‘Very well,’ answered Cassius. It seemed that the remainder of his first day at Alauran would offer up yet another novel experience.
He and Strabo returned to the flagpole. Turning to face the legionaries, he saw immediately that their goodwill was fading as fast as the light. There were bored, tired expressions all round; it seemed that the modest exertions of the evening were weighing heavily on those recently unaccustomed to soldiering.
‘Well, men, a reasonable showing!’ he announced. ‘I suggest you all get a good night’s sleep because I expect every one of you back here at sunrise. Tardiness will not be tolerated and you should be prepared for a long day’s work.’
Strabo coughed loudly.
‘Food and drink,’ he whispered.
‘Ah. Yes.’
This was another point they had discussed before the muster parade. Cassius was not slow to recognise it as a potential point of contention. Having listened to the advice of his deputies, he’d decided to ease the garrison back into a more formal system.
‘I intend to reintroduce set meal times from tomorrow. Food will be rationed.’
There was predictable tutting and head-shaking but Cassius sensed a certain half-heartedness. It confirmed his suspicion that many of the men would be glad to get back to normal military routine.
‘Report to the granary after you’ve rid yourself of your gear and the guard officer will ensure that you get your share. I’ve also asked him to monitor the consumption of wine.’
‘And who will monitor his consumption?’ asked Serenus good-naturedly.
Cassius just about held back a grin as the men broke into smiles and laughter. Strabo scowled.
‘See you at sunrise. Dismissed!’
IX
A hillock of sand fifty feet high, ‘the crest’ did indeed provide an excellent view of the area surrounding Alauran, particularly the desert to the east. Scattered across its slopes were patches of thorn bush, drained of colour by the summer sun. Aside from a few grasshoppers and sandflies there was no other sign of life. An indistinct track ran west back to the fort and east as far as Anasartha, the closest settlement of any size.
Cassius and Barates were at the top, gazing out across the plain.
‘No,’ Cassius said, ‘I can’t see it.’
Barates had assured him that the buildings of Anasartha, less than twenty miles away, would be visible from the crest. The old man sat on his haunches close by, noisily chewing his way through a handful of raisins.
‘The sun is low. Perhaps in the morning.’
‘At least we’ll able to see the Palmyrans coming. One of the few advantages of a desert location, I suppose.’
‘One of the few.’
‘You’re sure Julius is able to find his way back in the dark?’
‘Easily. He and I have done this trip a hundred times. The camels could probably do it on their own.’
Cassius glanced down towards the bottom of the crest. He could just about make out the youth and the three camels sitting in a triangle around him. Close by was a ramshackle shelter housing a water barrel and a stash of timber.
Barates had been correct about the boy’s ability to control the beasts. There had been a few problems mounting, but once clear of the gates the camels had settled into a purposeful stride, though Cassius had yet to adjust to their lolloping gait. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to the return journey. In fact, he was rather enjoying the tranquillity of the crest.
‘Then if you’ll oblige me, I shall keep you company a few moments more. You were telling me about the big man.’
Barates had embarked upon an intriguing tale. The Praetorian had been attached to a cohort of the Fourth Legion as an adviser, part of a hastily organised counter-attack that had ended in disaster. He had managed to get away and had pitched up at Alauran just after Barates and the rest of the century.
‘When he first arrived you could talk to him. He would say nothing about himself, but we would discuss politics, army life and so on.’
‘And now?’
Barates expelled a long breath as he eased himself up off his haunches.
‘It’s been a downward spiral. His rotten gut and drink-addled head have left him in a permanent stupor. On the few occasions he’s not drunk, he’s in a rage. I don’t remember the last time he had a civil word for anyone, even me. He has a room to himself at the end of the barracks and the others just stay out of his way. They’ll curse him behind his back — for his snoring, or for emptying every barrel in the inn — but they know better than to say anything to his face.’
Cassius watched the last segment of the sun drop below the horizon, dragging the remaining swathes of orange and red with it.
‘Cotta suggested that you valued him as a member of the garrison. Someone who might lead the way.’
‘I believe I did say as much to the man, though it’s hard to believe now. Back then he would occasionally accompany Petronius and me on patrol or offer a word of advice. His knowledge of tactics and battle is second to none. He knows how to fight these Easterners too. It was his performance fighting the Persians that got him promoted to the Guard.’
‘At Edessa?’
Cassius looked out at the desert. The city lay a hundred miles to the north-east and its very name was enough to evoke memories of a momentous Roman defeat. Ten years earlier, before Odenathus and his Palmyran armies had finally driven the Persians back, the Emperor Valerian had met them in battle at Edessa only to be beaten and captured by their leader, Shapur. It was rumoured that Valerian had been flayed alive and his skin displayed on the walls of a temple. Cassius recalled one of his older cousins relating that particular detail with some relish, after his father had announced news of the defeat to the household.
‘Yes. He was one of the few to escape alive. He served Valerian’s son too, and it was while working for Gallienus that he was exiled from Rome.’
‘You don’t know the details?’
‘A disgrace of some kind,’ said Barates disapprovingly. Cassius suspected the veteran had a somewhat parochial view of Roman politics.
‘Barates, it’s often unwise to assume that those accused and sentenced in the capital are guilty of any real crime, particularly those unlucky enough to serve an emperor. The Guard have suffered as a result of our rulers’ intrigues as often as they have benefited. It may be that his unit simply fell out of favour with the wrong prefect or senator.’
‘Well, I must admit I would like to think he was innocent. The man was awarded three rampart crowns and they are seldom given to those lacking integrity.’
‘Indeed not.’
The crown was given to men who led successful charges against enemy defensive positions, usually city walls. They were not easy to come by. To win three was almost unheard of.
‘Well, I suppose I’d better be going. You sure you don’t mind being left alone out here?’
‘Won’t be the first time,’ said Barates, putting a hand on Cassius’ shoulder. ‘And us old ones need less sleep than you youngsters.’
‘Very well then. And thank you for all your help today.’
Cassius would have liked to say more than that. He would have liked to express his relief at finding such a willing collaborator in the honest, committed veteran. But these were the sentiments of an anxious youth, not an officer of the Roman Army.
‘I will send your relief at first light. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, sir.’
With that, Cassius trudged down the slope, slowing as he approached the camels so as not to alarm them. Julius walked towards him. Cassius reckoned him to be thirteen or fourteen. He was a skinny specimen, clad in a tatty green tunic, with the dark skin of a local and a mop of unruly black hair.
‘Back to Alauran.’
Julius answered with a barely comprehensible ‘Yes, sir.’ He then got Barates’ camel on its feet and led it over to the shelter.
Since meeting Julius at the stables, Cassius had been amazed at how well Barates understood the mixture of noises and garbled words that came out of the boy’s mouth. Cassius had met such people before but he soon saw that Julius was not doubly cursed with idiocy as Strabo suggested. He was very skilled in dealing with the animals, and responded quickly and efficiently to instructions. Cassius’ mother had always told him to keep an open mind about such people; after all, the first Emperor Claudius had been afflicted with many physical impediments, yet history had cast him as an effective, dynamic leader.