‘I can’t say I care much for your manners, legionary. You are not to repeat the number you gave to me. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. That goes for you too, Crispus. Antonius, stay here until we’re done.’
Attracting considerable attention as he squeezed back through the gate, Cassius ignored the interrogative looks cast his way by Strabo, Avso and numerous others. Serenus was still speaking.
‘Two or three days. That’s from General Navio. We can hold out.’
‘Very inspirational,’ muttered Strabo.
Serenus looked back at Cassius.
‘Signals?’
Cassius straightened his tunic and stepped forward.
‘Most of the time, orders will come directly from your section leaders but we will use the tuba.’
Minicius was just a few paces away, having swapped with another man in order to join the first section. Cassius pointed at him.
‘Our signaller. We’ll dispense with notes and such like and employ a simple code. There’s no need to signal incursions; you’ll see those for yourselves. A series of long tones means a general retreat — to the square and barracks. A series of short tones is for the first section — that’ll be me calling the reserve to my position.’
Cassius looked at his deputies. ‘I think that’s everything.’
‘May I?’ asked Strabo, gesturing at the men.
‘Of course,’ said Cassius hesitantly, wondering what the Sicilian had in mind.
Strabo swaggered forward until he was standing just a yard or so from the first line.
‘I’m not normally one for speeches,’ he began, his crude intonation a contrast to Cassius and Serenus. ‘But we’re still Fifth Century, Third Cohort, Third Legion, and whatever your name is, wherever you’re from, you’re here now. And you’re stuck.’
Thumbs tucked into his belt, Strabo flicked his head to the west.
‘Behind us is nothing but miles of desert. You run, they’ll chase you down. All we can do now is stand firm and stick it to them. And let’s not overrate them. Remember: these half-witted desert-dwellers follow the orders of a woman!’
Strabo enunciated the last word with all the considerable derision he could muster.
‘My money says we stop them here, wait for our boys to arrive, then chase these dogs all the way back to Palmyra!’
Strabo ran a hand through his hair and gave a lascivious smirk.
‘I hear she’s quite a beauty, this queen. Well, while you boys are filling your pockets from the palace coffers, I’ll be first into her bedchamber — take the saucy bitch myself!’
The men laughed and cheered. Only Avso and Flavian remained po-faced. Strabo waited for quiet to return, then unsheathed his sword and held the blade aloft.
‘Caesar fights forever beside us!’ he thundered. ‘Dyrrhachium! Philippi! Artaxata! These the greatest victories of the Third. For Mars! For the Emperor! For Rome!’
‘For Rome!’ answered the men, their cry echoing around the compound.
Strabo sheathed his sword and turned round.
Cassius tilted his head.
‘Dismissed!’
XXIII
A short queue had formed outside the temple. The section leaders had received several requests from legionaries eager to make a prayer or offering before the battle. Cassius looked on from the officers’ quarters. To refuse would have been unthinkable. Few of the men would share his lack of enthusiasm for things religious, and freedom for personal worship was a long-standing feature of army life.
Moments earlier, as he returned from the gate, Cassius had heard chanting coming from the barracks. Not recognising the language, he asked Serenus what was going on. It turned out that a few of the older hands had fought with another legion in Germania many years earlier. After seeing a local auxiliary cohort enjoy considerable fortune as followers of the goddess Viradecthis, they had eventually converted. It was their belief that she had watched over them ever since and would deliver them from the impending battle.
Cassius glanced across at Julius, still sitting by the desk. Simo had been relieved to see his master return; he had swiftly sheathed his dagger and left for the aid post. Cassius tried to clear his head to decide on the best way of approaching the boy, but it was a struggle to focus on anything other than what the next few hours might hold. He walked back across the room and stood over him.
‘You must talk to me. You must!’
Julius’ eyes betrayed only a vague, blank desperation.
Cassius felt a sudden burst of anger at his dumb silence. Darting forward, he gripped one of the boy’s wrists and held it up, examining the dried blood on the tips of his fingers.
‘Was it you?’ He tightened his grip. ‘Was it?’
Julius squirmed in the seat.
‘I can’t help you if you stay silent. I won’t be able to stop them. Who knows what they’ll do to you?’
Realising his words were making no impact, Cassius dragged Julius to his feet. He hauled him outside and past the barracks, retaining a solid grip on his spindly upper arm. Half throwing the boy through the aid post door, he found Simo dressing beds. The Gaul looked up, surprised.
‘Get Kabir over here. If I can get the lad to speak, I want to know what he says. Be quick.’
Simo stepped carefully past them before hurrying across the square.
Julius was gazing at the white-clad figure lying on the furthest bed to the right. The sheet had been pulled tight round Barates’ body and face.
‘Did you do that?’
Julius, now kneeling on the floor, stared back at him plaintively. Cassius jabbed a finger at the corpse, then back at Julius.
‘Did you?’
Julius winced as if he’d been struck, then looked away.
‘Say something! Anything!’
Cassius grabbed him by the collar and dragged him across the floor towards the bed.
‘Perhaps I should show you the wound at his neck? Perhaps that might help you remember?’
This time Julius fought back, as if fearful of being close to the body. He clawed at Cassius’ arms. His nails dug in and Cassius let go. The boy took his chance and bolted for the door. Cassius sprang after him, then swung out a leg. He caught Julius’ back foot and the boy crashed heavily to the floor.
Cassius didn’t enjoy meting out such treatment but the time for gentility was long past. He couldn’t think of any possible reason for Julius to be the murderer, but the evidence was against him. If he couldn’t be persuaded to communicate, perhaps he could be shocked into telling the truth.
Julius recovered quickly and scrambled to his feet. He was set to make for the door again when a large figure all but filled the doorway. Julius froze, then retreated past Cassius and hid behind him.
‘Leave this to me,’ said Cassius.
‘Any progress?’
Strabo was now clad in his heavy mail shirt. His helmet was under his arm, his shield and pila across his back.
‘Not yet. Nor am I likely to make any with you around. Shouldn’t you be at the gatehouse?’
‘That’s why I’m here. The enemy have been sighted. A small party on horseback. Scouts.’
Cassius fought his first instinct: to leave Julius where he was and head straight for the eastern wall.
‘We must resolve this now,’ he said, trying to ignore the boy’s desperate moans.
‘You should know the men are talking. Some of them want to string him up right now. They are saying it was meant, intended by the gods. There are no animals to sacrifice before the battle, they think-’
‘You’re not serious, man! He may not be a Roman and he may not be the equal of you or me, but do you really believe I will allow that? An execution can’t be sanctioned without evidence of guilt.’
‘What do you call that?’ said Strabo, pointing down at Julius’ tunic.
‘That proves nothing. He sleeps over in the stables. He may have found the body. He’d probably tell us exactly what happened if he could. In any case, if he’s guilty, why didn’t he run away?’