The Siege (14 page)

‘His character?’

‘Don’t be deceived by his fair face and cordial manner. He’ll be observing you, testing you, seeing if you have what it takes to organise the defence.’

Cassius was not looking forward to the meeting, but had been too occupied to give it much thought. Now he felt utterly out of his depth again, as if the encouraging events of the previous hours had never happened.

‘Just remember that they are devout,’ Barates continued. ‘Not like some of ours – visiting the temple just before a battle or offering a prayer when fever strikes. To them, the sun is sacred and all nature’s parts are a gift. You should make no complaint about the heat or how much you hate the desert. This is their home.’

‘I shall not mention religion or nature at all.’

‘You should know also that they do not approve of gambling, debauchery or drinking for the purposes of inebriation.’

Cassius shook his head.

‘I can tell this is going to be fun.’

The encampment started halfway along the row of houses and was enclosed by the southern and eastern walls. The Syrians had erected a series of awnings that cast angular shadows across the ground. There were in fact two separate cooking areas, and closer to the houses lay neat rows of blankets divided by small piles of possessions. Washing hung from windows and several pieces of furniture had been moved outside.

Cassius was about to ask where the inhabitants of this silent, orderly camp were, when he caught sight of two figures standing in the corner. Then the rest of the Syrians came into view.

They were all wearing black tunics and were kneeling on the ground, backs straight, arms folded, facing the standing figures. Of these two, one was completely bald. Over his tunic he wore a long, flowing cape tied together at his neck. It too was black but decorated with a vivid collage of orange and red streaks.

‘The grand-looking one is Yarak. A kind of priest. That’s Kabir next to him.’

Yarak brought his hands together in a position of prayer. Kabir was about to follow when his gaze fell upon the two observers. He whispered something to the priest, who nodded, then started his prayers. Kabir rounded his men and gestured for one of them to follow.

‘How do they greet each other?’ asked Cassius.

‘A bow would be courteous.’

As the Syrian came closer, Cassius understood what Barates had meant about his appearance. To Roman eyes, long hair would always seem somewhat less than masculine, but it was Kabir’s green, almost feline eyes that most struck Cassius as effeminate. He was barefoot and wore the same simple tunic as his men. In his right ear was a heavy metal ring that stretched the lobe unnaturally.

The three of them bowed simultaneously. Kabir examined Cassius for a moment. If he was surprised by his youth, he didn’t show it.

‘Greetings, Roman. I am Kabir Abka Mabeer.’

‘Good morning. Cassius Quintius Corbulo.’

‘Please.’

Kabir gestured towards the dwellings and gave a series of instructions to his subordinate. Barates seemed to have an idea where they were going and led Cassius through a doorway.

Ducking inside, Cassius found himself in a cool, murky room. Close to the window, several straw mattresses had been covered in cushions and expensive cloth. Next to the far wall was a table topped with all manner of objects, including several oil lamps, a religious figurine and some ornate jewellery. Despite the gloom, Cassius could see that the room had been kept immaculately clean.

‘I expect you’d like to sit,’ said Kabir, lowering himself on to the cushions and pointing at two stools. As Cassius and Barates did so, the other Syrian arrived with a small bowl. He was tall and almost freakishly lean, though this was not his most unusual feature. That was the curious white scar that began above his left eyebrow and ended just to the right of his upper lip. Whatever blade had inflicted the blow had made a complete mess of his nose. Only a tangled mass of bone, scar tissue and exposed flesh remained. Even with the minimal effort he was expending, the Syrian’s breath came in disconcerting rasps.

Inside the bowl were dried olives. As his tribesman exited, Kabir leaned forward and took several.

‘I should apologise for the . . . incident yesterday. No harm was meant.’

‘Luckily none was caused,’ countered Cassius.

‘I assure you luck had nothing to do with it. If he had wanted to strike your head, he would have.’

Cassius did his best to look unperturbed. The man returned with a jug and three cups. He knelt down and carefully filled each one.

‘It was a simple case of over-exuberance and a certain resentment towards Rome. Isn’t that right, Idan?’

The man looked up at the mention of his name but obviously didn’t understand Latin. He passed each of them a cup and left with a bow.

‘Serving you is part of his punishment,’ Kabir explained.

‘That helmet was new. The shot went straight through.’

‘As I said, apologies. Most would probably have bounced off, but Idan is our best. I have never seen him beaten for power or accuracy.’

‘I can well believe it.’

Kabir popped one of the olives into his mouth.

‘Barates tells me Alauran is to be relieved.’

‘Hopefully in four or five days. General Valens’ men.’

‘I do not know the name.’

‘A commander of considerable repute.’

‘And there is some information regarding the Palmyrans?’

‘We believe they may be advancing into this area.’

‘It is only the favour of the Glorious Fire that has kept them at distance this long. I have often wondered over the last few weeks what it is that delays them so. Had they built on their earlier successes, they might have been at the gates of Antioch already.’

Cassius thought it impolitic to mention the Persian campaigns in Arabia, Palestine and Egypt.

‘I must say, your Latin is excellent.’

‘Thank you. My father believed a good understanding of language was essential for trade. I have found it to be similarly useful in times of war. How is your Greek?’

‘Not bad. I made use of it in Antioch.’

‘You have no reinforcements with you,’ Kabir continued.

‘No. I was in the area on another assignment when my orders came through.’

‘You are the youngest officer I have ever seen.’ Kabir downed another olive. ‘You must be an exceptional soldier.’

‘I would make no such claim. I’ve been ordered here to do what I can before General Valens’ forces arrive.’

The Syrian nodded towards the square.

‘If the Palmyrans have learnt that the well still runs, our days of peace and quiet will end very swiftly.’

Cassius sipped from his cup. The water held a trace of lime.

‘We have posted guards at the crest to warn us of any approach,’ he said. ‘The garrison is preparing the defence.’

‘And you believe these men capable of holding Alauran?’

‘Yes,’ Cassius said firmly.

Kabir laughed out loud, startling both Romans.

‘Forgive me. But such confidence! Before we ever set eyes on the legions, we were told that it was the discipline of the Roman soldier that set him apart. Perhaps it was true when they arrived in these parts but the East seems to have made them lazy. The Persians and the Palmyrans have made a mockery of Roman superiority in recent years. And I have seen nothing to match the discipline of my own people.’

Kabir paused for a moment, then leaned forward.

‘We start our boys with the sling when they reach ten years of age. They must fire at bundles of sticks twenty yards away. The bundles move a yard further every week until twenty becomes a hundred. Only when they can hit the target three times in a row are they allowed to eat.’

‘It’s no secret that I hardly have a crack century here. Nor do I deny that I could use your assistance.’

‘And now you will offer me the coins you carry at your belt.’

‘Will that affect your decision?’

‘Actually, now that you have confirmed we will in all likelihood be attacked, I am inclined to take my men and head north while there’s still time.’

‘Of course that’s your choice. But I know you have waited long for your just rewards. It seems strange to leave when that moment is so near.’

‘And what use is a reward if one is not around to spend it?’

‘You seem to think we cannot hold the fort. I believe we can.’

Kabir finished his drink and stared back at Cassius. As those emerald eyes bore into him, Cassius thought about whether he actually believed what he’d said, aware also that Kabir was trying to deduce precisely the same thing. The Syrian looked out through the window, then spoke again.

‘When one of your armies met them earlier this year, the Palmyrans held significant advantages in neither position nor number, yet they triumphed.’

‘I have no doubt that they are a formidable foe. But we have a position to defend. And a unit of slingers who can all hit a bundle of sticks – or a man’s head – at a hundred yards. If their leader chooses to fight with us.’

Kabir smiled. Now Cassius leaned forward.

‘I can assure you that you will be paid what you are owed. General Valens will want all the help he can get.’

‘You say that now. But when the time comes, you will enjoy the protection of your own. What guarantee do I have that we will receive our due?’

‘My word.’

‘I mean no offence, centurion, but in my experience the word of a Roman is worth little.’

Cassius tried not to think about the myriad of lies and half-truths he had already spouted during the meeting.

Kabir continued: ‘Under the terms of our duty with the Third Legion, we are owed six thousand two hundred denarii. I have the agreement with me, signed by their camp prefect. Can you really ensure we will receive every coin?’

‘I give you my word that I will do everything in my power to get you your money. Here, we can start with this.’

Kabir held up a hand as Cassius reached for his belt.

‘That is not necessary.’

The Syrian looked outside again. The men were chanting: a sorrowful refrain that gradually died away.

‘I will talk to them. See how they feel.’

‘They will follow you, won’t they?’ asked Barates, speaking up for the first time.

Kabir gave a wry grin.

‘They will, Barates. But we have been away a long time. The signs tell us that we have missed many a birth and death; that our loved ones long for our return. Each man deserves a chance to offer his view. Then we shall see what the Glorious Fire wishes for us. I shall tell you my decision.’

With that, Kabir rose from the cushions.

‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ Cassius said.

They exchanged bows once more and Barates led the way out. As they left, the rest of the Syrians arrived, their prayers finished. Barates nodded to a few individuals. Cassius ignored the curious stares cast in his direction.

As they neared the square, he looked back, watching the tribesmen gather round their leader.

‘Well. What do you think?’

‘If you yourself are a believer,’ said Barates, ‘I suggest offering a prayer or two. With them on our side, I think we may have a chance. Without them, I fear there’s none at all.’

XII

Simo had spent the entire morning setting up a miniature kitchen on one side of the officers’ quarters. After sweeping the floor clean and laying some dried grass for matting, he now had a small fire going. Though a little smoke hung in the air, most escaped through the window and a yard-wide hole he had cut in the roof with the wood-axe.

The Gaul had also gathered some essential equipment and food from the granary. Pots, bottles, bowls and jugs were now lined up in the corner, along with a water barrel and several jars of fruit. He’d found some smoked pork and combined it with a few vegetables to make a thin broth.

Cassius, sitting at the table, picked up a wooden spoon and took a mouthful from the bowl in front of him. Though the heat sapped his appetite, he knew it was important to keep up his strength. As usual, Simo had done well with the means at his disposal.

‘Most agreeable.’

‘Unfortunately everything here is preserved,’ replied Simo, squatting in front of the fire and stirring the pot of soup.

‘I must admit I could do with some nice fresh bread.’

Since leaving home, Cassius had found it difficult not to torment himself with thoughts of the common pleasures now denied him.

Simo placed a small glass bottle on the table.

‘Fish sauce, sir. You might add it for flavour.’

Cassius turned up his nose at the suggestion but picked up the bottle and examined it as he ate. He held it up to the light, admiring the curve of the neck and the religious symbols etched on the side.

‘Quite beautiful.’

‘Glass-blowing originated here in Syria, sir. I’ve seen the technique myself in Antioch. It’s truly an art.’

Directly opposite where Cassius sat, the men of the fourth section were gathered round the well, filling barrels.

‘Well, I’ve got them working, Simo. That’s something, isn’t it?’

‘More than something I should say, sir.’

Cassius looked on as Serenus leaned against the well surround and wiped his sweat-soaked face. The legionaries were working in the full glare of the midday sun.

Cassius stood, skirted around the table to the door and called him over. Serenus gave a few instructions and wearily walked towards the barracks.

‘A bowl for Serenus too, please, Simo.’

‘Yes, sir.’

By the time Serenus sat down next to Cassius, the soup was waiting for him.

‘Please. You look like you need some sustenance.’

‘Thank you.’

Chewing on a thick lump of pork, Cassius nodded at the well.

‘How are you doing?’