‘You know, you could call me Julia.’
‘I could. But only if you call me Cato.’
‘But that’s your cognomen. Might I know your familiar name?’
‘In the army we only go by the cognomen. Force of habit.’
‘Very well, Cato it is.’ Julia moved away, towards the side of the tower that looked over the agora. She glanced back at him and smiled, and Cato went over and joined her, conscious of her closeness and yet not daring to make any kind of physical contact. He was aware of her scent for the first time, a citron tang mixed with something sweet, and he savoured it as he stood beside her and stared out across Palmyra.
‘Such a beautiful thing,’ Julia mused. ‘A city at night. I used to sit on the roof terrace of our house in Rome when I was a child. We lived on the Janiculan Hill, with views towards the forum and the imperial palace. At night torches and braziers sparkled like diamonds, and amber, right across the city. On moonlit nights you could see the details clearly for miles, as if Rome was a toy made of blue stone. Sometimes a mist would rise from the Tiber.’
Cato smiled. ‘I remember that. It was like a fine silk veil. Looked so soft that I wanted to reach out and touch it.’
She glanced at him with a surprised expression. ‘You too? I thought I was the only one who saw it that way.You lived in Rome?’
‘I was raised in the palace. My father was an imperial freedman.’ The words were out before Cato could stop himself and he wondered if she would think worse of him for his lowly origins.
‘The son of a freedman, and now a prefect of auxiliaries,’ Julia mused. ‘That’s quite an achievement.’
‘Acting prefect,’ Cato confessed. ‘Once a permanent commander is found I will revert to the rank of centurion. A junior one at that.’
She saw through his modesty at once. ‘The fact that you were chosen for the command at all must mean someone thinks you have potential, Cato.’
‘It would be nice to think so. Otherwise it’ll take a long time to work up enough seniority for any further promotion in the legions.’
‘And you’d like that?’
‘What soldier wouldn’t?’
‘Forgive me, Cato, but you don’t seem like a typical soldier to me.’
He looked at her. ‘I don’t?’
‘Oh, I’m sure that you are a fine officer, and I know that you are brave, and you have quite a way with words according to my father.’
‘But?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t really know. You seem to have a certain sensitivity that I haven’t encountered in the soldiers I’ve met before.’
‘Blame it on the palace upbringing.’
She laughed and then stared out across the city again, and a silence grew between them, until Cato spoke.’What about you? What happened to the young girl who spent her evenings staring out across Rome?’
Julia smiled faintly, then gently clasped her wrist with the other hand and rubbed it slowly. ‘Like all girls from a good family, I was married to a man three times my age as soon as I was fourteen. It was supposed to establish a bond between two families with proud lineages. Only my husband used to beat me.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
She looked at him sadly. ‘I know what you’re thinking. All husbands beat their wives from time to time.’
‘I didn’t mean . . .’
‘Well, maybe it’s true. But Junius Porcinus used to beat me almost every day. For any fault he could find in me. I took it for a while . . . I thought that was how marriages were supposed to be. After two years of looking at a bruised face in the mirror every morning I asked my father for permission to divorce Porcinus. When he learned what had been going on he agreed. I’ve travelled with him on the Emperor’s business ever since. I suppose I run the household for him in place of my mother. She died giving birth to me.’ Julia was silent for a moment and then smiled awkwardly. ‘How silly of me! Boring you to death with my family history when you need to rest.’
‘No, it’s quite all right,’ Cato replied. ‘I mean, I’m not bored. Honestly.You’re very . . . open.’
‘Indiscreet, you mean.’
Cato shook his head. ‘Open, honest. It’s just that I’m not used to it. Soldiers tend not to be too forthcoming about their feelings. So this is a pleasing change.’
‘Oh, I’m not normally so candid. But now?’ Julia shrugged. ‘Life might be somewhat shorter than I had expected. There’s no point in holding back those things I want to say. The prospect of death can be quite liberating.’
‘Ah, that I can agree with.’ Cato chuckled as he recalled the wild exhilaration of combat, mixed with dreadful fear. Paradoxically, he had never felt more alive than at such moments. A sad truth, he conceded to himself. There was a time when his greatest pleasure had been the pursuit of knowledge. Since becoming a soldier he had discovered a side of his nature that he had never suspected was there. But then, perhaps that was the gift of soldiering - the gaining of self-knowledge. Five years ago he had been a timid youth, filled with doubts about his worth. Everything had seemed impossible. Now he knew what he was capable of, the good as well as the bad. He had achieved feats of endurance and courage that once he would never have thought possible.
Cato realised that he had been silent for a while, and that Julia was watching him, sidelong.
‘Sometimes I wish I had been born a man,’ she said quietly. ‘So many experiences are denied to women. So many opportunities. But since the revolt broke out, I’m not so sure. I can’t think how many broken bodies I’ve had to deal with in the hospital. It’s a brutal business being a soldier.’
‘True enough,’ Cato agreed.’But it’s only part of the job. We don’t live to kill.’
‘If you had only seen what happened here the day the revolt broke out.’ Julia shuddered and closed her eyes tightly for a moment. ‘The killing began and didn’t stop. Soldiers killed soldiers, then women and children. Butchery, that’s what it was. I’ve never seen anything so barbaric.’
‘Perhaps.’ Cato rubbed his cheek. ‘The thing is, that barbarian is there in all of us. It just takes the right kind of provocation, or opportunity, before the barbarian emerges.’
She looked at him closely. ‘You really think so?’
‘I know it.’
‘And you think you have it in you to act the barbarian?’
‘It’s not an act. Not for me. Not for any man. Not even for you, Julia. Given the right circumstances.’
She stared at him for a moment before easing herself away from the battlements.’It’s been nice to talk to someone about something other than their injuries. But I must let you rest. I thank you for your kindness. I shouldn’t impose on you any further.’
Her tone was firm, and Cato did not feel confident enough to press the issue. Besides, he was too tired to think clearly and dared not risk saying anything foolish to this woman he keenly wanted to know better.
‘We can talk again another night,’ he suggested.
‘That would be nice. I’d like that.’
They both stared across the agora to where the rebels were putting the finishing touches to their battering ram and its housing.
‘Will they take the citadel?’ Julia asked softly.
‘I can’t say,’ Cato replied wearily.
‘Can’t say? Or won’t say?’
‘I wouldn’t lie to you about our chances, Julia. I just don’t know. It depends on so many factors.’
She turned to him and pressed her hand to her chest. ‘Forget the details.Tell me from your heart. Do you feel we can live through this?’
Cato stared into her eyes and nodded slowly. ‘We’ll survive. I give you my word. I will let nothing happen to you.’
She looked back at him and nodded. ‘Thank you for being honest with me.’
Cato smiled at her. Julia turned and descended into the tower. Now that she had gone Cato was aware of the coolness of the night and he shivered. Perhaps they really would talk again another nig
ht, he mused. He hoped so. But as he took a last look across the agora at the enemy clustered about the battering ram he knew that the morrow would bring a fresh assault on these walls and only a handful of tired Roman soldiers and Greek mercenaries stood between Prince Artaxes’ bloodthirsty rebels and the terrified civilians sheltering inside the citadel.
08 Centurion
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The defenders had been at their posts on the walls of the citadel since first light, intently watching the approach to the gate and waiting for the rebels to begin their attack. Stocks of arrows, javelins and sling shot had been placed at regular intervals along the battlements and heavy blocks of stone had been piled on the rampart above the gates. The smell of heated oil filled the air as smoke billowed lazily from one of the large ovens close to the barracks of the Greek mercenaries.
Macro and Cato, together with the commander of the royal bodyguard, a wiry veteran named Demetrius, and Prince Balthus, stood on the battlements above the gate and stared towards the rebel soldiers forming up around the ram housing.
‘It didn’t take them long to repair the damage,’ said Balthus.
Demetrius took a sharp breath. ‘We did what we could in the short time available to us, my Prince.’
‘So you say. Just a shame that it has won only one day, while it cost you over thirty men.’
Demetrius pressed his lips together in a thin line to bite off an intemperate response.Then he managed to mutter, ‘A shame, as you say, my lord.’
‘Well, what’s done is done,’ Macro intervened. ‘They’re coming and we’ll have to make sure we send ‘em packing.
It’s time we joined our men. Good luck.’ He turned to Cato and clasped arms, and then did the same with the others. ‘Stick it to ‘em!’
Macro made for the staircase leading down to the courtyard behind the gate. His legionaries were waiting for him, in close formation a short distance from the studded timbers. If the rebels succeeded in breaching the gates, the task of keeping them out would fall to the best soldiers in the citadel. Behind the legionaries were small parties of men with thick mats and staffs capped with iron hooks, ready to fight any fires caused by incendiary missiles. Up on the wall, Prince Balthus and his followers were positioned to the left of the gate while the Greek mercenaries were to the right. Cato and the pick of his men had been entrusted with guarding the towers on either side of the gate and the battlements that stretched between them. The rest of the auxiliaries were stationed along the remainder of the citadel’s walls under the command of Centurion Parmenion.
Cato clasped arms with Balthus and Demetrius before they turned away and joined their men. He was still tired and his wounded arm felt stiff and sore as he flexed it and then stretched his shoulders to try to loosen them.The men had already been fed and as he walked round his command Cato was pleased to see that they were alert and determined-looking. Their kit, which had become dusty and grimy on the march from Antioch, was clean again and helmets and shield bosses were polished and gleaming in the rays of the early morning sun.
‘No need to worry, lads.’ Cato smiled as he passed amongst them. ‘This time there’s a bloody great wall between you and those gutless archers. If the moment comes, then they’ll not be so cocky when they face Roman iron.’
Some of the men grumbled their assent as they recalled the showers of arrows they had endured during the skirmish in the desert. This time they had the advantage, and the rebels were going to pay dearly.
‘It is up to us,’ Cato continued firmly,’to see to it that the gate is held. Keep a cool head, keep your shield up and make the enemy die hard! Second Illyrian!’ Cato drew his sword and thrust it into the air. ‘Second Illyrian!’
His men raised their weapons and repeated his cry, the name of the cohort echoing back off the buildings inside the citadel.The chant was taken up by the rest of the cohort posted round the wall. Then a new cry rose up inside as Macro’s men bellowed out the name of their legion and used the flats of their swords to beat a furious rhythm against the metal trim of their shields.
‘That’s the spirit.’ Cato grinned to himself. The men’s blood was up, and he almost felt sorry for the first of the enemy who came within reach of a Roman sword.
‘They’re on the move!’ a voice cried out from the left tower, and the cheering quickly faded away as Cato forced himself to walk and not run to the steps leading up to the top of the tower. His men were crowded along the battlements overlooking the agora.
‘Clear the way there!’ he snapped at them. ‘Quickly, damn you!’
They parted as he approached and Cato looked down towards the temple precinct just as a blaring of horns and the boom of drums echoed across the agora. Hundreds of men were crowded into the ram housing and had taken their places behind the wooden spars that had been slotted into place across the frame, passing under the long shaft of the ram. As the drums beat a steady pace the men heaved against the spars and the heavy structure began to rumble across the flagstones towards the citadel. Armoured men walking alongside pulled down the leather flaps while small boys ran up and down with jars of water, soaking the leather before it came in range of any fire arrows shot from the walls of the citadel. The rebels were preparing their own incendiaries, Cato noted, as his gaze turned to some activity on the edges of the streets that led from the agora. Columns of men pulling on ropes spilled out into the open. Behind them carts emerged, each one bearing a bolt-thrower or a catapult, light artillery pieces to be sure, but more than capable of shooting their missiles over the citadel’s walls. Then came men carrying glowing embers in heavy iron braziers above which the air shimmered.
Last of all emerged a number of men carrying large stout shelters. With them trotted the archers, clutching spare bundles of arrows under their arms. The shelters were hurriedly set up as the artillery crews sighted their weapons and began to crank back the torsion cords. There was a shouted command to Cato’s left and the first of Balthus’ archers began to loose their arrows. Dark shafts darted down towards the rebels, clattering off the flagstones, occasionally thudding into the shelters that had been set up. The rebels paid them due respect and took cover as they arranged their arrows and lit the first of them, ready to shoot up at the battlements.
‘Watch out!’ Cato shouted. ‘Incoming fire arrows!’
The auxiliaries crouched down behind the rims of their shields or ducked behind the hard cover of the stone battlements. A moment later a glittering arrow whipped over the wall, trailing a fine line of smoke, before it reached the top of its trajectory and curved down towards the palatial buildings of the royal accommodation. The arrow shattered as it struck a roof tile and the flaming fragments exploded in all directions. More arrows followed. Most struck the roof or walls, or fell harmlessly to the ground, but a handful lodged in the timber of doorways or window frames and the fire parties pounced on them immediately to beat the flames out.
‘Sir?’
Cato turned and saw Centurion Aquila coming towards him, crouching low. Now that his horses were gone, Aquila and his men fought as infantry and Cato had chosen Aquila to act as his second-in-command in the defence of the gate.
‘What is it?’
‘Shall I give the order for our slingers to shoot back? And the bolt-throwers on the towers?’
Cato shook his head.’No sense in exposing our men just yet. Let the rebels waste their ammunition; they’re not doing us any harm. We’ll hold back until the ram is within range. Then the slingers can target those archers.’
‘Yes, sir.’ A look of disappointment flickered across Aquila’s face. ‘Very good.’
‘Don’t worry, Aquila. The men will get their chance to carve ‘em up soon enough.’
‘I can hardly wait,’ Aquila muttered grimly as he risked a quick glimpse over the wall.’Time to pay them back for the horses.’
‘The horses?’ Cato wondered, and then shook his head. His cavalry commander was clearly one of those men who cared deeply for his mounts. S
till, if he blamed the rebels for the mass slaughter of the previous day, so much the better.
‘Centurion Aquila, when this is all over, I promise to let you have the pick of the enemy’s horses.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’ Aquila grinned.
There was a dull whack from below in the agora and a moment later a flaming bundle of rags tied tightly round a rock blazed over the battlement. The missile dropped down towards the part of the citadel being used for the hospital and crashed through the tiles and vanished from sight. Cato felt his throat tighten with anxiety for Julia’s safety, but he was powerless to do anything to protect her, or even find out if she was safe, while the enemy attack was under way. He tried to push all thought of her from his mind as he took a breath and rose up to check on the progress of the battering ram.
The rebels had got it a third of the way across the agora. Prince Balthus and his archers were keeping up a steady barrage of fire arrows, which formed a sparse stubble across the leather roof of the ram housing.The arrows smouldered in the damp leather but before they could catch the boys would dart forward and hurl fresh water over the roof. The groan from the axles of the large wheels carried up to the battlements even above the din of the iron rims grinding across the flagstones. The drums continued to beat a steady rhythm to the men straining inside the housing as they pressed forward.
‘Man the bolt-throwers!’ Cato commanded. ‘Load incendiaries!’
The crew of the ballista in the left tower jumped up on to the firing platform and began to crank the arms back. Another man held the tip of a three-foot-long heavy bolt in the flames of the brazier at the rear of the platform.The oil-soaked rags wrapped round the shaft just behind the iron head quickly caught alight and the auxiliary hurriedly carried it across to the bolt-thrower. He carefully placed the bolt in the channel as the optio in command of the artillery section took aim on the ram housing. Already the rebel archers had spotted the crew clustered round the weapon and were loosing shots up at the tower.There was a crack as an arrow shaft trembled briefly in the frame of the bolt-thrower. Smoke trailed up from the oiled rags.
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