The Siege (24 page)

He peered down at the boy as they walked.

‘What happened, Julius? You must try to tell us something. Do you understand?’

Cassius ushered him inside the officers’ quarters and sat him down on a stool.

‘Fetch him some water,’ he told Simo.

Cassius ran a hand over Julius’ tunic, to check he wasn’t concealing a weapon. When Simo gave him a cup, the boy couldn’t close his fingers round it. Cassius put it on the ground.

‘Julius. Look at me.’

Julius did no more than wipe a hand across his wet eyes.

‘Look at me.’

This time he did, and the mixture of panic and terror Cassius saw in his face startled him.

‘You must try to talk to me. Understand?’

Cassius spoke slowly.

‘Understand? Nod if you do. Nod your head.’

Julius did so.

‘There’s something I must do. When I come back you must try to tell me what happened. The truth.’

Cassius backed up to the door and waved Simo over.

‘Draw your dagger,’ he said quietly.

Simo took out the small, wooden-handled blade and held it by his side.

‘You have the key with you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Keep the door locked and don’t open it until I return. I don’t think he’ll try anything but if he does don’t be afraid to use your blade.’

Simo’s eyes widened at this but he soon recovered himself, whispering quizzically: ‘He is the murderer, sir?’

‘I don’t know. That mob out there certainly think so. I’ll be back soon. Don’t take your eyes off him.’

Cassius found the men in good order, arranged once more in their five sections, facing the gatehouse. Lined up in front of it were Strabo, Serenus, Avso and Crispus. Kabir looked on from the dwelling rooftop.

‘Quiet there!’ snapped Serenus, pointing at men from his own section. Coughing hard, he turned away and pulled the cloth from his tunic.

Cassius stopped next to Strabo. It was important to convey the impression that the argument over Julius was now settled.

All the legionaries had their helmets strapped on and most were now protected by either cuirass or mail shirt. Some had even found time to add graffiti to their shield covers. Painted in white or yellow, the slogans boasted of the strength of the Third Legion, invoked the spirit of Caesar or cast insults at the Palmyrans and their queen. The narrow metal necks of a few pila could be seen, their barbed peaks a foot above the tallest man.

Strabo turned towards Cassius.

‘I’m assuming we’ll be allowed to prepare ourselves at some point.’

The section leaders were, like Cassius, still in their tunics and armed only with their daggers and swords.

‘Of course,’ he replied, glad that Strabo had calmed down. He was becoming used to the Sicilian’s outbursts and ever-changing moods.

Crispus spoke up: ‘Sir, Statius reports that Antonius will be here soon.’

‘Good,’ answered Cassius. He was about to begin his address but Crispus continued.

‘He may arrive during the briefing, sir.’

‘Yes?’

Then Cassius realised what he was getting at. Antonius would be in an excitable, perhaps even panicked state. Better to intercept him outside than allow him to rush in and tell the entire garrison what he’d seen.

‘Stay at the gate. Fetch me when he’s near.’

‘Sir.’

Cassius took a moment to compose himself. His gaze fell upon a face in the second line: the man who had taken hold of Julius and been struck by Strabo.

‘Your name, legionary?’

‘Macrinus, sir.’

Portly and cursed with rather porcine features, Macrinus now stood stiffly, obviously expecting a reprimand.

‘Report to me after briefing.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Eyes front!’ shouted Strabo as other legionaries turned to look at Macrinus.

Wishing he’d brought his canteen, Cassius cleared his throat and began.

‘Legionaries, I spoke in the square of the preparations we have made, the measures we have taken to defend this fort. The principles of discipline and unity have served our army well for a thousand years, and if we hold true to them, they will serve us well again.’ Cassius forced himself to look squarely into the eyes of those he addressed. The words came a little easier now. ‘The Emperor expects your best. As does General Navio. As do I. Time is short. Listen carefully to what you are told. Your lives, our lives, depend on it.’

He gestured to his left.

‘Serenus.’

‘We are few. But the centurion is quite right when he speaks of organisation and discipline. Each of you is part of a section and each section has its job. Behind me is the gate – you can see that we have removed the reinforcements. Our intention is to invite the enemy to strike here; our primary scheme centres on a frontal assault.’

Serenus was speaking quietly, taking care not to strain his voice. Cassius looked round to see if anyone had water. A legionary in the front row had a small canteen hanging from his belt.

‘Their archers will be able to keep our heads down and we don’t have bows or enough javelins to compete at range. We will only man the rest of the walls in the event of a ladder assault. Otherwise, only lookouts will be posted. It is crucial that they know as little of our numbers and readiness as possible. Our Syrian friends have their orders, leave them to carry them out.’

Cassius looked up at the rooftop: Kabir was listening carefully, arms crossed.

Serenus swept a hand back and forth.

‘We will concentrate our numbers here, in a defensive cordon behind the carts. Second and third sections to my left, fourth and fifth to my right. First section is our reserve. Whatever comes through the gate we stop. This barrier must hold. We have to assume they will number in the hundreds. A breakthrough here will allow the rest of them to pile in, then they can bring their advantage to bear. If there is a big breach, every man should fall back to the square. We will defend the standard but our final redoubt will be the barracks.’

Serenus stopped.

‘A moment,’ he said after a while, his voice hoarse.

Cassius clicked a finger at the legionary with the water, who duly offered his canteen to Serenus.

‘On that subject,’ Strabo interjected swiftly, ‘if it comes to it, we will block the barracks door and man the windows – should make for quite a little fort. Injured should report firstly to the aid post, then the barracks if they can walk.’

Serenus drank heartily, then spat several times into the dirt.

‘By the way,’ Strabo continued, ‘when I say injury, I expect to see either a big red hole in you or something hanging off. A stubbed toe doesn’t count, right Macrinus?’

The legionary did his best to ignore the laughter.

Serenus continued: ‘There are three other methods the Palmyrans may use. First, ladders. Sections two to five will cover a wall each.’

A legionary in the third line raised his hand.

‘Questions can wait until I’ve finished.’

The hand disappeared.

‘Second section has the east wall, third has the south, fourth has the west, fifth has the north. We’ll use the firing steps, cut them down as they come over. Again, if we’re overrun, retreat will be sounded and all must return to the square. Next, these walls might look thick, but they’re weak. With the archers’ cover they might try to mine us out – dig under them, cause a collapse, or simply knock through. There’s little we can do about that, except be ready for them.’

Serenus paused for a moment. They could hear the thud of hooves. Antonius was close.

‘Last of all – fire. We have a good store of water and plenty of full barrels. But don’t allow yourselves to get distracted by a few flames. There’s little wind at the moment and the buildings are well spaced; if they do catch alight we may just have to let a few burn. Now, questions. You first.’

Cassius didn’t hear it. He and Crispus had already slipped out of the gate to meet Antonius.

Tugging back on the reins, the sentry brought his ungainly steed to a stop. The wild-eyed camel was breathing hard, its thick pink tongue hanging out at an unlikely angle. Overbalancing as he dismounted, Antonius was helped to his feet by Crispus.

Cassius looked east, half expecting to be faced by a line of warriors charging towards Alauran, but there was nothing.

‘Well? What have you seen, man?’

‘Palmyrans for sure. I waited as long as I could. They stopped two or three miles east of the crest.’ Antonius rubbed at a bloodshot eye with his thumb. ‘Damned sand.’

‘How many would you say?’ asked Cassius impatiently. So much depended on Antonius’ answer.

‘Three, four hundred.’

Cassius winced.

Antonius nodded at the gate.

‘Can I?’

Cassius moved aside and Antonius trudged off, towing the camel. Cassius turned back towards the plain. If the higher figure proved accurate, they faced odds of five to one.

‘Not all warriors perhaps,’ offered Crispus.

‘Ever the optimist, eh?’

Crispus shrugged. As the two of them walked back towards the gate, Cassius realised he’d been stupid to allow Antonius past. He ran after him, warily rounded the camel and gripped the legionary by the shoulder.

‘There’s a briefing going on in there – wait here a moment. The men are sure to ask what you’ve seen. You tell them the enemy were too distant to count. Do not repeat the number you gave me. Is that clear?’

Antonius had been frowning as Cassius spoke and he replied with only a taciturn nod.

‘I can’t say I care much for your manners, legionary. You are not to repeat the number you gave to me. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. That goes for you too, Crispus. Antonius, stay here until we’re done.’

Attracting considerable attention as he squeezed back through the gate, Cassius ignored the interrogative looks cast his way by Strabo, Avso and numerous others. Serenus was still speaking.

‘Two or three days. That’s from General Navio. We can hold out.’

‘Very inspirational,’ muttered Strabo.

Serenus looked back at Cassius.

‘Signals?’

Cassius straightened his tunic and stepped forward.

‘Most of the time, orders will come directly from your section leaders but we will use the tuba.’

Minicius was just a few paces away, having swapped with another man in order to join the first section. Cassius pointed at him.

‘Our signaller. We’ll dispense with notes and such like and employ a simple code. There’s no need to signal incursions; you’ll see those for yourselves. A series of long tones means a general retreat – to the square and barracks. A series of short tones is for the first section – that’ll be me calling the reserve to my position.’

Cassius looked at his deputies. ‘I think that’s everything.’

‘May I?’ asked Strabo, gesturing at the men.

‘Of course,’ said Cassius hesitantly, wondering what the Sicilian had in mind.

Strabo swaggered forward until he was standing just a yard or so from the first line.

‘I’m not normally one for speeches,’ he began, his crude intonation a contrast to Cassius and Serenus. ‘But we’re still Fifth Century, Third Cohort, Third Legion, and whatever your name is, wherever you’re from, you’re here now. And you’re stuck.’

Thumbs tucked into his belt, Strabo flicked his head to the west.

‘Behind us is nothing but miles of desert. You run, they’ll chase you down. All we can do now is stand firm and stick it to them. And let’s not overrate them. Remember: these half-witted desert-dwellers follow the orders of a
woman
!’

Strabo enunciated the last word with all the considerable derision he could muster.

‘My money says we stop them here, wait for our boys to arrive, then chase these dogs all the way back to Palmyra!’

Strabo ran a hand through his hair and gave a lascivious smirk.

‘I hear she’s quite a beauty, this queen. Well, while you boys are filling your pockets from the palace coffers, I’ll be first into her bedchamber – take the saucy bitch myself!’

The men laughed and cheered. Only Avso and Flavian remained po-faced. Strabo waited for quiet to return, then unsheathed his sword and held the blade aloft.

‘Caesar fights forever beside us!’ he thundered. ‘Dyrrhachium! Philippi! Artaxata! These the greatest victories of the Third. For Mars! For the Emperor! For Rome!’

‘For Rome!’ answered the men, their cry echoing around the compound.

Strabo sheathed his sword and turned round.

Cassius tilted his head.

‘Dismissed!’

XXIII

A short queue had formed outside the temple. The section leaders had received several requests from legionaries eager to make a prayer or offering before the battle. Cassius looked on from the officers’ quarters. To refuse would have been unthinkable. Few of the men would share his lack of enthusiasm for things religious, and freedom for personal worship was a long-standing feature of army life.

Moments earlier, as he returned from the gate, Cassius had heard chanting coming from the barracks. Not recognising the language, he asked Serenus what was going on. It turned out that a few of the older hands had fought with another legion in Germania many years earlier. After seeing a local auxiliary cohort enjoy considerable fortune as followers of the goddess Viradecthis, they had eventually converted. It was their belief that she had watched over them ever since and would deliver them from the impending battle.

Cassius glanced across at Julius, still sitting by the desk. Simo had been relieved to see his master return; he had swiftly sheathed his dagger and left for the aid post. Cassius tried to clear his head to decide on the best way of approaching the boy, but it was a struggle to focus on anything other than what the next few hours might hold. He walked back across the room and stood over him.