The Siege (5 page)

As the angle of the sword changed, the blade caught the moonlight. Cassius stared down at it, eroding what little night vision he had gained. Cursing his stupidity and blinking the glare away, he rounded the boulder and gazed into the darkness. The hillside was as black as the plain and might have masked a hundred men. He could barely see two yards.

‘Sir?’

Ignoring Simo, Cassius started up the slope, only to catch his right boot on something. He jumped back and thought he’d perhaps startled a snake. Then he heard a sniff and his fears evaporated. His sight had improved enough to see the eye, then the muzzle, then the head of one of the horses. Cassius kicked the ground and the horse moved away with a grunt, taking the rope with it. He turned away and met Simo as he rounded the boulder.

‘Is something wrong, sir?’ the Gaul whispered, his hand on his dagger.

‘Just one of the horses. I heard something and thought I should investigate.’

‘Sir, it may be wise for me to stay awake for the hours of darkness. Please – your wine awaits.’

Cassius followed him back into the little camp and replaced his sword in the scabbard. Simo had decanted the wine into a small jug, which he handed over once Cassius was back under the blankets.

‘Apologies, sir. I forgot to pack anything smaller.’

As Simo arranged his own makeshift bed, Cassius drained the jug, savouring every mouthful, despite the low quality of the wine. Determined to keep a clear head, he had been limiting his intake since arriving in Syria, but felt present circumstances justified a little indulgence.

‘Sir, I’ll go and take a brief look round if I may. You can try to get some sleep.’

‘Try is probably all I’ll do. You can take first watch but I don’t intend for you to keep watch all night, servant or not. Wake me in a few hours and I shall take over. It’s been a long day for us both and we’ll need our wits about us tomorrow.’

‘That’s very kind of you, sir,’ Simo said as he moved away.

‘Not at all.’

Wishing to take advantage of the wine’s effects, Cassius lay down again and pulled the blankets up under his chin. Though the air was still cold on his face, his body soon warmed up and he was surprised to find himself appreciating the rediscovered sensation of bedding down under the night sky. It reminded him of his childhood and more innocent times, thoughts of which inevitably led him back to his present predicament.

Even so, the combination of the wine and the strains of the day was a potent one, and he soon drifted off into a deep, welcome slumber.

III

‘Ah. I was hoping you would wake of your own accord, sir.’

Cassius yawned and opened his eyes. He expected the black of night, not blinding sunlight.

‘It’s dawn already?’

‘A little past that actually, sir.’ Simo handed Cassius his canteen. He looked exactly as he had the previous evening, though his eyes were slightly bloodshot. The canteen was full; the metal chilled Cassius’ fingers.

‘Why didn’t you wake me, man? Don’t tell me you’ve been up all night?’

‘Actually I lay down for most of it, sir. I was quite warm enough and I took to walking round the camp every hour or so. There was nothing to cause alarm, just the howl of a dog in the distance. I thought it best to let you sleep, bearing in mind what the rest of the day holds.’

Cassius stood up and let the blankets fall off him.

‘I suppose I should be grateful. But next time I give you an instruction, follow it. And don’t blame me if you fall off your horse.’

Simo had already done most of the packing and at Cassius’ insistence there was no breakfast, just more water, half of which was already gone. Assuming Cotta’s estimate was correct, they would reach Alauran mid-morning, so Cassius also allowed Simo to give a little to the horses.

He had just buckled his sword belt when Simo led his mount over. Feeling rather reinvigorated by his night’s rest, he launched himself up into the saddle and took the reins. Guiding the animal down on to the edge of the plain, he checked the horizon for any sign of movement.

Threads of smoke could be seen above Nessara and for a moment Cassius thought he could see a rider near the edge of the town but the image shifted, then disappeared. It was too far to be sure. He checked to the north and south but there was nothing of interest, just the familiar haze building again under the newly risen sun.

‘All done, sir,’ said Simo, tying off the last saddlebag. As he too mounted his horse, Cassius started away along the base of the hills.

The pass turned out to be much closer than expected. After less than half an hour, Cassius spied the dark wall of a narrow ravine. He waved Simo forward.

Though it may have begun life as a natural feature, at some point a significant force of labour had been employed to dig the path through the mixture of sand, soil and rock. The sides of the pass were vertical, topped by hardy bushes, the drought-resistant species Cassius had seen all over Syria.

Simo gestured for him to go first as there was insufficient space for them to enter side by side. Cassius’ horse took an instant dislike to the shadows and the damp, earthy odour; it veered to the right and stuck its hooves obstinately into the ground, head flicking up and down.

‘What’s up with the beast?’

‘Perhaps after all the open space it fears an enclosed path,’ suggested Simo, keeping well back.

Cassius grunted a reply and gave a hefty kick with the point of his boot. It was enough to change the horse’s mind and with only a token shuffle of rebellion, it started forward.

Apart from a few twists and turns to avoid impervious lumps of rock, the path was fairly straight. A few moments after Cassius caught his first glimpse of the far end, a shout boomed towards them. He held up his hand and halted his horse. The path was wider now and Simo was able to draw alongside. Cassius hadn’t really made up his mind what to do until he saw the anxious, expectant look on the Gaul’s face.

‘Stay here,’ he whispered before carefully dismounting and handing over the reins.

The path ahead curved left. Cassius advanced slowly, hand on his sword. Thankful his tunic would blend well with the walls, he rounded the bend.

He saw the plain, then a man trotting by on a horse. In a moment the rider was gone, leaving Cassius unsure whether he was a soldier, a trader, a brigand or a peasant, though in truth he doubted his ability to distinguish one from the other in this lawless, alien land.

Wincing at a metallic clank from one of the saddles, he moved forward once more. Darting from shadow to shadow, wall to wall, he was soon just fifty feet from the end of the pass. Half standing, half crouching, he peered over an outcrop of rock as two more riders appeared, then stopped. Their horses stood side by side, one obscuring the other. The man closest to Cassius was clad in some of the richest, most colourful garments he had ever seen: a long, purple tunic embroidered with gold and worn over a pair of matching trousers. The man’s head was covered with a wrapping of equally fine scarlet cloth. The outfit seemed as incongruous as it was impractical. From the way he bent over in the saddle. Cassius gathered the man might be rather old. Behind him, a commonly attired young servant held a woven shade over his master.

Another shout came from behind the pair. The old man waved the shade away and the two horses moved off. They were followed in short order by three more men who sped by in close formation. All were bearded, dressed in common robes and armed with long, heavy spears.

Cassius counted to twenty then left his hiding place and edged forward, again sticking close to the wall. As the sides of the pass began to angle downwards on either side of him, he paused, listening intently. Apart from the buzzing of a sandfly around his ear, he could hear nothing. Advancing as far as he could without breaking cover, he first looked left, and saw that there were no stragglers or a rearguard to catch him unawares. Ignoring the vast expanse of desert in front of him, he then peered right between two thorny bushes. There, perhaps eighty yards away, were the horsemen, bobbing up and down in their saddles as they continued south along the edge of the plain. Despite the glare of the sun, he could still make out the lustrous purple of the elderly rider.

Careful to remain hidden, Cassius now allowed himself to look forward. Where previous panoramas had been dominated by mountains and foothills, he knew that he was now seeing the Syrian desert proper. He couldn’t help being slightly disappointed by the paucity of golden dunes; even here the sand was more brown than yellow, dotted with plant life and littered by pebbles and stones.

Eyes narrowed and with two hands to shield them, he now looked for any sign of a settlement. Cotta had seemed sure Alauran was easily spotted once through the pass. Cassius was becoming used to the way the hazy horizon seemed to offer a shape only to conceal it immediately, but there was no mistaking the cluster of trees almost dead ahead. He counted nine palms in all. They were in front of a pale, angular structure that seemed to reach half as high. It was, he concluded, one side of a wall.

Five minutes later, Simo offered the opinion he’d been asked for.

‘I believe that must be it, sir. I see no other structures at all.’

Cassius, sitting in shade, took a long swig from his canteen before replying.

‘How long for the ride would you say? I was thinking three or four hours.’

‘I should say more like five, sir, if I’m honest.’

‘Well, we shall soon see. I intend to set off when our friends are a little further away. What do you make of them?’

Simo took a last look along the foothills before grabbing the reins of the horses and towing them safely out of sight.

‘The colour and quality of the attire you described suggests they may be Emesan, sir. Since the rise of the Palmyrans it has not been uncommon to see them abroad.’

‘Would they consider us enemies?’

‘It’s difficult to say. They are an unpredictable bunch at the best of times and this is hardly that.’

‘Unpredictable and a good deal more besides. The boy emperor Elagabalus hailed from Emesa and look at what happened to him.’

‘I’m afraid my education didn’t extend far into the field of history, sir. My master encouraged me mainly in the ways of trade. Knowledge that would aid me in my work for him.’

Ever busy, Simo took the opportunity to get some more water down the horses before they crossed the plain. As he retrieved an iron pot from a saddlebag, Cassius continued.

‘Well, he was yet another Syrian who imagined he would make a wonderful emperor. Power-hungry lot out here it seems. Anyway, his ascent was as convoluted and dull as a hundred others. His reign, however, was, well . . . shall we say colourful. Apart from being devoted to the cult of the sun he was known to prefer the attire of women and to practise indiscriminate copulation. Hardly a rarity in Rome you might say, but his insistence on the senators and their wives participating certainly set him apart.’

Simo looked rather embarrassed at such talk and Cassius decided to move on.

‘In any case, it all ended with him and his mother being murdered and cast into a sewer. Mind you, an emperor meeting an ignominious end hardly constitutes a rarity either I suppose.’

Cassius got up and held his horse back so that Simo’s could drink.

The Gaul looked up at the sky.

‘It seems strange to me, sir, that folk from such a dry, parched place should choose to devote themselves to the sun.’

‘Well, not all of them. What about this chap Mani? Wonder what the Christians think of him.’

‘I haven’t heard his teachings, sir.’

‘He’s said to consider himself greater even than their precious Christ.’

‘I didn’t know that, sir.’

‘And what about Elagabalus’ black stone? You must have heard of that.’

Simo shook his head.

‘Quite a tale. He brought to Rome a conical rock said to possess remarkable properties. It was found somewhere not far from here, I believe. Apparently it reflected both the sun and the moon and could speak with a voice from above.’ Cassius gave a cynical sneer. ‘You have probably gathered that I am hardly a zealot, but a talking stone? Please.’

‘As likely as making a blind man see I suppose, sir,’ said Simo.

‘Yes,’ replied Cassius, sensing a rare edge in the Gaul’s voice. ‘Quite.’

It soon became obvious that both men had been unduly pessimistic with their estimates. Before the third hour of the journey from the pass was up, they had a good view of Alauran.

Having previously resisted the local custom of wrapping cloth around the head, Cassius had given into Simo’s urgings and was already grateful for it. He had picked up a good deal of colour in the previous month but could still feel sunburn on his exposed legs and arms. The heat was also beginning to take its toll on both horses; they had slowed to a lethargic amble.

‘It might be as well to walk from here,’ said Cassius. ‘A cautious approach would seem wise.’

Dropping to the ground, he left the horse where it was and gazed at the settlement, now no more than a mile away. Cassius recognised the telltale signs of a spring: the high date palms and clumps of grass surrounding a wide depression in the sand. Though it was high summer and the palms bore more brown fronds than green, the trees somehow clung to life, sustained by the deep subterranean waters that also fed Alauran’s well.

Beyond the spring, where the depression ended, was one side of the fort. Constructed of the ever-present cream-coloured brick, the wall was well over a hundred feet long, perhaps ten high. A tall timber structure dominated the south-east corner of the compound. Cassius thought it might be the granary, housing the precious supply of food.

‘No smoke, sir,’ said Simo thoughtfully.

‘And a flagpole with no flag on it,’ Cassius added.

Leading the horses by the reins, they walked steadily towards the fort. Cassius stared fixedly at the wall, hoping rather than expecting to see the reassuring sight of a standard or a raised spear.