Nick Brown: The Siege

‘As you can see, sir, Chief Pulcher requests that I be directed to the senior Service officer in the province.’

At last Navio put the letter to one side.

‘Yes, well, unfortunately that arrogant bastard Abascantius doesn’t deign to trouble me with news of his activities, let alone request my permission for them.’

The general took some almonds from a small bowl on his desk and washed them down with a mouthful of wine.

‘I have no idea where he is. He disappeared into the desert two months ago without even telling me why. Not for the first time I might add. Luckily, there is no shortage of work for young, upstanding officers such as yourself.’

Despite the heat of late afternoon, Cassius felt a chill run down his spine. The prospect of five years with the Service seemed dreadful enough, but surely nothing could be more dangerous than a field posting with the legions.

‘You understand the situation here?’ asked the general.

‘I do, sir. We face revolt.’

‘I suppose you could call it that. The truth is, the Palmyrans have held the upper hand here for years. And you’ll find as many folk on the streets of Antioch would as soon raise Zenobia’s banner as Claudius’. But the Queen has gone too far, and seems intent on nothing less than annexation.’

‘We can assume that she knows of the problems in Gaul then. Not to mention the campaign against the Goths.’

‘Indeed. And that she’d be well advised to secure her position while the Emperor is preoccupied.’

Navio stood, ran a hand over his paunch and sauntered over to a large, tatty map mounted on the wall. It was marked here and there with charcoal and ink.

‘Come. Show me the partition boundary.’

It took Cassius a moment to find the right line, denoting the partition between Syria Coele and Syria Phoenice.

‘That’s it. Phoenice went first. That’s the Palmyrans’ home ground. Several cohorts were lost so I withdrew the rest to key settlements further north. A few were taken but I suspect the Queen was waiting for Arabia, Palestine and Egypt to fall before committing significant forces. Now they have; so we’re getting her full attention. Apamea and several smaller towns have gone in the last few weeks. All that stands between them and us is what’s left of the Third Legion.’

The general made circles with his finger in an area to the south-east of the capital.

‘Scattered amongst the towns here are a number of small garrisons. Just a few engineers and clerks now. Wounded, too. I need them rounded up and brought back here. It might be only weeks before the city is besieged.’

Despite such a prospect, Cassius had felt rather reassured by his few days in Antioch. The thought of venturing beyond its walls horrified him.

The general was already back at his desk. He filled a bronze pen with ink from a pot, then began to write on a papyrus sheet.

‘I’ll list the towns here. Get around them as quick as you can. I’ll assign a scout to help you find your way. My clerk will help you with any questions.’

‘Sir, you do understand that — officially — I’m not actually a centurion. I haven’t even been assigned to a legion yet.’

The general continued writing as he spoke.

‘What was the name?’

‘Corbulo, sir.’

‘Corbulo, you have an officer’s tunic and an officer’s helmet and you completed full officer training, did you not?’

Cassius nodded. He could easily recall every accursed test and drill he had undergone at Ravenna’s military academy. Though he had excelled in the cerebral disciplines and somehow survived the endless marches and swims, he had rated poorly with sword in hand and had been repeatedly described as ‘lacking natural leadership ability’. The academy’s senior centurion had seemed quite relieved when the letter from the Service arrived.

‘I did, sir, but it was felt I would be more suited to intelligence work than the legions. I really would prefer-’

‘And you did take an oath? To Rome, the Army and the Emperor?’

‘I did sir, and of course I am happy to serve but-’

The general finished the orders. He rolled the sheet up roughly and handed it to Cassius.

‘Dismissed.’

‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I just have one final question.’

The general was on his way back to his chair. He turned round and fixed Cassius with an impatient stare.

‘Sir, how should I present myself to the troops? In terms of rank, I mean.’

‘They will assume you are a centurion, and I can see no practical reason whatsoever to disabuse them of that view.’

Cassius could not forget that phrase, nor could he shake off a mild sense of shame every time he donned his officer’s helmet, complete with its bright red horsehair crest. The helmet was made of iron, with a protruding nose guard and three hanging sections that protected the ears and neck. He was still not used to the weight, and though his headache was beginning to ease, he cursed quietly as he tightened the straps around his chin. He hated the damn thing but it seemed sensible to keep up appearances for the benefit of the locals. He could take it off once the column was clear of Nessara.

It was the last town on the general’s list. Fifty miles from the capital. If they were lucky they might do it in three days. Cassius was desperate to get moving. He had gleaned enough from the soldiers and locals to know that Palmyrans approaching from the east might overrun the area at any time.

Once back in Antioch, he intended to find this Abascantius, take up the post he had been promised and hopefully avoid any more field assignments. But as he had discovered of late, looking too far into the future was a dangerous indulgence. His priority was to get the column out of the town and on the move.

It was almost midday when they left. Cassius took the lead with the mounted legionaries behind him, riding two abreast. Next came the carts bearing supplies and the wounded. Bringing up the rear were those soldiers on foot and the local auxiliaries.

Apart from the now abandoned Roman compound, Nessara was little more than a cluster of low, mud-brick houses. Despite the ravages of war and the enervating climate of high summer, life continued apace. Small groups of children darted here and there, stopping only to gaze at the column as it passed. Traders — some with stalls, others with no more than a woven basket — offered all manner of food; from olives, dates, oranges and lemons to chicken, goat and lamb, available alive or dead. One man stood over a selection of military equipment polished to a high sheen: some Roman, some local, even a huge axe from some northern land.

Approaching the edge of town, the column passed a group of women hanging washing on lines strung between dwellings. Several stopped what they were doing and more than one pair of eyes were drawn to the unusual figure leading the way.

As if his youth and lean physique were not enough to set him apart, Cassius’ other features did little to help him blend in. His family was from the far north of Italy and, like his mother and three sisters, he had light brown hair and a fair complexion. Thankfully, he had also inherited his mother’s good looks and his distinctive appearance had never done him any harm in his relations with women, not to mention drawing attention from quite a few men. The effect was doubled when he found himself amongst the darker peoples of the East.

One of the younger women bent over a basket and, before he could help himself, Cassius was leering at the swell of her surprisingly large breasts. The girl caught his eye as she stood up. Hand on hip, she gave a provocative smile.

This was soon replaced by a frown as an older woman, presumably her mother, slapped the girl hard across the back of her head. Pulling her daughter’s robes together to cover her cleavage, she pushed her away through the laundry before shooting Cassius a venomous glare.