'Do what?'
'Come for us just then.'
Macro tried to brush the comment off. 'We're short-handed enough as it is. Last thing I can afford is to lose a century of good men, even if they are auxiliaries.That's why. Anyway, what are friends for? You'd have done the same for me.'
Cato nodded, but could not help smiling as he took a step back, grimacing at the odour clinging to his friend.'But if you don't go and clean that filth off I might just think twice about returning the favour.'
'Ha bloody ha. Now why don't you just piss off to the hospital before I add to your injuries?'
08 Centurion
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The hospital was filled with the wounded. Even the colonnade outside the rooms set aside for the injured was lined with men slumped against the wall, or lying on the bare ground. The handful of medical orderlies were overwhelmed by the number of injured men from the king's bodyguard and the relief column. The legionary surgeon who had taken charge assessed each man in turn, and those who were beyond help were carried across the courtyard to a small cell in the corner. As Cato eased one of his men on to the ground for the surgeon to examine he nodded towards the cell.
'What happens to them in there?'
The surgeon glanced at him with a warning look as he replied, 'They are helped out of their pain.'
'Oh… I see.' Cato looked uneasily at the wounded man. A spear thrust had found a weak spot in his mail armour and burst through his stomach. The stench of his torn intestines and bowels wafted up and made Cato want to retch. The man's eyes were clamped shut and he moaned continually as he clutched both hands over the wound. Cato turned towards the surgeon and saw the fleeting look of pity and resignation in the man's face before the surgeon spoke softly.
'Trust me, sir, they feel little pain and it is over quickly.'
Cato did not feel reassured and rose up and stepped away from the wounded man feeling helpless and shamed. The surgeon beckoned to the orderlies assigned to stretcher duty and indicated the casualty. 'Special case,' he said evenly before leaning over the man and squeezing his shoulder gently. 'You'll be taken care of, my friend.You will rest and your pain will be gone.'
He stood up and let the orderlies shift the man on to the stretcher. Then they picked it up and carried him away. The surgeon turned to Cato and tilted his head to see the wound on his arm. 'Let me see that.'
'It's not serious,' Cato said in alarm. 'A flesh wound.'
'I'll be the judge of that. Stand still and let me see.'
The surgeon eased the mail and tunic sleeve up on to Cato's shoulder and closely examined the cut, probing gently with his spare hand. Cato gritted his teeth and stared straight ahead until the surgeon released his arm.
'The wound is clean enough. It will heal, once sutures have been applied.'
'Sutures?'
'Stitches.' The surgeon patted Cato on the back and gestured towards the room at the end of the corridor. 'In there. I have a most charming member of staff who will take care of you.'
'We've already met,' Cato muttered.
'Good. Don't be put off by the fact she's a woman. I hear that the lady has been more help than most of the orderlies put together.'
'Fair enough.' Cato nodded to the surgeon and the latter hurried away to tend to his patients. Cato set off down the corridor, not best pleased by the prospect of renewing his acquaintance with the sharp-tongued ambassador's daughter. As he entered the room, the early morning light was streaming in through the two high windows, bathing the interior with a fine golden light. Julia was carefully winding a dressing round an auxiliary's head.
'I'll deal with you in a moment,' she said wearily without looking up. 'Wait by the door.'
Cato paused, consumed with frustration over any delay to his treatment. He needed to rejoin Macro and speak to the ambassador. He was also keen to quit the company of this overbearing woman. She seemed typical of her class: loud, arrogant and steadfast in the assumption that she would be obeyed at once. It was tempting to dislike her straight away. Cato drew a deep, calming breath, entered the room, and sat on the bench beside the door. The ambassador's daughter did not look up as she reached the end of the dressing and gently tied it off.
'There!' She stepped back to address the soldier. 'You'll need to rest a day or so.'
The auxiliary laughed. 'I wish I could, my lady. But I doubt the prefect will let me. He's a hard case.'
'Hard case?' Julia smiled. 'Him?'
'Oh yes, miss! Been driving us on like slaves ever since we set off from Antioch. Looks fresh-faced enough, but underneath it he's a right bast-'
Cato cleared his throat loudly and they both looked round at him. The auxiliary was on his feet in an instant, standing stiffly at attention, staring fixedly at some spot above Cato's head. His mouth opened and closed and he bit his lip in anticipation of the tirade to come. Cato looked steadily at him for a moment, devoid of expression.Then his eyes flickered to the woman.
'Have you done with this man?'
'Yes, Prefect Cato. The question is, have you?'
'He is a soldier and he will do his duty as I see fit, my lady.'
'But only when he is fit, surely?'
Cato frowned. 'That is my decision. Soldier, you are dismissed. Return to your century.'
'Yes, sir.' The auxiliary saluted and marched from the room, and out of the sight of his commander, as quickly as he could. Once he had gone Cato waited on the bench. Julia stared at him a moment and then placed her hands on her hips impatiently.
'Well, what is it this time?'
'Sword wound.' Cato gestured to the streak of blood on his arm.
'Come over here then,' she replied tersely. 'In the light, where I can see properly. Don't keep me waiting, Prefect. There are others who need my attention.'
And they are welcome to you, Cato reflected irritably as he rose to his feet and crossed over to her. The ambassador's daughter took his elbow and eased him round into the shaft of light streaming through the window. She inspected the wound briefly. 'So, you are intent on losing this arm one piece at a time, it seems.'
Cato pursed his lips, and his frown deepened. Julia glanced up at his face and he could see that she was fighting back the urge to laugh.To mock him. He sniffed bitterly. 'A soldier expects wounds, my lady. Whether he's a common soldier, like that man, or an officer. It's in the line of duty. Not something I imagine a lady of fine breeding would be used to.'
The words had been spoken before Cato realised how rude he must seem. Julia's eyes widened for a moment, and when she replied she spoke in a cold tone.
'I know my duty, Prefect. And, in recent days, I have come to know more wounds than I care to remember. I'd be obliged if you would remember that.'
Their eyes met and Cato gave her the kind of hard stare he reserved for scaring raw recruits, until Julia gave way and turned her gaze back to his wound. 'It's a flesh wound. Looks clean enough, but I'll wash it and stitch it.'
She reached round to a bowl of water on the table and pulled out a damp rag and squeezed the excess water out. She poised it over the wound. 'Well, here we go again.You know the routine. It's going to be painful, but then a hard case like you never feels pain.'
Cato flushed angrily but refused to respond to her baiting. 'I am obliged to make my report to your father. So, my lady, I'd be grateful if you finished dressing the wound and let me get back to my duties.'
'Very well,' Julia muttered. She prepared a needle and twine, and set to work at once, pricking the point through Cato's skin and gradually sewing the wound shut, until there was a length of puckered purple skin and blood-stained thread. Cato stared fixedly at the door with gritted teeth despite the pain. At length Julia completed her work and tied the knot with a sharp tug. 'There you are, Prefect.'
Cato nodded his thanks and turned to stride back towards the door, grateful for the chance to get away from the woman. As he reached the door she called after him.
'Until the next wound, then.'
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'Hmmphhh,' Cato managed to grumble before he quit the room and emerged into the corridor. Outside the surgeon was organising a party of men to fetch the day's water and food rations for his patients. He looked up as Cato approached, and cocked an eyebrow.
'Feeling better, sir?'
'Better?' Cato paused.'Of course not. It's a sword wound, not a bloody cold.'
'Still,' the surgeon continued, 'a woman like that has a way of taking a man's mind off his pain.'
'Oh, yes.' Cato nodded with a bitter smile.'I could hardly wait to get away from her.'
The surgeon looked confused. 'I didn't mean…'
But Cato was already marching off again, his expression fixed in a frown as he contemplated the prospect of being shut up in the citadel in the company of an irritating, haughty daughter of Rome's aristocracy. As if her superior manner was not bad enough, she had the kind of looks that could only serve as a distraction to the officers and political leaders packed into the citadel.The thought came upon him in an instant, and considering the matter a moment longer Cato was forced to concede that the ambassador's daughter was indeed attractive; beautiful even.
'Beautiful,' he muttered sourly to himself. What did it matter what she looked like? She was an irritant and a distraction at best.And at worst? He felt a sudden light surge of heat in his breast and slapped his fist against his thigh as he strode off to find the ambassador.
Lucius Sempronius looked up as the two officers entered the small chamber that had been allocated to him by the king's chamberlain. Although as an ambassador of Emperor Claudius he deserved better, the severe overcrowding of the citadel meant that there was little opportunity to observe diplomatic niceties. His small staff was crowded into the corridor outside, which served as both their office and their sleeping accommodation. Macro had smiled as he and Cato had marched past the huddle of young aristocrats forced to rough it with the ambassador's clerks and his bodyguards. It would do them good, he thought, to get a bit of hard experience before they rose through the ranks of the imperial bureaucracy. That was assuming they survived this siege, of course, he reflected, his smile fading.
They strode up towards the ambassador and halted.
'Centurion Macro and Prefect Cato reporting, sir.'
The ambassador nodded to the seats arranged before the table he was using as a desk.'You look tired, gentlemen. And no wonder, given what you've been through in recent days, and nights.' He smiled at Cato. 'My thanks to you both.The arrival of your column has given the king and his supporters fresh hope. I was very worried that they were about to surrender before you turned up. Now they can see that Rome does not abandon her friends. However…' Sempronius paused and lowered his voice. 'The arrival of Prince Balthus is something of a mixed blessing. He is not the king's favourite son. That honour lies with Prince Artaxes.'
'Artaxes?' Macro looked puzzled. 'The rebel? The one who's thrown his lot in with the Parthians?'
'The same.' Sempronius nodded. 'Vabathus doted on the young scoundrel. He was blind to the prince's faults, and even though word of his treachery had reached the chamberlain's ears some months before the revolt broke out, the king dismissed the reports and refused to act against Artaxes. Even when the rebels rose up against him the king would not believe that Artaxes was behind it. He said that Artaxes was being forced to lead the rebels against his will. Can you imagine?' Sempronius shook his head wearily. 'It appears that some fathers are utterly blind to the faults of their children. Well, that's not entirely true.Vabathus has little regard for his eldest, Amethus. Not that I can blame him. Amethus is a fool. Quite stupid, you understand, and easily persuaded. He spends his life being a passionate advocate of the last thing that anyone says to him.The king may be fond of Amethus, but he has long since given up on him as a worthy successor. Same goes for Prince Balthus. Or did, until the revolt broke out. Now that Prince Artaxes has proved to be a treacherous little snake, the king has been forced to reconsider his choice of successor.' Sempronius leaned a little closer to Macro and Cato. 'What's your impression of Prince Balthus?'
Macro stirred uneasily and resisted the impulse to glance at Cato before he replied. 'He's a damn good fighter, sir. Just the kind of man the king needs at his side at the moment.'
'Well, that's good to hear.' Sempronius eased himself back in his chair.'I haven't met the man yet. From what I'd heard, Balthus was supposedly no more than a drunken rake. A wastrel with no sense of duty. I just hope there's more to him than a good fighter.'
'Oh, there's more to him than that, all right,' Macro responded uneasily. 'The prince has disturbing ambition, sir.'
'How do you mean?'
'He aims to be king after Vabathus. Once Rome persuades Vabathus to abdicate after the revolt is crushed.'
Sempronius chuckled bitterly. 'Taking rather a lot for granted, isn't he?'
This time Macro could not help glancing at Cato before he responded, 'Well, there's something more, sir.'
'Which is?'
'Well, sir, it seems that I made something of a deal with Prince Balthus. In exchange for helping the column make its way through to the citadel, sir.'
'A deal?'
'Yes, sir. I said as how I'd do my best to help him out when we reached here, sir.We needed his help.There was no way we could have got through without Balthus. We owe him our lives.'
'I see.' Sempronius rubbed his face wearily. 'And did it not occur to you that he was in the same predicament as you were?'
'Sir?' Macro frowned and turned to Cato with a questioning expression as the ambassador continued.
'Once the revolt started, our friend Prince Balthus might well have been desperate to join his father, to trade on the old man's vulnerability.The problem was getting through to him. And then you came along, desperate for help, and he sees his chance. He offers you a deal, and you jump at it. What exactly did you promise him, Prefect Cato?'
Cato started guiltily. During the previous exchanges his eyelids had been growing irresistibly heavy and he would have fallen asleep but for the ambassador's sudden shift in attention. Cato swallowed and hurriedly collected his thoughts.
'Sir, we had little choice in the matter, as Centurion Macro has said. Either we cut a deal with the prince or he would have left us stranded in the desert. Or at least-'
'At least that's what he'd have you believe,' Sempronius completed the sentence. 'Dear Gods! So you have pledged your word to help this man become king. Is that it?'
Macro pursed his lips briefly. 'Well, yes, sir. That's about the size of it.'
'Centurion Macro,' Sempronius replied with considerable restraint. 'You are a soldier.What the hell did you think you were doing making any kind of deal with such a man? You're supposed to stick to soldiering. That's what you are paid to do.That's your job. So please, concentrate on fighting your man from the front. Leave it to the diplomats to put the blade in from behind, all right?'
'Yes, sir.'
'And you, Prefect Cato. Did you know about this?'
'Yes, sir. I was there when the deal was made.'
'And you made no attempt to intervene?'
'No, sir. It seemed the best thing to do at the time. Prince Balthus was the only chance we had of finding a way through the enemy's defences.'
'You're as bad as Centurion Macro.'
'Yes, sir,' Cato conceded meekly.
Sempronius ran a hand through his thick grey-streaked hair. 'There's nothing we can do about it now. Best I take this up with the prince later on. In the meantime, you do not play at politics in Palmyra. Is that clear?'
'Yes, sir.' Macro and Cato chorused.
'Then we'd better make our way to the king's audience chamber. He's summoned what's left of his council, and us. When we get there I'd be greatly obliged if you both kept your mouths shut. Let me do the talking. That's an order.'
'Yes, sir.'
Sempronius rose abruptly from his chair. 'Come on, then. I'm keen to see exactly what kind of man we are dealing with in Prince Balthus.'
08 Centurion
CHAPTER TWENTY
The guards closed the doors to the royal audience chamber and a dull boom echoed off the high walls. For a moment then there was a brief silence as the king's chamberlain, Thermon, rose and looked round at the small gathering of Roman officials and Palmyran nobles. King Vabathus had abandoned his earlier melancholy, Cato noticed, and now sat erect and attentive as his chamberlain opened proceedings, speaking in Greek so that all might follow his words.
'The king bids you welcome, and in particular he welcomes the brave commanders of the Roman relief column. The arrival of fresh troops has greatly strengthened the king's position and the news that a Roman army is on its way to crush the rebellion fills his heart with hope. The king is also grateful that Prince Balthus has seen fit to join His Majesty's side in the present conflict. It is hoped that he will have further opportunities to prove himself worthy of his royal lineage in the difficult times to come.'
Cato glanced at Balthus and saw that the prince was sitting quite still with a composed expression as he gently nodded his acknowledgement. To his right sat another Palmyran, in a richly decorated tunic. The man was thin with a weak chin and fine features yet there was no mistaking the family resemblance between him and Balthus. Prince Amethus, Cato realised, studying the man more closely as Thermon spoke. Amethus did not have the same controlled poise as his younger brother and his left foot tapped in a continuous light rhythm as he stared at some point on the ceiling, mouth slightly agape.
'His Majesty has summoned this council to deliberate the options that are open to us, given the current state of the siege. This morning, after the relief column had entered the citadel, we received the usual demand to surrender. Only this time, the rebels have added a warning to our Roman allies. Every Roman citizen and soldier in the citadel is to quit the city by dawn tomorrow or they will be put to death if the citadel is taken.' Thermon paused and looked towards Sempronius who was already pulling his formal toga into shape to rise up and respond, and Cato realised that this part of the meeting had already been prepared for. The ambassador looked steadily round the room until he stared at the king and began to speak in the deliberate, measured manner in which most Roman aristocrats were trained by their teachers of rhetoric.
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