The Siege: Agent of Rome (The Agent of Rome) Read online

  ‘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.

  The scout assigned to assist Cassius was a man named Cotta, who was waiting for the column at the edge of town by a run-down farmhouse. He stepped out of the shade provided by a wall, rounded his horse and nodded a greeting. br />
  ‘Morning. Or should I say afternoon?’

  Cassius was about to apologise but reminded himself that Roman officers did not offer excuses to scouts.

  Cotta had a thin covering of greying hair and a heavily lined face that carried a certain air of nobility. He wore the white robes of a local, with only a traditional brooch to identify him as Roman.

  ‘Shall we?’ Cassius said, pointing towards the road ahead. It was marked by a darker shade of sand and the occasional line of stones. The lands beyond were dotted with hardy shrubs and trees. In the distance were the undulating hills that signalled a return to safer territory.

  ‘I thought you might prefer to wait,’ said Cotta.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘The messenger.’

  ‘What messenger?’

  Cotta pointed towards the hills. Cassius and the legionaries peered into the haze. About a mile down the road, a speeding rider had just emerged from behind a small copse of trees.

  ‘And if my aged eyes serve,’ said Cotta, ‘he carries a spear with a feather attached.’

  ‘Meaning what?’

  Cotta seemed surprised by Cassius’ ignorance.

  ‘The feather instructs all who the carrier meets to clear the way or lend assistance. It means he bears urgent and important news – a military emergency.’

  Cassius narrowed his eyes. Though slumped forward in his saddle, the messenger was holding a spear aloft.

  Cotta was right. The feather was there.

  II

  Two of the legionaries helped the messenger to the ground. The man looked utterly exhausted. His skin was red, his lips cracked, his tunic soaked through with sweat. He could hardly walk and the soldiers half dragged, half carried him over to the farmhouse wall as the rest of the men crowded round.

  Cassius, still on his horse, looked on as Cotta administered some water. The messenger drank greedily, coughing it up at first, then emptied half the canteen. Squinting, he pointed over Cotta’s shoulder.

  ‘Centurion Corbulo?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Cassius evenly. He removed his helmet, dismounted and walked over.

  The messenger reached into his tunic and pulled out a sodden piece of cloth. He attempted to undo it but his fingers were still too numb from gripping the reins. Cotta took over and unwrapped a roll of papyrus sealed with maroon wax.

  ‘It carries the general’s mark,’ he said, offering Cassius the letter.

  As Ammianus attended to the messenger’s equally shattered horse, Cassius took the letter and walked round to the other side of the farmhouse. The seal was indeed the general’s, the letters M, G and N quite clear. Cassius felt his stomach turn over as he scratched away the seal. Opening up the page, he recognised the same even hand that had given him his first ever set of operational orders. Now he had his second.

  Corbulo,

  Zenobia’s advance has gathered pace. She has ordered her forces to take control of the settlements close to your position. The easternmost of these is a fort named Alauran. It should still be occupied by men of the Third Legion. There is a large stock of provisions there and, more importantly, a deep, reliable well.

  General Valens and the Sixteenth Legion are on their way south to meet this new advance. His men will need that food and water.

  I do not know the size of this Palmyran force but I have already dispatched a message to Valens, requesting that he send a unit of cavalry immediately to Alauran. They should be there four or five days after this letter reaches you.

  There are no other officers in the area. Get yourself there, Corbulo. If there’s anyone of rank, give them this letter and any assistance you can. If not, take charge of whatever forces remain. You are, after all, employed to safeguard imperial security; this is a perfect opportunity to do so. Prepare for an attack and hold Alauran until reinforcements arrive.

  May the gods favour you,

  General Marcus Galenus Navio

  ‘Well?’ asked Cotta, now standing close by.

  Cassius wiped away the thick beads of sweat running down his face, no longer entirely as a result of the heat. He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself.

  ‘A change of plan. How far to Alauran from here?’

  ‘A day and a night perhaps.’

  ‘And the route?’

  The scout pointed to the south-east.

  See the three hills there, on the other side of the plain?’

  Cassius shaded his eyes once again.

  ‘There’s a pass through the first two. Get to the other side and bear directly east into the desert. Alauran is within clear view – there are palms by the western wall. It may have been overrun by now. Surely we’re not going there?’

  ‘You’re not.’

  As Cassius walked back towards the column, he briefly considered throwing the orders away, concocting some scheme to avoid this new mission, but the thought died, stillborn. After six months of training, instructions from above carried an undeniable, irresistible weight. Orders were given, orders were obeyed. Cassius gave a grim, unnoticed half-smile. There had always been a certain inevitability about this moment; what he feared most had come to pass.

  Approaching the soldiers, he was met by a line of expectant faces.

  ‘You. Cinna, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘You know my attendant? The fat Gaul? He’s close to the back of the column. Tell him to come up with as much of my gear as we can carry on two horses. Assist him if he needs help.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Cinna coaxed his mount out of the line and set off at a trot. Cassius ignored the exchange of cynical glances between the other legionaries. Young centurions were rare. Young centurions with their own manservant were almost unheard of.

  Cassius hurried back towards Cotta and met him by the shaded wall.

  ‘So, what do you know of the place?’

  ‘I was there about four months ago. I delivered orders for their senior officer to report any sightings of the Palmyrans and prepare the defence. I assumed they had been withdrawn by now.’

  ‘Apparently not.’

  ‘From what I recall the fort was in a pretty poor state. There was a centurion still there but I didn’t see him. He was very ill. Close to death I think.’

  Cassius shook his head and cursed his father.

  ‘And the men?’

  ‘Unit of the Third Legion. Disorganised lot. No one else taking charge.’

  ‘How many? A century’s worth?’

  ‘Oh no, certainly not.’

  ‘Wonderful. Anything else?’

  ‘They ate well. There’s a granary full of grain, dried meat and fish. And plenty of wine. A little too much of which was being consumed by the men, actually. I left the orders with an old veteran. Name began with a B. He knew the place inside out. Kept going on about some man he referred to as the Praetorian.’

  ‘A member of the Praetorian Guard? Out here?’

  ‘That was my reaction. I never saw him but the old fellow seemed sure they would be safe as long as this Praetorian was around.’

  ‘Sounds to me like the figment of a deranged imagination.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Cotta, fiddling with his brooch. ‘He was old certainly, but not deranged. I got more sense out of him than anyone else there. I saw a few legionaries but they could barely string a sentence together.’

  Cotta mimed tipping a cup towards his mouth.

  Cassius wafted away a fly. Clusters of them had begun to gather round the stationary horses.

  ‘So. Apart from drunks, insane old men and fictitious Guardsmen, is there anyone else I should know about?’

  ‘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 us
e 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.