The Siege (33 page)

‘Six hours gone,’ he said to no one in particular.

The cold of the desert night had penetrated every corner of the compound. Those at the walls were wrapped in their cloaks and the torch-bearers no longer resented their burdens. Cassius and the section leaders were gathered together in the officers’ quarters, sitting on stools in a half-circle before the fire. Only Avso was absent, taking his turn to check the perimeter. Having just served some hot wine, Simo had left for the aid post.

Though his efforts at the granary had tired him, Cassius felt glad to have made a direct contribution to the defence. There was, he sensed, already a subtle difference in the way the legionaries viewed him.

‘I’ve know some long nights over the years,’ said Strabo, his hands circling the cup of wine, ‘but I fancy this might be the longest yet. Mind you, I recall a few nasty waits around the time old Odenathus started taking charge.’

‘You’ve been in Syria that long?’ asked Cassius.

‘Twelve years, I think. Might even be thirteen.’ Strabo’s eyes were fixed on the fire. ‘Things were fairly quiet when we first arrived, then Dura fell to the Persians and we found ourselves marching east. Luckily the Palmyrans got the worst of it. We were camped out close to the Euphrates. For three nights they told us we’d see action the next day, but it never happened. Bad information from the Security Service as I recall. Not that anything good ever came from that nest of snakes.’

Cassius observed the nods of agreement from the legionaries. Based on what he’d heard in Syria, the Service’s reputation amongst rank-and-file soldiers was not far short of atrocious. He hadn’t enjoyed lying to the men about his identity, but was glad he’d followed General Navio’s counsel.

‘Odd, is it not?’ said Serenus. ‘That we now find ourselves at war with our former allies.’

‘
Odenathus
was our ally,’ said Strabo sharply. ‘Some would say he went too far, but we’ve not known many emperors as strong in a good many years. That whore wife of his is another matter. Fancy knocking off your husband at a birthday party.’

‘That’s just a rumour, isn’t it?’ said Cassius.

Strabo gave a cynical look as he downed more of the steaming wine.

‘Are you married?’ Cassius asked him.

‘No,’ Strabo answered quickly, almost indignantly. Cassius wished he hadn’t asked.

‘The guard officer cannot afford to take a wife,’ said Avso, appearing suddenly from the gloom outside. Gathering his cloak about him, he took up a stool and glanced speculatively across at Strabo. ‘Isn’t that right?’

The Sicilian finished off the wine and set the cup down.

‘At least I’ve had offers. And not, like you, solely from pox-ridden streetwalkers.’

‘Why don’t you remind us how you came to lose your life savings? Quite a tale.’

Strabo’s eyes stayed on the flames as he replied.

‘Before you came in, we were discussing what can happen when alliances are broken. How swiftly ally can become enemy.’

‘Just making conversation,’ said the Thracian. ‘Didn’t mean to cause you embarrassment.’

‘The tale doesn’t embarrass me in the least. Fortuna simply chose not to smile upon me that night.’ Strabo glanced at the door. ‘I’m assuming all is quiet out there?’

‘Like a temple on pay day,’ replied Avso.

‘I shall take my turn,’ said Serenus, who seemed to have recovered himself.

The Sicilian crossed his arms and begrudgingly began.

‘It was a couple of years ago. I was on leave in Tarsus with a few other lads from the century. We’d been playing doubles all week. Anyway, there was this bunch from—’

‘Doubles?’ queried Cassius.

‘By Mars. A soldier that doesn’t play dice.’

Cassius shrugged. His family had always taken a dim view of gambling. Dice in particular was seen as a game for the lower ranks of society.

‘Two players. For every round both roll three dice. Highest total wins. Simple. Except the loser can “double” – challenge. As long as he has the money. The winner has to accept. So they both double their stake. When the money’s in, they roll again, and so on. It’s high risk, usually doesn’t last long. You need balls – big, hairy balls – to make much out of it.’

Cassius nodded.

‘We were staying in the same inn as a bunch from the Fourth Cohort. I’d cleaned out all our boys, one of theirs had done the same. Name of Glaucus, ratty-looking type, not unlike our Thracian friend over there. Someone decided we should play this big game. The place was packed: officers, men, locals. I started well and it just got better. This Glaucus kept losing, then doubling, then losing again. I had thousands piled up. But this fool wouldn’t let it go.’

Strabo shook his head ruefully.

‘Then I rolled an eight. He got ten.’

‘So he had won?’ asked Cassius.

‘Unless I doubled.’

‘You did it?’

‘Three thousand two hundred denarii. I had two thousand with me, the rest in Antioch, which the legion clerk stumped up. I rolled a fourteen. Great score. Glaucus made ten or eleven, I think. I’d done it. But then
he
doubled. Nobody could believe it. He’d lost everything, but all his mates chipped in. They said he’d never lost a long game before. So I had to accept, even though it would mean every coin I had in the world if I lost. I made nine. The lucky son of a bitch hit sixteen. I can still see it now – two fives and a six.’

‘You lost over six thousand denarii?’ said Cassius, eyes wide. It was a huge sum, enough to buy a decent house in Rome.

‘Only if I dropped out. I wanted to double again. My mates wanted to help me out – for a share of the winnings, of course. They’d never seen
me
lose. But Petronius and the other centurions put a stop to it. I never forgave him for that.’

‘So you had to pay?’

‘I’d been in the army ten years. A decade of hard slog all gone in one night.’

Avso leaned forward, closer to the fire.

‘That’s not quite where the story ends, though, is it, guard officer?’

Strabo didn’t react.

‘The way I heard it you refused to pay up because the game had been stopped. You head-butted this Glaucus and it turned into a brawl – Third Cohort versus the Fourth. The inn was virtually destroyed and two hundred sober Sarmatian auxiliaries had to be ordered in to break it up. You only got out of it by bribing half the officers in Tarsus with a stash of looted emeralds.’

‘Shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Thracian,’ said Strabo with a grin. ‘Though I believe there was a small scrap after the game – probably down to a spilt drink or something.’

Avso nodded knowingly. Cassius smiled.

‘Still,’ Strabo continued, ‘Fortuna has been pretty kind ever since. I paid what was owed and my luck has held.’

He looked around the room, then out of the doorway.

‘Well, until now I suppose.’

With that, an uncomfortable silence settled over them.

After a time, Kabir appeared at the door.

‘Is something wrong?’ Cassius asked him.

‘Not at all. May I?’

The Syrian pointed at the fire.

‘Please,’ said Cassius.

Kabir squatted between two of the chairs and warmed his hands.

‘How are your men?’ asked Cassius.

‘Anxious. It has been a long time since we last fought. I have placed half of them inside the dwellings to take what rest they can. They will exchange places with the others before long.’

‘Perhaps we should do the same?’ suggested Cassius.

‘We have less than forty men out there as it is,’ said Strabo. ‘Do you really think half that number can cover all those yards of wall?’

‘I can move my men out alongside them if you wish,’ offered Kabir. ‘The Palmyran tactics are clear. Twice they have made attack seem likely, then halted. By harrying us through the hours of darkness, they mean to weaken our bodies and minds.’

‘Obviously,’ answered Strabo impatiently, ‘but what of
their
bodies and minds? They were standing out there for hours in the heat, now the cold; they’re worse off than us.’

‘You think all those men remain there still? I doubt there’s more than a hundred at the wall. The others will be sleeping back at their camp.’

‘Even if that’s true, we don’t have the luxury of men to spare,’ countered the Sicilian.

Avso spoke up: ‘But if this is a long night, tomorrow is sure to be the longest of days. A few hours’ rest could make a big difference.’

Cassius turned back to Kabir.

‘You don’t think they will attack before morning?’

‘I don’t.’

‘Strabo?’

‘We cannot know. This Purple Cloak is a sly one. Do not assume we can read his intentions.’

‘Avso?’

‘I think they’ll attack at first light. Ideal for the cavalry.’

‘Then we shall divide the men into two shifts. Take every other man off the wall and send them to the barracks for three hours. Then we’ll swap them. Kabir, you will redeploy your men?’

‘I’ll do it now.’

The Syrian left. Cassius and Avso stood up. Strabo stayed on his stool and shrugged.

‘Fine, just ignore me then.’

‘You’ll benefit too,’ said Cassius. ‘What’s good enough for the men is good enough for us. Serenus and I shall take three hours of sleep first. Then you two can take a turn.’

With half the legionaries in the barracks, Cassius was on his way back to the officers’ quarters when he heard raised voices.

‘What do you think this is, man – a drill? Look at me, you dozy bastard!’

Cassius ran over to the north-west corner. Avso, his gaunt features lit by torchlight, turned as he approached. Strabo was there too, facing a legionary pressed up against the wall. His knee shot up and the soldier doubled over.

‘What’s going on here?’

‘Asleep at his post,’ explained the Sicilian, staring contemptuously at the cloaked figure. Cassius moved his lamp lower. The man twisted his head and narrowed his eyes against the light. Spotting the dark blotch of the birthmark, Cassius realised it was Priscus.

‘What have you to say for yourself then?’ he asked.

Priscus tried to reply but he was still winded.

Strabo spun his pilum over in his hand and swung the solid wooden handle against Priscus’ right knee. There was a sharp crack and the young legionary collapsed to the ground with a cry. His cloak fell from his shoulders and he lay there moaning, reaching for his knee.

‘Bloody useless!’ said Avso, before landing a light but deft kick to Priscus’ mouth. The legionary rolled on to his back. Blood seeped from a gash in his lip.

Had they continued, Cassius would have intervened, perhaps pointing out that they needed every man fit for battle, but he saw that Strabo and Avso were satisfied with the effect of their actions. Priscus looked desperately up at him, expecting help. Cassius knew he couldn’t give it.

‘Get up then!’ he said. ‘You’ve another three hours to go. Then you can sleep.’

Priscus slowly raised himself. At his full height he was actually taller than Strabo, yet he backed away until he was touching the wall again. Still wary of some final blow, he sheepishly reached down for his cloak and hung it over his shoulders.

Strabo again spun the pilum in his hand and leaned closer, the edged point of the spear an inch from Priscus’ chin.

‘I’ll be checking on you every hour. And those eyes better be wide open or you’ll be getting this end next time. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, sir,’ stammered Priscus.

Avso moved away.

‘And wrap that cloak round you properly,’ added Strabo. ‘It’s like winter out here tonight.’

Not long afterwards, Cassius lay across his bed with two blankets to cover him. He had kept his tunic and boots on and his belt was close by; he could move quickly if he had to. The oil lamp, now a valued companion, burned bright atop the table next to him. Next door, Serenus rested by the fire.

Cassius stared up at the shadowy recesses of the roof. He tried to recall and order the events of the day but soon found himself back in that moment where the Palmyran blade had swept down upon poor Flavian. Gruesome though it had been, some part of him valued exposure to such brutality. He hoped it might toughen him, and he knew he would face much, much worse.

Barates. Flavian. Gemellus. The first men lost under his command. He tried to summon images of their faces but they were vague and indistinct, composites of others: men from the garrison, those he had trained with, people from home.

Despite such dark thoughts, fatigue finally took its welcome course. Shortly after hearing Serenus turn the glass over, he fell asleep.

The rest of the night passed without major incident.

Cassius was awoken two hours later by Serenus. They passed Avso and Strabo on their way to the gatehouse.

In the second hour of the shift, with dawn not far away, another small volley of arrows were fired over the northern wall. The flames had already been put out by the time Cassius arrived. He waited until the men were settled back at the wall, then returned to the gatehouse.

Later, he and Serenus sat side by side on the walkway, watching the colours of dawn. First came scattered cracks of a deep, ominous red; then mottled swirls of purple and pink; and finally, etched round clusters of cloud, a striking pale yellow.

XXX

Fully armoured and refreshed from a good night’s sleep, the cavalrymen pressed their steeds along in a slow trot, the newly risen sun at their backs. With so much movement to and from the camp, a clear track had been etched in the sand. The riders were in pairs behind Bezda, who sat high in his saddle, eyes fixed on the crest.

Azaf had just passed the cart drivers leading the swordsmen’s horses back to the camp, and now he moved up past the cavalry, keeping wide of the track until he drew level with their leader. Bezda, cradling his immaculately maintained helmet in one arm, glanced sideways.