‘Remove this barrier. I wish to pass.’
‘And who are you?’ growled one man from behind the folds of his hood. He had a spear strapped to his shoulder and Cassius noted that every last one of his comrades was armed.
‘You can see who I am and I’m sure you’re well aware of the consequences of disobeying me.’
The Syrian did not reply. He and the other men were looking past Cassius and the others. The avenue behind them ran straight to the forum.
‘Something’s happened,’ said one of them.
Cassius turned and saw scores of men and boys running from the centre. Behind them was a crowd of several hundred.
Some of the horses began to snort and puff.
‘Next bridge?’ suggested Kallikres.
Cassius looked at the barrier. Even if the men cooperated it would take a while to get through. He glanced back along the avenue; some of the fleeing cityfolk were no more than a hundred yards away and dozens more had joined the flood behind them.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Indavara.
One of the legionaries had his hand over his eyes. ‘I think I can see our troops in the square. There must have been a clash with the weavers.’
‘We ain’t weavers,’ spat one of the protesters. ‘We’re just like them lot and everyone else out on the streets today. All we want is bit of justice in Berytus – not a magistrate who kills boys for the fun of it.’
‘Watch your mouth,’ warned one of the legionaries.
Cassius held up a calming hand.
The quickest of the crowd were young boys and the moment they arrived they began babbling in Aramaic.
Kallikres translated. ‘Some kind of battle. Sounds like the legionaries have used their swords.’
Cassius looked along the canal; there didn’t seem to be all that many people near the other bridge.
‘On we go,’ he ordered. ‘Next crossing.’
He guided his horse past Kallikres and Simo, who seemed fixated by the fleeing crowd. Indavara had a more practical problem; his horse was resisting his attempts to turn.
‘Pull down on the reins,’ snapped Cassius.
Three teenage lads had just reached the bridge. Two stopped and bent over, breathing hard. The third fell to his knees in front of Cassius. Tears streaming down his face, he shook his fist and screamed at him in Aramaic.
Cassius guided his mount past them and trotted away towards the next bridge.
Kallikres caught up with him quickly. ‘We must hurry; we mustn’t get cut off.’
Two hundred yards ahead, more running figures had appeared, converging on the crossing.
‘Yah!’ Cassius kicked his horse. As they galloped along the street, a pair of skiffs drifted past on the canal, the men inside standing up to see what was going on. Youths in twos and threes appeared from the alleys and side streets to their left, faces wracked with anger and fear.
Cassius looked back over his shoulder. The other six were spread out, with Indavara at the rear, the head of his horse jerking around as he struggled to control it.
‘Bloody idiot.’
‘Crispian!’
Cassius only just stopped in time to avoid Kallikres, who had abruptly halted. He thumped down on the horse’s neck but stayed in the saddle. The sergeant was staring at the bridge, now just fifty yards away. Some of the Syrians were running across it, away from the centre, others were moving in the opposite direction. A group of about twenty had just turned on to the street beside the canal. Several of them were wielding weapons.
‘Gods.’
More men ran out from the closest side street, one already shouting at Cassius.
He unbuckled his helmet and pulled it off, wishing he could remove the red tunic too.
‘There,’ said Kallikres, pointing at a nearby alley.
Cassius waved at the others to follow them but by the time he arrived there, Kallikres was already turning back. Yet more protesters had appeared. Cassius could now see no way out other than a charge, but that risked knocking someone down and further inflaming the crowd. Kallikres was barely maintaining control of his pale grey horse, which was snorting as it backed away from the closest men.
Cassius twisted around. The four legionaries were directly behind him, also struggling with their mounts. He urged his horse backwards and soon found himself next to the low wall that ran alongide the canal.
One man darted forward and tried to grab his reins. The horse lurched away and cracked its knee on the wall. Cassius wrenched the reins back the other way but the protesters had advanced again. He was determined to stay in the saddle but now realised they were trapped; the Syrians had surrounded them.
‘Men, dismount.’
Though two of them were shouting at the cityfolk, the legionaries obeyed.
Still holding his helmet in one hand, Cassius kept his horse side on to the crowd. Using the animal as a barrier, he dropped to the ground, let go of the reins and ran the few yards back to the legionaries. They were holding on to their mounts, desperately eyeing the crowd.
‘Take your shields and let the horses go,’ instructed Cassius.
Kallikres was last to the ground. As soon as he was off the horse, men grabbed the mounts and pulled them all out of the way. Tellingly, no one tried to steal them: once they had been hauled clear, the crowd converged again.
‘Get back, you lot,’ yelled one of the soldiers, already reaching for his sword.
Cassius smacked his arm. ‘Do not draw. Shields up, all of you.’
As the legionaries gripped the handles with both hands, Cassius forced his way behind them and looked back along the street.
Indavara and Simo had been cut off and were now watching helplessly. Though no more than thirty feet away, they could do nothing; the crowd was at least a hundred strong.
Cassius could think of only one man who might be able to help. ‘Diadromes! Find Diadromes!’
‘What?’ Indavara’s impaired hearing left him confused but Simo passed on the message. Just as the pair turned their horses around, Cassius felt a hand on his arm.
‘Sir, what do we do?’ implored the youngest of the legionaries, his face red and clammy beneath his helmet.
They had been pushed so far back that Cassius’s calves were scraping the wall. He thought about chucking his helmet in the canal but the crowd knew who he was by now. He squeezed past the soldiers and joined Kallikres, who was pleading with the nearest man in Aramaic.
The noise made it hard to think. The crowd were shouting and jeering; some at the soldiers, some at him, some at each other. He could hear Latin and Greek and Aramaic. They were a mix; fierce-looking working men, fearful boys, even a few women towards the back. He saw spears and swords, farm tools and home-made blades.
At the front of the press was a wild-eyed man wielding a pitchfork, yelling something in Aramaic. His tunic was blotched with wine stains.
Cassius held up his free hand, and was somehow surprised when no one reacted.
‘Death to the soldiers of Rome!’ shouted someone.
‘What are you doing?’ Cassius yelled. ‘We have done nothing wrong.’
A sturdy fellow holding a bulbous wooden club pushed his way forward. ‘You. You will pay for this.’
‘For what?’
‘There are dozens of them,’ cried another. ‘Dozens dead upon the steps of the forum. Nemetorius and Pomponianus care nothing for the people.’
‘Take the city,’ shouted someone at the back. ‘We will take Berytus for ourselves.’
‘Sir, get behind us,’ said the closest legionary.
Cassius belatedly realised that Kallikres had also withdrawn to the wall and he was two paces ahead of the others. But surely if he retreated – hid behind the legionaries’ shields – there was only one way this would end.
‘What happened?’ he asked the man with the club, trying to keep his voice calm. ‘We know nothing of this.’