Nick Brown - The Siege

‘I didn’t know that, sir.’

‘And what about Elagabalus’ black stone? You must have heard of that.’

Simo shook his head.

‘Quite a tale. He brought to Rome a conical rock said to possess remarkable properties. It was found somewhere not far from here, I believe. Apparently it reflected both the sun and the moon and could speak with a voice from above.’ Cassius gave a cynical sneer. ‘You have probably gathered that I am hardly a zealot, but a talking stone? Please.’

‘As likely as making a blind man see I suppose, sir,’ said Simo.

‘Yes,’ replied Cassius, sensing a rare edge in the Gaul’s voice. ‘Quite.’

It soon became obvious that both men had been unduly pessimistic with their estimates. Before the third hour of the journey from the pass was up, they had a good view of Alauran.

Having previously resisted the local custom of wrapping cloth around the head, Cassius had given into Simo’s urgings and was already grateful for it. He had picked up a good deal of colour in the previous month but could still feel sunburn on his exposed legs and arms. The heat was also beginning to take its toll on both horses; they had slowed to a lethargic amble.

‘It might be as well to walk from here,’ said Cassius. ‘A cautious approach would seem wise.’

Dropping to the ground, he left the horse where it was and gazed at the settlement, now no more than a mile away. Cassius recognised the telltale signs of a spring: the high date palms and clumps of grass surrounding a wide depression in the sand. Though it was high summer and the palms bore more brown fronds than green, the trees somehow clung to life, sustained by the deep subterranean waters that also fed Alauran’s well.

Beyond the spring, where the depression ended, was one side of the fort. Constructed of the ever-present cream-coloured brick, the wall was well over a hundred feet long, perhaps ten high. A tall timber structure dominated the south-east corner of the compound. Cassius thought it might be the granary, housing the precious supply of food.

‘No smoke, sir,’ said Simo thoughtfully.

‘And a flagpole with no flag on it,’ Cassius added.

Leading the horses by the reins, they walked steadily towards the fort. Cassius stared fixedly at the wall, hoping rather than expecting to see the reassuring sight of a standard or a raised spear.

By the time they neared the closest of the palms, this preoccupation had distracted him from what Simo had already noticed. The Gaul tapped him on the shoulder and pointed towards the tree.

A large, black-feathered buzzard had just hopped out of the palm’s shadow. Claws scraping the sand, it shook its head at the strangers. Clasped in its crooked beak was something red with flies buzzing around it. With a single flick of its neck, the bird swallowed the morsel and hopped back towards the palm. Still looking on, Cassius belatedly realised what Simo had been pointing at all along.

Wrapped in faded shrouds, and arranged in an untidy line under the tree, were six bodies.

Covering their noses with cloth unwrapped from their headgear, Cassius and Simo stared down at the corpses. One was no more than a pile of bleached bones, wrapped in a thin sheet that looked like it might blow away at any moment. The shrouds covering the middle four forms were a little newer. A section of cloth covering the face of one had come loose, revealing a portion of sunken, lined skin. This figure was notably smaller than the others.

‘A child perhaps,’ said Simo quietly. Unwilling to open his mouth, Cassius nodded and turned his attention to the last body. It could not have been there more than a week. Apart from the sweet odour of rot, the skin, visible where the buzzard had pecked a wide hole, had hardly decayed at all. Flies had gathered on the wound.

Cassius felt a wave of nausea, reminding him of the seasickness he had endured during the three-week crossing from Ravenna to Seleucia Pieria, the port that served Antioch. He had eventually resorted to offering daily prayers to Neptune, with no obvious effect.

He clapped his hands, driving the bird away. It hopped towards three more of its brethren, gathered together under another palm.

‘Well somebody put them here,’ he said.

‘Victims of disease perhaps?’ replied Simo, following Cassius back towards the horses. Neither of them chose to mention the obvious suspicion. Outbreaks of plague had afflicted the area for years; the disease could arrive at a settlement borne by a single individual and spread to the entire population in weeks. Cassius was fully aware of the risk; his uncle had died during one such outbreak while stationed in Cyprus.

Taking his mount by the reins, he started towards the south-eastern corner of the wall, examining the structure as he walked, knowing he might soon have to depend on it. The clay brick looked solid enough, the edges of each block visible under a thin layer of white paint. The foundations also seemed secure, with little evidence of slippage or subsidence. The top of the wall, however, was rather unconventional: there were no guard towers or battlements.

In the time it took them to traverse the southern side of Alauran, not a single sound was heard from within. It was almost midday; Cassius could not conceive how a garrisoned settlement, even one so remote and undermanned, could remain so deathly quiet.

They reached the corner. Cassius stopped and handed his reins to Simo.

‘Your knife is at hand, I see.’

‘It is, sir.’

Cassius retrieved his helmet from one of the saddlebags. If there were any troops left, first impressions would count. Having secured the strap under his chin, he took a final drink of water.

‘Eyes and ears open then.’

Simo took charge of both horses, looping the reins together as he followed Cassius round the corner.

In the middle of the eastern wall was a small but sturdy-looking gatehouse. The two towers bore the familiar hallmarks of a traditional fortress, though on a far smaller scale. Each was square, perhaps ten feet wide, extending two yards above the wall, with several arrow slits close to the roof.

The gate itself hardly deserved the name: two thick wooden doors mounted on a frame set into the wall. One door was slightly ajar.

Simo’s horse snorted. Cassius placed his hand on his sword, concerned that the noise would alert any potential enemy inside. Noting some vulgar graffiti at the bottom of the door, he leaned round it and peered inside.

Directly ahead was a street of sorts, separating two rows of ramshackle housing and leading through to a paved square. Beyond that were a well and a small temple.

Checking that Simo was right behind him, Cassius gripped the edge of the door and pushed it inward. The hinges squeaked, protesting noisily until there was enough space for the horses to pass. He took four steps forward and stopped. Though no people were in view, there were a few signs of life: a line of washing hanging from a roof, a discarded sandal, a large pail in the middle of a doorway.

Fairly sure he could hear voices coming from somewhere, Cassius swept his eyes across the compound. To the left was some kind of encampment where awnings had been strung from the houses to the southern wall. Under the awnings were assorted barrels, amphoras, blankets and several piles of clothes. There was also a well-maintained fireplace, complete with a spit and a stack of cooking pans.

To the right was a U-shaped marketplace with stalls on three sides. Many of the stalls had been cannibalised for wood. Woven baskets of various sizes and shapes littered the ground. They were all empty.

‘Keep your eyes on those houses,’ Cassius told Simo, turning to look at the inside of the eastern wall. The towers were accessed through a low doorway on each side of the gatehouse. Along the remainder of the wall a number of wooden planks had been affixed five feet from the ground to form a series of rudimentary firing platforms.