The Siege (23 page)

‘You’re right. And we must do it now,’ said Cassius. ‘Crispus, you find Avso. Strabo, you get Kabir. We shall meet, then address the men in front of the gate.’

As they left, Cassius headed for the stables to try to find Julius; he hadn’t seen him all morning. Both horses were resting their noses on the doors, sniffing the morning air, and they shuffled noisily as he approached. With a quick pat for both animals, he continued past the empty stalls and found the remaining camels at the other end. The boy was not there.

‘Julius!’

The only noise in the compound came from either the barracks or the encampment.

‘Julius!’

Met again with no reply, Cassius walked briskly round the end of the granary, past the workshop and along the southern wall. He met Strabo and Kabir leaving the Syrian camp.

‘Have you seen the lad?’

‘No,’ answered Strabo.

Cassius turned towards the granary.

‘He’s not in there,’ added the Sicilian.

‘Kabir?’

‘Not since yesterday.’

‘Strange.’

‘Strange indeed,’ replied Strabo speculatively. The man made so many underhand comments that Cassius was now hearing some second meaning in everything he said. ‘Did you get anywhere with Flavian?’ the Sicilian asked.

Before Cassius could reply, there was a shout from the other side of the square. Serenus, Avso and Crispus were already outside the officers’ quarters. Thankful for the interruption, Cassius led the way.

Once inside, they sat round the table and Cassius reiterated the basics of the Praetorian’s plan. There were interjections here and there, mainly from Serenus and Strabo, but he took care to keep things moving. When it came to the role of the Syrians, Kabir too had his say, once again impressing all with his faultless Latin and calm, logical thinking.

As soon as they turned to other eventualities, and how they might be dealt with, Serenus took the lead. He was as robust as Cassius had seen him, guiding the discussion expertly. Avso was unusually quiet, though even he made the odd contribution, as did the ever-keen Crispus. Struggling at times to grasp certain tactical intricacies, Cassius was content to give way to the others.

Later, when the noise outside suggested that most of the legionaries were kitted up and ready, Serenus clarified a few key points and brought the meeting to a close.

‘My thanks,’ said Cassius. ‘You seem to have a natural grasp of these matters. I shall speak first to the men, but I think it would be preferable if you deliver the bulk of the briefing. Agreed?’

‘By all means,’ said Serenus.

Leaning back on his stool to peer round Strabo’s broad back, Cassius saw sunlight sparkling on newly polished armour.

‘Time to move I think.’

They filed out. Kabir left for the encampment while the section leaders began gathering their men.

Simo, sweating heavily, stalked out of the aid post.

‘Apologies, sir,’ he said, wiping his brow. ‘I was wrapping the body. It took longer than I thought.’

‘No matter,’ said Cassius. ‘But I will need my armour and helmet in a few minutes. See to it, would you.’

As he stood there amongst the men, his hand at rest on the hilt of his sword, Cassius’ thoughts turned to the prospect of battle.

The enemy were close now; so close that they might be at the wall in a matter of hours. If so, the garrison might be overrun before nightfall. It was possible, probable even, that he might not live to see another day. The thought occupied him so wholly that he barely noticed when those around him fell silent and began to turn in one direction.

Only when a nearby legionary breathed a curse did Cassius look up. Along with every other man in the square, his gaze was drawn to the small figure that had just emerged from the temple.

Julius stared down as he walked round the well, arms hanging by his side. He was barefoot, and his unkempt hair covered most of his face. In the middle of his tunic were several large blotches of dried blood.

XXI

‘We cannot stay here long,’ said Bezda, surveying the bleak plain that surrounded the column. ‘Not without a supply chain back to Anasartha.’

Azaf looked at the men putting the finishing touches to a wide network of awnings – essential protection for the warriors and horses. They had made good progress the previous day, and were now within striking distance of their objective. A short distance away, twenty of his swordsmen were already mounted, ready to join their leader for a scouting mission.

‘Your point?’ he said.

‘My point,’ answered Bezda gruffly, ‘is that we must strike quickly.’

Azaf glanced at the crest, where the signal fire was now producing only a thin trail of smoke.

‘I think it’s safe to say we’ve lost the element of surprise.’

‘Clearly. But why give them time to prepare their defences?’

Azaf didn’t reply. Though he was prepared to tolerate Bezda’s comments out of respect for the cavalryman’s station, he would not engage in a debate about strategy until he was ready. Instead, he called out to Razir. The aged warrior was with the scouting party, holding Azaf’s horse for him.

‘Fetch Teyya.’

Razir passed the reins to another man and jogged away.

‘What should I tell my men?’ asked Bezda impatiently. Sweat shone above his mouth and on his forehead; he obviously wanted to get out of the early afternoon sun.

‘Tell them they should ready themselves for an attack. Is that acceptable to you?’

Humility didn’t come easily to Azaf but he needed the cavalryman’s cooperation.

‘General Zabbai obviously puts great trust in your judgement,’ said Bezda after a moment. ‘That’s good enough for me.’

Azaf nodded cordially as Bezda wiped his face and strode away.

There was no denying the truth of the cavalryman’s words. With the limited supplies of water on the carts, they couldn’t expect to stay longer than a day or two. The Palmyran troops could survive on remarkably little, but this was a battle and even a short engagement in the summer heat would tire them quickly. Without adequate refreshment, neither horses nor men would last long.

Zabbai wanted a swift resolution. The men too would prefer a quick assault, and with nothing else to occupy them they would soon become restless. Azaf didn’t plan to keep them waiting long, but he was determined to guard against overconfidence. He would not be rushed.

Beyond the scouting party, the other warriors readied themselves.

The infantrymen had unsaddled their horses and left them in the care of the cart drivers. Each man now organised his personal equipment and weaponry. Apart from the distinctive loose trousers and red tunics, their basics differed little from the legionaries’. Most used swords of Roman manufacture, weapons either recently liberated or left over from the days when the Empire supplied the Palmyran armies.

Unlike their leader, most could still find a use for a good shield and, again, many were constructed along Roman lines, reinforced with crossbars and a central bronze boss. Others were of a type favoured in the East: thick, dried reeds, bound by leather, with a V-shaped bottom. Surprisingly tough, they resisted sword thrusts well, absorbing rather than deflecting blows. Then there were the traditional circular Palmyran shields: small, light, easy to wield.

The horse archers were removing all unnecessary clutter from their saddles. Like the cavalrymen, they used the four-horned variety, and would often secure their reins to the forward pair of short wooden poles when firing.

It was Palmyran custom to attach both bow-holder and quiver to the saddle, and before battle each man would adjust the intricate system of leather straps that kept both items in place. Reins and weaponry could easily become entangled and most archers knew from bitter experience the value of such preparation. The sheer physical difficulty of riding and firing simultaneously ensured that no detail was overlooked.

Once satisfied that their saddles were in order, they turned to their weapons. Azaf could see several men working on arrows: adjusting flights, smoothing shafts, sharpening points. Another man was restringing his bow. He needed a fellow archer to assist him; only with their combined weight could they compress the bow into the required shape.

Though Azaf had never made any attempt to master the weapon, he was well aware of its formidable capabilities. The Palmyran bows were three feet long and designed to release arrows with prodigious power. A stiffening section of horn was fixed along the archer’s side and a length of ox sinew to the firing side. Stretching as the bow was drawn, the sinew would snap back to its normal size upon release, propelling a well-crafted arrow up to three hundred yards.

None of the archers wore armour, so rare was it for them to fight hand to hand. In fact, many of them wore nothing above the waist, thereby avoiding any additional encumbrances.

Whilst the archers had to ready themselves, each cavalryman was helped by an attendant. The carts containing the coats of mail had been unloaded and the attendants now laid them out on the ground, checking them over thoroughly. A missing section of mail or a tear in the leather undercoat could render the whole arrangement vulnerable.

Lying close by were some of the saddles, removed to give the horses a rest. The four-horned design was also useful for the cavalry. Leather straps attached to the end of a lance could be slipped over a rear horn, providing greater purchase and striking power. The saddles also aided the stability of the heavily armoured riders, especially the front horns, which stopped them sliding forward along the animal’s neck.

Azaf knew that Bezda’s men would require a good hour’s notice if needed; it would take them that long to dress themselves and their horses. Bezda had also stated that they could not be expected to fight for more than half an hour or so under a bright sun.

Clad only in their tunics, the cavalrymen rode bareback, practising charges, turns and stops. They shouted and screamed and struck their mounts with canes, preparing them for the chaos and noise of combat.

Azaf watched his scouting party disperse to let Teyya and Razir through. The youth brought his horse up close.

‘You have it?’

Teyya pulled aside the blanket on his lap. Beneath was the caged bird.

XXII

Cassius got to Julius just in time.

The legionaries had swiftly surrounded him. They were examining his tunic and now the lad himself was staring vacantly down at the dark bloodstains. Cassius gripped his shoulder and pointed at the officers’ quarters.

‘Julius, you must come with me.’

They could hardly move; the crush of faces and bodies had already closed in round them. Strabo and the other deputies seemed suddenly to have disappeared.

‘You men, get back!’

‘Look there – blood on his hand!’ someone shouted.

‘Sir, it was him. It must have been,’ cried Minicius. Like the others he was now fully armed and equipped, sweating and red-faced under his helmet.

‘Just wait. We must—’

A legionary took hold of the boy’s other arm.

‘You there!’ Cassius ordered. ‘Let go at once!’

There was a loud crack as the flat of a sword blade smashed into the side of the man’s head. His helmet absorbed most of the blow but he staggered sideways.

‘Settle down!’ Strabo roared. ‘That means all of you!’

He barged the man aside and stood in front of Julius, towering over him. Expecting the Sicilian to help him establish order and get the lad out of there, Cassius was dismayed to find he had no such intention. Sheathing his sword, Strabo stared at Julius as the men quietened down.

‘Well. What have you to say?’

Cassius looked round once more. Avso was watching intently from the back of the crowd. There was no sign of Serenus or Crispus.

‘Well?’ Strabo shouted, slapping Julius full in the face.

Cassius instinctively let go, watching in stunned silence as the boy raised a hand to his cheek.

‘I know you can understand me,’ said the Sicilian, grabbing his tunic at the collar. ‘Say something, boy!’

As Strabo lifted his hand once again, Cassius finally galvanised himself into action.

‘Guard officer!’

Strabo hesitated.

‘Guard officer, get control of yourself! I will take the boy to the officers’ quarters and question him there.’

The Sicilian’s dark eyes seemed to have glazed over.

‘I will get answers, I assure you,’ said Cassius. ‘I assure all of you,’ he added, looking around.

A little humanity seemed to return to Strabo’s face. He loosened his grip.

Julius’ head remained bowed.

Cassius spun round as he felt a hand on his arm.

‘Easy there,’ Serenus said quietly. Crispus had appeared too and was already moving his section away.

‘We are needed elsewhere,’ Serenus told Strabo, his voice even and firm. ‘We must address the men now, while there’s time.’

Strabo didn’t respond.

‘Do you wish to give the order or shall I?’

Clearing his throat, the Sicilian looked at Cassius, then Julius, then back at Serenus. He scratched ostentatiously at his chin before shouting instructions:

‘Assemble in sections at the gate. Move!’

The men dispersed. Cassius took hold of Julius’ arm once again. The boy was shaking and a small puddle had appeared between his feet.

Cassius led him away, looking over his shoulder as Strabo and Serenus silently regarded each other for a moment. It was an incongruous sight: Serenus’ slight, wasted frame dwarfed by the Sicilian’s intimidating bulk. Strabo spat nonchalantly into the dust, then strode off towards the gate. With Barates gone, Cassius now realised just how reliant he was on the cool-headed Serenus to keep Strabo’s excesses in check. He would have to hope that the ailing veteran’s health didn’t deteriorate further.