Cassius dropped his grip to the middle of the rake, wedged his chin over the roof edge and reached as high as he could. He pulled the rake down, dislodging most of the fiery branches. As they slid towards him, he twisted his arm round and swept them off the front of the granary. The first of the fires was out.
The second arrow had landed closer to the top of the roof. The area aflame was no more than a yard across but much harder to reach. Resting the rake along the closest sloping beam, Cassius clambered up until both knees were on the roof edge. His armour made every action doubly taxing, but with one hand braced on the beam he was able to extend the rake high enough to reach the burning branches. Flaming leaves dropped down into the granary.
‘Inside! Somebody get inside!’
As he continued to flick the branches off the roof, Cassius checked to his left, surprised but relieved to find no more arrows had landed on the granary.
‘Get back down here!’
Not sure if the shout was meant for him, Cassius was reaching for the last of the flaming palm fronds when something hit his right shoulder.
The force of the impact knocked him forward on to the beam. He came down squarely on his chest, somehow maintaining his grip on the rake. Aware of light and voices below, he lay there for a moment. He felt no pain in his shoulder and hoped the mail had done its job. Looking up, he saw that only a couple of palm fronds were still alight. He knocked them down into the granary, hoping someone was there to extinguish them.
‘Come back down!’
It was definitely Strabo; he sounded close by.
So much of the palm had now been raked away or incinerated that Cassius could see the other side of the roof. The fire there was out. He slid back down the beam and dropped the rake to the ground.
Fighting the urge to hurry, he took care to get down safely and dropped the final few feet, finding himself amongst a crowd of legionaries and Syrians. Like the Romans, Kabir’s men were facing the southern wall, all holding their slings. Cassius looked along the granary roof, then at the dwellings: there was no sign of fire.
‘A job well done,’ said Strabo, looming out of the dark, torch held high. ‘That took some balls.’
‘What about inside, there were-’
‘Crispus dealt with it. The other side of the roof too.’
Cassius turned round.
‘Check my shoulder, would you? I think I was hit.’
Strabo held the torch above the armour. ‘You were. Lucky you’ve such a fine piece of mail. A couple of dented rings but that’s all. Made a right target of yourself up there. We chucked a couple of javelins and heard a cry or too. I think they’ve backed off again.’
‘Good.’
Cassius realised now how out of breath he was. He turned his hands over and examined his fingers. In places, the skin bore the purple shine of a slight burn but there was no real damage.
‘Next time send one of the men up,’ advised Strabo. ‘You must learn to — what’s the word?’
‘Delegate?’
‘That’s the one.’
A group of Syrians separated and Crispus appeared, a rake still in his hand.
‘Sir, Avso reports that the Palmyrans have moved back. No torches closer than their original position.’
‘Another feint,’ said Strabo thoughtfully.
‘Well done, sir,’ said Crispus.
‘Well done yourself. Why would they try and burn this down? They must know it’s the granary.’
‘I think those were strays, or there was an error in communication,’ answered Crispus, wiping grime from his face. ‘After those first few hit, the rest were aimed at the dwellings.’
Cassius turned to Strabo.
‘Anyone hurt?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘We should get the men back to their positions then.’
‘I’ll do it quietly,’ said the Sicilian, ‘in case those beyond the wall speak Latin.’
The crowd began to break up, leaving Cassius to catch his breath. He checked his belt: both dagger and sword were still in place. The mail shirt, however, had ridden up. Pulling it down, he noticed a glow behind him.
There on the ground, almost under the granary, was his oil lamp. It was still burning bright.
XXIX
The last few grains of sand dropped on to the golden mound below. Cassius flipped the hourglass over.
‘Six hours gone,’ he said to no one in particular.
The cold of the desert night had penetrated every corner of the compound. Those at the walls were wrapped in their cloaks and the torch-bearers no longer resented their burdens. Cassius and the section leaders were gathered together in the officers’ quarters, sitting on stools in a half-circle before the fire. Only Avso was absent, taking his turn to check the perimeter. Having just served some hot wine, Simo had left for the aid post.
Though his efforts at the granary had tired him, Cassius felt glad to have made a direct contribution to the defence. There was, he sensed, already a subtle difference in the way the legionaries viewed him.
‘I’ve know some long nights over the years,’ said Strabo, his hands circling the cup of wine, ‘but I fancy this might be the longest yet. Mind you, I recall a few nasty waits around the time old Odenathus started taking charge.’
‘You’ve been in Syria that long?’ asked Cassius.
‘Twelve years, I think. Might even be thirteen.’ Strabo’s eyes were fixed on the fire. ‘Things were fairly quiet when we first arrived, then Dura fell to the Persians and we found ourselves marching east. Luckily the Palmyrans got the worst of it. We were camped out close to the Euphrates. For three nights they told us we’d see action the next day, but it never happened. Bad information from the Security Service as I recall. Not that anything good ever came from that nest of snakes.’
Cassius observed the nods of agreement from the legionaries. Based on what he’d heard in Syria, the Service’s reputation amongst rank-and-file soldiers was not far short of atrocious. He hadn’t enjoyed lying to the men about his identity, but was glad he’d followed General Navio’s counsel.
‘Odd, is it not?’ said Serenus. ‘That we now find ourselves at war with our former allies.’
‘Odenathus was our ally,’ said Strabo sharply. ‘Some would say he went too far, but we’ve not known many emperors as strong in a good many years. That whore wife of his is another matter. Fancy knocking off your husband at a birthday party.’
‘That’s just a rumour, isn’t it?’ said Cassius.
Strabo gave a cynical look as he downed more of the steaming wine.
‘Are you married?’ Cassius asked him.
‘No,’ Strabo answered quickly, almost indignantly. Cassius wished he hadn’t asked.
‘The guard officer cannot afford to take a wife,’ said Avso, appearing suddenly from the gloom outside. Gathering his cloak about him, he took up a stool and glanced speculatively across at Strabo. ‘Isn’t that right?’
The Sicilian finished off the wine and set the cup down.
‘At least I’ve had offers. And not, like you, solely from pox-ridden streetwalkers.’
‘Why don’t you remind us how you came to lose your life savings? Quite a tale.’
Strabo’s eyes stayed on the flames as he replied.
‘Before you came in, we were discussing what can happen when alliances are broken. How swiftly ally can become enemy.’
‘Just making conversation,’ said the Thracian. ‘Didn’t mean to cause you embarrassment.’
‘The tale doesn’t embarrass me in the least. Fortuna simply chose not to smile upon me that night.’ Strabo glanced at the door. ‘I’m assuming all is quiet out there?’
‘Like a temple on pay day,’ replied Avso.
‘I shall take my turn,’ said Serenus, who seemed to have recovered himself.
The Sicilian crossed his arms and begrudgingly began.
‘It was a couple of years ago. I was on leave in Tarsus with a few other lads from the century. We’d been playing doubles all week. Anyway, there was this bunch from-’