Centurion

'I doubt you'll find any opposition to that demand in Rome,' said Macro.

'And I also want my older brother sent into exile.'

'Exile?' Cato raised his eyebrows. 'Why? Your older brother is in the citadel with the king. He's a loyalist.'

'Yes, it's too bad. But Amethus is also a fool.'

Macro shook his head. 'I don't know about that. Foolishness is no bar to kingship as far as I know. Although there are exceptions.'

'Quite. I am no fool, Centurion, and in the interests of Rome and Palmyra, it is best that I succeed my father.' A ruthless hunger filled the prince's eyes as he continued. 'Once this revolt is over, I will become the king. Naturally I may honour his treaty with Rome, with some modifications. '

'Oh yes, naturally.'

Balthus ignored Macro's sarcastic tone and eased himself back. 'Those are my terms. They are not open to negotiation.'

Macro pursed his lips as he considered the offer. Then Cato intervened. 'They sound fair enough, sir.'

Macro thought a moment before he replied. 'Maybe. But I can't go and make deals like this without the approval of Longinus. All I can give you is my word that I will present your case to my superiors. Is that acceptable?'

Balthus shrugged. 'I'll take your word, Centurion. The word of a Roman officer is good enough for me. In return, my men and I will escort you to Palmyra and guide you through to the citadel, and then you will take command.'

'All right.' Macro nodded, and offered his hand. 'I agree.'

A smile flickered across Prince Balthus' lips as he clasped the Roman officer's hand and sealed the deal. Then he rose to his feet with a swift shimmer of his dark, gleaming robes. 'Then you had better prepare your men to march, Centurion.The dawn is already on us and we must cover as many miles as we can before midday.'

Macro and Cato scrambled to their feet and bowed their heads as the Palmyran prince swirled round and strode back towards his men. Macro waited until Balthus was out of earshot and then said quietly, 'Well? What do you think?'

'The arrangement is as good as we could get.'

Macro looked at his friend. 'But?'

'I don't trust him.'

'Me neither.' Macro stared after Balthus a moment longer and then puffed out his cheeks. 'Well, let's get the men formed up for the day's march.'

After a brief rest to eat the morning's rations the wounded were loaded on to the carts and the surviving mules were harnessed into their yokes. Several had been killed or crippled by the arrows and horses were taken from one of the cavalry columns to serve in their place. Prince Balthus and his men had already seized the handful of enemy mounts remaining on the battlefield as spoils of war. The dead were hurriedly buried in a shallow grave, which was covered with rocks to spare the bodies the indignity of being worried by carrion and other scavengers. Then the two cohorts formed up: the legionaries at the front, followed by the carts, and then the auxiliaries, with the cavalry squadrons riding ahead on both flanks. When every man was in place, Macro glanced back down the column and muttered, 'They're good men. You'd never think they had just been in a fight. We'll show that prince what real soldiers can do when we reach Palmyra.'

'Yes, sir,' Cato responded. He continued evenly, 'Meanwhile, we need him and his men. They're our best chance of seeing this through.'

Macro shook his head. 'Cato, my lad, I'm as aware of the situation as you are. I'll be on my best behaviour.'

'Oh, I didn't mean you, sir.' Cato was embarrassed. 'I was referring to the men. We're going to have to watch them. Make sure they don't cause any trouble with the locals. If Balthus is anything to go by then we can't count on the warmest of welcomes when we get to Palmyra, whether they are our allies or not.'

'No.' Macro sighed deeply. 'And on that heart-warming note, let's get moving.'

The column trudged forward, towards the waiting Palmyran horsemen. A moment later, Balthus shouted an order and his men spread out in a thin screen ahead of the column and headed across the desert towards the distant city. The track took them past the site of the skirmish the Palmyrans had fought with the horse-archers at dawn and the Romans glanced curiously at the scores of bodies of men and horses littering the stony desert.

Cato felt a chill in his spine as he looked over the scattered corpses. 'Curious, don't you think?'

'What?' Macro turned towards his friend. 'What's curious?'

'There were no prisoners. No sign of any seriously wounded amongst Balthus' men.'

'So? They caught them on the hop, and gave them a good kicking.'

'I know,' Cato agreed. 'But surely some of the rebels would have surrendered, and there must have been some casualties amongst Balthus' men. So, where are they?'

Both officers glanced back to the dead men lying in the glare of the early morning sun. Macro spoke first.

'It seems our man Balthus is an even more ruthless bastard than I thought.'

Cato nodded. 'Just as long as he's our ruthless bastard.'

'And if he isn't?'

'Then the situation in Palmyra has every chance of becoming our worst nightmare,' Cato said quietly.

08 Centurion

CHAPTER TWELVE

' Quite a view,' Macro said as he reached for his canteen and took a small swig.

Balthus and Cato were lying next to him, in the shadow cast by a stunted bush that grew along the long ridge overlooking Palmyra. Below them the rocky slope fell away until it met the plain which stretched away to the oasis that gave the city its name, and its wealth. Beyond the city lay a dense belt of palm trees and patches of irrigated farmland. To the south was a shallow vale scattered with tombs in the form of small towers.The gleaming walls of the city looped round the domes and tiled roofs of its dwellings and public buildings, built in the familiar Greek style.The main market, courts and temples stood to the west of the city, while at the eastern end a large walled enclosure dominated the surrounding buildings from the top of an expanse of higher ground. Cato pointed it out.

'Is that the citadel?'

Balthus nodded.

'What's the best way to get to it?'

'The east gate. There, see?'

'Yes…' Cato strained his eyes. 'Yes, I've got it.'

The gate was built into the wall without towers and only the thin ribbon of morning visitors to the city revealed its presence to Cato. Hardly a formidable defence, Cato decided. Inside the eastern gate the buildings sprawled low and it was clear this was the poorest quarter of the city. Cato's suspicions were instantly aroused.

'Won't the streets be narrow there?'

'Yes,' Balthus conceded.'But it is the most direct route to the citadel, and the main barracks and palaces are at the other end of the city. If we can gain entrance by the eastern gate before the alarm is given, and move fast, we should be able to break through the surrounding line of rebels and reach the citadel.'

'If we can get in,' Cato stressed. 'We have to make sure that there are as few men as possible defending the gate when the column attacks. Which means there'll need to be a diversion. The garrison in the citadel will need to make a sortie.'

'Sortie?' Macro turned on Cato. 'Have you forgotten? They're outnumbered and under siege.'

'I know. But they must draw the enemy's attention away from the gate if there's to be any chance of the relief column cutting its way through to the citadel.'

Balthus nodded. 'He is right, Centurion Macro.We must get the garrison to help us.'

'Really?' Macro moistened his lips. 'You make it sound easy.'

Balthus smiled at him. 'Surely the soldiers of the great Roman Empire will not baulk at such a minor challenge?'

'They will not,' Macro replied firmly. 'So how do we get to the gate without attracting attention? There's too little cover down on the plain. We'll have to approach under cover of darkness.'

'Of course we will, Centurion.' A frown briefly flickered across the prince's face. 'As I was about to say. We'll follow the ridge round to that point there.' He indicated a low spur that projected into the plain, no more than two miles from the curve of the wall on the northern side of the city. 'We'll have to muffle the horses' hooves with rags and abandon your carts there. We cannot afford to be given away by the sound of wheels or the squeal of an axle.'