion (39 page)

Artaxes’ eyes widened for an instant and his hand clasped the handle of his sword. Then he forced a smile and relaxed his hand. ‘Why should I believe that you would give yourselves up freely?’

‘For the same reason we will believe that you have spared the civilians. Trust. If you give your word that they will not be harmed, then I give you my word that we will surrender to you, if we have not been relieved within five days. If either of us breaks his word the penalty is the same: infamy across the whole region.’

Artaxes considered this for a moment and Cato prayed that the prince’s desire to visit destruction on the men of Rome outweighed his reason. Artaxes shut his eyes for a moment and stroked his neatly trimmed beard. Then he shook his head.

‘No. I will not make a deal with you. If we are to destroy your cohorts then we will do it in battle and prove to the world that the soldiers of Palmyra are more than a match for your legionaries and auxiliaries. As for the civilians? You will have to force them out of the citadel, and see what happens to them.’

The cold malice in his tone was clear to Cato and he felt the icy grip of fear clutch at the base of his neck. It was clear that Artaxes had the makings of a tyrant. Inspiring fear came as naturally to him as striking at prey came to a snake.

‘Is that your final word?’ asked Cato.

‘Yes . . . No.’ Artaxes smiled again. ‘Just one more thing. Tell my father, and my brothers, assuming they still live, that when the citadel is taken, I will have them flayed alive and their bodies will be cast into the desert for the jackals to feed on.’ His dark lips curled back in a grin as he raised a hand and pointed a finger at Cato. ‘And you can join them,

Roman. Then we’ll see how long your superior attitude lasts.’

Cato swallowed, and tried to keep his face composed as he turned towards the two men who had accompanied him. ‘Back to the citadel. Quick march.’

As they tramped back across the agora Cato sensed the cold stare of Artaxes boring into his back and could not resist one glance over his shoulder. Artaxes saw him and smiled with satisfaction before turning to stride towards the far corner of the merchants’ yards, followed by his bodyguards. Before he reached it a man came running round the end of the wall, sprinted towards Artaxes and dropped down on one knee as he began to speak. Cato was too far away to hear the words and continued towards the gates at a slower pace while he watched. He saw Artaxes ball his hand into a fist and turn to glare at Cato, his expression twisted into a mask of rage.

Artaxes’ voice cut through the air as he turned and ran for shelter. Above him, along the wall, his men were hurriedly stringing their bows. Cato turned to his companions.

‘Run!’

The three men sprinted towards the citadel. Cato heard Macro’s voice bellowing down to the men behind the gates and a moment later the hinges groaned in protest as they began to swing open. An arrow whirred overhead, then another clattered off the ground to one side. Cato hunched his head down and ran as fast as he could, weighed down by his armour. He saw the gap between the gates slowly widen ahead of him as the arrows continued to fly past.Then there was a sharp cry from his right. He glanced round and saw that the man carrying the standard had been struck in the back of the thigh, just above the knee.

‘Oh, shit!’ the auxiliary cried out, as he staggered another few paces and stopped.

Cato turned to the other man. ‘Help me!’ He grabbed the injured man’s arm and threw it across his shoulder as the other auxiliary threw his bucina aside and took the other arm.

‘Let’s go!’ Cato growled through gritted teeth. ‘Go!’

They hurried on, half carrying, half dragging the wounded man, who groaned with the agony of using his wounded leg. They were close to the gate, but the rebels were shooting more arrows at them than ever and Cato felt a hammer blow to the back of his shoulder as they stumbled under the gatehouse and through the gap, and then dropped to the ground as the legionaries on either side heaved the gates back into place and slid the locking bar across. Cato, gulping for breath, gestured towards the wounded man.’Get him to the surgeon.’

While a pair of legionaries hauled the man up and carried him away towards the royal garden courtyard which now served as the hospital, Cato stood up and felt round towards his back, wincing at a sudden stab of pain. But there was no shaft of an arrow; the chain-mail vest had done its job well. If the impact hadn’t cracked a rib then he would only suffer bruising. Macro emerged from the gatehouse staircase.

‘I take it he wasn’t interested in our offer?’

‘You could put it that way.’

Macro tilted his head to one side. ‘Can’t say I’m sorry that we’re going to go down fighting, rather than be butchered in cold blood.All the same,’ he turned and looked towards a family huddled together in the shadow of the royal quarters, ‘I pity those poor bastards.They haven’t got a chance now.’

‘The decision has been made,’ Balthus said firmly. ‘We must sacrifice the civilians, and it must be done at once, before they consume any more supplies.’

There was a mumble of assent around the handful of senior officers and officials who had gathered in the audience chamber that night, but Cato refused to give in and spoke again.

‘I’m telling you, something’s happened. A messenger approached Artaxes just after the parley finished. Whatever he told him must have been bad news.’

‘Why?’ asked Balthus. ‘Did you hear what he said?’

‘No,’ Cato admitted. ‘But there was no mistaking the look on his face.’

‘So you say. But it could have been almost anything.’

‘I don’t think so. What bad news could he be expecting? The Parthians are on the way to join him. We’ve almost run out of supplies, and all Artaxes has to do is bide his time and the citadel will fall into his hands.’ Cato paused to let his words sink in before continuing.’The only bad news he could be expecting is the approach of Longinus and his army.’

Macro cleared his throat and Cato glanced round as his friend shook his head. ‘Cato.’ Macro spoke gently. ‘It’s possible that you’re right. Just possible. It’s probable that you’re wrong.’

‘I’m not wrong. I know it.’

‘You know only what you saw. What you thought you saw in a glance back at Artaxes. That’s not enough. We can’t take the risk that Longinus is coming. We must go through with the plan. The civilians have to be sacrificed.’

‘And what if I’m right?’ Cato stared round at the others. ‘The blood of hundreds of people will be on our hands.’

There was a tense pause before Thermon rose to his feet. ‘That is the price we must accept, Roman. What if we let them stay? The remaining water and food would be exhausted in another day or two at the most. All we would have achieved then is a short delay in their deaths. At the cost of the lives of everyone in the citadel.’

‘But if Longinus is close to the city then we can all be saved.’

‘And if he isn’t? If he arrives just a day after we have been starved into submission? Then it would all have been for nothing. So let the sacrifice be made, and let us hope that it achieves something. It would be far better that the people died in order to save their kingdom than to wait a few more days and die in vain. Surely you can see that?’

Cato’s lips pressed into a thin line as he held in his anger and frustration, and Macro gently drew him back on to his chair. ‘Lad, he’s right. We can’t take the risk.You’re the one who thinks things through. If it had been me who had gone to speak to Artaxes, and I came back with some story, what would you think? What would you do?’

Cato looked at his friend.’I would trust your judgement, that’s what I’d do.’

Before Macro could respond, Thermon brought the meeting to an end. He spoke in a sombre tone. ‘As I see it, there is no good reason to change our plan. Before I report to the king, does anyone else wish to speak in support of Prefect Cato’s position? . . .No? Then the matter is decided.

I bid you good evening, gentlemen. Get some rest. Tomorrow is likely to be a very trying day.’

The round-up of civilians began before dawn. Those soldiers with family in the citadel were assembled in one of the storerooms and placed under guard with no explanation. They were provided with some bread and wine from the king’s kitchens, and once they were safely contained the legionaries began the task of rousing the civilians from their makeshift shelters in the courtyards. It was a distressing duty for the men, but Macro had volunteered the legionaries for the job. They were hard-bitten professionals with a higher proportion of veterans than Cato’s cohort, men who could be relied on to carry out their orders without sentiment. Cato’s auxiliaries, together with the Greek mercenaries and the followers of Balthus, had been posted on the walls with strict instructions not to leave their posts until relieved.

Flickering torches in hand, the legionaries gathered up the men, women and children and drove them towards the open area behind the gates.Two centuries created a cordon blocking any attempt at escape with their broad shields and lowered javelins. The civilians were not given time to collect any belongings and any food or drink that was found on them was taken away. Soon the cold dawn air was filled with their cries of anger and despair.Women clutched their children in their arms while the men confronted the Romans and shouted their rage, shook their fists, but kept just out of reach of the deadly points of the javelins. When all the obvious places had been searched Macro led one of his centuries out to scour the citadel for any remaining civilians who had tried to conceal themselves, and a steady trickle of individuals and families were added to the wailing crowd packed in behind the gate.

Having searched the area close to the burned-out grain stores Macro was about to move on to the ruins of the courtyard which had served as the hospital when he heard a thin cry. He paused and turned, listening, as his eyes scanned the blackened debris around him. Nothing moved and all was quiet. He relaxed his attention as one of his legionaries came tramping up and saluted.

‘Sir, beg to report we’ve swept this area.The optio wishes to know if you have any further orders.’

Just then Macro heard the sound again, a faint yowl, like a hungry cat. He raised his finger to his lips. ‘Quiet.’

Both men stood still, ears pricked as they slowly looked round. There was another cry, more pronounced this time, and Macro knew that it was no cat.

‘Came from that way, sir.’The legionary pointed towards a blackened heap of burned grain baskets close to the remains of a wall. ‘I’m sure of it.’

Macro nodded, beckoned to the man to follow him and then began to pick his way across the ruins towards the heap. The crying became continuous as they closed in and now Macro could hear a voice muttering anxiously. He stepped round the pile of burned baskets and saw that there was a narrow gap between it and the wall. A dark robe covered part of the gap and he saw it move slightly as the muttering grew in intensity.

‘There!’ said the legionary, and started to draw his sword.

‘Leave it,’ Macro ordered. ‘There’s no need.’

He brushed past the legionary and crunched over the charred remains of baskets that littered the ground around the pile. When he reached the robe Macro bent down, grasped a corner and pulled it away in one swift movement. There was a gasp as a young girl, no more than thirteen or fourteen, looked up from the crying infant cradled against her breast. Her mouth remained open, as if to scream, but she just swallowed and shook her head.

‘Please! Please don’t take us away.’ She spoke in Greek and Macro noticed that her blue stola and her cloak were cut from good-quality material. Her dark hair was neatly braided and she wore a gold pendant round her neck. The baby had been hurriedly wrapped in a shawl and its tiny sickly face wrinkled as it bawled, and little clenched fists trembled in the cool air.

‘He’s hungry,’ she explained. ‘Starving. We both are. Please help us.’

Macro took the girl gently under the arms and lifted her on to her feet. ‘Any more of you hiding round here?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ She clutched Macro’s arm with her spare hand. ‘Please let us stay.’

‘Sorry, young lady. We have our orders.’

‘I know, but you look like a good man.’ She glanced at the legionary. ‘Both of you do. Spare us. Let us stay.’

Macro shook his head. ‘We’re not going to harm you. Now just come with us.’

‘If you mean no harm, then where are you taking everybody?’

Macro looked at her and replied flatly,’To the main gate.’

‘The gate? Why?’

Macro felt pity for the girl and decided he would not deceive her. ‘The king has ordered that all civilians are to leave the citadel.’

She stared at him as the implication of his words rushed into her mind. ‘No . . . But that’s murder. Plain murder.’

‘Those are my orders, young lady. Now, come with us.’ He took her arm firmly. ‘Don’t give us any trouble, eh?’

She tried to pull away but there was no resisting Macro’s powerful grip. She bit her lip and then tried another tack, the words tumbling from her thin lips. ‘I can cook for you. Look after your kit . . . Keep you warm at night. Just spare me and my brother. I swear you won’t regret it.’

Macro felt a stab of guilt at her suggestion and a sense of world-weariness at the lengths that despair drove people to. The legionary had been listening to the exchange and glanced at Macro.

‘What about it, sir? Can I have her before she has to go with the others?’

‘What?’ Macro frowned as he turned to the man.

‘She’s a nice piece of cunny, sir. Be a shame to let it go to waste. She’ll be dead soon.’

‘Shut your mouth,’ Macro growled. ‘Get out of my fucking sight and search the next courtyard.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The legionary snapped to attention, saluted and then turned and trotted away. Macro glared after him, knowing full well that the man would assume that his commander had decided to save the girl for himself. Another officer might have taken advantage of the situation, Macro realised, but he felt heartily sickened by his orders, even though he had no choice in the matter. The civilians would die to permit the king and his followers to hold the citadel for a little longer. It was hard, but it made sense, Macro told himself. He looked at the girl and the infant again and suddenly he was not so sure.