The Siege (25 page)

‘You must talk to me. You must!’

Julius’ eyes betrayed only a vague, blank desperation.

Cassius felt a sudden burst of anger at his dumb silence. Darting forward, he gripped one of the boy’s wrists and held it up, examining the dried blood on the tips of his fingers.

‘Was it you?’ He tightened his grip. ‘Was it?’

Julius squirmed in the seat.

‘I can’t help you if you stay silent. I won’t be able to stop them. Who knows what they’ll do to you?’

Realising his words were making no impact, Cassius dragged Julius to his feet. He hauled him outside and past the barracks, retaining a solid grip on his spindly upper arm. Half throwing the boy through the aid post door, he found Simo dressing beds. The Gaul looked up, surprised.

‘Get Kabir over here. If I can get the lad to speak, I want to know what he says. Be quick.’

Simo stepped carefully past them before hurrying across the square.

Julius was gazing at the white-clad figure lying on the furthest bed to the right. The sheet had been pulled tight round Barates’ body and face.

‘Did you do that?’

Julius, now kneeling on the floor, stared back at him plaintively. Cassius jabbed a finger at the corpse, then back at Julius.

‘Did you?’

Julius winced as if he’d been struck, then looked away.

‘Say something! Anything!’

Cassius grabbed him by the collar and dragged him across the floor towards the bed.

‘Perhaps I should show you the wound at his neck? Perhaps that might help you remember?’

This time Julius fought back, as if fearful of being close to the body. He clawed at Cassius’ arms. His nails dug in and Cassius let go. The boy took his chance and bolted for the door. Cassius sprang after him, then swung out a leg. He caught Julius’ back foot and the boy crashed heavily to the floor.

Cassius didn’t enjoy meting out such treatment but the time for gentility was long past. He couldn’t think of any possible reason for Julius to be the murderer, but the evidence was against him. If he couldn’t be persuaded to communicate, perhaps he could be shocked into telling the truth.

Julius recovered quickly and scrambled to his feet. He was set to make for the door again when a large figure all but filled the doorway. Julius froze, then retreated past Cassius and hid behind him.

‘Leave this to me,’ said Cassius.

‘Any progress?’

Strabo was now clad in his heavy mail shirt. His helmet was under his arm, his shield and pila across his back.

‘Not yet. Nor am I likely to make any with you around. Shouldn’t you be at the gatehouse?’

‘That’s why I’m here. The enemy have been sighted. A small party on horseback. Scouts.’

Cassius fought his first instinct: to leave Julius where he was and head straight for the eastern wall.

‘We must resolve this now,’ he said, trying to ignore the boy’s desperate moans.

‘You should know the men are talking. Some of them want to string him up right now. They are saying it was meant, intended by the gods. There are no animals to sacrifice before the battle, they think—’

‘You’re not serious, man! He may not be a Roman and he may not be the equal of you or me, but do you really believe I will allow that? An execution can’t be sanctioned without evidence of guilt.’

‘What do you call that?’ said Strabo, pointing down at Julius’ tunic.

‘That proves nothing. He sleeps over in the stables. He may have found the body. He’d probably tell us exactly what happened if he could. In any case, if he’s guilty, why didn’t he run away?’

‘You are trying to find sense where there is none. Who knows what goes on in that head of his?’

‘These men – those who would have him killed. I’ll venture Avso and Flavian were amongst them.’

‘I didn’t hear their view.’

‘And what of
your
view?’ Cassius snapped. ‘You were convinced
they
were responsible two hours ago!’

‘You said this needs resolving. You’re right. And we must do it quickly.’

Cassius nodded slowly as he replied. Strabo’s motivations were becoming clear.

‘I see. Regardless of the truth, you’d let him hang – guilty or not – purely to satisfy the men’s bloodlust.’

‘I didn’t say I agreed with it, but we can’t just ignore them.’

‘As I said before, this is not the Senate. I give the orders.’

‘Based on your experience and wisdom?’

‘Based on the concept of law. And justice. And what is right.’

Strabo looked over his shoulder for a moment, then turned back.

‘Perhaps we could tell them he’s confessed? Tie him up, lock him in somewhere. At least it’ll be settled.’

‘Even though the murderer might still be in our midst? And we would know nothing of what truly happened. Or why. Or what the man might do next.’

‘You seem very certain the boy is innocent. And you never answered about Flavian. You are keeping something from me.’

Julius had quietened down now and he looked up at the two Romans, following the conversation intently.

Cassius watched Kabir crossing the square, and decided to tell Strabo the truth, if only to dent his belief in Julius’ guilt.

‘Flavian was seen at the granary by one of the Syrians.’

Strabo looked down at the floor. Then he punched the doorway, knocking out a section of clay. ‘That lying piece of shit.’

He took a deep breath and examined his knuckles.

‘Did he admit he was there?’

‘No. I think he was about to say something but—’

‘Then we’ll ask him again.’

‘He won’t say anything now, I’m sure of it. Avso will have told him to keep quiet.’

‘Then I’ll beat it out of him,’ said Strabo before turning and walking away.

‘Wait!’ Cassius cried, stepping out into the sun.

Simo and Kabir had just arrived. They looked on as Cassius ran around Strabo and barred his way.

‘Don’t,’ the Sicilian said quietly.

‘Just listen.’ There was no doubt in Cassius’ mind that a confrontation with Strabo on one side and Avso and Flavian on the other stood a good chance of swiftly developing into a riot. ‘I’m going to have Kabir talk to Julius in his own tongue. He may be able to tell us something.’

‘So might Flavian. And that rat friend of his.’

‘They’re not going anywhere. Let’s just see if we can get anything out of the boy.’

Strabo hesitated.

Kabir stepped forward. He too had readied himself for battle and now wore a thick, sleeveless leather jerkin over his black tunic. Tucked into his belt next to his sword was a sling and a pouch bulging with lead shot.

‘You wish me to speak to him?’

‘Please.’

‘It won’t be easy. Barates somehow understood his Latin more than any of us understood his Aramaic, but I will do my best.’

Strabo shook his head, then shrugged.

‘Quickly then,’ he said, removing his shield and pila from his shoulder. With a grateful nod to Kabir, Cassius hurried past the Sicilian to the doorway. Without getting too close, he gestured for Julius to join them outside. The boy was still kneeling by the bed but he slowly got to his feet. Cassius gave him plenty of space, and Kabir offered a few quiet words of encouragement as he stepped outside. Simo grabbed a stool from the aid post and placed it against the wall. Cassius held Julius gently by the shoulders and sat him down. Strabo sensibly kept his distance, watching with arms crossed as Kabir dropped to his haunches and began.

Hearing pounding footsteps, Cassius turned to see Crispus approach.

‘Twenty-two horsemen! They’re almost here,’ announced the legionary as his sprint became a walk.

‘I’ll go and take a look at them,’ Cassius said.

There was no need to go as far as the gatehouse; the dwellings on the north side of the street were close by.

‘I’ll join you,’ said Strabo. He put down his helmet and pulled his mail shirt off over his head.

Cassius was about to protest but realised there might be some value in leaving Kabir and Julius alone for a while.

‘Simo, back to work. Crispus, back to the wall.’

‘Make sure the men keep out of sight,’ added Strabo, placing his equipment on a window ledge.

As they set off for the dwelling, Cassius noted that the inn was still empty.

‘The Praetorian’s still sleeping?’

‘Noisy swine’s been snoring since dusk yesterday,’ answered Strabo.

‘He doesn’t know about Barates then?’ Cassius asked as they ducked inside the darkened doorway.

‘Do you think he’d even care?’

Despite the gloom, there was enough light coming from the doorway and windows for Cassius to see the ladder in the far corner. Seven rungs later, he popped up in the middle of another empty room already cleared by the men of the first section. Strabo was already on his way up as Cassius crossed to the opposite corner and up the next ladder. Despite a missing rung, it too held and he was soon clambering on to the roof, fingers coated with dust. Taking care to keep his head below the surround, he crawled over to the south-east corner and peered out at the plain.

What first caught his eye was the sun glinting off the armour and helmets of the legionaries gathered behind the eastern wall. He saw Crispus dodge through them and head straight into the gatehouse. As Serenus was nowhere to be seen, Cassius assumed he was already in there, observing the Palmyrans through the arrow slits.

Two hundred yards beyond the wall, eerily still and arranged in remarkably uniform fashion, were the Palmyran horsemen. Their dark steeds barely moved as the men sat high in their saddles, observing the fort. Despite their vivid red tunics, the brown, bearded faces reminded Cassius of Kabir’s men.

Breathing heavily, Strabo hauled himself across the roof and close to Cassius.

A horseman close to the centre of the line broke ranks. He headed south, riding parallel to the eastern wall.

‘A messenger?’ said Cassius.

‘More likely an officer, their leader even.’

The rider continued on his way, his gaze fixed on the fort as he turned, now following the southern wall, still staying well beyond effective arrow range.

‘Checking the walls,’ Strabo continued. ‘Making his plans. Might even be a general judging by that fancy purple cloak of his.’

Shifting their position and keeping low, they tracked the warrior over the western wall, losing him for a moment behind the palms. When he appeared again the horse was galloping, his cloak fluttering high.

Cassius imagined what he would see. Above the walls, only the precious granary and legion flag would be visible. He would know now that he faced a fight.

Slowing his mount to a trot, the Palmyran approached the other warriors and gestured to one. The horseman coaxed his mount out of the line and set off back towards the crest at speed.

‘What do you think?’ said Cassius, turning to Strabo.

‘He’ll bring up his main force now. Get started while there’s still plenty of light.’

‘Then we have a little time at least.’

‘A little.’

Kabir, who was kneeling close to Julius, stood up as the Romans approached.

‘What have you learned?’ Cassius asked.

‘He heard something in the middle of the night. Voices I think. He got up to investigate and found Barates’ body. He says he tried to wake him – I assume that’s how he got the blood on his hands and clothes. After that, the story becomes rather confused. I think he hid in the temple because he thought he would be safe there.’

Cassius cast a knowing glance at Strabo, who studiously ignored him.

‘There’s something else,’ added Kabir. ‘It’s hard to explain, the word does not translate well, but it means something like “ghost”. He thinks a ghost killed Barates.’

Strabo snorted and looked across at Julius, who was once again following their conversation keenly.

‘A spirit,’ said Cassius.

‘Yes,’ replied Kabir thoughtfully. ‘That’s closer.’

Cassius turned round and looked across at the granary.

‘And still we are no nearer to an answer,’ stated Strabo.

‘I have dealt with killings amongst my own people,’ said Kabir. ‘Where men are concerned, women or money are usually the issue. We know one cannot be the cause; I’m assuming the same is true of the other.’

Strabo shook his head.

‘Had nothing. Owed nothing.’

‘As I said this morning,’ continued the Syrian, ‘it makes no sense for anyone here to have done this.’

‘Except your man saw Flavian,’ said Strabo.

‘Yes. But even if he was after wine or there was cause for some other dispute, surely it couldn’t have led to murder?’

‘There’s one way to find out.’

‘Wait,’ said Cassius. ‘All we have done so far has been based on the assumption that Barates was killed by one of our men, or by one of yours, Kabir. But as you say, we’ve known from the start that that’s extremely unlikely. Avso thought he may have been killed by some Palmyran scout or spy.’

‘Instead of guessing, let’s look at the facts,’ countered Strabo. ‘We know Flavian was there and we know he lied about it. We should be making him talk, not chasing some phantom spy. In any case, how would he have got inside?’

‘It would be difficult,’ said Kabir, ‘but hardly impossible.’

‘There is another alternative,’ said Cassius. ‘What if he was already here?’

XXIV

Outside the granary, four legionaries were piling jars into two large sacks – food for the men. Cassius leaped up the steps past them and through the open door without a word. Not far behind were Strabo and Kabir. They exchanged bemused looks, then followed him inside. He came to a halt in front of the biggest stack of barrels in the granary.

Running his thumb across his chin, Cassius stared at the barrels. They were arranged in neat rows, five high.