Ben Kane - Clouds of War

The dialogue continued in similar vein. Pera seemed to be playing a larger role than Quintus would have thought, which annoyed him intensely. Pera’s reputation would grow from this. He diverted himself by studying the hoplites. As was to be expected, they seemed a solid lot. It wasn’t long before his eyes strayed to the Galeagra tower. Its size and position oozed strength and impregnability. One day, it might have to be taken, and an opportunity to study it was rare indeed.

Quintus tried not to think of the enemy artillery. It was best to assume that in any theoretical assault, he and his comrades would reach the wall in one piece. Things would not improve at the base of the tower, however. There they would have to resist withering barrages from the bolt throwers that poked from the gaps in the rampart. Many more men would die. Attacking the gate might seem preferable to climbing a ladder, but there were many paths to Hades. Even if they were under vineae , manmade tunnels covered with water-soaked leather panels, while they tried to batter down the gate, the Syracusans could kill them from above.

The damn city would never be taken, Quintus decided angrily. He and his comrades would spend the rest of their miserable lives besieging it, never free to return to Italy. About the only way to leave was to die at the foot of these defences.

His eyes wandered over the tower again. It was so well constructed. Great blocks of limestone had been stacked on top of each other with incredible precision. There wasn’t a trace of mortar present in the gaps between the stones. Quintus doubted that he could shove even the very tip of his gladius between them. Rumour from the legionaries stationed to the south of the city had it that the stone had been quarried from a site used to house Athenian soldiers taken prisoner by the Syracusans more than two centuries before. Some said that in ‘Dionysus’ Ear’, a leaf-shaped tunnel where the stonemasons’ chisel marks could still be seen, echoes and cries of the Athenians were regularly heard, that their essence had somehow soaked into the stones, giving the walls an invisible layer of protection.

An uneasy feeling settled over Quintus. It’s bullshit, he thought, remembering his father, who had been excellent at rubbishing such rumours. ‘Unless you can talk to the man who saw stones falling from the sky, or statues moving on their plinths,’ Fabricius had been fond of saying, ‘do not believe a word you hear.’ The wall needed no unearthly aid anyway. Its sheer solidity and height were enough to keep out any attackers. To either side of the Galeagra, it was eight large blocks tall. The tower itself was two courses higher than that.

He blinked.

A hoplite had just walked out of the gate. Raising a hand to his eyes against the sun, he moved to the left of the entrance and stood for a moment, searching for someone. That didn’t interest Quintus especially. What did was the fact that the hoplite had placed himself right at the base of the wall, and that he was roughly twice the height of one of the stone blocks. The realisation hit him like a lightning bolt. Far away, and without a man standing before it, the wall appeared much taller than it actually was. ‘The damn thing’s not as high as it looks!’ he hissed.

Urceus gave him an odd look. ‘Eh?’

‘Look,’ ordered Quintus, but the hoplite had moved. Ignoring Urceus’ confusion, Quintus craned his head to see where Corax was. His centurion was busy talking to Pera for some reason; Quintus had to bite his lip. He wanted to tell Corax, but it was out of the question at that moment. And if he did it later, there’d be no way of proving his theory. Corax wouldn’t go to Marcellus unless he had proof. There was nothing he could do.

They were all out at Galeagra again the next morning, but not the junior tribune. According to the gossip, he had come down with a fever. In his absence, Pera played more of a part than he had during the first meeting with the Syracusans. This was to become the tone of the next two days: the lone tribune and Pera haggling with the enemy officers over the price for Damippus. Progress was slow but steady. One evening, Quintus was utterly incensed to hear Corax complaining to Vitruvius. He’d been in the mule pen to feed the beast belonging to the contubernium when the two centurions appeared. It had been a gut instinct to duck out of sight, and their conversation had proved his intuition right.

‘At this rate, the prick will be made an equestrian,’ Corax growled. ‘I wouldn’t mind if Pera had any real ability, but I’ve yet to see any. He’s an arrogant fucking hothead, who happens to have a golden tongue.’

‘He’s also related to Marcellus,’ said Vitruvius wryly. ‘That helps.’

‘Aye.’ Corax spat. ‘And if his hare-brained plan comes to ought, we’ll never hear the end of how Pera was responsible for the fall of Syracuse.’

‘What plan?’

Quintus listened with all of his might.

Corax snorted. ‘Apparently Pera has been getting on well with one of the Syracusans, who has a real taste for Gaulish wine. It’s in short supply at the moment, for obvious reasons. Pera’s been telling the tribune that they should run in a shipload of wine to the Syracusan, using the fishermen. That would be the start, but if he proved amenable, gold would follow. So too would the promise of a position of high authority — once the city has been turned over to our forces.’

‘It’s audacious, I’ll give Pera that. Would it work, though?’

‘Even if it doesn’t, it keeps Pera’s nose in Marcellus’ arse crack.’

While he hated to hear of Pera’s successes, this was a welcome revelation to Quintus. Corax might side with a fellow centurion against him, but the truth of it was that he detested Pera.

‘It might be a little smelly, but it’s a good place to be if you want to climb the social ladder,’ said Vitruvius with a chuckle.

‘You and I aren’t built like that, old friend.’

‘We’re not, thank the gods, but there are plenty of men like Pera. The worst of it is that Marcellus can’t see sycophants for what they are.’

‘Aye, he just laps up the attention. And Pera …’ Corax paused for a moment before adding: ‘I don’t think that there’s much he wouldn’t do to get where he wants.’

‘I hope you’re wrong there,’ said Vitruvius.

‘As do I.’

The centurions’ voices diminished as they walked away.

Pera’s strategy with the Syracusan officer might come to nothing, thought Quintus, but if it did, his rise to pre-eminence would be assured. He would be posted elsewhere, and Quintus would lose his chance to avenge Marius’ death. That stuck in his gullet like a splintered chicken bone. At this point, a mad plan hatched in his brain. What if he were the one to hand Corax the means to take the city?

‘You want me to leave my post, climb down into no man’s land in the pitch dark and walk to the bottom of the city walls, so that you can measure them?’ Urceus’ voice cracked a little on the second last word.

‘Not so loud,’ urged Quintus. It was night-time in the Roman camp, and some time since they’d retired to their blankets, but that didn’t mean the four others were asleep, or that the men in the neighbouring tents were.

‘Do I sound as if I have taken leave of my senses?’ Urceus’ eyes were pools of black disbelief. ‘I grant you that the Syracusans might not hear us, but what if you’re wrong about the height of the stones? What if this is all for nothing?’

‘I tell you, I’m right!’

Urceus didn’t appear to hear. ‘And if someone other than Corax discovers that we’re gone? We’ll be executed! And even if it is Corax who finds out, our safety won’t be guaranteed.’