The Siege (20 page)

The fourth chest was shut and Simo sat on top of it, for once not busying himself with some practical labour, but reading intently from a thick collection of papyrus pages bound by twine. The Gaul was so engrossed that he didn’t notice Cassius standing in the doorway.

‘Wish I had time for some light reading.’

Simo looked up with a start and dropped the book.

‘Sir, my apologies,’ he mumbled, recovering the tome and dusting it down.

‘Are not necessary,’ Cassius said as he entered, turning his nose up at the close, musty air.

‘What do you have there?’

‘A medical manual, sir. A surgeon must have been stationed here at some point.’

Cassius took the book from Simo and examined the first page. The Greek text was fluid and clear, the work of an expert scribe.

‘Nice copy. Ah yes, Dioscorides. One of my teachers was always going on about him. Greek fellow that travelled with Nero. Made a great list of plants and minerals, their medical properties and how to make use of them.’

Simo looked across at the other chests.

‘There are a host of treatments, sir. Though I fear some might be past their best.’

‘Well, you might be able to make some use of it, but a good supply of water and bandages should be your priority.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Simo took the book back from Cassius and laid it on top of the chest.

‘Best see what you can do about getting more beds in here. We might need them all at some point. Is there anything else you can think of?’

‘Nothing I can’t attend to myself, sir.’

‘Very well. I’ll leave you to it then.’

Just as Cassius turned to leave, he saw a small wooden model of a chariot on another of the chests. He picked it up.

‘Where did this come from?’

‘A keepsake of mine, sir. My nephew made it for me. He loves the races.’

‘You have relations back in Antioch?’

‘I do, sir.’

‘I thought Trimalchio chose you to accompany me because you had no family.’

‘I believe my master meant that I had no wife or children of my own.’

‘Ah. I see.’

Cassius couldn’t think of anything else to say to that. He handed back the chariot.

‘But my father lives still,’ Simo continued. ‘And I have a brother. He and his wife have four children.’

Simo turned the chariot over in his hand.

‘You must miss them,’ Cassius said.

‘I do, sir. Might I ask – do you come from a large family?’

‘Three sisters, all older than me.’

Simo smiled.

‘They looked after you I expect.’

‘They did. Still would given the chance. If we could get the three of them over here, it might be enough to frighten off the Palmyrans.’

Simo smiled again and Cassius thought of the day he left Ravenna. Though two of his sisters were now married, the whole family had gathered to spend some time with him before he left for training. Privately he knew none of them agreed with his father’s decision, but there was never any question of anyone trying to change his mind.

In the event, Cassius had left a day early, just before dawn, leaving a note to explain why. It would have been too much for him. Their tears would have become his, and he would have felt even more lost; even more unable to face the challenges ahead.

Helena, Claudia and Domitia had understood. He knew that from the letters sent before he departed for Syria. When he was alone, he would let himself think of them, though he was careful not to get lost in those thoughts. And when he was not alone, he forced himself to push such reflections away; to concentrate on the present and keep himself busy. He was getting quite good at it.

‘Well, I better be off.’

As Cassius turned to leave, a last sight of the medical manual sparked an idea.

‘One more thing, Simo. When you have a moment, take another look at that book, would you? See what old Dioscorides has to say about long-lasting and painful afflictions of the gut.’

XVIII

The javelin arced elegantly through the air and was just beginning to drop when the tip thudded into a wooden target on the side of the granary. Three other javelins, Strabo’s errant previous efforts, made a neat triangle around the fourth.

‘Ha!’ exclaimed the Sicilian, standing in the middle of the square with the rest of his section. ‘The old skills are still there! Pull them out, someone. Then you can all have a go.’

Still admiring his handiwork, Strabo didn’t notice Cassius come up behind him.

‘Very impressive, guard officer.’

‘Perhaps you’ll take your turn in a moment,’ Strabo said over his shoulder. ‘Show us lowly ranks how it’s done.’

‘Perhaps.’

In truth, Cassius would have been far happier wielding the javelin than the sword. He had been rated as average during training and resolved to have a go if time allowed.

A more pressing concern were the fourth and fifth sections; they had worked all through the afternoon shifting sand and were in dire need of refreshment.

‘Get some food and water out, would you,’ he told Strabo, who nodded and indicated for the next of his men to have a throw.

Cassius made his way down the street to where Serenus and Barates stood by one of the overturned carts. Two of the vehicles now lay on their side with one end almost touching the wall, just outside the gatehouse towers. The other two lay next to them, arranged at an angle so as to meet in the middle of the street.

‘Looks solid enough,’ Cassius said.

‘They will not pass easily, that much is certain,’ said Barates, smacking the side of the cart. It was now part of a seven-foot wooden wall. The wheels and axles had all been removed and now formed props at the base of the barricades. Piles of sand a foot high stabilised the whole arrangement. Where the carts met each other, criss-crossing planks barred the way. Only the space between the two central carts had been left open – a four-foot access gap. A nearby stack of wood ensured that it could be plugged swiftly.

‘Here come Avso’s lot,’ added Barates, scratching at his head.

With the Thracian and Flavian in the lead, the diggers filed in through the gate with the drooping heads and shuffling gait of the truly exhausted. Though the sun was low in the sky, most still shone with sweat, brushing sand off their arms as they walked. Only Crispus remained outside; he had volunteered to keep watch while the rest of the garrison ate.

‘Well done. Good day’s work. Excellent effort.’

Cassius repeated similar phrases as each of the men passed. Only when they were all on their way did he, Barates and Serenus follow. The weary veteran and the afflicted legionary walked slowly and by the time the three of them neared the end of the street, the others had all reached the granary.

There was a sudden flash of movement in the square. A figure stumbled from right to left, propelled by some unseen force, then crashed heavily to the ground. Cassius recognised the man from the second section. He lay sideways on the ground, clutching his shoulder.

The Praetorian staggered into view. He was wearing one boot and could barely maintain a straight line. He was carrying a javelin.

Cassius, Barates and Serenus looked on as the rest of the garrison prepared to take evasive action. The Praetorian stabbed the javelin down, cracking a tile, and shifted his grip back to a throwing position. Some of the men had already found cover. Others didn’t dare turn their backs whilst the deadly projectile remained in his grip.

‘Teach you to come in my inn!’ he bellowed at the legionary, who was being helped away. Then his gaze came to rest on Strabo, who was standing behind the table he had been loading with food. ‘’Joying your dinner?’

Cassius, Barates and Serenus moved towards the dwellings to their left.

‘This could get out of hand,’ said Cassius.

‘I fear it already has,’ replied Barates.

Avso had not hurried away like the others. He was coolly backing towards the granary, one hand on his sword, eyes trained on the Praetorian.

‘There’s plenty to go round,’ announced Strabo with a valiant attempt at warmth. ‘Just tell me what you’d like and I’ll get it for you.’

With a grunt, the Praetorian retracted his arm, then thrust it forward with startling speed, launching the javelin across the square.

Strabo flung himself to one side. The javelin shattered an amphora, narrowly missed his feet, then slid harmlessly to a halt between two retreating legionaries.

The Praetorian, still hunched over from the effort, tried to stand up straight. Holding his arms out to steady himself, he stared up at the darkening sky for a moment, mouth hanging open. Then he put a hand to his head and turned round. Pointing at the barracks doorway, he lurched back across the square with surprising haste. Tripping as he stepped inside, he bounced off a wall and disappeared from view.

‘Thank the gods he missed,’ said Barates as he, Cassius and Serenus emerged from the shadows.

The Praetorian’s progress through the barracks was punctuated by oaths and impacts until he was finally heard to thump down on to his bed.

Strabo stood and dusted himself down, as did the legionary who had been thrown to the ground. His friends crowded round to investigate what turned out to be no more than a few scratches and scrapes. By the time Cassius and the others reached the Sicilian, he was already talking to Avso.

‘You all right?’ Cassius asked.

‘I’ll live,’ said Strabo, pouring himself a generous measure of wine. He placed the bottle next to the broken amphora with a look of distaste. It had contained fish sauce and the pungent aroma was already spreading.

Avso cleared his throat, then spoke.

‘Though I see he’s reluctant to talk of it, the guard officer and I agree on something for once.’ Despite the sharp glance he received from Strabo, the Thracian continued. ‘We should wait until the Bear is asleep – then cut his throat.’

‘You can’t mean that!’ said Barates.

‘And what if that javelin had come your way, old man?’ countered the Sicilian. ‘You’d have been stuck like a pig!’

‘The man is drunk. Haven’t you ever thrown your weight around after a few too many?’

Strabo scowled.

‘Unfortunately for us, my weight is not the same as his. It’ll take half the garrison to hold him down, and though you don’t seem to have noticed, we have other matters to concern us.’

Avso spoke up again: ‘Mars knows we’d all love to have him on our side but right now he’s more likely to kill one of us than the enemy. How can we man the walls with him rampaging around behind us?’

Barates shook his head in disbelief.

‘I understand your concern,’ said Cassius, ushering the section leaders away from the men. ‘Really. But I cannot sanction such an act.’

‘It’s not something any of us would wish for,’ Strabo said. ‘But he is a danger to each and every man here.’

‘I’ll talk to him when he wakes,’ said Barates. ‘Make him see reason.’

‘Oh well, problem solved then! What are we worrying for?’

Strabo finished off his wine.

Cassius decided to bring the discussion to an end.

‘Unfortunately, gentlemen, this is not the Senate. I hold the senior rank here and I say no. The Praetorian may have a part to play yet.’

‘Oh I’m sure of it,’ said Strabo. He slammed his cup down, flattened his palms out on the table and took a deep breath.

‘Right,’ he said loudly, looking up at the legionaries. ‘Show’s over. Come and get it.’

Avso leaned in close to Cassius’ face.

‘You’d best deal with him, centurion,’ he said quietly, tapping his dagger. ‘Or I’ll do it my way.’

‘Have you no honour?’ asked Barates.

‘A little,’ replied the Thracian, turning towards the veteran, ‘but I’ve a good deal more sense. And what entitles you to question me, Grandpa? You’re a great respecter of rank for one who has spent so long in the army without attaining any.’

Avso walked away.

‘Ignore him,’ Cassius told Barates. ‘Serenus, what do you think?’

Serenus ran a hand through his spiky hair, then rubbed his neck.

‘It would be nothing short of murder. But it may be necessary for the greater good. The morale of the men is fragile enough; they don’t need an additional burden.’

Cassius winced at his words, not least because they made sense.

‘That man is a hero of Rome,’ said Barates solemnly.

‘Was,’ corrected Serenus.

‘If we could just get him to fight with us,’ said Cassius, gritting his teeth in frustration.

‘With respect,’ said Serenus, ‘I think your efforts might be better employed in other directions. What Strabo and Avso suggest may seem extreme but they have the interests of the garrison at heart.’

‘Their only interest is in saving their own skin,’ observed Barates.

‘That is the one interest we all share,’ replied Serenus.

As he too left, Cassius and Barates shook their heads.

‘I should be going,’ Barates said. ‘Antonius will be back later but he is to relieve me again around midnight. Make sure he remembers, would you, he’s a little unreliable at times.’

‘Of course.’

‘Julius can stay here tonight. I can handle one of the beasts.’

Barates was carrying a leather satchel, which he now filled with two canteens of water and enough food to see him through his shift. He grimaced as the weight tugged at his shoulder.

‘You’ve barely stopped these last few days,’ said Cassius. ‘You look worn out.’

‘Just keep an eye on this lot. That will help me rest easy.’

Barates placed a firm hand on Cassius’ arm and looked up at him.

‘Especially Avso and Strabo. Don’t let them do anything stupid.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Tomorrow then.’

‘Tomorrow.’

Two hours later, Cassius exited the officers’ quarters to find the square dark and empty. A rectangle of light from the barracks cut into the gloom, just as the harsh voices of the off-duty soldiers split the silent desert night. Despite the day’s endeavours, Cassius knew it would be a while before they sought rest. Strabo had asked to distribute an extra wine ration – a bottle between three men – and Cassius had readily acceded. The legionaries had worked hard to a man; they deserved a few hours off.