‘Sir! You must come at once!’
Cato drew himself up and growled, ‘Stand to attention when you speak to your commanding officer!’
‘Yes, sir.’ The auxiliary snapped his heels together and stared straight ahead, across Cato’s shoulder. ‘Beg to report, Centurion Parmenion sends his respects and says that he needs every available man to join him, sir.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘They’ve hit the sheds containing the food supply, sir. Several shots close together. The whole bloody lot is going up.’
08 Centurion
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Next morning the air was heavy with the acrid smell of burning. Macro poked one of the blackened and still smouldering baskets of grain with the toe of his boot. Ash and brittle chunks of charred material crumbled away. Much of the grain had fused into a solid black mass. He looked up and surveyed the smoking remains of the store sheds where the meat had been kept stretching out opposite the stables. Even though the rebels had run out of ammunition halfway through the night and the defenders had been fighting scores of fires through the remaining hours of darkness until first light. Now, a blaze was still consuming one corner of the royal quarters where a chance shot had passed through a high window and set light to the tapestries that lined the chamber. The king had been forced to flee while the fire was dealt with and retired to his audience chamber, surrounded by picked men from the Greek mercenaries of his bodyguard.
A pall of smoke hung over the citadel like a shroud in the pale light of the dawn. Billowing clouds from the remaining fires added to the gloom, while even the fires that had burned out still gave off myriad wisps of smoke.
‘How much of the grain did we save?’ Macro asked quietly.
Cato consulted his waxed slates. ‘Thirty baskets. Some of what remained of the horse meat. I have men going through the fire-damaged grain vats to see what they can salvage, but it won’t amount to much.’
‘So I can see.’ Macro gestured to the smoking ruin at his feet. He drew a deep breath.’So how many days’ rations does that leave us?’
‘At the current level of distribution . . . two days.’
‘Two days,’ Macro repeated bitterly.’The men are already on half rations.’
‘We could cut the rations by half again. Any more than that and soon they’d be too weak to resist another assault.’ Cato glanced up from his notes.’There’s more bad news, I’m afraid.’
‘Really? Now there’s a surprise.’ Macro sighed. ‘Go on.’
‘We had to use a lot of water to fight the fires. The remaining supply in the cistern is less than six inches. Looks as if we’re going to run dry about the same time as the food gives out. Of course, if we have another night like last night then we’re as good as cooked.’
‘Shit,’ Macro muttered. ‘Do you have any good news for me?’
‘Some.’ Cato tapped his stylus on the waxed slate. ‘Casualties were light enough. Eight dead, five of those civilians.Twenty injured, three from falling masonry and the rest with burns.’ Cato closed his waxed notebook and stared at the ruins of the storehouses. ‘What I don’t understand is why they didn’t make another effort to get through the gates or scale the ramparts. They must have known we’d have to strip the walls of men to tackle the fires.’
‘That’s obvious enough.Why lose men when they know they can burn us out, or starve us into surrender?’
‘Makes sense.’ Cato yawned and stretched his shoulders. ‘What are your orders, sir?’
‘Hmm?’ Macro rubbed his weary eyes a moment before he responded.’The men who stayed on the wall can take the first watch of the day; the rest can stand down. They’ve earned a break. And they need one.’
‘Don’t we all?’
‘We’ll get ours later. First things first.’ Macro turned to his friend. ‘We have to decide what we are going to do about the food and water supply, or lack of it. Better send word to Thermon to arrange a meeting. The king, his advisers, the ambassador, Balthus, and us.’
‘Yes, sir. At what hour?’
Macro thought a moment.’Soon as possible. Better make it the third hour. In the king’s audience chamber.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cato was turning to leave when Macro touched his arm. ‘That girl of yours, Julia. Is she all right?’
‘Some burns. That’s all. She sent me a message,’ Cato explained quickly. ‘I didn’t have time to see for myself.’
Macro smiled. ‘You don’t have to justify yourself to me, lad. I’m just glad to know that she’s still with us. If we get out of this scrape, do you have any plans?’
Cato shrugged.’I don’t know. It’s too early to say. I mean, I’d like to have plans, but she’s the daughter of a senator, and I’m just a common soldier.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Macro replied. ‘You’re an uncommon soldier. I’ve no idea how far you might rise one day, Cato, but your potential is there for all to see. Including the ambassador. I should think he would be proud to welcome you into his family. If not, then he’s a bloody fool, and Sempronius doesn’t strike me as much of a fool.’
‘No,’ Cato replied uneasily. ‘I don’t suppose he’ll be in the dark about my relationship with Julia for much longer. If he hasn’t guessed already.’
‘Relationship?’ Macro looked at Cato shrewdly. ‘How much of a relationship are we talking about?’
‘What do you mean?’ Cato asked defensively.
‘I mean have you two had it off yet?’
Cato winced at the expression and Macro chuckled. ‘Well, if you want me to dress it up, have you two formed a basis of physical intimacy yet?’
Now it was Cato’s turn to laugh.’Where did you get that from?’
‘Oh, some book. Load of romantic bollocks, but I was running short of things to read at the time. Still, answer my question. Have you done the deed?’
Cato nodded and Macro let out a sigh.
‘Oh, that’s nice going, Cato. Just when I thought Sempronius was going to approve of you. If she’s up the gut, and he finds out before you have a chance to make an honest woman of her, then there’s going to be a bit of a stink.You know how precious those aristocrats can be.’
‘Well, what was I supposed to do? I love her, and there’s every chance we’ll be dead before we ever discover if she’s expecting. What did we have to gain by denying ourselves?’
‘Seize the day, eh?’ Macro chuckled bitterly. ‘Well, if I’m honest, I’d probably have done the same in your place.’
‘Bollocks,’ Cato responded. ‘You’d have been in there quicker than Cicero up a triumvir’s arse.’
‘Ah, you’re not wrong there!’ Macro laughed.’Now away with you! See to that meeting at once.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Cato saluted with a broad smile, and hurried away.
Macro watched him pick his way through the party of auxiliaries searching through the least burned baskets of grain. In spite of his friend’s foolhardiness, he was happy for Cato, and fervently hoped that there would be a future for him and Julia.
He muttered to himself,’In any case, the Gods know, that lad needs a good shag.’
King Vabathus sat stiffly on his temporary throne, surrounded by four of his guardsmen. In front of him chairs had been set out in a curve, and once Prince Balthus had finally completed the gathering the king nodded to Thermon.
The chamberlain cleared his throat. ‘Centurion Macro, His Majesty requires to know the reason for this meeting that you have insisted upon calling at such short notice.’
Macro rose to his feet and bowed his head briefly towards the king. ‘Very well then.’ He looked round the room before he spoke, to make sure that he had everyone’s attention. Most of those in the hall were as tired as he was, and had been engaged in fighting the fires or, like Balthus, defending the walls. Macro cleared his throat and began. ‘Gentlemen, we are facing some tough decisions. Decisions we need to make and act on immediately.’
‘Why?’ Krathos inter
rupted. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I’m coming to that,’ Macro replied testily. ‘If you would do me the courtesy of listening . . .’
Krathos frowned and sat back in his chair, crossed his arms and nodded his assent.
‘Thank you. As some of you already know, the enemy’s incendiaries burned down the grain store last night. We’ve salvaged what we can, but with the limited supplies of water that remain my second-in-command, Prefect Cato, has calculated that on current ration levels we will be out of supplies within two days. Less if the rebels hit us with another barrage of incendiaries tonight. All the remaining water will need to be used to fight the fires. Even then, we will run dry before the fires are extinguished. Of course, we can cut the grain and water issue even further, but that will give us a few days’ grace at best, and our men will be in a much weakened state if they are called on to defend the citadel.’
Macro paused to let his words sink in, and then Thermon asked, ‘What are our options, Centurion?’
‘They’re fairly straightforward.’ Macro counted them off on his fingers. ‘One: we negotiate a surrender. Two: we cut the rations and continue to resist for as long as we can, and then surrender, or go down fighting.’
‘We cannot surrender,’ said Balthus. ‘Artaxes and his followers would kill the king, me, and most of us here. We must fight on.’
‘Wait.’ Krathos raised his hand. ‘The Roman said we could negotiate a surrender.We could try to get good terms. Prince Artaxes knows that it will cost him a great many men to take the citadel by force. If we were to surrender, and leave the kingdom to him to dispose of as he wills, then surely he would be prepared to let us leave here alive. Some of us, at least.’
‘You, perhaps?’ Balthus did not try to hide his scorn. ‘I think you know what fate my dear brother has in mind for me. I don’t think I will surrender, thank you.’
‘What then?’ Krathos countered. ‘We stay in here and starve to death?’
‘No.’ Balthus shook his head and turned back to Macro. ‘There is a third choice, Roman.’
‘I know that,’ Macro replied. ‘I just wanted to see what people made of the first two.’
‘Third choice?’ the king said slowly. ‘What’s that? Speak, Centurion.’
‘Your Majesty, we could send the civilians out of the citadel and use the extra rations to try to hold out until
General Longinus arrives. But if the supplies run out before then, we’re back to the first two choices.’
There was a brief silence as the others digested this, and then Krathos shook his head. ‘They would be massacred, surely?’
‘It’s possible,’ Macro conceded. ‘But they’ll die anyway if they remain in the citadel. Starvation will get them if the enemy doesn’t storm the place first, in which case they’ll be slaughtered along with the rest of us. So, they die in here with us, or take their chances out there in the city. At least their sacrifice can buy us a few extra days.’
Krathos pursed his lips briefly. ‘I see. Perhaps it is for the best.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ Balthus responded coldly, and then there was a glint in his eye.’Of course, it would be necessary to rid ourselves of all the civilians, so that the food goes as far as possible amongst the remaining soldiers. Isn’t that right, Centurion?’
Macro nodded.
‘In which case we would have to dispense with all non-essential people, like the king’s slaves, the Roman ambassador and his retinue, and nobles like you, Krathos.’
‘Me?’ Krathos pressed his hand against his heart. ‘Preposterous! I am one of His Majesty’s most loyal subjects. My place is at his side.’
‘Oh, and what good are you there? Can you shoot a bow? Can you wield a spear or sword as well as a soldier? Well?’
‘That is not the issue,’ Krathos blustered. ‘His Majesty needs good advisers.When this is all over, the kingdom will need good men to help rebuild law and order and revive trade and business.’
Balthus shook his head. ‘What the king needs now is fighters, not fat merchants like you.’
‘How dare you?’ Krathos stood up indignantly.
‘Enough!’The king slammed his fist down on the arm of his throne and his voice echoed back off the high walls of the chamber. The others instantly fell silent. Vabathus drew a calming breath and continued steadily. ‘There is no question of ejecting any of my nobles from the citadel. Nor any of the Romans. If we did that then the full fury of Rome would be visited on us the moment they got to hear of the act. We have no choice but to accept the third option offered to us by the centurion. It is the best chance I have of defending my throne. The people must be sacrificed.’
Thermon turned towards the king with a pained expression.
‘What is the matter?’ asked Vabathus.
‘Your Majesty, we all know the probable outcome of throwing the people on the mercy of the rebels, but many of them are the families of our soldiers. What will they say when they are told?’ Thermon gestured to the four men guarding the king. All eyes turned on the guardsmen who, true to their profession and training, did not show any reaction.
Balthus broke the awkward silence. ‘Then we must proceed carefully. The men with families must be confined to barracks while the civilians are rounded up and escorted out of the citadel.’
‘What if they don’t want to leave?’ asked Cato. ‘What if they refuse?’
‘We will have to use force,’ Balthus replied. ‘Desperate times require desperate actions, Roman.’
‘I know that.’ Cato thought quickly. ‘But we must try to negotiate terms with Artaxes for their safe passage. They deserve nothing less from us.’
‘Fine sentiments, Roman, but why would Artaxes negotiate? He has nothing to gain from us.’
‘There is one thing we can offer him that he will find difficult to resist.’ The other men in the chamber stared at him expectantly and Cato swallowed nervously as he explained his thinking.
At noon the gates of the citadel opened and Cato stepped outside into the agora. He carried no weapons, and neither did the two men who accompanied him. One auxiliary carried a bucina and blew a steady series of notes as they advanced; the other man carried a large red banner that could easily be seen from the rebel lines. The small party marched thirty paces and halted in full view of both the defenders and the rebels curiously watching them from the wall of the merchants’ yards. He swallowed nervously and wondered briefly about the wisdom of his action.There was still time to turn and run back to safety. But then there was a dull thud as the gates swung back into place, leaving Cato and his men no choice but to carry on.
They marched another thirty paces and halted, the bucina’s shrill notes echoing back off the citadel walls. The man carrying the standard slowly swirled it in the air so that it was clearly visible. They moved forward again, stopping just short of the wall of the merchants’ yards. A figure appeared above them, one of Artaxes’ officers, Cato decided, judging from the fine scale armour and accoutrements.
‘No closer, Roman!’ the man called out in Greek. ‘What do you want?’
‘I wish to speak to Prince Artaxes.’
‘Why?’
Cato smiled at the man’s directness. ‘I will not speak to his minion. Only to the prince himself.’
The rebel officer scowled for a moment and then pointed at Cato. ‘Stay there, Roman. Move from that spot and my archers will shoot you down like dogs!’
‘Very well.’
The rebel officer ducked out of sight and Cato and his companions were left staring at the enemy soldiers lining the wall and talking in excited tones as they tried to guess what the Roman emissary wanted with their prince. The man with the standard was still waving it from side to side.
‘That’s no longer necessary.’ Cato said to him. ‘We have their attention.’
‘Very well, sir.’ The auxiliaries stood at ease and waited behind their commander in the bright sunshine. Time dragged past and Cato undid his neck scarf and da
bbed at the sweat trickling down his face from under his helmet. He was tempted to undo the chin ties and remove it for a moment to escape the stifling burden as he stood under the midday sun. Then he fought the temptation off. It would only look like weakness in front of the enemy.A small weakness, and a justifiable one, he reflected, but he was damned if he was going to show them any sign of discomfort. Far better to let them see how hardy Roman soldiers could be. He casually retied the cloth round his neck and stood at ease, staring directly at the wall before him and not shifting his gaze as he tried to create the look of a wholly imperturbable man.
After what seemed an age in the still, baking heat, Cato sensed movement to one side and turned to see a small party of men turn the corner of the wall of the merchants’ yards. At their head was a young, slender man in fine blue robes whose folds shimmered as he strode towards the Romans. He wore a sword belt from which hung a bejewelled scabbard that glinted as the sun caught the polished gold trimming and jewels set into the design. His beard was neatly trimmed and his hair glistened in the bright sunlight from the scented oil that had been combed into it. Behind him marched a bodyguard composed of six large spearmen, well muscled beneath their scale armour.
Cato turned towards them and raised his hand in salute. ‘Do I have the honour of addressing Prince Artaxes?’
‘You do,’ the prince replied curtly. ‘What do you want?’
Cato had memorised the statement he wished to make and spoke carefully to ensure that there was no misunderstanding.
‘The king wishes to inform you that this is a struggle between you and him. Between your followers and his.The ordinary people of his kingdom are harmless bystanders and should be treated as such. Accordingly, His Majesty has sent me to ask you to offer a safe passage for the civilians presently sheltering inside the citadel.They were misguided in thinking that they had anything to fear at your hands and only want to return to their homes and businesses that they might continue with their lives, under whichever king your God chooses as ruler of Palmyra.’
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