Nick Brown - The Siege

Now the images were real. Death, injury, pain and ruin in all their peculiar forms. Men reduced to nothing more than lifeless matter, decaying already under the pitiless glare of the desert sun. Though he felt a certain shame at his disgust, Cassius wished they could simply pile all the bodies on to a pyre and set them alight.

‘Fourteen. Sixteen including us,’ said Crispus, finishing a headcount.

‘That’s all?’ asked Cassius, doing his best to concentrate.

‘All that can fight.’

Aside from Crispus, Cassius knew the names of only two in the line before him: the surly lookout Antonius and the resilient Vestinus, who was leaning against his pilum, grimacing at even the slightest movement of his leg. It seemed incredible that so many of the prominent faces and characters he had got to know over the last few days were gone.

Vestinus’ scabbard clinked against his pilum and Cassius realised that the eyes of the men were upon him. To his right, Crispus stood still, arms crossed. The legionaries looked weary. Their tunics were stained with blood and grime, their dark skin shiny with sweat. Several hadn’t even bothered to sheathe their swords.

Cassius cleared his throat and began. The men listened in silence as he briefly outlined the plan. Their faces betrayed only resigned exhaustion and he could not tell if they approved of the scheme or not. It hardly mattered; there was no time to change it now. He could hear Kabir talking to his men not far away. On the roof above them, Yarak and Idan watched the Palmyrans.

There were a few reassuring nods from the legionaries as Cassius described how they would defend the standard with the temple at their backs. As he finished, Vestinus raised a hand.

‘Yes?’

‘Sir, there are three or four others like me in the barracks — wounded about the legs. We’d be no good on the ground, but if we could get up somewhere high-’

Crispus caught Cassius’ eye.

‘We recovered some enemy bows and quivers from the other side of the carts.’

‘The barracks roof?’ Vestinus suggested. ‘A good field of fire looking down on the square.’

‘Sounds like a good idea,’ replied Cassius. ‘Go and tell the others and I’ll send someone to help you get up there.’

Cassius made way for Vestinus as he hobbled off down the street. Looking back along the line of expectant faces, he recalled Strabo’s rousing words of the previous day.

He knew the legionaries would fight on; every man had proved himself. But he needed more than that. He needed them to believe victory was still possible.

‘Alauran is still ours. Still Rome’s. And those outside the walls still have to come in here and take it from us. Today is the fifth day since I received word from General Navio. Valens’ men could be here any time. We must hold on. We can hold on.’

All the legionaries were looking at him. A couple smiled grimly to themselves, another smacked his hand against his chest and took a deep breath.

Crispus drew his sword. Like Cassius, he spoke quietly but with unwavering resolve. ‘Caesar fights forever beside us, sir.’

‘Well, I’m not with the Third Legion,’ said Cassius with a grin. ‘But I hope he’s alongside me too. Even if it’s just for today.’

‘For Rome!’ shouted Crispus.

Cassius joined in with the others.

‘For Rome!’

‘Let’s ready ourselves then,’ Cassius said when the cries had died down, ‘and recall the words of Publius Terentius. While there’s life, there’s hope . I’ll see you in the square.’

There were two stops to make before overseeing the arrangement of the carts. A quick word with Kabir confirmed that there was still no sign of advance from the Palmyrans. They agreed also that half the Syrians would now move to the roof as sentries, while the rest would help Crispus and the legionaries move the carts.

Still carrying his helmet, Cassius jogged back up the street to the aid post. He found it surprisingly quiet. Apart from those occupying the beds, the other injured men had all been moved inside the barracks. There was no sign of Simo or Julius.

Strabo, lying closest to the door, was covered with a blanket. He lay still, eyes shut, his head propped up on a cushion against the wall. It seemed he had been holding up his wounded arm with his good hand but it had slipped down. The bandage was soaked through with wet, fresh blood. Cassius wondered if he was already dead.

Suddenly there was movement to his right: Simo stood up from behind one of the large wooden chests.

‘What are you doing over there?’ demanded Cassius, struggling to keep his voice down.

‘I was praying, sir,’ Simo replied, almost in a whisper.

‘Forget your damn prayers! This man needs your help.’

Simo hurried forward. Strabo stirred as the Gaul held up his arm again.

‘Temples are for prayers. This is an aid post.’

Nodding again, Simo began unwrapping the bandage. Cassius noticed his clammy cheeks and realised the Gaul had been crying. He thought for a moment what it must have been like, treating the wounded, watching men die.

Simo placed the sodden bandage to one side, leaving only one layer round the stump, still steadily issuing blood.

‘He was asking for you earlier, sir,’ Simo said, retrieving a new covering from a sack.

Cassius forced himself to look at the arm.

‘Can’t you burn it or something? That stops the bleeding, doesn’t it?’

‘I’m not sure quite how it’s done, sir. And I fear the shock of it might kill him. The flow has lessened but he has lost a huge amount of blood.’

‘Too much I think.’

Strabo’s voice was surprisingly loud. His eyes had opened a fraction and he raised his good hand, beckoning Cassius towards him.

‘That you, centurion?’

‘It is.’

Cassius knelt down opposite Simo and pushed his scabbard back so as not to catch it on the floor. The Sicilian’s eyes opened a little more, the dark pupils accentuated by his pallid skin. Cassius thought of his grandfather. In the days leading up to his death, the old man’s skin had acquired a shade so pale it seemed almost translucent. Strabo turned his head a fraction.

‘There’ll be no burning? Understand?’

‘If that’s what you wish.’

‘You know the boy was in here earlier — looking after me. He has a short memory.’

‘Perhaps he has forgiven you,’ said Simo as he re-dressed the wound. It looked agonising but Strabo showed no sign of discomfort. His face, usually so animated, was almost serene.

‘You are in pain?’ Cassius asked.

‘Not any more,’ replied Strabo with a faint smile. ‘I was cold but I feel quite warm now. And light. I dreamed I was at a beach before, just floating back and forth in the shallows.’

‘Sounds good to me.’

The Sicilian looked towards the doorway.

‘How are the men?’

‘Not bad, considering. We’ll be ready for them.’

Strabo reached out and took a firm hold of Cassius’ wrist.

‘You must remember: the wages and the funeral fund. All the men deserve a proper cremation and many have families to take care of. The papers are all in Petronius’ desk. In Antioch you will have to find the legion chief clerk. I can’t remember his name, but-’

‘I will deal will all of that, I give you my word.’

Simo finished tying off the bandage.

‘I think the flow is slowing at last,’ he said, laying the arm down carefully across the blanket.

Cassius could hear the men moving around outside.

The Sicilian continued: ‘One more thing. My back pay will just about cover what I still owe. That two hundred denarii you offered puts me in profit. I’d like to have it now, hold it in my hand. It means something to me.’