‘What did he say? Anyone speak that Galician filth?’
‘Something about your mother, Linus!’
‘Your sister too!’
‘And what was that about your niece?’
‘Not very helpful,’ observed Barates.
Enraged, Linus swung a boot at the Galician. Despite his injury, the legionary rolled out of the way and got quickly to his feet. He swapped his sword to his good hand as Linus positioned himself for a lunge. Their blades never met.
Avso swept the Galician’s legs from under him in the same moment as Serenus smashed an elbow into the back of Linus’ neck. The Galician had barely hit the ground before Avso, ably assisted by Flavian, launched a flurry of kicks at his stomach. Linus, meanwhile, was down on his knees, retching and coughing. Serenus stood over him.
Cassius sprinted over.
‘That’s enough!’
‘No, that’s enough,’ said Avso, with one last kick.
The Galician rolled on to his back, hands pressed against his gut.
‘You rat-faced-’
Avso made to kick him again.
‘Want some more?’
‘I said that’s enough!’
Cassius stood between them.
Serenus offered Linus his canteen. The legionary swatted it away and rubbed at his neck.
‘What happened?’ Cassius asked.
‘Almost took my hand off!’ yelled the Galician, holding up his wrist. The gash was at the base of his hand.
‘It’ll be your face next time!’ spat Linus.
Somebody laughed. Then the rest of the legionaries laughed too. Cassius was reflecting on the pitifully childish nature of army humour when he turned towards the gate and saw the real cause of the hilarity: Julius, trying to haul one of the camels down the street.
The animal was not cooperating. It had planted its feet and was now jerking its neck from side to side. The boy slapped it across the nose then heaved on the reins with both hands. The camel took a sudden step forward, then stopped again. Julius lost hold of the reins and pitched backward into the sand. The beast shook its head once more, showering him with spittle. By the time Julius was back on his feet, almost the entire garrison was roaring. Even Linus and the Galician managed a smile.
Cassius turned to Serenus and nodded towards the two legionaries.
‘This under control?’
‘I think so.’
‘They’re tired. Perhaps you should finish up quickly — avoid any more accidents.’
‘I agree.’
Cassius walked over to the Galician, who was now also up on his feet.
‘My attendant will see to that wound. Simo!’
The Gaul was already outside the officers’ quarters and he now escorted the injured man to the aid post.
‘Right, back to it!’ Cassius announced. As the crowd broke up, he hurried after Barates, who was off to help Julius.
‘Seems a caring sort, your attendant,’ observed the veteran.
‘Indeed. He was singularly reluctant to join in with training.’
‘Forgive me, centurion, but you might consider doing so yourself. The men would like to see you leading the way.’
Cassius had considered taking the session. He could execute the basic routines — stabbing, parrying, sweeping, blocking — his months of training had seen to that. But he couldn’t help imagining making some dreadful error and losing the minimal amount of respect he had built up. His silence, he knew, spoke volumes.
‘Sorry,’ said Barates. ‘When one reaches a certain age, one forgets one’s station. I am in no position to make such judgements.’
‘Forget it. Come, let’s help the lad.’
With the two Romans on the reins and Julius pushing at the rear, it didn’t take too long to manoeuvre the camel over to the stables. Leaving the other two to get it inside the stall, Cassius took the opportunity to look inside the granary.
Attracting a few stares from the Syrians, he lifted up the plank securing the double doors and pulled one side open. Ideally he would have posted a guard, but Strabo had made it clear to the men that no one was to enter without permission. According to Barates, the Syrians never attempted to take anything as long as they were supplied with provisions when required.
Cassius stepped up on to the raised floor. A five-yard gap had been cleared and the remaining stores piled neatly into stacks, some of which reached almost to the roof.
He was surprised to see just how many barrels there were. Only in the last few years had they begun to compete with amphoras as the main container for transporting food and drink across the Empire, being considerably stronger, larger and easier to move. When lined with pitch they were also virtually waterproof. Though now common in Italy and the western provinces, they were far less prevalent in the East.
A narrow path had been made between the stacks. Cassius passed through shafts of light, disturbing suspended motes of dust that swirled away. Every single container was labelled with white paint, identifying it as the property of the Third Legion. Assailed by a variety of odours, he spied barrels of dates, dried apricots and pears, various types of nuts, olives, cured meat, salted fish, grain, beans and lentils; there were also glass bottles and amphoras containing vinegar, olive oil and wine.
After a few yards, the path followed a zigzagging pattern around vast piles of grain sacks and endless trays of hard biscuit — an army staple that could be softened with water for eating or ground into flour and reconstituted for baking.
The far wall was adjacent to the stables. He could hear Barates talking to Julius and one of the camels grunting away. Here, the concoction of smells was reminiscent of a latrine. Wondering if the foul stench was produced by rats, Cassius looked for any sign of nests or droppings before recalling that this was precisely what the raised floor guarded against. Deciding that the odour must be coming from the camels, he retraced his steps to the door.
As he was replacing the locking plank outside, he heard a few shouts from the encampment. Jamming the plank firmly down, he turned to see a number of the Syrians arriving with large baskets on their backs.
The men lowered the baskets to the ground and the others, including Kabir and Yarak, inspected the contents. Kabir took out a handful of stones and tossed a couple in the air. He seemed to approve.
Twilight was near as Barates left to relieve Antonius at the crest. Cassius saw him off and headed back up the street.
With the drill over, the legionaries were gathered by the granary again. None of them could be bothered to cook, preferring to pick from plates piled high with dried meat, fish and fruit while drinking water and wine from their canteens. Most lay on the ground in small groups, tired from the day’s exertions. A few played at dice as they ate.
Strabo’s men were finished for the day. Half the breach had been filled and the mixture was holding well. The Sicilian was standing behind a table where he and his section had laid out the provisions. He was drinking wine and talking to Serenus.
‘Centurion.’
Cassius was intercepted by two legionaries.
‘The Bear,’ said one, ‘sorry, the Praetorian — he’s in the barracks, asleep already. Should we collect up the wine now?’
‘Ah, you two are doing that. Yes, after you’ve eaten. I’ll make sure the guard officer knows about it.’
The two legionaries sat down and returned to their meal. Cassius walked over to Strabo and Serenus and swiftly outlined his plan for the wine.
‘Are you insane?’
‘Keep your voice down, Strabo. It’s best if the men don’t hear about it beforehand.’
Serenus grimaced.
‘At present his behaviour is no more than an inconvenience. If we antagonise him he could become a real problem.’
‘A real problem?’ said Strabo. ‘Caesar’s cock! He’ll go berserk!’