Centurion

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The slaughter of the horses began shortly afterwards, beginning with those of the royal stable, just as King Vabathus had commanded. The animals were held in place by strong men holding stout leather traces.Then the butcher from the king's kitchens cut the animals' throats, collecting the blood in wide wooden tubs to be saved as a thickening agent for the gruel that was cooked each day for the civilian refugees.The carcasses were quickly gutted and the inedible organs were carted away to be dumped over the side of the wall, downwind of the bulk of the citadel. The bodies were efficiently flayed and then the meat was cut from the bones ready to be packed into the massive brine-filled jars that had been prepared in the cellars beneath the royal quarters. Anything else that could be boiled down for stock was carried off to the pots steaming over the cooking fires in the barracks of the royal bodyguard.

Cato and Macro spent the day seeing to the accommodation of their men and drawing up duty rosters and inventories of their remaining equipment. All the time the air was thick with the whinnying of terrified horses, and the stench of cooking horsemeat filled their nostrils to such an extent that Macro had almost gone off the idea of fresh meat by the end of the day. Almost. When the duty orderly brought the two officers a tough piece of grilled horse meat and a jar of watered wine to share, Macro quickly forgot his complaints about the smell and tucked in eagerly, cutting a hunk off for Cato to eat. They shared one of the small tack rooms in the king's stables. The scent of the previous occupants still lent a sharp tang to the air.The rest of the auxiliaries and legionaries occupied the stables and courtyard and most of the men were already asleep, after being pushed to the limit in the last few days.

'Good idea of yours, this,' Macro managed to say as he chewed on the meat. 'I was getting a bit sick of bread and hard tack.'

Cato had pulled out his dagger and was busy cutting small strips off his portion. 'Maybe. But I doubt it has won me many friends amongst the nobles.'

'Bollocks to 'em.You were right. If they can't see beyond their bloody possessions to what's really important then they don't deserve them.' Macro chuckled.'But the expression on their faces was priceless. What I wouldn't give to see that again!'

He continued chewing for a moment before he looked at Cato and spoke again. 'That was quite a performance, by the way.'

Cato shrugged. 'I said what needed saying, that's all.'

'I know, but it's the way you said it that counted. I could never have managed it,' Macro said quietly. He felt a stab of pain at the recognition of this fragment of inferiority. He did not have the same facility with language as his young friend, and never would have, he realised. Despite being a good soldier, Macro doubted that he would ever be promoted to a senior command. In his heart, like most men of the legions, he harboured the ambition of one day becoming a chief centurion – the primus pilus. Very few men ever attained that rank. Most had been killed or injured and discharged long before they became eligible for the position. Even then, only those men with spotless records and a chestful of bravery awards would be considered. Macro reflected sourly on the last two years which he and Cato had spent performing special duties for Narcissus. The secret nature of the work meant that they would never be rewarded publicly for the dangers they had faced in the service of Rome. Vital though the missions had been, they would count for nothing when he and Cato returned to service in the legions.

Until then, Macro would have to make the most of his temporary command and hope that his good service would be entered on his record. That was his only path to preferment, he reflected. Cato, on the other hand, with his brains, was bound to be plucked from the ranks of the centurionate and appointed to permanent command of one of the more prestigious auxiliary cohorts. That would mean entry into the ranks of the equites, Rome's second tier of aristocracy, and Cato's heirs, if he lived long enough to have any, would be eligible for the senate. A giddy prospect indeed, Macro acknowledged as he watched Cato guardedly. It occurred to him that one day his friend would outrank him. The thought startled him, and for a moment he was pricked by resentment. Then he shook the feeling off, angry at himself for letting such an unworthy sentiment enter his head.

'Anyway,' Cato picked up a small piece of the meat and popped it in his mouth, 'it's not important now. What matters is making sure that we hold out until Longinus reaches Palmyra. If he takes longer than we expect then killing the horses won't be enough. We'll have to do what Balthus suggested.'

Macro paused a moment to recollect, then raised his eyebrows. 'Ah, you mean pitch the civilians out of the citadel.'

'Yes.'

'That's harsh, coming from you, lad.'

'What else can we do?' Cato sighed wearily. 'If they remain in the citadel and we are starved into surrender then Palmyra will fall under the control of Parthia. The Emperor won't allow that, so there'll be a war, in which case tens of thousands will die. If we have to sacrifice the civilians here, then it may be justified in the long run.'

'Maybe,' Macro responded. 'But there's a more immediate issue you might consider.'

'Oh?'

'Let's not forget what Prince Artaxes has in store for us, if he takes the citadel.'

'I hadn't forgotten.'

Macro shrugged. 'If it comes down to a choice between the civilians and us, well, there's no choice in my book.'

Cato did not reply. He was still thinking about the threat to massacre all the Romans found inside the citadel. That would include the ambassador's daughter, Julia – though not before she was handed over to Artaxes' soldiers to use as they wished. He felt anger rise up in him at the prospect, and there it was again, that thrill of affection, like a warm ache in his heart. Cato reached for the jug and took several mouthfuls. Macro watched him in amusement.

'You drink as if you've only just discovered wine.'

Cato lowered the jug.'I needed that. It's been a long day.'

'And then some.' Macro laughed. 'Ever the one for understatement, aren't you?'

Cato joined in the laughter and for a moment the strain of recent days lifted from his shoulders and he was glad that he would be at Macro's side in the struggle to come. Whatever the odds, whatever the likelihood of defeat and death, somehow Macro had always managed to make Cato feel that they would come through the ordeal alive.

He rose up and stretched his shoulders with a weary grunt.

'Going somewhere?' Macro asked.

Cato nodded. 'One last walk round the sentry posts before I turn in. That's all.'

'Make sure it is.You need the rest, lad. We all do.'

'Who are you, my mother?'

'No. Just your commanding officer. And I order you to get a good night's sleep.'

Cato smiled and made an exaggerated salute. 'Yes, sir!'

He left the stables and climbed up on to the battlements. Tonight it was the turn of the Second Illyrian to provide the watch and Cato went from post to post to make sure that his men were awake and keeping a close eye on the enemy. The sentries were as tired as the rest of the men, but they well knew the penalty for sleeping on duty – death by stoning – and kept moving, steadily marching up and down the stretch of wall that had been allocated to them.When he had checked the last of his men and was happy that the duty centurion had properly prepared the passwords and changes of the watch, Cato climbed up into the beacon tower to have a last look out over the city before he made his way to his bed and a desperately needed sleep.

At the top of the stairs, he paused to catch his breath, and then emerged on to the platform and nodded in response to the salute of the auxiliary manning the pyre.Within a heavy iron frame split palm logs lay on top of a pile of dried palms that acted as kindling. Under the frame lay the ashes of the fire that had been lit the previous night to signal Macro to make his attack on the eastern gate of the city. Cato crossed to the battlements overlooking the agora and stared across to the temple precinct where the rebels had laboured through the day to make repairs to the ram and its housing. Torches flared around the structure where men had replaced the severed ropes, and now long lines of men heaved on pulleys as the ram was raised into position and support ropes hurriedly lashed to the timber frame of the housing. As he watched their progress, Cato felt a sinking sensation in his stomach as he realised that the ram would be repaired before the next day dawned. The brave attack by the Greek mercenaries had cost the enemy one day.That was all it had achieved, aside from diverting the enemy's attention away from Macro's assault on the eastern gate. A small enough gain, Cato reflected, but he had been a soldier long enough to know that one day might yet mean the difference between success and defeat.

He lifted his gaze and slowly scanned the surrounding area. Lights from fires in the streets on the other side of the city revealed the heart of the enemy's activity. Cato realised how completely outnumbered the garrison of the citadel was. And if the Parthians reached the city before Longinus did then there was no hope.

Cato heard footsteps as another person climbed into the signal tower, but he was too tired and depressed by his thoughts to bother turning to look.

'Why, it's Prefect Cato,' said Julia.

Cato looked round, straightening up to greet her with stiff formality. 'Lady Julia.'

'What are you doing here?' she asked bluntly.

Cato was frustrated by the interruption and replied tersely. 'My job. And you?'

'I've finished my work for the day, Prefect.This is where I come to be alone.'

'Alone?' Cato could not hide his surprise. 'Why would you want to be alone?'

She looked at him shrewdly.'For the same reason as you, I imagine. To think. That is why you are up here, isn't it?'

Cato frowned, angry that she had guessed his mind and habits so easily. The extreme irritation of his expression made his face comical and she suddenly laughed: a light, pleasing sound that Cato would have liked under different circumstances, but now only made his expression harden even more. She reached out and touched his arm.

'I'm so sorry. We seem to have got off on the wrong foot.' She smiled. 'Believe me, I meant no offence. I didn't mean to make you angry.'

Her tone was sincere and the light of the small brazier glowing beside the pyre made her eyes sparkle. Much as Cato wanted to maintain his cold mood, he could not help warming to her.

He nodded. 'It wasn't the most cordial of introductions. I apologise for my behaviour. Sometimes it's hard to forget that I'm a soldier.'

'I know. My father sometimes suffers from the same complaint as a diplomat. And after all you have been through, I'm sure you have a right to be short with me.'

Cato was embarrassed by his earlier behaviour and all the more self-conscious about it now that Julia had shown him a graciousness that he had not returned in kind. He swallowed nervously and bowed his head as he took a half-step back from her. 'I'd better leave you to your thoughts then, my lady. I apologise for intruding on your privacy.'

'But it is I who have intruded. You were here first,' she reminded him. 'Would you not share the tower with me? I promise I'll be quiet and won't distract you.'

There was that faintly amused tone to her voice again and Cato felt that she was mocking him. He shook his head. 'I must rest, my lady. I bid you good night.'

Before he could turn away completely Julia blurted out, 'Please, stay and talk to me. If you're not too tired to spare me a moment.'

He was exhausted, and the thought of sleep was beyond temptation, yet the pleading look in her eyes melted his resolve. He smiled. 'It would be a pleasure, my lady.'

'You know, you could call me Julia.'

'I could. But only if you call me Cato.'

'But that's your cognomen. Might I know your familiar name?'

'In the army we only go by the cognomen. Force of habit.'

'Very well, Cato it is.' Julia moved away, towards the side of the tower that looked over the agora. She glanced back at him and smiled, and Cato went over and joined her, conscious of her closeness and yet not daring to make any kind of physical contact. He was aware of her scent for the first time, a citron tang mixed with something sweet, and he savoured it as he stood beside her and stared out across Palmyra.

'Such a beautiful thing,' Julia mused. 'A city at night. I used to sit on the roof terrace of our house in Rome when I was a child. We lived on the Janiculan Hill, with views towards the forum and the imperial palace. At night torches and braziers sparkled like diamonds, and amber, right across the city. On moonlit nights you could see the details clearly for miles, as if Rome was a toy made of blue stone. Sometimes a mist would rise from the Tiber.'

Cato smiled. 'I remember that. It was like a fine silk veil. Looked so soft that I wanted to reach out and touch it.'

She glanced at him with a surprised expression. 'You too? I thought I was the only one who saw it that way.You lived in Rome?'

'I was raised in the palace. My father was an imperial freedman.' The words were out before Cato could stop himself and he wondered if she would think worse of him for his lowly origins.

'The son of a freedman, and now a prefect of auxiliaries,' Julia mused. 'That's quite an achievement.'

'Acting prefect,' Cato confessed. 'Once a permanent commander is found I will revert to the rank of centurion. A junior one at that.'

She saw through his modesty at once. 'The fact that you were chosen for the command at all must mean someone thinks you have potential, Cato.'

'It would be nice to think so. Otherwise it'll take a long time to work up enough seniority for any further promotion in the legions.'

'And you'd like that?'

'What soldier wouldn't?'

'Forgive me, Cato, but you don't seem like a typical soldier to me.'

He looked at her. 'I don't?'

'Oh, I'm sure that you are a fine officer, and I know that you are brave, and you have quite a way with words according to my father.'

'But?'

She shrugged. 'I don't really know. You seem to have a certain sensitivity that I haven't encountered in the soldiers I've met before.'

'Blame it on the palace upbringing.'

She laughed and then stared out across the city again, and a silence grew between them, until Cato spoke.'What about you? What happened to the young girl who spent her evenings staring out across Rome?'

Julia smiled faintly, then gently clasped her wrist with the other hand and rubbed it slowly. 'Like all girls from a good family, I was married to a man three times my age as soon as I was fourteen. It was supposed to establish a bond between two families with proud lineages. Only my husband used to beat me.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

She looked at him sadly. 'I know what you're thinking. All husbands beat their wives from time to time.'

'I didn't mean…'

'Well, maybe it's true. But Junius Porcinus used to beat me almost every day. For any fault he could find in me. I took it for a while… I thought that was how marriages were supposed to be. After two years of looking at a bruised face in the mirror every morning I asked my father for permission to divorce Porcinus. When he learned what had been going on he agreed. I've travelled with him on the Emperor's business ever since. I suppose I run the household for him in place of my mother. She died giving birth to me.' Julia was silent for a moment and then smiled awkwardly. 'How silly of me! Boring you to death with my family history when you need to rest.'

'No, it's quite all right,' Cato replied. 'I mean, I'm not bored. Honestly.You're very… open.'

'Indiscreet, you mean.'

Cato shook his head. 'Open, honest. It's just that I'm not used to it. Soldiers tend not to be too forthcoming about their feelings. So this is a pleasing change.'

'Oh, I'm not normally so candid. But now?' Julia shrugged. 'Life might be somewhat shorter than I had expected. There's no point in holding back those things I want to say. The prospect of death can be quite liberating.'

'Ah, that I can agree with.' Cato chuckled as he recalled the wild exhilaration of combat, mixed with dreadful fear. Paradoxically, he had never felt more alive than at such moments. A sad truth, he conceded to himself. There was a time when his greatest pleasure had been the pursuit of knowledge. Since becoming a soldier he had discovered a side of his nature that he had never suspected was there. But then, perhaps that was the gift of soldiering – the gaining of self-knowledge. Five years ago he had been a timid youth, filled with doubts about his worth. Everything had seemed impossible. Now he knew what he was capable of, the good as well as the bad. He had achieved feats of endurance and courage that once he would never have thought possible.

Cato realised that he had been silent for a while, and that Julia was watching him, sidelong.

'Sometimes I wish I had been born a man,' she said quietly. 'So many experiences are denied to women. So many opportunities. But since the revolt broke out, I'm not so sure. I can't think how many broken bodies I've had to deal with in the hospital. It's a brutal business being a soldier.'

'True enough,' Cato agreed.'But it's only part of the job. We don't live to kill.'

'If you had only seen what happened here the day the revolt broke out.' Julia shuddered and closed her eyes tightly for a moment. 'The killing began and didn't stop. Soldiers killed soldiers, then women and children. Butchery, that's what it was. I've never seen anything so barbaric.'

'Perhaps.' Cato rubbed his cheek. 'The thing is, that barbarian is there in all of us. It just takes the right kind of provocation, or opportunity, before the barbarian emerges.'

She looked at him closely. 'You really think so?'

'I know it.'

'And you think you have it in you to act the barbarian?'

'It's not an act. Not for me. Not for any man. Not even for you, Julia. Given the right circumstances.'

She stared at him for a moment before easing herself away from the battlements.'It's been nice to talk to someone about something other than their injuries. But I must let you rest. I thank you for your kindness. I shouldn't impose on you any further.'

Her tone was firm, and Cato did not feel confident enough to press the issue. Besides, he was too tired to think clearly and dared not risk saying anything foolish to this woman he keenly wanted to know better.

'We can talk again another night,' he suggested.

'That would be nice. I'd like that.'

They both stared across the agora to where the rebels were putting the finishing touches to their battering ram and its housing.

'Will they take the citadel?' Julia asked softly.

'I can't say,' Cato replied wearily.

'Can't say? Or won't say?'

'I wouldn't lie to you about our chances, Julia. I just don't know. It depends on so many factors.'

She turned to him and pressed her hand to her chest. 'Forget the details.Tell me from your heart. Do you feel we can live through this?'

Cato stared into her eyes and nodded slowly. 'We'll survive. I give you my word. I will let nothing happen to you.'

She looked back at him and nodded. 'Thank you for being honest with me.'

Cato smiled at her. Julia turned and descended into the tower. Now that she had gone Cato was aware of the coolness of the night and he shivered. Perhaps they really would talk again another night, he mused. He hoped so. But as he took a last look across the agora at the enemy clustered about the battering ram he knew that the morrow would bring a fresh assault on these walls and only a handful of tired Roman soldiers and Greek mercenaries stood between Prince Artaxes' bloodthirsty rebels and the terrified civilians sheltering inside the citadel.

08 Centurion