The Siege (8 page)

Barates stared forlornly at the floor.

‘I take it then that discipline has rather broken down?’

‘Some wanted to desert when Petronius died. All I’ve been able to do is keep them here. Will you take command now, sir?’

Cassius took his time to reply; when he did so he almost whispered it.

‘I suppose I shall have to.’

Barates gave a slight smile.

‘And what about the locals?’ Cassius asked. ‘That slinger—’

‘He’s part of Kabir’s group. They are about thirty strong; auxiliaries originally attached to the Second Cohort. Some, as you have seen, are a little hot-headed. I believe Kabir took the rest of them out on a march this morning – he likes to keep them busy. They’ve made their own encampment in the south-east corner. Probably be back before sundown.’

‘They don’t use the dwellings?’

Barates shook his head.

‘Those haven’t been occupied in months. Most of the locals were sent away soon after we arrived. Petronius told them we would leave with the provisions and poison the well – a ruse to deter attack. So far it seems to have worked.’

‘And what contact has there been with command?’

‘None. We heard some news from a scout but that was—’

‘Yes, I know, weeks ago. Cotta. It was he that gave me your name. You have no idea of the wider progress of the war then?’

Barates shook his head.

‘In days past we might have picked up word from tradesmen and travellers, but since the spring we’ve seen little of either. The odd caravan on the horizon. Nothing more.’

Barates clasped his fingers together.

‘What is the situation, sir?’

Cassius knew no one within the fort would believe the war was going well, but a full and frank explanation of their circumstances might easily lead to desertion or mutiny. It was unlikely he would survive the latter.

‘Reinforcements are on their way. Lead elements of General Valens’ cavalry should be here within a few days. I have been ordered to organise the garrison and secure the fort against possible attack. The well and the granary represent a significant prize for our enemies.’

‘Indeed,’ said Barates, leaning back against the wall, tapping his thumbs together, ‘but that has been the case for many months. The last we heard, the Palmyrans had struck south towards Egypt. Are we under immediate threat?’

‘I don’t profess to know the precise details of the Palmyran itinerary, but if a general gives me instructions, that is evidence enough of their importance for me.’

‘And for me, sir,’ answered the veteran with a cordial half-smile, ‘but it is those outside you will depend on.’

Cassius looked out of the window again and saw that the smaller groups were gravitating towards a larger one. The curly-haired man seemed to be doing a lot of talking.

‘Will they follow orders, Barates? Will they follow me?’

‘I honestly don’t know. A word of advice though: when you address them, speak mainly of the cavalry and relief and the arrival of pay. I must ask, sir – do you have any money? They, we, have received nothing for more than a year.’

‘A little. Not enough.’

Ten of the men were now walking towards the officers’ quarters. Cassius was not surprised to see who led them. Barates had risen and now stood next to him.

‘Who is that fellow? I have already had the displeasure of meeting him.’

‘Yes, I saw. That’s Flavian. Big drinker and a nasty temper when riled.’

With the others spread out behind him, Flavian stalked towards the door, stave in hand.

Cassius retreated as the men came to a halt outside. They spoke in hushed tones, then there was loud crack on the door. Trying to maintain a semblance of calm, Cassius leaned close to Barates.

‘This Flavian. Is he popular?’

‘Not particularly. Actually, I should have said – he and three others are not from the Third Legion. They were originally with the Fourth but got separated from their column during a sandstorm. They arrived a month or so after us. Flavian’s an idiot but the others want answers too and they’ll be happy to let him lead the way.’

There was another crack on the door.

‘If he could be persuaded to cooperate, would the others fall into line?’

‘Possibly. But if that is to be your tactic, then there is another, a man more suited to the role.’

‘Go on.’

Before the veteran could answer there was a third crack on the door, followed by a voice Cassius instantly recognised.

‘We want to speak to you, centurion.’ The last word was laced with sneering disdain.

‘Quickly man,’ Cassius whispered.

‘His name is Strabo. Something of a rogue but well liked and respected by all. Well, most. He’s the guard officer.’

‘That makes him next in command now you’ve no centurion or optio. Why didn’t you mention him before?’

Barates grimaced.

‘Since Petronius’ death he hasn’t taken his position very seriously. He’s a capable soldier, though, and a man open to persuasion.’ Barates got to his feet. ‘I didn’t see him outside but he likes to gamble most of the day. Usually behind the temple – where it’s cool.’

‘Fetch him at once.’

The door ring rattled.

‘And what should I tell
them
?’

‘Tell them I will speak to them in the square within the hour. Nothing more. Just get this Strabo over here.’

‘Very well.’

Cassius pointed Simo towards the door. Taking care to remain out of sight, he watched as the Gaul took a firm hold of the metal ring and raised the latch.

‘Well? What’s going on?’ snarled Flavian. ‘Does he have any money?’

Cassius could see a portion of his ruddy face between the door hinges.

‘Allow me to pass and I might tell you,’ said Barates impatiently. Before Flavian could reply, some of the less aggressive soldiers parted to allow the veteran through. Barates spoke as he walked, luring most of the men from the door. Flavian tried to barge his way inside but Simo quickly shut the door in his face.

‘I will allow the centurion to explain,’ the veteran continued, ‘but there is some good news . . .’

Knowing that Flavian would try to look through the window, Cassius slid behind the door. The legionary and several of his acolytes shuffled over to the window and for a moment Cassius feared they might try to climb inside. Then came a bitter curse and the sound of a stave being flung to the ground.

‘Come on,’ spat Flavian. The men moved away towards the barracks.

Cassius slumped back against the door. Sweat trickled from his armpits.

‘Under attack twice already and we haven’t even encountered the enemy yet.’

‘We may have weathered the early storm, sir,’ said Simo. ‘Barates seems to be an ally of some worth.’

‘Let’s hope this Strabo is equally useful. Where’s the money?’

‘Hidden with your belongings, sir. Shall I bring it all?’

‘No. Two hundred denarii should be enough. The rest you can put in there.’

Cassius pointed to the bedroom that took up the back half of the officers’ quarters. It was furnished with two beds and a small chest. Though gloomy and poorly ventilated by a single high window, it had one other notable advantage – a thick wooden door equipped with a lock. Simo had already found keys for the door and chest inside the desk. Despite thick layers of rust, both still worked.

The Gaul hurried over to where he had stacked their saddlebags and gear. Idly looking at the desk, Cassius noticed a pile of papers buried under some dirty wooden plates. Pushing the plates away, he found a collection of faded papyrus sheets, bound together along one side. The pages appeared to be in no particular order. Most of the untidy writing referred to supplies.

Simo handed over a small leather satchel.

‘Two hundred as you said, sir.’

Cassius’ helmet was still lying on the desk, complete with hole and projectile. He lifted it up and hid the money inside.

‘Simo, listen. You do appreciate that we must continue to make no mention at all of my true status? These men must believe me to be a centurion, not just an officer. Common soldiers generally have an extremely low opinion of the Service. Understood?’

‘Of course, sir.’

Cassius wandered over to the window. Emerging from the crowd alongside Barates was a character who seemed perfectly to fulfil the veteran’s brief description.

The legionary looked about forty. He was tall, a little overweight and unusually broad-shouldered. His hair was thick, black and unfashionably long. As he neared the officers’ quarters, Cassius could also make out a large, beak-like nose that had been broken more than once. His beard, however, was well trimmed, as was the current trend, though most of the legionaries at Alauran seemed not to know it. (Cassius was waiting for the wispy hair on his own chin to develop, but progress was frustratingly slow.) Strabo was attired correctly, wearing tunic, belt and dagger, though his sword was missing.

Barates entered first, then held the door open for Strabo. Cassius returned a courteous nod and was struck by the darkness of his eyes; they seemed almost black. Strabo looked him over and Cassius registered a flicker of amused contempt that soon became a thin smile.

‘Centurion.’

‘Strabo, isn’t it?’

The guard officer took a couple of steps inside, then looked down at the saddlebags.

‘Barates,’ said Cassius, ‘might I ask you to check if there are any more men still asleep. I want them all up.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Barates replied, sighing as he shut the door.

Strabo looked through the bedroom doorway at Simo. Realising he was just a servant, he seemed to relax. He sat down on the bench and casually stretched out his legs.

Cassius leaned against the desk again.

‘Forgive my curiosity,’ said Strabo, cocking his head to one side. ‘but you do not appear to have lived twenty years of life, let alone twenty of service. How is it that one so young carries the stripe?’

Cassius did his best to look annoyed but answered calmly.

‘It’s common practice to recruit younger officers now. To replace those lost in the East and elsewhere.’

‘Really? I see you have an attendant with you. And I hear from your voice that you do not hail from the lower classes. Perhaps that too was a factor in your swift promotion.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Cassius with a wry smile, determined not to take the bait, ‘but my personal circumstances are not important.’

Strabo frowned theatrically.

‘Aren’t they? Hardly palace duty is it?’ he said, waving a hand towards the square.

Cassius couldn’t find an answer to that, and he was beginning to doubt this man would help him.

Strabo continued: ‘Though I suppose I should admire your loyalty to the cause of Rome in coming here. There are many in these parts who have long since abandoned such commitment.’

‘Yourself included?’

Strabo shrugged and folded his arms across his chest. ‘A soldier’s enthusiasm for war fades when he sees his fellows lost and his purse empty. We are not all Italian nobility out here.’

Cassius noticed the legionary examining his tunic. Though now worn and dirty, it was still identifiable as finest linen, one of three given to Cassius by his mother.

‘There are Galicians, Cilicians, Thracians. I myself am from Sicily. Most of us here took an oath to Odenathus of Palmyra, you know, just three years past. Rome may not have called him emperor but it was he that kept the Persians at bay.’

‘And yet the garrison remains,’ Cassius countered.

‘It does while the men await more than a year’s worth of back pay. Even the funeral fund is still with the cohort clerk in Antioch.’

Strabo stood up and walked past Cassius towards the window. Catching sight of the hole in the top of the helmet, he chuckled heartily.

‘And equally impatient for their money are our local friends. As you may have already noticed.’

Cassius wasn’t sure if the Sicilian had seen the satchel but it reminded him of his strategy. He pushed himself off the desk.

‘I’m sure Barates told you I have a little money. More importantly, when the reinforcements arrive, you men will receive full recompense. I have an assurance from General Navio.’

Cassius felt far less guilty misleading Strabo than Barates. It was a matter of necessity: with no other officers present, the cooperation of the century’s third in command was nothing less than essential.

Strabo stood silhouetted against the bright window, his features almost invisible.

‘To be honest,’ Cassius continued, ‘I don’t believe these men will follow me if I act alone. But with your support they might. Barates tells me you’re the best soldier here, the closest—’

Strabo chuckled again.

‘Barates is an old fool. I know a little of soldiering, yes. But why do you think a man of my age didn’t make it past guard officer? I have been in the army for more than half my life and I know one thing above all others. I have no desire to lead.’

‘I am not asking you to lead. I’m asking you to help
me
lead.’

Cassius removed the satchel of money from under the helmet and threw it to Strabo.

He caught it one-handed.

‘Here. An incentive. Consider it payment in advance.’

The Sicilian investigated the contents.

‘A substantial sum.’

‘Indeed.’

‘You must be desperate.’

‘Unusual circumstances call for unusual measures.’

‘Of course. But we’ve heard nothing for months and then you suddenly show up. I’d wager the Palmyrans are heading in our direction. Perhaps they’ve learned that the food and water remains. No army can fight without that.’

‘As I said to Barates, it is possible. Yes.’

Strabo moved closer to Cassius. The glare from the window still shrouded his features and Cassius narrowed his eyes, trying to read the Sicilian’s expression as he spoke.