It was Palmyran custom to attach both bow-holder and quiver to the saddle, and before battle each man would adjust the intricate system of leather straps that kept both items in place. Reins and weaponry could easily become entangled and most archers knew from bitter experience the value of such preparation. The sheer physical difficulty of riding and firing simultaneously ensured that no detail was overlooked.
Once satisfied that their saddles were in order, they turned to their weapons. Azaf could see several men working on arrows: adjusting flights, smoothing shafts, sharpening points. Another man was restringing his bow. He needed a fellow archer to assist him; only with their combined weight could they compress the bow into the required shape.
Though Azaf had never made any attempt to master the weapon, he was well aware of its formidable capabilities. The Palmyran bows were three feet long and designed to release arrows with prodigious power. A stiffening section of horn was fixed along the archer’s side and a length of ox sinew to the firing side. Stretching as the bow was drawn, the sinew would snap back to its normal size upon release, propelling a well-crafted arrow up to three hundred yards.
None of the archers wore armour, so rare was it for them to fight hand to hand. In fact, many of them wore nothing above the waist, thereby avoiding any additional encumbrances.
Whilst the archers had to ready themselves, each cavalryman was helped by an attendant. The carts containing the coats of mail had been unloaded and the attendants now laid them out on the ground, checking them over thoroughly. A missing section of mail or a tear in the leather undercoat could render the whole arrangement vulnerable.
Lying close by were some of the saddles, removed to give the horses a rest. The four-horned design was also useful for the cavalry. Leather straps attached to the end of a lance could be slipped over a rear horn, providing greater purchase and striking power. The saddles also aided the stability of the heavily armoured riders, especially the front horns, which stopped them sliding forward along the animal’s neck.
Azaf knew that Bezda’s men would require a good hour’s notice if needed; it would take them that long to dress themselves and their horses. Bezda had also stated that they could not be expected to fight for more than half an hour or so under a bright sun.
Clad only in their tunics, the cavalrymen rode bareback, practising charges, turns and stops. They shouted and screamed and struck their mounts with canes, preparing them for the chaos and noise of combat.
Azaf watched his scouting party disperse to let Teyya and Razir through. The youth brought his horse up close.
‘You have it?’
Teyya pulled aside the blanket on his lap. Beneath was the caged bird.
XXII
Cassius got to Julius just in time.
The legionaries had swiftly surrounded him. They were examining his tunic and now the lad himself was staring vacantly down at the dark bloodstains. Cassius gripped his shoulder and pointed at the officers’ quarters.
‘Julius, you must come with me.’
They could hardly move; the crush of faces and bodies had already closed in round them. Strabo and the other deputies seemed suddenly to have disappeared.
‘You men, get back!’
‘Look there — blood on his hand!’ someone shouted.
‘Sir, it was him. It must have been,’ cried Minicius. Like the others he was now fully armed and equipped, sweating and red-faced under his helmet.
‘Just wait. We must-’
A legionary took hold of the boy’s other arm.
‘You there!’ Cassius ordered. ‘Let go at once!’
There was a loud crack as the flat of a sword blade smashed into the side of the man’s head. His helmet absorbed most of the blow but he staggered sideways.
‘Settle down!’ Strabo roared. ‘That means all of you!’
He barged the man aside and stood in front of Julius, towering over him. Expecting the Sicilian to help him establish order and get the lad out of there, Cassius was dismayed to find he had no such intention. Sheathing his sword, Strabo stared at Julius as the men quietened down.
‘Well. What have you to say?’
Cassius looked round once more. Avso was watching intently from the back of the crowd. There was no sign of Serenus or Crispus.
‘Well?’ Strabo shouted, slapping Julius full in the face.
Cassius instinctively let go, watching in stunned silence as the boy raised a hand to his cheek.
‘I know you can understand me,’ said the Sicilian, grabbing his tunic at the collar. ‘Say something, boy!’
As Strabo lifted his hand once again, Cassius finally galvanised himself into action.
‘Guard officer!’
Strabo hesitated.
‘Guard officer, get control of yourself! I will take the boy to the officers’ quarters and question him there.’
The Sicilian’s dark eyes seemed to have glazed over.
‘I will get answers, I assure you,’ said Cassius. ‘I assure all of you,’ he added, looking around.
A little humanity seemed to return to Strabo’s face. He loosened his grip.
Julius’ head remained bowed.
Cassius spun round as he felt a hand on his arm.
‘Easy there,’ Serenus said quietly. Crispus had appeared too and was already moving his section away.
‘We are needed elsewhere,’ Serenus told Strabo, his voice even and firm. ‘We must address the men now, while there’s time.’
Strabo didn’t respond.
‘Do you wish to give the order or shall I?’
Clearing his throat, the Sicilian looked at Cassius, then Julius, then back at Serenus. He scratched ostentatiously at his chin before shouting instructions:
‘Assemble in sections at the gate. Move!’
The men dispersed. Cassius took hold of Julius’ arm once again. The boy was shaking and a small puddle had appeared between his feet.
Cassius led him away, looking over his shoulder as Strabo and Serenus silently regarded each other for a moment. It was an incongruous sight: Serenus’ slight, wasted frame dwarfed by the Sicilian’s intimidating bulk. Strabo spat nonchalantly into the dust, then strode off towards the gate. With Barates gone, Cassius now realised just how reliant he was on the cool-headed Serenus to keep Strabo’s excesses in check. He would have to hope that the ailing veteran’s health didn’t deteriorate further.
He peered down at the boy as they walked.
‘What happened, Julius? You must try to tell us something. Do you understand?’
Cassius ushered him inside the officers’ quarters and sat him down on a stool.
‘Fetch him some water,’ he told Simo.
Cassius ran a hand over Julius’ tunic, to check he wasn’t concealing a weapon. When Simo gave him a cup, the boy couldn’t close his fingers round it. Cassius put it on the ground.
‘Julius. Look at me.’
Julius did no more than wipe a hand across his wet eyes.
‘Look at me.’
This time he did, and the mixture of panic and terror Cassius saw in his face startled him.
‘You must try to talk to me. Understand?’
Cassius spoke slowly.
‘Understand? Nod if you do. Nod your head.’
Julius did so.
‘There’s something I must do. When I come back you must try to tell me what happened. The truth.’
Cassius backed up to the door and waved Simo over.
‘Draw your dagger,’ he said quietly.
Simo took out the small, wooden-handled blade and held it by his side.
‘You have the key with you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Keep the door locked and don’t open it until I return. I don’t think he’ll try anything but if he does don’t be afraid to use your blade.’
Simo’s eyes widened at this but he soon recovered himself, whispering quizzically: ‘He is the murderer, sir?’
‘I don’t know. That mob out there certainly think so. I’ll be back soon. Don’t take your eyes off him.’