Unsure why he hadn’t noticed sooner, Cassius spied a group of five men standing ahead of the rally line, less than fifty yards away. One was identifiable by his cloak, the other three were Palmyran infantrymen. The fifth was being held up by the soldiers. Flavian.
‘Crispus,’ said Cassius without turning round. ‘Where’s Avso?’
‘At the aid post, I think. Serenus is with him. Gemellus is dead, sir.’
Two of the men pulled on Flavian’s hands until his arms were parallel to the ground. There was a sudden gust of wind. Azaf’s black hair streamed out behind him as he circled the others and drew his sword. He raised the blade high, its oiled surface catching the sun.
Then he swept it down, hacking off Flavian’s left arm above the elbow. Even at such distance, Cassius could see blood spurting from the wound. The Palmyran left holding the limb cast it casually to the ground.
‘What is it, sir?’ asked Crispus, moving swiftly up the ladder.
‘Nothing. Stay there.’
Azaf took two steps to his left, then swung the sword down once more, taking off the other arm with symmetrical precision.
To his horror, Cassius saw that Flavian’s head was still moving atop his butchered body. His frame jerked horribly, like a manic puppet. Two of the Palmyrans pushed him down on to his knees, then squatted behind him, propping him up with their hands.
Azaf placed the tip of his sword at Flavian’s neck, then retracted the blade in a high diagonal arc. He swung the sword once more.
Cassius shut his eyes and turned away. When he opened them again, he found the alert gaze of Crispus upon him.
‘What is it, sir? What have they done to him?’
When Cassius failed to answer, Crispus climbed up the ladder. Before he could get close to the arrow slit, Cassius was up off his knees and barring the way. He put both hands flat against Crispus’ chest.
‘There’s nothing to see. Find Avso. Tell him his friend is gone. He was dead before he reached their lines.’
‘What did they do to him?’
Cassius’ head was already bent over because of the low roof. He leaned in close to Crispus.
‘I told you. He was dead before they got him back to their lines. He’ll suffer no more. Now find Avso and tell him.’
Crispus took one last look at the arrow slit before stepping back. Then he left without a word.
Cassius took his helmet off and ran his hands across his face and head, wiping the sweat on his tunic sleeves. He closed his eyes for a moment and saw the sword swing once more. Forcing himself forward, he knelt down again.
The Palmyrans were moving quickly. All traces of Flavian had been removed. The leader and his messenger had disappeared. The entire middle section of the first line separated to allow a small group forward. There were ten of them, all fully armoured, all pushing the ram.
XXVII
‘How long would you say it’s been?’
‘An hour and a half,’ said Serenus, ‘perhaps two.’
Cassius thought it seemed longer. Afternoon had become evening and, to the surprise of everyone within the fort, the Palmyrans had not advanced. The swordsmen had dismounted, their horses sent to the rear, and though the ram had been pushed to the front, the line of infantry remained static. Occasionally a man would hand out water but for the most part the enemy had barely moved at all.
Cassius, Serenus, Strabo and Kabir stood together by the access gap. With Crispus on duty at the gatehouse and the other three sentries still in place, Strabo had instructed the men to seek shade where they could. He had also permitted the removal of helmets, though armour was to stay on and weapons remain within reach.
‘So what are they doing?’ asked Cassius, aware of the multitude observing their meeting: the legionaries behind the gatehouse; the dark faces gathered at the dwelling windows.
‘Maybe Purple Cloak wants it nice and cool for the cavalry,’ offered Strabo.
‘That’s possible,’ replied Kabir, ‘though he’s confident indeed if he expects victory before nightfall. And it would surprise me if he struck first with horsemen.’
‘What are the other possibilities?’ asked Cassius, looking hopefully at the others.
‘Perhaps they await reinforcements,’ suggested Serenus, who seemed to have recovered a little strength.
‘We can’t see any,’ Cassius replied, having just returned from checking the other three walls.
‘Let’s see what Antonius has to say,’ said Strabo as the legionary appeared from the southern tower. ‘I sent him up there to take a look at those carts. Often sees things others don’t. Hurry up then!’
Antonius sprinted over to the group. He was carrying a pilum and, as he skidded to a stop, the long spear almost stuck Serenus in the shoulder. The veteran swatted the weapon away.
‘Point up, you idiot!’
‘Sorry.’
‘Well?’ said the Sicilian tiredly.
‘There are twelve carts,’ said Antonius.
‘I know that,’ growled Strabo. ‘What’s in them?’
‘It’s hard to be sure. But there were bits poking out here and there. Could be ladders.’
‘Or firewood?’ asked Kabir. ‘Torches even?’
‘Could be,’ answered Antonius with a shrug.
‘Anything else?’ asked Strabo.
Antonius shook his head.
‘Back to your section then.’
‘Torches,’ said Cassius. ‘Do we have any?’
‘We do,’ said Kabir.
‘There’s a stack in the barracks,’ said Strabo. ‘We’ve plenty of oil to keep them alight. And there’s a load of dry branches still in the stables too — they just need tying together.’
‘Then we should make up some more,’ Cassius said. ‘I’ll get my section on to it.’
He then noticed Simo standing behind Kabir. The Gaul looked anxious about disturbing the conversation.
‘Excuse me.’
Cassius ushered Simo towards the middle of the street before speaking.
‘What is it?’
‘I’ve finished the preparation, sir. Not with everything, of course, but the key ingredients are there. Ideally it should be drunk soon.’
Though all thoughts of the Praetorian had disappeared since the arrival of the Palmyrans, Cassius knew it would be foolish to waste an opportunity to get the man on his side.
‘Good, good. Any sign of him?’
‘Well he’s not at the inn, sir. Still sleeping perhaps.’
‘And how’s the boy doing?’
‘Slow to start but working well now.’
‘I’ll be along soon.’
‘Very well, sir.’
Cassius returned to the others.
‘I must attend to something — shouldn’t take long. Can you three get back to the gatehouse? See if you can work out what’s going on?’
‘Not much else we can do,’ shrugged the Sicilian. The trio marched away through the gap.
The first section were conveniently close, just outside one of the dwellings. Three of them were tightening a leather shield cover, two were decanting water from a barrel whilst two more checked each other’s armour. The oldest of them was Vestinus, a man who’d seemed capable and keen every time Cassius had encountered him.
‘First section, get finished as soon as you can. There are some branches in the stables that need tying up for torches. Leave enough for the camels then take the rest to the workshop. I want all of them oiled and ready. Vestinus, you’re in charge. Quick as you can.’
Back in the square, Cassius saw Avso by the well, splashing water on to his face from a barrel. Cassius stalked towards the aid post with the aim of avoiding him.
‘Centurion!’
Wiping wet hair away from his eyes, Avso loped across the square.
Cassius stopped and waited for him. The Thracian’s hollow cheeks and sunken eyes made his face a difficult one to warm to, yet there was a trace of vulnerability there now.
‘He’s dead?’ asked Avso quietly. ‘You’re sure of it?’
Cassius nodded, then glanced around, unsure what to say.
‘Never could control himself,’ continued Avso. ‘Poor excuse for a soldier. I should curse the fool.’