‘Where was he from?’ asked Strabo.
Avso said nothing. The Sicilian turned towards him. ‘Avso. Where was he from?’
‘Thrace. Some village in the mountains. I don’t remember the name.’
The mention of Avso and Statius’ homeland reminded Cassius that they were not members of the Third Legion. Avso had now lost all his fellow soldiers from the Fourth: Flavian, Gemellus and now Statius.
Strabo looked over at Cassius.
‘How many more injured?’
‘I’m not sure. They’ve all been taken to the aid post. I’ll check the roll.’
Avso stepped over Statius’ body and stalked towards the open space that had once housed the market. Ahead of him were the Palmyran prisoners. Their weapons and helmets had been removed and they lay on the ground, guarded by three legionaries. There were nine of the cavalrymen in all, though only four were conscious.
Cassius was in little doubt about Avso’s intentions and started after him. Strabo put a hand on his arm.
‘Leave it,’ he said quietly.
‘Those prisoners are my responsibility.’
‘You should not interfere,’ said Strabo, his voice steely as he tightened his grip.
‘Let go of me,’ said Cassius, outraged that the Sicilian should go so far.
The legionaries close by looked on.
‘Let go, Strabo.’
The Sicilian bent his head towards him.
‘You will not intervene?’
Avso ordered the others to strip the prisoners of armour and equipment. The Thracian drew his sword and held it over the first Palmyran as the legionaries pulled at his belt.
Cassius wrenched his arm away.
‘I shall do as I damn well please.’
‘Centurion.’
Despite the cordial expression on his face, Serenus now blocked Cassius’ way. ‘Perhaps you would accompany me to the aid post, to check on the wounded. I’ve posted a lookout at the eastern wall. It seems matters are in hand here.’
‘You too wish to dictate to me? Perhaps I can remind you both of the relevant regulations: prisoners are to be disarmed, then-’
‘By Mars,’ said Strabo.
Serenus concluded Cassius’ sentence: ‘Prisoners are to be disarmed, then restrained or guarded unless doing so compromises the completion of a military action.’
‘Exactly,’ said Cassius.
‘The action is the defence of this fort,’ Serenus said patiently. ‘We cannot spare men to guard prisoners.’
Strabo wasn’t interested in arguing any further. He drew his sword, pushed past Cassius and made for the marketplace, with Iucundus not far behind. Cassius watched the first Palmyran wriggling in the dust as the Romans held him down. Avso jammed a boot into the warrior’s stomach.
‘Come,’ said Serenus, tipping his pilum towards the street. ‘If you see no transgression, no offence need be reported.’
‘That is not the issue,’ said Cassius grimly, turning back towards the barricades. He had no wish to see another death.
‘Come,’ repeated Serenus. ‘We have much more work ahead of us. The enemy have not retreated far. They may strike again soon.’
There was no cry from the Palmyran but Cassius could see from Serenus’ face that the cavalryman had been killed. Another could be heard pleading quietly for his life. With no real alternative left open to him, Cassius walked away up the street. Serenus followed him past a small group of Syrians attending to minor injuries.
‘Would you slow down a little?’ asked Serenus, his voice hoarse.
Cassius did so. Nearing the square, they saw wounded legionaries gathered outside the aid post.
‘I know you have not seen such things before but I have, many a time,’ said Serenus. ‘There is seldom much room for clemency once blood is spilt.’
Cassius thought then of Flavian and the manner of his death. He wondered why he had not thought of it sooner. The legionary had been the first casualty of the battle; his death the most cruel.
‘So it would seem.’
Over the past few months, Cassius had spent many hours trying to imagine what real combat was like. He knew now that such endeavours had been in vain. He could have spent a lifetime training for battle, heard endless stories of war; nothing could have prepared him for its savage realities.
‘You value life,’ said Serenus. ‘It does you credit.’ The veteran stopped by one of the dwellings and leaned against the wall to catch his breath. ‘But if your conscience troubles you, consider this; Avso and Strabo have lost brothers here today. They have made up their minds. Neither you nor I can stop them.’
Leaving Serenus to rest, Cassius hurried on towards the aid post. Close to the western wall, Julius and Antonius were struggling to get the big female camel under control. The two smaller animals were tied up to the well.
‘There you are!’
Cassius had given no thought to the Praetorian and was therefore surprised to see the giant shuffling towards him. He was barefoot, buckling his belt as he walked, and for once there was no cup of wine in his hand. Cassius still found himself amazed by the physical dimensions of the man, this time noticing the plate-sized hands and enormous fingers, easily double the width of his own.
‘That stuff,’ said the Praetorian, blinking into the morning light.
‘Sorry?’
Though they were just yards from the aid post, the Praetorian seemed not to have noticed the injured men. Cassius wondered if he even understood that Alauran had been attacked.
‘That milky stuff you left in my room. I think it did me some good.’
‘Oh.’
‘My guts feel better. Is there any more?’
Though his eyes were still bloodshot and his delivery stilted, the huge man seemed as sober as Cassius had seen him.
‘I’ll try to get you some.’
The Praetorian rubbed his hands together.
‘Good.’
‘It may be difficult. There are injured men.’ Cassius gestured towards the aid post but the grey eyes rested on him and him only. ‘Others are dead. We must prepare for another attack.’
The Praetorian nodded vacantly and Cassius realised that this new-found lucidity applied only when the man was focused on his own welfare. The wall of intoxication and self-interest he had created around himself would not be easily breached. The Praetorian turned, staggering slightly as he made for the inn.
‘Just get me some more of that mixture.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Good lad,’ he mumbled, walking away.
The legionaries outside the aid post had observed the encounter. One, holding a folded tunic against a wound on his knee, nodded towards the inn as Cassius approached.
‘The Bear’s up early, sir. Perhaps he will fight with us now.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Cassius as the men moved aside to let him through. ‘He’s more interested in his next cup of wine.’
The soldier shook his head. The disappointment amongst the assembled legionaries was palpable. Though Cassius had earlier resolved to abandon all thoughts of winning the Praetorian round, the reaction of the soldiers reminded him of how such a man might embolden them, not to mention the effect his presence might have on the enemy. Everything about his behaviour suggested he would do nothing to assist the defence, but Cassius was not quite ready to give up on him yet.
With a swift about-turn he rounded the corner and found the Praetorian bent over the bar, grunting as he foraged for another barrel. A cup sat on the bar next to him.
‘Excuse me.’
Still empty-handed, the Praetorian pushed himself up and turned round. He blinked a couple of times, then picked at his nose.
‘Ah. You have it?’
‘No, not yet. I just thought I should tell you something. My servant is an expert in these matters. He said that wine will counteract the effects of the preparation.’