XVII
Cassius led his assorted deputies and allies towards the inn with a haste that belied his trepidation. Barates was at his side, and he knew he would have to rely heavily on the veteran once more. A few steps behind, Avso and Strabo exchanged barbed comments about the progress of their respective sections. Serenus was trying to reassure Kabir that he was welcome at the meeting.
They found the Praetorian in his usual position: back to the wall, a jug of wine on the table in front of him. The barrel Barates had fetched for him was on the floor. Dragging his eyes from the contents of the jug, the Praetorian examined the new arrivals.
Cassius and Barates approached warily and arranged chairs around the table. Avso shouldered his way past Strabo and took a seat directly to the Praetorian’s right. Kabir calmly sat down next to the Thracian. Then came Strabo, Cassius and Serenus, with Barates last in line. Only the veteran was granted any form of recognition — a slight nod.
The Praetorian downed a quarter of the jug. Heads began to turn in Cassius’ direction. As he was about to speak, the Praetorian aimed a thumb at Kabir.
‘Who’s he?’
‘That’s Kabir, sir,’ replied Barates. ‘He leads the Syrian auxiliaries. There are thirty-two of them.’
The Praetorian gave a cynical grin.
‘You trust him?’
Kabir glanced across at Cassius.
‘I-’ The Praetorian hesitated for a moment, then put a hand to his stomach. The pang of pain he seemed to be expecting never came but he blinked several times before replying.
‘I thought you wanted the benefit of my wisdom, not some provincial’s,’ he said sourly, looking around the group.
‘Absolutely,’ said Cassius, leaning forward. ‘But Kabir and his men are essential to the defence. He deserves his place here.’
‘This is my table. You are here at my invitation.’
‘Of course and I am grateful for it. But let’s not forget that several emperors hailed from this province.’
‘Quite so, and it’s been disaster after disaster ever since.’
‘Well,’ Cassius said, ‘we could debate such matters all afternoon but I don’t wish to keep you any longer than necessary. Perhaps if I outline the measures we’ve taken so far you can give us your thoughts.’
The Praetorian shrugged.
‘What of their numbers?’ he asked Barates.
‘Unknown.’
‘We have seventy-seven men in total,’ stated Cassius.
‘They probably know that,’ countered the Praetorian. ‘Which means they’ll send three times as many at least.’
‘How can we stop them?’ Cassius asked.
‘I doubt you can with so few.’
‘Why are you still here then?’ asked Avso. ‘If you believe we face defeat.’
The Thracian initially seemed unperturbed by the silence that greeted his question but the anxious reaction of the others soon spread his way. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back in his seat, away from the vast form in front of him.
The Praetorian wiped sweat from his forehead and flicked it on to the floor inches from Avso’s leg. Grinning, he turned towards him and lifted the jug of wine like a trophy.
‘Fair enough,’ said Avso.
The Praetorian took another swig and let the wine run down his throat before lowering the jug.
‘I suppose there are a few things you might try,’ he said.
Cassius spotted Simo, peering around the inn wall. Cassius gestured towards the jug, then towards the well. Simo got the message and hurried away.
‘You’ve reinforced the gate I expect.’
Answered by several nods, the Praetorian continued.
‘Maybe just leave it as normal — encourage them to strike there. They’ll get through in no time but at least that way you can have a couple of surprises waiting for them.’
‘Such as?’ Cassius asked, planting his elbows on the table.
The Praetorian was warming to his task and seemed almost to be enjoying the attention.
‘There are some carts around here somewhere, aren’t there? You can use them as barricades behind the gate. Create a killing area. Give them enough space to get in but make your secondary line as strong as possible. The barriers must be arranged so that your men can strike but remain protected. With so few, you must ensure you hold the position as long as possible. If that fails, fall back to the barracks.’
‘What if they have cavalry?’ Cassius asked.
The Praetorian held up a hand and nodded at the barrel of wine. Avso swiftly filled the jug. As he did so, the Praetorian clasped his stomach once more. Cassius and the others tried not to stare but there was something morbidly fascinating about the routine of teeth-grinding and eye-rolling.
Thankfully, Simo then arrived with the water and the others drank it down in unison while the Praetorian recovered himself.
‘What were we-’
‘Cavalry,’ said Barates softly.
‘Unlikely. I suppose they might use them to smash a hole. Of more concern will be the horse archers. There are none better. They’ll keep your heads down while the infantry ram the gate.’
The Praetorian looked from face to face.
‘There’s not much you can do about that.’
‘And if we do face cavalry?’ asked Cassius.
‘Best drop your sword. You’ll need both hands to pray.’
Do we have any caltrops?’ Avso asked.
‘No,’ said Barates.
‘We can make some,’ suggested Serenus.
‘It’ll take time to get the forge going,’ Barates replied.
‘Not necessary,’ said Serenus. ‘Use a heavy hammer and knock three pairs of nails together. They’ll do the job.’
‘Might unseat a few,’ agreed the Praetorian. ‘But even then, whatever armour you have will be no match for theirs.’
Strabo was listening keenly. The Praetorian’s presence was enough to intimidate even him into compliant subordination.
‘Swords will make a dent but not much more. There is-’
The Praetorian stopped again and stared down into his wine. After a while, Cassius and the others began to wonder if he would speak again. Then he looked up.
‘There is. . I heard, once, of a tactic that might be of use. If the cavalry do get inside and you can get them off their horses — that’s the time to release some of your men. Armour is all very well while you’re on horseback, but in the hand-to-hand stuff it leaves you blind.’
The Praetorian tapped the stave he had left propped up against the wall.
‘Men armed with these could do some damage.’
Cassius nodded gratefully. At last they had the semblance of a strategy.
The Praetorian slurped noisily at the wine, then sat back against the wall.
‘Having said all that, they’ll probably come in over the back wall now. Unpredictable bunch out here,’ he added with a provocative glance at Kabir. ‘Had to wait for us to come along to understand organised warfare.’
The Syrian ignored him.
‘Perhaps we should leave you to it,’ said Cassius. Simo collected their mugs as they stood.
‘How many men do you have?’
The Praetorian had obviously forgotten Cassius’ earlier remark.
‘With the auxiliaries, almost a century’s worth.’
‘Almost a century, eh? Then I think you have wasted my time. You’ll be better off jumping on the nearest camel and not sparing it until the walls of Antioch are in sight.’
‘And yet you choose to remain?’ asked Avso. He was the only one of them still sitting.
‘As long as the red stuff lasts,’ answered the Praetorian.
‘And you’ll just give up? Allow yourself to be killed or taken prisoner?’
Serenus and Strabo readied themselves to drag Avso away if it became necessary. The Praetorian finally looked sideways at his questioner.
‘They won’t mess with me. I’ll just stay in here. The bastards don’t even drink!’
Chuckling, the Praetorian looked on as Avso finally got to his feet and followed the others.