The Siege (16 page)

Whilst waiting for others, Cassius had come up with an idea that might work but which was likely to be unpopular. The plan was audacious, dangerous in fact, but nothing like as perilous as facing the Palmyrans unprepared.

‘Listen, I want to make sure the men are ready for anything. That’s going to mean moving quickly. Simo found a tuba in the officers’ quarters. Anyone know how to play it?’

‘I believe Minicius from my section used to be a signaller,’ said Serenus. ‘It’s not that hard.’

‘You just need a big mouth and plenty of hot air,’ added Strabo. He leaned forward to catch Avso’s eye. ‘Fancy a go?’

‘Why don’t you take it, guard officer,’ replied Avso without looking at him, ‘and stick it up your—’

‘None of that, thank you, gentlemen,’ said Cassius. ‘From tomorrow, whenever that tuba sounds, everyone is to assemble round me, fully armed and in sections. Tell your men. We’ll work out a proper set of signals later.’

The Sicilian took a swig of water.

‘That it?’

‘Half an hour more, then get back to it. Strabo, obviously you and yours keep at the wall. The rest of you: when jobs are done, I want the men drilling. Fighting skills, close-quarters stuff.’

Cassius was glad that this rather vague instruction passed without reaction. ‘That’s all.’

He was halfway back to the officers’ quarters when the legionaries in the square suddenly became quiet. He looked up to see Kabir and Yarak walking towards him, again barefoot and clad only in their black tunics. News of the impending decision had evidently spread to the men; Cassius could feel numerous eyes upon him as the Syrians approached.

‘Good afternoon. Shall we speak inside?’ he said, pointing towards the officers’ quarters.

‘No, no, this won’t take long,’ said Kabir.

Cassius felt his spirits sink. There was, however, little to be deduced from the Syrian’s expression.

Barates hurried over to them.

‘My men and I will stay,’ said Kabir.

‘I am very glad to hear that,’ said Barates, barely able to smother a smile.

‘As am I,’ Cassius added.

Kabir seemed uninterested in their sentiments.

‘You should know this. Though some are keen to avenge those lost to the Palmyrans and wait for what we are owed, many wished to leave. And some believe we may not receive our due, myself included.’

Kabir glanced sideways at Yarak. The priest watched the Romans impassively, hands clasped together in front of him.

‘However, the signs tell us that we should remain. That a great victory will be won. And that some of us will return home rich men.’

Despite his optimistic words, Kabir’s tone was neutral, almost cynical.

‘I hope the signs are correct,’ replied Cassius. ‘But forgive me if I say you don’t sound convinced.’

‘Sir,’ warned Barates.

Yarak and Kabir exchanged comments in their own language. The priest seemed less than impressed by what he heard.

‘We follow the will of the Glorious Fire, yes,’ said Kabir, ‘but we are not stupid enough to believe that what is meant for us is always the same as what we wish for.’

‘I meant no offence,’ Cassius said.

Kabir’s expression softened slightly.

‘How do you intend to deploy us?’

Cassius had given the issue only the vaguest consideration. He hoped Barates might intervene but the veteran looked blankly back at him.

‘Well, how do you think you would best be used?’

Despite the fact that the two were so utterly unalike, the flicker of amusement that crossed Kabir’s face reminded Cassius of Strabo.

‘We were used as skirmishers. As you have seen, we have no armour but can do considerable damage with the sling. I suggest keeping us in large groups so as to concentrate fire. Preferably from a protected position.’

‘Well, that sounds fine.’

‘And how exactly will you organise the defence?’

Cassius decided honesty was the best policy: ‘We’re still planning that. In fact, I’m interested in any advice you can give. You’re sure to know more about the Palmyrans than most of us do.’

‘Possibly. Though in truth my people have spent more time fighting the Persians over the years. We did not expect to face an enemy so close to home.’

‘I’m calling a meeting of my senior men tomorrow. I’d like you to be there.’

‘Certainly. Until then we shall set about rearranging the encampment and readying ourselves for attack. I’ll need to send a party out to the foothills.’

‘Very well. Might I ask why?’

‘To look for stones. We have some lead shot but that won’t last long.’

‘Ah.’

‘Tomorrow then.’

‘Tomorrow.’

Kabir and Yarak left. Cassius looked at the men, who had all been listening. Most seemed happy.

‘All praise the Glorious Fire,’ he said with a grin, opening his palms towards the sky.

‘Indeed,’ answered Barates.

‘So, what of our large friend? I assume he’s still at it?’

‘At the time we need him most, he’s drinking more than ever.’

Cassius decided it was time to implement the second part of his plan for the Praetorian.

‘Keep an eye out for when he turns in.’

‘I’d be happy to, but I was planning to take the night duty out at the crest.’

‘Who’s out there now?’

‘Antonius. Uncouth sort but he has the eyes of a hawk.’

‘Pick a couple of reliable men from your section and tell them to follow these instructions. Once the Praetorian’s asleep, they should take every last barrel of wine out of the inn and put it in the granary. If you know of any in the barracks or elsewhere, confiscate that too.’

Barates frowned.

‘But when he gets up and can find none? The man will go mad.’

‘As soon as he’s up tomorrow, come and find me immediately.’

‘But he needs that wine. He’ll do anything to get his hands on it.’

‘That’s what I’m depending on.’

Cassius found Simo piling up the last of Petronius’ papers.

‘Some good news. The locals are with us.’

‘That is good, sir.’

‘You could sound a bit more enthusiastic, Simo. After the fright that scarred fellow gave us yesterday, I’d say recruiting them to our ranks counts as considerable progress.’

‘How many of them are there, sir?’ said Simo hurrying to fetch Cassius a drink.

‘At least thirty I should say. Which gives me almost eighty men.’

Cassius sat down and stared blankly at Simo, his thoughts elsewhere.

‘A century of my own after all.’

He took a cup of water from Simo and noted that the Gaul was no longer wearing his dagger.

‘I should prefer it if you continue to arm yourself. Especially with that money still lying around.’

‘To be honest, sir, I don’t like to carry a weapon.’

‘You’ve worn that dagger ever since I met you.’

‘Master Trimalchio told me to, sir. So that I might protect you while we were travelling. I’ve never done so before.’

‘Simo, if the Palmyrans turn up outside those gates, you’ll be another sword hand for me, like it or not. The men here are from the Third, you know – a legion originally raised in your homeland.’

‘I’d really prefer not to get involved, sir. Violence is not in my nature.’

‘Neither is it in mine, but aggression and skill with a blade can be instilled in the most peaceful of men. Trust me, I’ve experienced it first-hand. I shall place you with one of the sections for drilling this evening.’

‘Sir, I’d really rather not.’

Cassius was surprised by the Gaul’s persistence. He was now moving from insolence towards downright disobedience.

‘The decision has been made,’ he said firmly.

‘But sir, you’ll need someone to care for the injured.’

Cassius was about to snap back at him but saw instantly that Simo had a good point. At present there was no one to man the aid post and deal with serious injuries.

‘You’re pushing your luck, Simo, just be aware of that.’

Simo gave a conciliatory bow.

‘But I can’t deny you might be on to something there. What do you know of medicine?’

‘I’m no expert, sir, but I can dress and tend wounds. And I’ve had a look at the aid post. We would need to move some more beds inside, but everything else I’d need is there.’

Cassius made a show of considering, but he’d already made up his mind.

‘Very well then. Once you’ve finished here, make a start. You should be prepared for some bloody work though. A battlefield hospital is no place for the faint-hearted.’

‘I do not fear blood, sir. I should just prefer to try to preserve life rather than take it.’

Again Cassius was surprised. Though it was clear Simo had acquired a degree of education whilst in the service of Trimalchio, he occasionally made comments that seemed at odds with his station. It was not customary for servants to freely proffer their beliefs to their superiors.

‘Well,’ said Cassius, ‘quite the philosopher, aren’t we?’

Simo looked down at the ground. Cassius wished he hadn’t said anything.

‘You must still wear that dagger.’

‘Yes, sir.’

XIV

Serenus took charge of the evening drill, starting the men off with a jog round the flagpole. It was a common exercise, designed to concentrate minds and tire limbs before the first round of swordplay. The weary legionaries struggled not to run into each other or be tripped from behind, but, thanks to Crispus and a few other vocal types, they gradually got a rhythm going, even when Serenus ordered a sprint.

After the warm-up, he told them to draw swords and practise parries and thrusts. Shields, other weapons and manoeuvres could wait. Though unenthusiastic at first, most soon warmed to their task: hitting harder, moving quicker, criticising and complimenting their partners. Serenus offered guidance, altering grips and stances where he saw deficiencies.

Suddenly a high-pitched cry cut through the clanging swords. Cassius and Barates, looking on from in front of the temple, saw a man drop his blade and fall to the ground. The others all stopped as the legionary examined his wounded hand then unleashed a stream of curses at his partner. Cassius didn’t understand a word of it. The second man turned to face the crowd.

‘What did he say? Anyone speak that Galician filth?’

‘Something about your mother, Linus!’

‘Your sister too!’

‘And what was that about your niece?’

‘Not very helpful,’ observed Barates.

Enraged, Linus swung a boot at the Galician. Despite his injury, the legionary rolled out of the way and got quickly to his feet. He swapped his sword to his good hand as Linus positioned himself for a lunge. Their blades never met.

Avso swept the Galician’s legs from under him in the same moment as Serenus smashed an elbow into the back of Linus’ neck. The Galician had barely hit the ground before Avso, ably assisted by Flavian, launched a flurry of kicks at his stomach. Linus, meanwhile, was down on his knees, retching and coughing. Serenus stood over him.

Cassius sprinted over.

‘That’s enough!’

‘No,
that’s
enough,’ said Avso, with one last kick.

The Galician rolled on to his back, hands pressed against his gut.

‘You rat-faced—’

Avso made to kick him again.

‘Want some more?’

‘I said that’s enough!’

Cassius stood between them.

Serenus offered Linus his canteen. The legionary swatted it away and rubbed at his neck.

‘What happened?’ Cassius asked.

‘Almost took my hand off!’ yelled the Galician, holding up his wrist. The gash was at the base of his hand.

‘It’ll be your face next time!’ spat Linus.

Somebody laughed. Then the rest of the legionaries laughed too. Cassius was reflecting on the pitifully childish nature of army humour when he turned towards the gate and saw the real cause of the hilarity: Julius, trying to haul one of the camels down the street.

The animal was not cooperating. It had planted its feet and was now jerking its neck from side to side. The boy slapped it across the nose then heaved on the reins with both hands. The camel took a sudden step forward, then stopped again. Julius lost hold of the reins and pitched backward into the sand. The beast shook its head once more, showering him with spittle. By the time Julius was back on his feet, almost the entire garrison was roaring. Even Linus and the Galician managed a smile.

Cassius turned to Serenus and nodded towards the two legionaries.

‘This under control?’

‘I think so.’

‘They’re tired. Perhaps you should finish up quickly – avoid any more accidents.’

‘I agree.’

Cassius walked over to the Galician, who was now also up on his feet.

‘My attendant will see to that wound. Simo!’

The Gaul was already outside the officers’ quarters and he now escorted the injured man to the aid post.

‘Right, back to it!’ Cassius announced. As the crowd broke up, he hurried after Barates, who was off to help Julius.

‘Seems a caring sort, your attendant,’ observed the veteran.

‘Indeed. He was singularly reluctant to join in with training.’

‘Forgive me, centurion, but you might consider doing so yourself. The men would like to see you leading the way.’

Cassius had considered taking the session. He could execute the basic routines – stabbing, parrying, sweeping, blocking – his months of training had seen to that. But he couldn’t help imagining making some dreadful error and losing the minimal amount of respect he had built up. His silence, he knew, spoke volumes.

‘Sorry,’ said Barates. ‘When one reaches a certain age, one forgets one’s station. I am in no position to make such judgements.’

‘Forget it. Come, let’s help the lad.’