Centurion

'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 his 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…'