Nick Brown: The Siege

‘I believe there were a few locals left: traders, those too sick to travel, a couple of whores. .’

As Cotta’s voice trailed off, Cassius turned and saw Simo and Cinna approaching. Simo’s horse was laden with gear. Cinna had two leather saddlebags perched on his lap.

‘Simo, we’re to be on our own for a while. You’ll need to use my mount too.’ Cassius nodded at his horse, pacing slowly in the shade.

Cotta held up a hand.

‘A word of advice. Travelling alone you’ll make for an easy target. Apart from the Palmyrans, some of the locals might be tempted now we’re pulling out. Keep an eye out for bandits. You should make it across the plain before dark.’

Cotta lowered his voice.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to take some of the legionaries with you?’

‘No. They are the only front-line troops in the column. Besides, they are still recovering from their last engagement.’

‘And you are fresh and eager to face action?’ asked Cotta with a wry smile.

Cassius knew there was no point trying to hide his concerns from such an experienced campaigner. He made no attempt at bravado, in fact he made no reply at all. His oratorical skills had so deserted him that he was unable even to summon a witty riposte.

‘Your name’s Corbulo, isn’t it?’ Cotta continued.

‘That’s right.’

‘Gnaes Domitius Corbulo. The general who restored order in Armenia for Nero. Any relation?’

‘Distantly I believe.’

‘And he led the Third Legion. A good omen. You’ll do well with these men.’

‘I wish I shared your confidence. Come, there are some points of command to settle.’

The messenger had been taken to the rear of the column. Ammianus and the legionaries were back on their horses and arranged in a loose semicircle. Cotta took the reins of his own mount and followed Cassius towards them.

‘I have to leave,’ Cassius announced. ‘Cotta here is in charge of all matters relating to the journey back to Antioch. He knows the territory well and is to be regarded as commander in this respect.’

The legionaries all nodded their assent. Cassius knew there were no soldiers of senior rank in the column but somebody had to take charge. He caught the eye of the tall legionary with the injured arm. He now had a whole bundle of the throwing javelins slung across his back.

‘Your name?’

‘Licinius.’

‘Well, Licinius, I have a job for you. If there is an attack, you are to take over and coordinate the defence of the column. Assuming all goes well, report to the first senior officer you come across. Understood?’

Unlike many of the soldiers Cassius had encountered, Licinius seemed to respond well to being given responsibility; he sat higher in his saddle and seemed happy to take charge.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And do whatever you can to keep everyone moving in the hours of daylight.’

Cassius moved towards Cotta, now also in the saddle.

‘When you’re ready then.’

‘May Fortuna watch over you,’ replied Cotta gravely as his mount moved off.

Cassius backed away from the column towards the farmhouse, looking on as the legionaries and auxiliaries followed in turn.

‘Centurion!’ Cotta shouted over his shoulder. ‘The old man! His name was Barates.’

Cassius only just heard him over the sound of the horses.

‘Barates?’

‘That’s it!’

They exchanged a final wave. Cassius, now back in the shade, was struck by the number of men who took the time to salute or shout a goodbye.

Simo had led the horses round to the other side of the farmhouse, away from the dust kicked up by the column. He had readied his own mount and was now shifting full canteens of water on to his master’s saddle. He was a big man, broad-shouldered and solid, and carrying a quarter more weight than he needed. He had an open, youthful face made older by a hefty double chin. His thick, black hair was now wet and matted to his forehead. Cassius watched him work for a moment. All things considered, Simo had adjusted to his new life rather well.

Though he had been tended to since birth, Cassius had decided against maintaining an attendant whilst in the army, mainly because he couldn’t afford it. But he was not one to turn down a convenient opportunity, and during his brief stay in Antioch a rare piece of good fortune had come his way.

He had visited a friend of his father, a wealthy, aged merchant named Trimalchio. Fearing the city would fall, Trimalchio was taking his family back to Rome and clearing up his affairs in the province, not expecting to return. He and his wife remembered Cassius as a young boy and, sympathetic to his predicament, they had treated him kindly. He had dined with them twice and those few hours had given him valued respite from the tense wait for orders.

On the day of the family’s departure, Trimalchio had presented him with Simo. He was of Gaulish descent, a sixth-generation slave highly regarded by his master. No money changed hands but Cassius had been told he could make use of Simo for as long as he was required. Only then would he join the rest of the staff in Rome.

Simo looked up as he tied off the last canteen.

‘A necessary measure I’m afraid, sir.’

Cassius waved the comment away.

‘Go ahead. Do you think I’d rather die of thirst than pile on a bit of extra weight? You have the money, I trust.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Simo patted his tunic.

Corbulo senior had at least been generous enough to furnish his son with fifteen hundred denarii in silver coins: twice the annual army salary and enough to bribe one’s way out of most situations.

‘Is there anything else to do?’ Cassius asked. ‘If it’s just to be the two of us for a while, I should probably lend a hand.’

‘Just your armour, sir. I’ve not found a spot for that yet.’

Simo pointed at Cassius’ mail shirt, folded neatly on top of a pile of bricks. Like all soldiers, Cassius had purchased it with his own money. In fact, he had opted for the priciest and most highly recommended example he could find. The thousands of rings were made of copper alloy, which produced a distinctive silvery tinge. The trader had assured him that it was both stronger and lighter than conventional iron or bronze mail. Cassius did not expect ever to make a more important investment.

Dusting it down first, he lifted the shirt by the shoulders and walked back to his horse. He could see no space on the side Simo was working, so instead examined the other flank. Every available saddlebag was filled: one with food, one with a wood axe, another with his cloak. Cassius could see no obvious solution. Simo intervened.

‘Allow me, sir,’ he said, taking the shirt. He hurried round the horse’s rear and removed the axe from the largest bag. Wrapping it in some sackcloth, he swiftly found a way to fit the axe neatly inside the mail shirt.

‘Most resourceful,’ said Cassius, running a finger across his chin and resolving to leave servants’ work to servants in future.

‘I believe we’re about ready, sir,’ said Simo, surveying his handiwork.

‘Let’s be away then,’ replied Cassius, noting that virtually the entire column was now past them.

‘None of the legionaries are to accompany us, sir?’ Simo asked.

‘No,’ Cassius answered flatly as he hauled himself up into the saddle. The horse spent a few moments protesting, perhaps noticing the added bulk, but then calmed down. Simo, now also in the saddle, moved up to take his position behind Cassius, but his master waved him forward to join him.

‘It would be better if two pairs of eyes monitor our path in this haze. We’ll start by heading for that tree. See there, with the crooked trunk?’

Simo followed the line of his outstretched arm.