Simo looked up as he tied off the last canteen.
‘A necessary measure I’m afraid, sir.’
Cassius waved the comment away.
‘Go ahead. Do you think I’d rather die of thirst than pile on a bit of extra weight? You have the money, I trust.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Simo patted his tunic.
Corbulo senior had at least been generous enough to furnish his son with fifteen hundred denarii in silver coins: twice the annual army salary and enough to bribe one’s way out of most situations.
‘Is there anything else to do?’ Cassius asked. ‘If it’s just to be the two of us for a while, I should probably lend a hand.’
‘Just your armour, sir. I’ve not found a spot for that yet.’
Simo pointed at Cassius’ mail shirt, folded neatly on top of a pile of bricks. Like all soldiers, Cassius had purchased it with his own money. In fact, he had opted for the priciest and most highly recommended example he could find. The thousands of rings were made of copper alloy, which produced a distinctive silvery tinge. The trader had assured him that it was both stronger and lighter than conventional iron or bronze mail. Cassius did not expect ever to make a more important investment.
Dusting it down first, he lifted the shirt by the shoulders and walked back to his horse. He could see no space on the side Simo was working, so instead examined the other flank. Every available saddlebag was filled: one with food, one with a wood axe, another with his cloak. Cassius could see no obvious solution. Simo intervened.
‘Allow me, sir,’ he said, taking the shirt. He hurried round the horse’s rear and removed the axe from the largest bag. Wrapping it in some sackcloth, he swiftly found a way to fit the axe neatly inside the mail shirt.
‘Most resourceful,’ said Cassius, running a finger across his chin and resolving to leave servants’ work to servants in future.
‘I believe we’re about ready, sir,’ said Simo, surveying his handiwork.
‘Let’s be away then,’ replied Cassius, noting that virtually the entire column was now past them.
‘None of the legionaries are to accompany us, sir?’ Simo asked.
‘No,’ Cassius answered flatly as he hauled himself up into the saddle. The horse spent a few moments protesting, perhaps noticing the added bulk, but then calmed down. Simo, now also in the saddle, moved up to take his position behind Cassius, but his master waved him forward to join him.
‘It would be better if two pairs of eyes monitor our path in this haze. We’ll start by heading for that tree. See there, with the crooked trunk?’
Simo followed the line of his outstretched arm.
‘I see it, sir. And did I hear that we’re to make for a pass between the first two hills?’
‘That’s it, yes. I see you are as anxious to establish our route as I.’
‘As you say, sir, two pairs of eyes are better than one. I’ve become rather used to finding the way. Working for my last master it was a daily occupation. I lost count of the times I had to show him the way to buildings within his own estate.’
‘Is that so?’ asked Cassius as they rode away from the farmhouse. ‘Still, I’ll wager you’d rather be on your way to Rome than stuck out here with me.’
Simo took a while to reply.
‘It’s not my place to decide how best I can serve, sir. You can be sure I’ll perform my duties as well as I can.’
Cassius frowned, feeling slightly guilty that he’d provoked such a statement.
‘Oh, I know that, man. I’ve seen enough of you to know that.’
The two of them fell into an uneasy silence. The only sounds to be heard were the increasingly distant rumble of the column and the annoying thumps and thuds of equipment shifting around on the saddles. As their riders eased their grip on the reins, the horses settled into a slow, steady pace and stared blankly at the ground in front of them, oblivious to the distances ahead.
By the time they finally lost sight of the column, the sun was already beginning its descent. Cassius had been turning round every so often and had just seen the last moving speck disappear behind the pale yellow hills north of Nessara. A few minutes earlier they had reached the crooked tree, stopping to water the horses. Cassius hadn’t felt like eating anything and they soon got under way again.
He now realised he had made his first serious mistake. Cotta’s words rolled around his head and he found himself struggling to remember precisely what the scout had said about bandits. Given the present situation, he knew his garb would do nothing to deter any would-be attackers. Simo carried a dagger, but he hardly seemed the warrior type, and with his own fighting ability still so limited, he had been stupid not to bring along a couple of the legionaries.
Squinting into the haze, Cassius looked for horses on the plain, or moving along the base of the hills ahead. As they had at least two or three more hours until they reached those hills, he decided to occupy the time with conversation, knowing at least that if they were attacked, it would not be difficult to see their foes coming.
‘So Simo. Remind me how it is that a Gaul comes to be so far from home.’
Simo also seemed eager to distract himself and eased his horse a little nearer.
‘Well, sir, I have worked for my master all my life, as my father did for his. My antecedents were captured in battle and taken to Rome. My grandfather’s grandfather came here in the service of a leather merchant. It was during the time of the Emperor Hadrian – ‘the days of glory’ as my father would call them. He used to tell stories passed down to him: the building of Antioch’s great temples and aqueducts and theatres; the garrison parading the walls, five thousand strong; and the rise of the Christians, of course.’
Cassius rolled his eyes.
‘The Christians. I heard almost as much about them in Antioch as the Palmyrans. It seems they are with us to stay.’
‘I should say so, sir. My uncle’s dwelling in the city is not far from a house used by Paul of Tarsus no less. Do you find nothing of merit in their teachings?’
Cassius shrugged. Ever since his earliest days, he had lacked a natural interest in things religious. Here in the East, he had found that every tenet of traditional Roman belief seemed to be a subject for debate, and his interest had declined even further.
‘Not particularly. It seems to me that life is short, difficult and dangerous, and one is better off looking to oneself if one wishes to progress. Although I must accept I am in a minority as far as such thinking goes. Of course, if the Emperor and his general Aurelian do well, it may be that one day they find themselves worshipped as divine beings.’
‘The Emperor does seem the type to bring the provinces to heel, sir.’
‘Indeed, though I must confess I never expected to be involved in such efforts myself. If only that rampaging bitch Zenobia would be content to stay in her lair, I would be spared such a trial. Only a mob of witless barbarians would allow a woman to rule them.’
‘Barbarians they are, sir. I have heard tales of their treatment of prisoners that turn the stomach.’
Cassius was relieved that Simo didn’t go into any detail.
‘There’s one issue I might agree with the Christians about. War is one thing but an interest in needless torture and suffering is the mark of a feeble mind. Anyone who’s seen the parade of inbreds and freaks emerging wide-eyed from a gladiator contest can attest to that.’
‘May I ask something, sir?’
Cassius had just finished another sweep of the horizon.
‘You may.’
‘Why exactly are we journeying to Alauran? Forgive my question, I wish only for an idea of what awaits us.’
Cassius took a deep breath. When he replied, he found himself listening to his own words with an unsettling sense of detachment, as if they were being spoken by someone else.
‘An attack by the Palmyrans is expected. If there is no senior officer present, I will have to do what I can to ensure that the fort and its well do not fall into their hands. As to what precisely awaits us, I advise you take the position I have adopted. I think we’re just going to have to wait and see.’
As the sun dipped below the horizon and their shadows stretched away from them, the two riders reached the edge of the plain and turned south at the base of the hills. The pass was still a fair distance away and Cassius decided to make camp at the next suitable location.
It turned out to be a small hollow where a dried-up stream had eaten down into the soil. The site had been used before: several bulky stones lay round a circle of ash and an area at the base of a voluminous boulder had been cleared for sleeping.
‘This will do,’ said Cassius as he dismounted, ‘though a nice little cave would be ideal. The air already feels colder, but we can’t risk a fire in the open.’
Shaking the stiffness out of his legs, Cassius drank from his canteen and leaned back against the boulder, watching the last quarter of the sun disappear. Simo removed the saddles and tethered the horses to long ropes, which he tied off round a heavy stone. There was a little grass on the slopes above and both animals soon drifted away to investigate.
‘The desert is a cruel land, sir,’ observed Simo as he unpacked a saddlebag. ‘Not like Italy or Gaul, where the temperature often suits. Here it’s too hot by day, too cold by night.’
Cassius was yet to experience such a night, having previously spent the hours of darkness inside either a commandeered building or his spacious officer’s tent. Unfortunately, that was now on its way to Antioch.
Simo retrieved six blankets, which he folded over and lay on the ground in the shelter of the boulder. He gave his master four: two to sleep on and two to cover him.
‘Leaving just two for you, Simo. Well, you do have more natural insulation.’
‘Quite so, sir. Quite so.’
Cassius began to undress. His leather boots had seemed too large at first but now fitted nicely, and it took him a while to lever them off. The merchant who sold them to him had stated that the sturdy hobnailed soles would last for five hundred miles of walking on good road.
Next he removed his sword belt, which hung diagonally from his right shoulder, holding the weapon over his left hip. The arrangement had felt unnatural to begin with but he had soon seen the sense of keeping it free from other encumbrances at his waist, namely the military belt, key identifier of a Roman soldier.
Made of thick, resilient leather, the belts were usually decorated with metal plates, inscriptions or other adornments. Cassius, however, had settled on a simple example with a modest iron buckle. Next off was his dagger, which hung in its own scabbard on the right. These short, wide blades had been in use for centuries and made for formidable sidearms. Cassius lay down both weapons next to his blanket and was about to continue undressing when Simo’s broad features emerged out of the darkness in front of him.
‘I’d keep your tunic on if I were you, sir. And here’s your cloak too.’
Nothing more than a rectangle of heavy wool, the cloak was another piece of standard legionary equipment Cassius was yet to use.
‘Surely it won’t be that cold?’
‘I believe it will, sir,’ Simo said firmly.
‘Very well.’ Cassius took the cloak. He had learned to trust Simo’s judgement on such matters.
‘Dinner won’t be a moment, sir. I must just attend to a few other tasks while we still have a little light.’
Cassius sat down on the blankets and pulled the cloak over him, leaning back against the rock. Despite the uneven ground beneath, it felt good to be still and rest his tired limbs. Having never ridden so consistently in his life, he had acquired an unpleasant set of bruises on his thighs and backside. At least the painful blisters on his fingers seemed to be drying out. This was not the only change to them. Since the beginning of training, his hands had been worked so hard that he had actually noticed his fingers increase in size.
Aside from the sounds of Simo going about his work, all was quiet. The darkened plain stretched away in front of him, with only the distant lights of Nessara to remind him where they had come from. He lay down and tried to find a moment’s relief from thoughts of Alauran and what turmoil the next few days might bring.
The sky above was cloudless, lighter than the inky black around him, and he passed the time by identifying the few stars he knew. He had long since forgotten the names but one of his childhood tutors had made a point of showing him the most recognisable constellations. They had used the star catalogues within Ptolemy’s
Almagest
, of which his father had a good copy. Tracing lines between the stars with his fingers, Cassius succeeded in losing himself for a while, only to be interrupted by Simo, who emerged out of the dark proffering a wooden plate.
‘And what delights have you prepared for me?’
‘Some spiced pork, sir, some bread, a few dried apricots also.’
‘It’ll have to do. I’m becoming used to eating like a peasant. I must say though, Simo, you’re doing rather well with this outdoor stuff. You’ve travelled widely in the province?’
‘No, sir. My work kept me at my master’s house or one of his other premises. This is the furthest I have ever been.’ Simo’s usual immaculately neutral tone wavered. ‘And this is the longest I have spent away from the city.’
‘I see.’
‘I’ll just fetch your wine, sir.’
Cassius found the pork with his fingers. He was about to take a bite when he heard a noise from behind the boulder. It sounded like the scuffing of feet.
Warily lowering the plate to the ground and freeing himself from the coverings, Cassius reached for his sword and slid it gently out of the leather scabbard. Simo was not close enough to hear a whisper so he got to his feet and circled the boulder, crouching low. The slab of rock was easily ten feet across and it wouldn’t have been difficult for some unseen foe to hide there, waiting to strike when the two of them were off their guard.