The Siege (19 page)

‘That’s close enough for me,’ he said, nodding skyward. ‘I think we’ll make a start.’

XVII

Cassius led his assorted deputies and allies towards the inn with a haste that belied his trepidation. Barates was at his side, and he knew he would have to rely heavily on the veteran once more. A few steps behind, Avso and Strabo exchanged barbed comments about the progress of their respective sections. Serenus was trying to reassure Kabir that he was welcome at the meeting.

They found the Praetorian in his usual position: back to the wall, a jug of wine on the table in front of him. The barrel Barates had fetched for him was on the floor. Dragging his eyes from the contents of the jug, the Praetorian examined the new arrivals.

Cassius and Barates approached warily and arranged chairs around the table. Avso shouldered his way past Strabo and took a seat directly to the Praetorian’s right. Kabir calmly sat down next to the Thracian. Then came Strabo, Cassius and Serenus, with Barates last in line. Only the veteran was granted any form of recognition – a slight nod.

The Praetorian downed a quarter of the jug. Heads began to turn in Cassius’ direction. As he was about to speak, the Praetorian aimed a thumb at Kabir.

‘Who’s he?’

‘That’s Kabir, sir,’ replied Barates. ‘He leads the Syrian auxiliaries. There are thirty-two of them.’

The Praetorian gave a cynical grin.

‘You trust him?’

Kabir glanced across at Cassius.

‘I—’ The Praetorian hesitated for a moment, then put a hand to his stomach. The pang of pain he seemed to be expecting never came but he blinked several times before replying.

‘I thought you wanted the benefit of
my
wisdom, not some provincial’s,’ he said sourly, looking around the group.

‘Absolutely,’ said Cassius, leaning forward. ‘But Kabir and his men are essential to the defence. He deserves his place here.’

‘This is my table. You are here at my invitation.’

‘Of course and I am grateful for it. But let’s not forget that several emperors hailed from this province.’

‘Quite so, and it’s been disaster after disaster ever since.’

‘Well,’ Cassius said, ‘we could debate such matters all afternoon but I don’t wish to keep you any longer than necessary. Perhaps if I outline the measures we’ve taken so far you can give us your thoughts.’

The Praetorian shrugged.

‘What of their numbers?’ he asked Barates.

‘Unknown.’

‘We have seventy-seven men in total,’ stated Cassius.

‘They probably know that,’ countered the Praetorian. ‘Which means they’ll send three times as many at least.’

‘How can we stop them?’ Cassius asked.

‘I doubt you can with so few.’

‘Why are you still here then?’ asked Avso. ‘If you believe we face defeat.’

The Thracian initially seemed unperturbed by the silence that greeted his question but the anxious reaction of the others soon spread his way. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back in his seat, away from the vast form in front of him.

The Praetorian wiped sweat from his forehead and flicked it on to the floor inches from Avso’s leg. Grinning, he turned towards him and lifted the jug of wine like a trophy.

‘Fair enough,’ said Avso.

The Praetorian took another swig and let the wine run down his throat before lowering the jug.

‘I suppose there are a few things you might try,’ he said.

Cassius spotted Simo, peering around the inn wall. Cassius gestured towards the jug, then towards the well. Simo got the message and hurried away.

‘You’ve reinforced the gate I expect.’

Answered by several nods, the Praetorian continued.

‘Maybe just leave it as normal – encourage them to strike there. They’ll get through in no time but at least that way you can have a couple of surprises waiting for them.’

‘Such as?’ Cassius asked, planting his elbows on the table.

The Praetorian was warming to his task and seemed almost to be enjoying the attention.

‘There are some carts around here somewhere, aren’t there? You can use them as barricades behind the gate. Create a killing area. Give them enough space to get in but make your secondary line as strong as possible. The barriers must be arranged so that your men can strike but remain protected. With so few, you must ensure you hold the position as long as possible. If that fails, fall back to the barracks.’

‘What if they have cavalry?’ Cassius asked.

The Praetorian held up a hand and nodded at the barrel of wine. Avso swiftly filled the jug. As he did so, the Praetorian clasped his stomach once more. Cassius and the others tried not to stare but there was something morbidly fascinating about the routine of teeth-grinding and eye-rolling.

Thankfully, Simo then arrived with the water and the others drank it down in unison while the Praetorian recovered himself.

‘What were we—’

‘Cavalry,’ said Barates softly.

‘Unlikely. I suppose they might use them to smash a hole. Of more concern will be the horse archers. There are none better. They’ll keep your heads down while the infantry ram the gate.’

The Praetorian looked from face to face.

‘There’s not much you can do about that.’

‘And if we do face cavalry?’ asked Cassius.

‘Best drop your sword. You’ll need both hands to pray.’

Do we have any caltrops?’ Avso asked.

‘No,’ said Barates.

‘We can make some,’ suggested Serenus.

‘It’ll take time to get the forge going,’ Barates replied.

‘Not necessary,’ said Serenus. ‘Use a heavy hammer and knock three pairs of nails together. They’ll do the job.’

‘Might unseat a few,’ agreed the Praetorian. ‘But even then, whatever armour you have will be no match for theirs.’

Strabo was listening keenly. The Praetorian’s presence was enough to intimidate even him into compliant subordination.

‘Swords will make a dent but not much more. There is—’

The Praetorian stopped again and stared down into his wine. After a while, Cassius and the others began to wonder if he would speak again. Then he looked up.

‘There is . . . I heard, once, of a tactic that might be of use. If the cavalry do get inside and you can get them off their horses – that’s the time to release some of your men. Armour is all very well while you’re on horseback, but in the hand-to-hand stuff it leaves you blind.’

The Praetorian tapped the stave he had left propped up against the wall.

‘Men armed with these could do some damage.’

Cassius nodded gratefully. At last they had the semblance of a strategy.

The Praetorian slurped noisily at the wine, then sat back against the wall.

‘Having said all that, they’ll probably come in over the back wall now. Unpredictable bunch out here,’ he added with a provocative glance at Kabir. ‘Had to wait for us to come along to understand organised warfare.’

The Syrian ignored him.

‘Perhaps we should leave you to it,’ said Cassius. Simo collected their mugs as they stood.

‘How many men do you have?’

The Praetorian had obviously forgotten Cassius’ earlier remark.

‘With the auxiliaries, almost a century’s worth.’

‘
Almost
a century, eh? Then I think you have wasted my time. You’ll be better off jumping on the nearest camel and not sparing it until the walls of Antioch are in sight.’

‘And yet you choose to remain?’ asked Avso. He was the only one of them still sitting.

‘As long as the red stuff lasts,’ answered the Praetorian.

‘And you’ll just give up? Allow yourself to be killed or taken prisoner?’

Serenus and Strabo readied themselves to drag Avso away if it became necessary. The Praetorian finally looked sideways at his questioner.

‘They won’t mess with me. I’ll just stay in here. The bastards don’t even drink!’

Chuckling, the Praetorian looked on as Avso finally got to his feet and followed the others.

‘Cheers!’ he said, holding the jug aloft. ‘And don’t go stealing my wine again, boy!’

Strabo looked warily at Cassius, obviously fearing another reaction.

‘Relax, guard officer,’ Cassius said as they walked away. ‘I have what I wanted.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Strabo replied gruffly before turning his attention to Avso. ‘You too have a death wish, I see.’

‘Relax, guard officer,’ said Avso in a poor imitation of Cassius. ‘He is but a man. A large one admittedly, but a man nonetheless.’

‘And you would take him on, I suppose?’ replied Strabo with a sneer. ‘You were quick enough to play barkeeper!’

‘That’ll do,’ said Cassius sharply, coming to a halt at the corner of the square. ‘Gentlemen, I hope our visit to the inn has given you time to regain some energy. There is yet more work to do.’

Drilling would have to wait. Cassius and his deputies worked out a new plan of action and each section was deployed accordingly.

Serenus and his men were in the workshop, where there was a plentiful supply of large nails. Hammered together in the right manner, the makeshift caltrops would, however they were dropped, offer up a sharp point ready to impale itself in a passing hoof.

Strabo’s men had finished repairing the breach and would now assist Barates’ section with the barricades. The four carts had been hauled over to the open area behind the gate. When turned on their sides, the vehicles plus the gate would form a five-sided enclosure: the Praetorian’s killing area.

Strabo suggested removing one in every three planks from the base of the carts, allowing the defenders to strike out at the enemy. The wood removed (along with that recovered from the marketplace) would be used to reinforce any vulnerable points.

Avso had instructed his carpenters to undo their work on the gate. His section was now outside the fort, filling barrels with sand using entrenching tools. The sand would then be moved inside and used to steady the cart wall. As they toiled away under the burning sun, the men sang bawdy songs about the sexual exploits of their beloved Caesar. Some chose to work completely naked but sweat was soon dripping off them all, so Avso tasked Julius with supplying water. Happy that all were settled to the task, the Thracian too was now busy digging, alongside Crispus and Flavian.

It seemed that his recent efforts were finally telling on Barates. The veteran sat on a barrel in the shade of the dwellings as the others laboured, occasionally passing comment or making a suggestion. He was not the only one observing.

Standing on the roof directly above him were Cassius and Kabir. Though he was grateful for the Praetorian’s contributions, Cassius refused to believe that the Syrian and his men would not be of crucial importance. He had taken Serenus aside at the officers’ quarters, seeking his advice on how to deploy the auxiliaries.

‘Ask their leader,’ had been the straightforward reply and Cassius had done just that. Now, having followed Kabir up to the dwelling roof, he watched the Syrian prowl back and forth, surveying the scene below.

‘Well?’

Kabir pointed across at the dwelling opposite, on the other side of the street.

‘I can divide my men: half on this side, half over there. It’s a good position. Assuming the Palmyrans come through the gate.’

‘You think they will?’

‘I may be Syrian but I know little more of their tactics than you. My people have no experience of knocking down walls and taking buildings. In times of peace it is rare for us even to stay in the same place for more than a few months. We do not see the value of wood and stone as you do.’

‘You see the value of water, though, I presume?’ said Cassius, pointing towards the well.

‘Indeed.’ Kabir wandered to the edge of the roof and tapped the low surround.

‘It is a shame this isn’t higher. Archers will have no trouble dropping a few arrows on our heads once they know we’re here.’

‘Maybe we can give you a bit more protection. Some timber perhaps.’

‘No. Then they will know we are here straight away. I suggest we start on the ground; remain mobile. If we avoid using the slings, any Palmyran that sees us will assume we are common auxiliaries. If they do come through the gate we can move up here. A hail of well-aimed lead might help this “killing area” become a reality.’

‘Quite.’

‘Yarak can take one half, I’ll take the other. Sixteen on each side. I hope this roof will take our weight.’

Kabir stamped down on the brick, taking out a section with his heel. Below was a frame of alarmingly thin planks on which the clay had been set. The Syrian shrugged.

The heat up on the roof was stifling and intense. Cassius could feel the skin on his forearms burning.

‘Shall we head back down?’ he said, moving towards the ladder. ‘I must get out of this damned sun.’

He was on the third rung before he realised what he’d said.

‘I apologise.’

Kabir looked down at him gravely.

‘It’s fortunate that we’re alone. Some of my men have a fair grasp of Latin and they are all less forgiving of foreign attitudes than I.’

Kabir pointed at Cassius’ mouth.

‘Yarak would have your tongue for that.’

Cassius was unsure how to respond. He thought he saw a smile coming.

‘Surely you exaggerate,’ he said.

The smile never arrived but the green eyes shone as Kabir nodded an acknowledgement.

‘Perhaps I do. His Latin is poor at best.’

Cassius could not help laughing.

Kabir waved him downward, finally breaking into a grin.

‘Come on, you’re right. It is hot.’

They went their separate ways. With not a single legionary anywhere near the barracks, Cassius was satisfied that all were constructively engaged. He wandered over to the aid post.

It was a small room: fifteen feet wide, ten deep. On the right side were three beds, no more than holey straw mattresses supported by rickety frames. On the left were three rectangular impressions left on the sandy floor where other beds had been removed. Lined up against the far wall were four large wooden chests. The first three had been opened. Inside were bandages and splints; probes, hooks and blades; even vials containing medicinal liquids.