‘We’re prisoners in our own town,’ one man near Quintus shouted. ‘You can’t frighten us,’ cried another. ‘Go back to Rome!’
Quintus wasn’t the only one to tense. Corax paced up and down, glaring at the nearest locals. Thirty paces away, Pera snapped an order at his soldiers, who raised their scuta. When Corax saw, a vein bulged in his neck and he hurried over to Pera. There were angry gestures, and heated words, but Pera told his men to ground their shields. Corax returned, looking furious. ‘No one makes a move unless I say so. Clear?’ he barked.
‘Yes, sir,’ the hastati replied.
It took a moment before the calmer heads in the crowd quietened the unhappy ones. A troubled silence fell.
Corax and his men were positioned directly opposite where Pinarius was standing. They could see him, but it wasn’t yet clear if they’d be able to hear his words.
The blare of a single trumpet pierced the air. It drew all eyes to where Pinarius stood, at the top of the temple steps. ‘People of Enna!’ he shouted. ‘I thank you for answering your leaders’ call and coming to this assembly.’
There were plenty of angry mutters. The crowd moved to and fro a little. Men spat on the ground, but that was all. For the moment, thought Quintus uneasily.
‘The meeting today was called by the town’s leaders,’ said Pinarius in reasonable Greek. He raised a hand against the sun. ‘If we are to talk, they must be present, but I see none here. Where are they?’
‘We are here, Pinarius,’ called a voice from the midst of the throng, some way off to Quintus’ right. ‘And here!’ said another. ‘I, Ochos, am here.’ ‘Simmias is present.’ ‘So too is Zenodoros!’
Half a dozen other names were shouted at Pinarius, who smiled. ‘Come and speak with me here, where everyone can see us,’ he said, gesturing at the temple steps.
‘We’ll remain where we are, Pinarius. You’re here with your full strength, and with two of our number in custody. Only a fool sticks his head into the lion’s mouth.’
Mutters of anger rose from the gathering. Corax moved up and down the ranks, muttering, ‘Steady, brothers. Nothing has happened. Steady.’ Quintus hoped that Vitruvius and the other centurions were following Corax’s example, not Pera’s.
‘Those men are helping us with our enquiries about the grain that was tampered with,’ said Pinarius smoothly.
‘Do you expect me to believe that?’ retorted Ochos.
‘I do. If it hadn’t been for this meeting, they would have been already freed. I merely have to finish questioning them,’ Pinarius said. ‘But we are not here to talk about grain. It’s these that brought us here, isn’t it?’ He held up a bunch of long iron keys.
There was a loud Aaaaahhhh from the crowd.
Pinarius was playing a risky game, thought Quintus. The townsmen should be persuaded by his show of force, but it had become apparent that violence wasn’t far away.
‘I, Simmias of Enna, wish to speak!’ cried a man near the sacred fountain.
The crowd subsided.
‘Pinarius!’
‘I am here.’
‘I say to you that we, the people of Enna, entered into alliance with Rome as free men. We were not slaves handed to you for safekeeping. If we request that the town’s keys be handed over to us, it is only right that you do so. Loyalty is the strongest bond of an honest ally and the Roman people and Senate will be grateful to us that we remain their friends willingly, and not by compulsion.’
Cheers broke out. Shouts filled the air. ‘Simmias is right!’ ‘He speaks the truth!’ ‘Give us back the keys!’
Pinarius let the townsmen speak for a few moments before raising his hands. A reluctant calm fell. ‘Worthy people of Enna! I was given this command and these keys by the consul Marcellus, the officer who governs Sicily for Rome. It is my duty to defend the town on behalf of the Republic. It is not for me, or for you, to decide what shall be done with the keys. The only person who can make a decision of that gravity is Marcellus. If needs be, a deputation of your leaders should petition him. His camp is not far, and I can promise you that he will receive you with all courtesy.’
‘Ha!’ cried Simmias. ‘I know what kind of welcome we would get.’
‘You’d get your arse kicked because of the extortionate prices of your grain!’ bellowed a skinny man in a ragged tunic. ‘Send an embassy to Marcellus, I say!’
There was a burst of laughter.
‘Aye!’ cried another ill-fed-looking man. ‘Perhaps the consul can set the price of grain at a level that normal people can afford!’
Relief swept through Quintus as he saw many heads nodding. Some men seemed unhappy, but they were in the minority. More and more voices joined in the cry. ‘Send an embassy! Send an embassy!’
‘Give us the keys!’ shouted Simmias, undeterred. His supporters repeated the demand, and the noise in the agora swelled as the opposing sides vied with each other to be heard.
Pinarius had his trumpeter sound a few notes, which forced a silence.
‘Let us take a vote,’ yelled Pinarius at the top of his voice. ‘Those in favour of sending an embassy to Marcellus, raise your right hand!’
Go on, urged Quintus silently. A hand went up near him and he blinked in surprise. It was none other than Thersites. Quintus warmed towards the innkeeper. Despite his concerns for his personal safety, Thersites wanted to cast his vote, to help keep the peace. He was busily talking to those around him, and a moment later, a number of men in his vicinity raised their hands. They were joined by a group to Quintus’ right, who were standing in front of Pera and his soldiers. In the following moments, it was as if a wind swept across the agora. Scores more hands went up, and then it was hundreds. Good numbers didn’t lift their arms, but they were in the minority.
Quintus let out a gusty sigh. The crisis had been averted. The embassy would go to Marcellus. It would likely never reach him, for Pinarius would detain every man in it whose name had been on Thersites’ list, but at least the arrests could be done out of the public eye. In the meantime, those leaders in the town who were well disposed to Rome could be set to work. Some blood might have to be spilled, but it wouldn’t be much, and it wouldn’t be here. Quintus felt glad. Thersites and his daughters would be safe.
‘You’re all cowards!’ screamed a voice from Quintus’ right. A young man, barely out of childhood, pushed his way free of the throng to stand in the space between the townsmen and Pera’s position. ‘Give us the keys!’ he roared at Pera and his hastati. ‘Give us the keys!’
‘Fucking idiot!’ hissed Quintus to Urceus.
The young man fumbled in the leather bag that he was carrying and produced an overripe fig. He cocked his arm and was about to throw it when an older, portly man with a beard stepped forward and grabbed him by the wrist. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded in Greek.
‘Showing these Roman bastards that we’re not all yellow-livered, Father!’ He wrenched his arm free and threw the fig, hard. It shot through the air and burst in the face of a hastatus not ten paces from Pera.
Several things happened at once.
Pinarius smiled at the clear majority of men who were voting to send the embassy to Marcellus. The portly man cried out and threw his arms around his son’s waist.
‘You Greek filth!’ shouted Pera, his face purple with rage. Somehow the young man had another fig in his right hand. His father tried to grab his arm again but the second piece of fruit flew straight and true, bursting on Pera’s breastplate.
‘Give us the keys!’ yelled the young man.
Another voice joined in. ‘Give us the keys!’ Faces in the crowd turned away from Pinarius and towards what was happening behind them.
Pera’s face twisted with fury. Stepping out of rank, he drew his sword and pointed it at the father and son. ‘Get back! Get back, I say!’