The Siege (27 page)

The bird zigzagged away then tried to fly higher. Pulled short by the twine, it struggled for a moment, then landed awkwardly in front of them.

Azaf let out a tired breath. He leaned forward and ran a hand along his horse’s neck.

Kabir had summoned ten of his men. They all had their slings loaded and ready.

‘It’s going higher,’ said Strabo dourly.

Cassius could barely make out the minuscule shape in the sun’s glow.

‘Won’t hit it now,’ said Minicius. ‘Must be forty yards up.’

Cassius made his way through the legionaries to where Kabir was standing, turning this way and that, determined not to lose sight of the bird.

‘Shouldn’t you try now? Before it gets any further away.’

The bird swooped down again then sped away to the east.

Before Kabir yelled the command, the slingers were already firing. Cassius didn’t see a single stone in motion, only the bird climbing higher as it passed over the dwellings.

Everyone chased after it. Two legionaries, eyes fixed on the sky, collided and fell. Cassius vaulted over them, then looked up just as the bird approached the eastern wall. It suddenly lurched to one side, then dropped out of the sky. A cry went up but there was no way to tell if it had landed inside or outside the wall.

‘Somebody knows what they’re doing!’ said Strabo, running alongside Cassius as they followed Kabir into the encampment. The awnings had now been taken down and all possessions and equipment moved inside the dwellings. A crowd had formed next to a section of wall near the gatehouse. The rest of the Syrians were there, and the main mass of legionaries. As their leader approached, the Syrians murmured to each other and moved dutifully out of the way.

‘Who else?’ said Kabir, glancing over his shoulder with a broad grin.

Emerging from the crowd, both hands proffered before him, was Idan. There was no trace of triumph upon his disfigured face, only a cold calm. In his left hand was the lifeless yet unblemished body of the bird. In his right hand was an unfolded square of papyrus.

Teyya, Razir and the other warriors watched the other bird in stunned silence. The twine had broken and it now circled high above them, perplexed by the demise of its mate.

Azaf coaxed his horse forward and guided it along the line of waiting men. Picking out three riders, he dispatched them to keep watch on the southern, western and northern walls. As they departed, he brought his mount to a halt and addressed the rest of the warriors.

‘Dismount and mark a clear line in the sand just ahead of our position. The others will be here soon.’

XXV

After a while, calm returned to Alauran. Then, as the afternoon wore on, it was succeeded by an oppressive air of tension that hung heavily over the compound, suffused with the sapping heat.

Serenus had warned Cassius that some of the men might vent their wrath on the spy’s body and the veteran came up with a simple solution: he and three other men disposed of it over the western wall. The legionaries were now gathered in small groups in the shade, fiddling with their equipment and finishing off the food. With the exception of Kabir, who had joined Strabo and Serenus in the gatehouse, the Syrians were back at the dwellings.

Cassius had taken a brief look at the papyrus note before entrusting it to Strabo. His conscience then led him swiftly to Julius, whom he found still sitting on the stool, drawing shapes in the sand with his finger. Cassius had no idea how much he had seen or understood. The boy looked up as he approached. Cassius knelt down on one knee so that their faces were at the same height.

‘We know now. We know you did nothing wrong.’

Julius looked wistfully across the square.

‘I’m sorry for doubting you. Do you see? I’m sorry.’

Julius stood and walked inside the aid post, head bowed.

Simo met Cassius at the doorway.

‘It’s true, sir? That man had hidden himself in there for weeks?’

‘Apparently. If anyone had taken the time to listen to the boy, he might have been discovered sooner.’

Behind Simo, Cassius could see Julius standing solemnly over Barates’ body once again.

‘He has been ill-used.’

‘He may have faired a good deal worse without your intervention, sir.’

‘Perhaps.’

Cassius thought of how he had earlier treated the boy, in that very same spot. The least he could do now was try to protect him from the impending battle.

‘I’m placing him in your care, Simo. He will act as your assistant. Keep him occupied. And put this in the chest, would you?’

Cassius handed over the coin-filled purse.

‘Of course, sir.’

Not for the first time, Cassius was struck by, and grateful for, Simo’s even temper and composure. Just weeks earlier he had been the respected attendant of a wealthy merchant in Antioch. Now he was stuck at this forsaken fort, facing imminent attack.

‘I’m afraid you may be in for a busy afternoon, Simo.’

‘I’ll be ready, sir. Perhaps you should put your armour on.’

‘Yes. Come on.’

Once inside the officers’ quarters, Cassius removed both his belts. He lowered the whole arrangement on to the desk, then ran his sword blade back and forth into the scabbard a few times. He didn’t want it to get stuck again.

Simo returned from the bedroom, laden down with not only the mail, but also the padded sleeveless shirt worn underneath. It too was an expensive but essential acquisition. The double layer of metal at the shoulders felt like a pair of anvils when in place, but the undershirt also prevented the mail being driven into the flesh if struck. Though grateful for the protection, Cassius had no idea how long he would be able to move in such heat.

He quickly pulled the undershirt on and watched Simo tie the leather straps that would keep it in place. He then raised his arms, allowing the Gaul to lower the mail shirt on to his shoulders. Simo strained to lift the armour high, so Cassius hunched down to help him. The weight never ceased to surprise him.

‘It’s lucky I don’t have to march very far.’

Simo pulled at the shirt until it hung correctly.

‘How’s that, sir?’

‘Fine.’

As Simo took hold of his belt, Cassius looked down at his exposed forearms, wincing as he imagined a sword carving its way through the unprotected flesh. He had seen arm guards on other legionaries but doubted he would be able even to raise his sword, let alone swing it, with yet more weight to bear.

Simo pulled the belt tight. When correctly tied, it took a surprising proportion of the mail’s weight off the shoulders.

‘And that?’

‘Fine.’

Simo secured the buckle and took one last look at his handiwork.

‘Thank you, Simo.’

The Gaul looked confused, unused to statements of gratitude. Cassius’ father had told him never to thank slaves for doing their work. Generally Cassius followed the advice, and believed it to be wise, but he felt the situation was exceptional.

‘Not just for this,’ he added, tapping the armour. ‘For what you’ve done, these last weeks. A good many men in your position might have taken the earliest opportunity to stick a knife in my back. You’ve certainly little to thank me for.’

‘Well at least I’ve seen a little more of the province, sir,’ Simo said with an awkward half-smile.

‘There is that.’ Cassius put his hand through his sword belt as Simo hung it on his shoulder. ‘I am frightened, Simo. Truly.’

‘I too, sir,’ Simo said as he adjusted the belt, ‘and every man out there I’m sure.’

‘If they are, they don’t show it.’

‘Then I suppose we mustn’t either, sir.’

Cassius took a moment to absorb this, then nodded briskly.

‘Quite right.’

Cassius checked the belt, then picked up his helmet. Simo quickly locked the bedroom door and they left.

‘Good luck, sir,’ said the Gaul as they parted outside the barracks.

‘And to you, Simo. And to you.’

Stepping up into the southern tower, Cassius found Strabo slumped in a corner, clad once again in his mail shirt, sharpening his pilum blade with a flint. Serenus was kneeling in front of the arrow slit, keeping watch.

‘Anything?’

‘Dust trails to the south,’ said Serenus without turning round. ‘Main assault force I should imagine.’

The Sicilian pointed the flint at Cassius’ helmet.

‘Might be best to rid yourself of that crest.’

Cassius looked down at the thick red bristles. Though they had been faded slightly by the sun, the colour remained bright. As he had been told many times, the crest was not only a mark of status but the key identifier of an officer during battle. To remove it seemed unthinkable.

‘Why would I do that?’

‘No sense making a target of yourself – especially if you’re up here.’

‘Rather goes with the job, doesn’t it?’ Cassius said, ill at ease with how comfortably he now handled the pretence.

‘Were you a veteran I would agree,’ said Strabo, ‘but it makes no sense for a youngster like yourself to draw attention. You’ll have enough to deal with.’

Cassius didn’t know how to respond. Strabo’s suggestion seemed patronising in the extreme, yet he felt strangely touched by the concern. For a brief moment he toyed with the idea of telling them the truth. Luckily, Serenus spoke up, dispelling the thought.

‘Strabo’s right. Don’t take offence. You’ve hardly been wearing it anyway – I doubt the men will even notice.’

‘Well,’ said Cassius, ‘it is rather impractical. Gets caught on door frames and such like.’

He examined the helmet. The crest was mounted on an iron panel that slid between two raised sections. Gripping the bristles, he yanked the crest down, hoping to loosen the panel. It refused to budge.

‘Here.’

Strabo took the helmet, perused the arrangement for a moment, then chopped his hand down at an angle, dislodging the panel.

‘Another reason I’ve never sought promotion,’ said the Sicilian, ‘strutting round like a peacock in barracks, then inviting special attention during battle. No thanks.’

Cassius picked up the square of papyrus lying on the floor next to Serenus. Written on one side in miniature Aramaic lettering was a brief list and several numerals. Kabir had already identified this as an accurate summary of the numbers within Alauran. On the other side was a labelled map of the compound, including the newly erected barriers.

‘We’ve a good deal to thank old scarface for,’ said Strabo, now sharpening the pilum again.

‘That would have given them quite an advantage.’

‘Certainly,’ answered Serenus. ‘But I can’t help thinking they know we are few. Sadir had been here over a year. It’s inconceivable that he made no other communication to his masters. They must know four hundred men will be sufficient.’

‘Four hundred?’ snapped Strabo. ‘Caesar’s length! Who said anything about four hundred?’

‘Keep your voice down!’ warned Cassius.

‘Antonius and I go back a long way,’ Serenus explained.

‘I see,’ replied Cassius grimly. ‘Well, let’s just keep it to ourselves, shall we?’

Strabo gave up his sharpening and jabbed the pilum into the clay wall.

‘Four hundred? We should have run while we had the chance.’

‘What happened to “standing firm” and “sticking it to them”?’ said Serenus, with a sideways glance at Strabo.

The Sicilian wrenched the pilum out of the wall and pointed down at the ground where the unseen legionaries were gathered.

‘That was for their benefit.’

‘Quite a performance,’ said Serenus.

Strabo’s expression hardened.

‘Someone had to offer a bit of inspiration. Left to you two, anyone would have thought we were planning a surprise party, not a defensive action.’ Strabo pulled his dice from his pocket. With a casual flick of the wrist he cast them on to the floor close to Cassius’ feet. A one and a two. ‘We’ll be lucky to see the sun set,’ he said. Pocketing the dice and grabbing his helmet, he dropped his pilum through the opening and climbed down the ladder.

‘Back in a moment,’ Cassius told Serenus.

He found Kabir squatting on the walkway, peering out at the Palmyrans, even though they had agreed to use only the arrow slits for observation.

‘Don’t worry,’ said the Syrian. ‘It’s safe, and there’s a much better view.’

Cassius crawled over to him, then got to his knees and looked out over the wall. The horsemen remained as still as ever, though a few had dismounted and were dragging their swords across the sand.

‘Some kind of rally line, I presume,’ said Kabir. ‘They will gather there before the attack.’

‘Are those carts?’

Squinting through the haze to the south of the crest, Cassius could see the approaching column. Behind a long line of horsemen three or four abreast were some low, bulky shapes.

‘Carrying siege equipment, I expect. And food and water. They know it will not be over quickly, whatever our numbers.’

The sound of raised voices from below drew Cassius to the rear of the walkway. He looked over the edge to find a predictable scene unfolding. Strabo was standing over Avso and Flavian.

‘Apologise? What for?’ demanded the Sicilian.

‘Don’t give us that!’ snarled Avso, as he and Flavian scrambled to their feet.

‘Will it ever end?’ said Cassius tiredly.

Kabir motioned for him to go.

‘I’ll stay here.’

Cassius crawled past him and made his way down the ladder. Stepping over the legs of several legionaries as he exited the tower, he was relieved to find the trio had not yet come to blows.

Avso and Flavian also had their armour on now. The Thracian wore a well-maintained mail shirt that hung loosely from his narrow, sloping shoulders. Flavian, meanwhile, had attired himself in a poorly fitting cuirass. Several plates were missing, others had almost rusted away. His stomach stuck out below the base.