Cato pointed to a cauldron suspended over an iron stove in the side of the room used as the soldier's mess. Wisps of steam curled up from the lip of the cauldron.
'Use that! Get the cauldron over here!'
'But that's our stew,' one of the soldiers protested. 'It's almost ready to eat.'
Cato scrambled up to his feet, and rose to his full height as he snapped out the order. 'You and you, get it over here, now!'
The two men turned to Archelaus with a questioning look and he waved his dripping blade at them. 'Do it!'
The two men hurried over to the cauldron and picking up rags they grasped the heavy iron handles and lifted it off the stove, grunting with the effort as they struggled towards the drain with their burden. As one of the Greek mercenaries leaned over the hole the head of a spear shot up at his face, and he threw himself back just in time to avoid a terrible wound. As soon as the men with the cauldron reached the edge they set it down and grasped the rim with their rags, straining as they tipped the cauldron. The steaming liquid and some lumps of meat sloshed over, most of it going straight down into the sewer in a thick brown gush. At once there were several agonised screams, and the glow from the torch blinked out. A puff of steam came up through the hole with the cries of pain and rage.Then they heard the rebels scrambling down the tunnel, before anything else was poured on them.
Archelaus let out a loud laugh. 'That's cooked 'em nicely! Now get the grille back in place, and you, Croton, keep a watch on it.' The Greek glanced at Carpex, who had propped himself up on an elbow and was shaking his head. 'Sorry about that, friend, but if you will pop your head up out of a sewer unannounced, that's your own lookout.'
Carpex looked up at him, winced and then let out a low groan. Archelaus saw the slave brand on his forehead and turned to Cato. 'This one yours, Roman?'
'No. He belongs to Prince Balthus. The prince told him to guide me into the citadel. We carry a message for the king. I have to speak to him at once.'
'Not so fast.'Archelaus held up a hand. 'First, tell me who you are, and what's going on here.'
Cato restrained the impulse to snap angrily at the man and demand to be taken to the king. He took a deep breath to calm his frustration. 'I'm the prefect of the Second Illyrian cohort. Part of a relief column sent by the governor of Syria. The rest of the force is outside the city waiting for a signal to assault the eastern gate and cut their way through to the citadel. Now, if that's enough for you, I must see your king.'
The Greek mercenary narrowed his eyes. 'That's quite a story. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't believe a word of it. But the unusual nature of your appearance seems to support your tale. Just as well we had come off watch, otherwise there would have been no one here to help you.' Archelaus turned to the hole. 'And now it seems that you have shown the rebels a way into the citadel. Well, that's sorted out easily enough. You!' He pointed to one of his men. 'Get some rubble into that tunnel. Fill it up and then cover the grille over with something heavy. Come, Roman, you'd better follow me.'
He made to help Carpex back on to his feet then sniffed distastefully. 'Better get rid of those robes first though, eh?'
Cato was all for seeing the king immediately, but realised that some modicum of formality had to be maintained if he was to create a favourable impression. Once they had cast aside their soiled outer clothes and cleaned as much of the sewer filth off their bodies as quickly as they could, they followed Archelaus from the barracks. The room they had entered from the sewers proved to be one of ten that opened on to a courtyard behind the royal quarters of the citadel. In a more peaceful era the barracks had once been stables and accommodated some of the finest horses in the eastern world. Now people slept and sat in clusters where the horses once exercised. The sound of coughing and muted snatches of conversation punctuated the quiet of the night.
'Who are these people?' Cato asked.
'Some are from the palace. But most of them are loyalists who fled to the citadel when the revolt broke out. We took as many as we could before the king ordered the gates closed. There was no room for any more.'
'There were others?'
'Hundreds.Trapped outside when the rebels closed in on the citadel.'
'What happened to them?'
'What do you think?'Archelaus replied harshly.'Want me to draw you a picture? Let's just say Prince Artaxes won't be remembered for his merciful nature.'
They walked in silence for a moment, picking a path through the refugees, before Cato spoke again.
'What's the situation here? The message we got in Antioch was that you were holding your own.'
'That's true enough,' Archelaus responded. 'The rebels aren't going to get through the walls any time soon. We've more than enough men here to keep them at bay. And we have enough food for a few days yet. The only problem is water. There are two cisterns under the royal quarters, there.' He pointed towards the colonnaded building with a tower at each corner ahead of them. Next to it was the Temple of Bel, surrounded by a high curtain wall to prevent impious eyes from gazing upon the shrine of Palmyra's most powerful deity. Archelaus continued, 'Both were supposed to be kept filled to capacity, for emergencies. Turns out that the water in one has been fouled and the other was only half full. There wouldn't be much difficulty if we had to supply the current garrison.'
'How many men under arms do you have?' Cato asked.
'The royal guard numbered nearly five hundred when the revolt broke out. We lost over a hundred when we escaped from the palace, and fought our way across the city to the citadel. We've lost more in the days since then. Now?' He thought for a moment. 'There's nearly three hundred and fifty of us left. My syntagma suffered the heaviest casualties in the fight to reach the citadel.'
'Syntagma?'
'The royal guard is made up of two syntagmata. Each one has two hundred and forty men in it, or did before the revolt flared up. Each syntagma has four tetrarchies of sixty men. That's what I command.' He jabbed a thumb at his chest. 'I'm a tetrarch.'
'I see.' Cato nodded. 'Any other men on your strength, apart from the king's bodyguard?'
Archelaus shrugged dismissively.'A handful of nobles and their retinues. Personally, I think they're more danger to us than to the rebels. Then there's a half-century of auxiliaries who were guarding the Roman ambassador and his family and staff. So we have just over four hundred effectives, and at least five hundred civvies.'
Cato thought for a moment. If all went well this night the garrison was about to be swelled by over a thousand Roman soldiers and Prince Balthus' companions, not to mention all their horses. He turned to Archelaus.'How long will the water last?'
'Another twenty days or so.At the rate we're rationing it. Oh…' He paused mid-stride and looked at Cato. 'That's before your relief column joins us.'
'On current form that water is going to run out in less than ten days.'
'Great,' Archelaus muttered as he resumed his course towards the royal quarters. 'I can imagine how delighted the king is going to be when he works that one out.'
As they approached the royal quarters the guards at the entrance rose from the benches either side of the bronze doors and stood to, spears in hand. One of them stepped forward into Archelaus' path and saluted. He glanced over at Cato and Carpex before turning back to the tetrarch.
'Your business, sir?'
'These two just entered the citadel.They claim they have a message for the king.'
'The king's asleep, sir.'
'I can imagine.'Archelaus smiled thinly.'It's the middle of the night. But these men must see him urgently.'
The guard shifted uncomfortably and then made a decision. 'I'll send a man to his chamberlain, sir.'
'Then do it quickly!' Cato snapped in exasperation. 'There's no time to lose.'
The guard stared at Cato for a moment, wrinkled his nose, and then looked to Archelaus. The latter nodded.
'Do as he says.'
'Yes, sir.'
The guard gestured to one of hi
s comrades and the man turned, heaved one of the doors open a little way and slipped through the gap. There was a tense silence as the men waited for a response from within. Cato turned away and glanced round the courtyard. Beyond the dense clusters of refugees the walls rose up tall and dark. Along the battlements he could see the dark figures of sentries keeping watch on the approaches to the citadel. A handful of torches flickered on each of the towers, but the sentries kept their distance from the light they cast, not wanting to make a target of themselves. Cato was reassured by the strength of the fortifications, but the fine walls would be no use at all once the water ran out. Then the defenders would have to choose between dying of thirst, surrendering to the rebels – to be massacred – or mounting a desperate attempt to escape from the city, unless the governor of Syria and his army could reach Palmyra before any such choice had to be made.
The sound of footsteps approaching caused Cato to turn and he saw the bronze door swing open to reveal, by the light of the oil lamps burning within, a guard and another man, tall and thin with a straggling grey beard. He stared at Cato for a moment, and then turned to Carpex. A flicker of recognition crossed his features before he addressed the slave in Greek.
'Well, Carpex, how does your master? Still busy hunting with his drunken friends?'
Carpex gave a deep bow. 'My master is outside the city, waiting to come to the aid of his father.'
'Really? Has he run out of drinking money so soon?'
Carpex made to reply, thought better of it, and remained with bowed head as the chamberlain turned his attention back to Cato. 'You must be the Roman. I think you had better explain what you are doing here.'
Cato took a deep breath. 'There's no time for detail. A Roman relief column is outside the city waiting for the signal to force its way in through your east gate. But first you must draw the attention of the rebels away from the gate. Then the signal can be given.'
The chamberlain stared at him for a moment. 'You had better come in. That dog of a slave can remain here.'
'Yes, master,' Carpex muttered and bowed even lower.
'What about me, sir?' asked Archelaus.
The chamberlain dismissed him with a casual wave of the hand. 'You may return to your barracks, Tetrarch. Roman, follow me.'
The chamberlain led Cato through the bronze doors into a short corridor.The floors were laid with red-streaked marble and the walls were covered with paintings of galloping horses, as if they were in a race. The corridor was short, and emerged through an arch into a large paved area. A two-storey portico ran round the edge and torches flickered from wall brackets at regular intervals. To one side a set of comfortable dining couches were arranged about a large table bearing the remains of a small feast. Several slaves were engaged in clearing away the platters and goblets while some more waited on the handful of guests still drinking. Their conversation and muted laughter drifted across the open area as the chamberlain escorted Cato towards some steps that climbed towards what looked to be a large hall. Inside the entrance was a large vestibule and the chamberlain pointed to one of the stone benches lining the waiting area. 'Sit there.'
Cato did as he was told as the chamberlain continued through into the main hall and shut the door behind him. For a while there was silence and Cato fretted furiously at the delay, knowing that Macro and the others were outside the city anxiously waiting for his signal.Then he heard voices inside, a conversation that he could not quite make out.The door opened and the chamberlain beckoned to him.
'Inside.'
Cato did his best not to be even further irritated by the man's curt manner, and strode through into the hall. It was a large square chamber. Not by any means the audience chamber of a rich and powerful king, but then this was not Vabathus' palace, only his refuge. The walls were plain and high, and the floor unostentatiously paved, as the earlier corridor had been. A number of chairs had been arranged in a semicircle at the far end of the hall and two men were already seated there. The chamberlain led Cato to the open space in front of the men and then took his seat to one side. A large, overweight man who looked to be in his late fifties with grey hair and a tired expression sat in the largest chair. He wore a plain white tunic and sandals, and a cloak hung over his shoulders.The other man wore a tunic with a broad red stripe running down the middle. He was younger, no more than forty, and wiry, with the haughty bearing of a Roman aristocrat, and Cato knew at once that he must be the ambassador, Lucius Sempronius.
Cato stood to attention as Sempronius cleared his throat and began to speak.
'You have a message for us?'
'For the king, yes.'
Sempronius smiled.'Of course, for the king. Let me have it.'
Cato paused, glancing towards Vabathus, waiting for any sign of approval, but Vabathus just stared back blankly and so Cato took the waxed slate from his haversack and walked over to give it to the Roman ambassador. 'From Prince Balthus, and my commander, Centurion Macro of the Tenth Legion.'
'And you are?'
'Quintus Licinius Cato, sir. Acting prefect of the Second Illyrian cohort.'
Sempronius weighed him up.'Acting prefect, eh? Rather young for such a responsibility, I would say,' he added with a touch of suspicion in his tone.
'The governor was forced to send the two units he had ready, sir,' Cato explained with all the patience he could muster. 'Centurion Macro was seconded to the Tenth Legion from the Second Illyrian, for the duration of the present emergency. I was his adjutant and second-in-command. '
'I see.Well, needs must, I suppose.' Sempronius pursed his lips briefly. 'Obviously my message got through to Longinus. I assume he is hot on the heels of your two cohorts with the rest of his army?'
'I have no idea, sir. He said he would come as soon as possible. In the meantime, my cohort and that of Centurion Macro were sent ahead to bolster the garrison here. We joined forces with Prince Balthus and his men. They're approaching the eastern gate even as I speak, and-'
'Balthus?'The king stirred.'What good will that fool do? I have no use for a drunkard who spends his life hunting and whoring. I'll have nothing to do with him. Send him away.' He looked through Cato for a moment and continued quietly, 'Of all my sons, why couldn't it have been Balthus who betrayed me? I would have shed no tears over that wastrel…'
The king frowned and lowered his head, staring at his feet. Cato glanced towards the ambassador for a cue on how to respond but Sempronius shook his head. There was a brief silence before Sempronius coughed and nodded to Cato. 'Please continue.'
Given the king's previous reaction Cato decided not to mention his son again. 'My superiors have asked me to request the garrison of the citadel to make a diversionary attack to draw forces away from the eastern gate.We have to do it as soon as possible if they are to stand any chance of breaking through to us, sir. They will be watching for my signal. A beacon on the highest tower of the citadel.' Cato switched to Latin, lowered his voice and continued urgently. 'Sir, I beg you. Use whatever influence you have here to begin the feint. Unless Centurion Macro can fight his way through the city he will be cut to pieces outside the walls of Palmyra.'
Sempronius nodded and spoke calmly. 'I will see to it that the orders are given, Prefect Cato.You have my word.' The ambassador switched back into Greek and turned to the chamberlain, who had been sitting in silence during the exchanges.
'Thermon, my friend, you heard it all. You must summon the commander of the garrison. The attack must begin as soon as possible. On the king's orders, understand? '
The chamberlain nodded, and turned to the king. 'Your majesty?'
'What?' Vabathus looked up wearily and saw that they were waiting for his response. He waved a hand flaccidly. 'Do as you wish.'
The chamberlain bowed and quickly backed out of the room as Sempronius beckoned to Cato.
'Prefect, I understand you have one of the prince's slaves with you.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Have him take you to the gate tower. There is a signal st
ation there. You may light your beacon the moment the garrison begins its attack. Then,' he nodded to Cato's bloodied hand, 'you'd better get that seen to.'
08 Centurion
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
'There's the signal!' Balthus rose quickly to his feet and stared towards the tower.
'Hmmm?' Macro mumbled, as he stirred from the spot where he had been resting. He had very nearly committed the unforgivable sin of falling asleep on duty. What the hell had come over him? Macro briefly discounted the lost sleep of the last days of the march from Antioch. He had marched and fought in more difficult campaigns before without letting exhaustion get the better of him. Perhaps it was just age, he mused wearily as he scrambled to his feet and stood beside the prince. Balthus pointed over the wall and the sprawl of the city towards the citadel. Above the torches that flickered along the ramparts was a brighter blaze that flared with greater intensity even as Macro picked it out.
'Are you sure that's the one?' asked Macro.
'I'm certain of it.'
'Then let's get moving.' Macro turned round to the officers who had been sitting on the ground, but now approached in response to Balthus' excited cry. Macro drew himself up to his full height, and rubbed his buttocks where they had grown numb as he sat waiting.
'Gentlemen, this is going to be swift and bloody. You have your orders; make sure you follow them precisely. I don't want any confusion when the attack goes in. Get the lads up and let's get moving.'
He exchanged a salute with his officers and returned to the side of Prince Balthus. 'We'll follow your men the moment you begin the attack. Good luck… sir.'
Balthus grinned as he patted Macro on the shoulder. 'Luck has never been my problem, Roman, so you can have my share of it tonight.'
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