The Palmyrans were moving quickly. All traces of Flavian had been removed. The leader and his messenger had disappeared. The entire middle section of the first line separated to allow a small group forward. There were ten of them, all fully armoured, all pushing the ram.
XXVII
‘How long would you say it’s been?’
‘An hour and a half,’ said Serenus, ‘perhaps two.’
Cassius thought it seemed longer. Afternoon had become evening and, to the surprise of everyone within the fort, the Palmyrans had not advanced. The swordsmen had dismounted, their horses sent to the rear, and though the ram had been pushed to the front, the line of infantry remained static. Occasionally a man would hand out water but for the most part the enemy had barely moved at all.
Cassius, Serenus, Strabo and Kabir stood together by the access gap. With Crispus on duty at the gatehouse and the other three sentries still in place, Strabo had instructed the men to seek shade where they could. He had also permitted the removal of helmets, though armour was to stay on and weapons remain within reach.
‘So what are they doing?’ asked Cassius, aware of the multitude observing their meeting: the legionaries behind the gatehouse; the dark faces gathered at the dwelling windows.
‘Maybe Purple Cloak wants it nice and cool for the cavalry,’ offered Strabo.
‘That’s possible,’ replied Kabir, ‘though he’s confident indeed if he expects victory before nightfall. And it would surprise me if he struck first with horsemen.’
‘What are the other possibilities?’ asked Cassius, looking hopefully at the others.
‘Perhaps they await reinforcements,’ suggested Serenus, who seemed to have recovered a little strength.
‘We can’t see any,’ Cassius replied, having just returned from checking the other three walls.
‘Let’s see what Antonius has to say,’ said Strabo as the legionary appeared from the southern tower. ‘I sent him up there to take a look at those carts. Often sees things others don’t. Hurry up then!’
Antonius sprinted over to the group. He was carrying a pilum and, as he skidded to a stop, the long spear almost stuck Serenus in the shoulder. The veteran swatted the weapon away.
‘Point up, you idiot!’
‘Sorry.’
‘Well?’ said the Sicilian tiredly.
‘There are twelve carts,’ said Antonius.
‘I know that,’ growled Strabo. ‘What’s in them?’
‘It’s hard to be sure. But there were bits poking out here and there. Could be ladders.’
‘Or firewood?’ asked Kabir. ‘Torches even?’
‘Could be,’ answered Antonius with a shrug.
‘Anything else?’ asked Strabo.
Antonius shook his head.
‘Back to your section then.’
‘Torches,’ said Cassius. ‘Do we have any?’
‘
We
do,’ said Kabir.
‘There’s a stack in the barracks,’ said Strabo. ‘We’ve plenty of oil to keep them alight. And there’s a load of dry branches still in the stables too – they just need tying together.’
‘Then we should make up some more,’ Cassius said. ‘I’ll get my section on to it.’
He then noticed Simo standing behind Kabir. The Gaul looked anxious about disturbing the conversation.
‘Excuse me.’
Cassius ushered Simo towards the middle of the street before speaking.
‘What is it?’
‘I’ve finished the preparation, sir. Not with everything, of course, but the key ingredients are there. Ideally it should be drunk soon.’
Though all thoughts of the Praetorian had disappeared since the arrival of the Palmyrans, Cassius knew it would be foolish to waste an opportunity to get the man on his side.
‘Good, good. Any sign of him?’
‘Well he’s not at the inn, sir. Still sleeping perhaps.’
‘And how’s the boy doing?’
‘Slow to start but working well now.’
‘I’ll be along soon.’
‘Very well, sir.’
Cassius returned to the others.
‘I must attend to something – shouldn’t take long. Can you three get back to the gatehouse? See if you can work out what’s going on?’
‘Not much else we can do,’ shrugged the Sicilian. The trio marched away through the gap.
The first section were conveniently close, just outside one of the dwellings. Three of them were tightening a leather shield cover, two were decanting water from a barrel whilst two more checked each other’s armour. The oldest of them was Vestinus, a man who’d seemed capable and keen every time Cassius had encountered him.
‘First section, get finished as soon as you can. There are some branches in the stables that need tying up for torches. Leave enough for the camels then take the rest to the workshop. I want all of them oiled and ready. Vestinus, you’re in charge. Quick as you can.’
Back in the square, Cassius saw Avso by the well, splashing water on to his face from a barrel. Cassius stalked towards the aid post with the aim of avoiding him.
‘Centurion!’
Wiping wet hair away from his eyes, Avso loped across the square.
Cassius stopped and waited for him. The Thracian’s hollow cheeks and sunken eyes made his face a difficult one to warm to, yet there was a trace of vulnerability there now.
‘He’s dead?’ asked Avso quietly. ‘You’re sure of it?’
Cassius nodded, then glanced around, unsure what to say.
‘Never could control himself,’ continued Avso. ‘Poor excuse for a soldier. I should curse the fool.’
‘A friend is a friend. And loyalty is an admirable trait.’
Avso coughed harshly and looked up, his face darkening.
‘Save your sympathy for those beyond the gate. They shall need it more than I.’
Simo was wrapping up Gemellus’ body. The legionary’s boots, tunic, weapons and equipment had been piled at the end of the bed. The smell inside the aid post reminded Cassius of a butcher’s just down the street from his home in Ravenna. Freshly killed piglets and chickens would be hung outside on hooks, blood dripping from the carcasses into pails below.
Simo looked up from his work.
‘Please, continue.’
The Gaul folded the edge of the sheet twice round Gemellus’ head.
‘It is not wise to keep bodies here, sir,’ said Simo as he finished up. ‘Where can we put them?’
‘By one of the walls perhaps. I can’t think of anywhere else. I’m afraid there’ll be more before long.’
Simo nodded solemnly.
‘I shall put their belongings back in the barracks.’
‘Where’s this preparation then?’
Simo moved to the back of the aid post and bent over one of the chests, picking up a small jar of milky liquid.
Cassius took the jar.
‘What’s in it?’
‘Mint, honey, charcoal, some spices. Luckily I still had a little milk left over from Nessara. Oh, and bronze.’
‘Bronze?’
‘The recipe actually called for copper, sir. It was the best I could do.’
‘Where did you get bronze?’
‘I shaved some grains from a shield boss with my dagger.’
‘Ingenious. And this should work?’
‘I have no idea, sir. There are several spices missing, the milk has soured and I’ve had to estimate the proportions. But the book claims this is a treatment for recurring, painful ailments of the gut, especially lumps and stones.’
‘Well, it’s worth a try.’
Julius arrived with a small barrel of water, which he placed next to two others by the door.
‘Are you sure it’s a good idea, sir?’ asked Simo, a pained expression on his face.
‘Well if it doesn’t cure him, it might poison him. Either way you’ll have helped.’
Leaving his helmet in the aid post, Cassius made his way into the barracks, holding the jar carefully in his hand. He heard the man before he saw him; the volcanic rumbles emanating from the last room suggested a deep sleep. Cassius peered round the doorway.
The Praetorian was lying face down across two beds, his head atop a rolled-up tunic. His vast from eased slowly up and down with each snore. Below the bed, straw had pushed through holes in the mattress on to the floor. Under the window were no less than five jugs, an amphora, and a half-eaten hunk of dried pork only partially visible through a buzzing cloud of flies. The odour inside the room was a concoction of decaying foodstuffs and human emissions Cassius had little wish to identify.
Opposite the doorway was a large wooden chest. On top was a helmet and an enormous piece of armour. The helmet was almost identical in design to Cassius’ but the armour was very different, composed of hundreds of rounded brass scales, sewn by yards of hardy thread to a cloth undergarment. Often favoured by Praetorian Guardsmen, the archaic shirts resembled golden feathers from a distance. Cassius wondered how much it weighed.
Next to the chest was a freakishly large sword, again similar to Cassius’ own yet a third wider and longer. There was also a huge rectangular shield decorated with three immaculately rendered scorpions. These, Cassius knew, symbolised the role of the Emperor Tiberius in the formation of the Guard. Despite his current condition, it was evident that the Praetorian had not yet given up every association with his past life.
There was a grunt as Cassius neared the bed. He was unsure how to go about waking the man. It seemed unwise to actually touch him so he decided to use the bed frame. He put a hand on the closest horizontal beam and shook it. There was no reaction. As the giant had slept through all the events of the day, something more forceful was obviously required. Cassius took firmer hold of the beam and jolted it left and right.
The Praetorian’s body trembled. The snoring stopped. He sniffed, then pawed at his face.
Cassius straightened up.
‘Good evening,’ he said loudly.
The Praetorian belched, twisted his neck and looked up at Cassius. He mumbled something then turned over. Lifting each jug in turn, he cast them aside once he realised they were empty.
Cassius held up the jar.
‘My attendant has prepared this for you. It will ease your ailment. A recipe by Dioscorides of Greece no less.’
Ignoring him, the Praetorian swung his feet round and sat up with surprising speed. He groaned and ran a hand across his head.
‘Here,’ said Cassius, proffering the drink. ‘I’m sure it will help you feel better.’
The Praetorian rose. As his frame unfolded itself to its full breadth, Cassius instinctively retreated. The large, grey eyes, now lined with red, settled on him.
‘You again.’
‘Won’t you try it?’
The Praetorian was already on his way when Cassius offered the drink once more. With a casual shove, he caught Cassius high on the arm, propelling him towards the corner. Desperate not to spill too much of the preparation, Cassius managed to keep the jar upright but stumbled into the chest, then the wall. Making no attempt to follow, he looked on as the Praetorian shuffled away.
‘Well I’ll just leave it here then. You can try it later!’
Looking down with distaste at the meat by the bed, Cassius drew his dagger. He speared the pork and flicked it out of the window. The flies followed their meal.
‘Bloody man.’
With a final despairing look at the jar, he placed it carefully on the ground next to the corner of the bed.
Calling in at the aid post to pick up his helmet, Cassius was unsurprised to learn that the Praetorian was now reinstalled at the inn. He was about to leave when Simo produced a piece of papyrus from his tunic.
‘Apologies, sir. I meant to show you this earlier.’
Simo unfolded the sheet.
‘I copied out a list from the century roll. This carries the name of every man in the garrison. I consulted some of the legionaries. It is accurate.’
‘Ah. Well done. I meant to do that myself. We must keep track of the injured and the dead.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Barates, of course. Flavian. And that man there is Gemellus.’
‘Yes, sir. I know.’
‘You should identify them on here somehow. Those badly wounded, those lost.’
Gazing down at the list, Cassius wondered how it might change over the next few hours; how many of the names would remain untouched, how many more would be marked.
‘Cavalry,’ Serenus said as Cassius stepped up into the northern tower.
‘Where?’
‘Forming up behind the infantry in the centre,’ answered Strabo, not turning from the arrow slit. ‘They came up from behind the crest already armoured. Must have made camp there. I think this is it.’
Kabir, standing next to Serenus, was wiping dust from the front of his jerkin.
‘You agree?’ Cassius asked him.
‘I do.’
‘How much light do we have left?’
‘Good light? Perhaps an hour. It will have to be soon.’
‘May I see?’
Strabo moved aside. Apart from the red tinge in the sky behind the Palmyrans, there was at first sight little change. Then Cassius saw the mounted figures moving around beyond the main mass of infantry. The cavalry were just as Strabo had described.
Each rider was covered from head to foot. Basic protection was provided by a mail shirt connected to the helmet at the neck and reaching far below their knees. The shirts were reinforced by solid chest plates and segmental armour that ran down each limb, even covering the feet. The horses were similarly attired, with only their lower legs unprotected. Some of the men carried swords, some long lances. Every movement of man and beast signified power and grace.
‘Rather magnificent, aren’t they?’ observed Cassius.
‘Rather deadly,’ added Kabir.
The first two lines of warriors behind the ram fell out of formation then marched south, crossing in front of the horse archers.
‘Something’s up,’ said Cassius.
‘Are the bows raised?’ asked Serenus.
Cassius checked carefully.
‘No.’