Centurion

'How mischievous of you,' said Macro. 'And when did you last use this tunnel?'

'Ten years ago.' Balthus pursed his lips. 'Maybe more.'

'I see. So there's no guarantee it hasn't been blocked up, or filled in, then?'

'It's still there as far as I know.'

'And if it isn't?' asked Cato.

'Then we will have to try some other way.'

'Fair enough.' Cato nodded.'We'll have to deal with that problem if it arises.'

Macro shook his head. 'That's madness.'

'Perhaps,' Cato admitted. 'But sometimes madness is all that's left.'

'Oh, how very sage.'

Cato shrugged and turned to the prince's slave. 'Where's the message?'

Balthus pulled a waxed slate from his robes and handed it to Cato. 'Here.'

'Is it, er, sufficiently clear?' Cato asked Macro.

His friend smiled. 'It says all that it needs to. No surprises.'

'Good,' Cato replied and tucked the waxed tablet into his haversack. Then he removed his helmet, cape, harness and armour and handed them to Macro, before leaning down to remove his silvered greaves. By the time he had put on the robes and fastened the band round his headdress he no longer looked so Roman, and he hoped that he would pass as a Palmyran subject – in the dark at least. As the sun eased itself down towards the horizon, Cato and Macro sat a short distance up the slope from the rest of the men. Almost as soon as he had propped himself up against a boulder, Macro fell asleep. His head lolled on his chest and he began to snore. Cato could not help smiling. Tired as his body was he could never sleep on the eve of any action, and his mind raced through seemingly disparate trains of thought. Now that the first thrill at the prospect of danger was over, Cato found that he was trembling and was aware that his knee was twitching in a frantic rhythm. He stared at it in surprise and had to force himself to stop the nervous tic.

Then, for no accountable reason, the image of the man he had wounded flashed into his mind. He could see every detail of the fearful surprise in Primus' expression as the blade lodged deep in his shoulder. Primus had slipped into unconsciousness and died the day before, and was buried back in the desert under a pile of rocks to stop wild animals digging up his body. Cato had not seen him since the night of the fight, yet he was haunted by the image of the man he had wounded. At length he could bear it no longer and he nudged Macro.

'Hey, wake up.'

'Hmmm?' Macro mumbled, smacking his lips and turning slightly away from Cato. 'Fuck off, I'm asleep.'

'No you're not. Come on, wake up. I need to talk. Sir?' Cato shook his shoulder gently.

Macro stirred, blinked and eased himself up from the rock, wincing at the stiffness in his back. 'What? What is it, Cato?'

Now that he had his friend's attention Cato was not sure where to begin. He swallowed nervously. 'Something happened the other night. When we ambushed the horse-archers. Something I haven't told you about.'

'Oh? Well, what is it?'

Cato breathed deeply and made himself confess. 'During the fight, I…I wounded one of my men. Ran him through with my sword.'

Macro stared at him for a moment, then rubbed his eyes. 'You did what?'

'I wounded one of my auxiliaries.'

'Is he dead?'

'Yes.'

'Did he recognise you?'

'Yes.' Cato recalled the man's accusing look, and shook off the memory with difficulty. 'I'm sure of it.'

'Did he tell anyone about it?'

'I don't know.'

'Hmmm. Awkward. Normally it would just be one of those things. Accidents happen in the heat of battle, especially at night. But it still needs to be accounted for. It won't look good on your record if there's any kind of enquiry. Even if there isn't, word will get round, assuming the man spoke to anyone. You know how it is with the army's rumour mill. That's not going to go down well with your men. Nor mine, come to that. Not while the memory of that incident back at Antioch preys on their minds.'

'But it was an accident,' Cato protested. 'It was dark. It was during a fight. I didn't mean to do it.'

'I know that, lad. Trouble is that the boys in the Tenth Legion won't see it that way. They'll say that Crispus killed his man by accident and was executed for it.They're bound to ask why you shouldn't suffer the same fate. I know the circumstances are quite different, but that's the kind of detail that men ignore when they nurse a grievance and are out for revenge.'

Cato was silent for a moment before he looked earnestly at his friend. 'What can I do?'

'Not much. If Primus died without spilling his guts then you're in the clear.' Macro paused, and smiled. 'Well, hardly that. Knowing you as I do, you'll carry the burden of guilt with you to the grave. If Primus talked, then you'll be treated like a leper. Worse, you'll have to watch your back.'

Cato felt sick at the prospect of being an outcast amongst his army comrades. He swallowed. 'I'd better make a clean breast of it, before any rumours start circulating. For the good of the cohort.'

'Shit, Cato, there's no need to play the heroic martyr just yet,' Macro responded irritably.'Just wait a while.You'll soon find out if he talked. Meanwhile it would be better for you if you didn't torment yourself over it.' Macro thought a moment and pointed a finger at Cato. 'Is that what this is about?'

'What?'

'You volunteering to get this message through to the king.'

'No. It has nothing to do with that.'

Macro stared at him for an instant and then shrugged. 'If you say so. Just don't go and get yourself killed out of some perverse sense of righting a wrong. I know you, Cato.'

'Don't worry. I have no intention of throwing my life away.'

'All right, then.' Macro was not wholly convinced. 'Just be careful, eh?'

Cato was watching two figures climbing the slope towards them: Balthus and Carpex. The two Romans clambered to their feet and bowed their heads in greeting.

'It's time,' Balthus announced to Cato. 'You must follow my man and do exactly as he says. There is a way into the citadel, but you must trust him, and obey. Do not speak, even in Greek, for your accent will betray you. And don't forget the signal.We will not enter the city if we do not see it.'

'I understand.'

'Well then, much as it pains me to say it, Roman, I wish you good luck.'

'Thank you.' Cato turned to Macro. 'I'll see you in the citadel later on, sir.'

'Of course you will.' Macro smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. 'As the prince says, good luck.'

'Thank you, sir,' Cato said solemnly and then turned to follow Carpex up towards the ridge.

08 Centurion

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

They crossed the ridge and descended the far side, keeping behind the line of the rocky spur that jutted out into the plain towards Palmyra. The sun set behind the ridge and they walked in silence as the shadows thickened about them in the gathering dusk. Cato followed Carpex closely, keeping a wary eye on the ground ahead of them, looking for any signs of human habitation or enemy patrols. But the landscape this side of the city was mainly barren and deserted and only a handful of the creatures of the desert were abroad. A jackal, startled by the two men, scrambled away into some low brush with a shrill yipping noise. Overhead a vulture spiralled lazily in the sky and Cato could not help thinking that both animals would quickly grow fat on the flesh of dead men in the days to come.

As the last glimmer of light faded in the sky they reached the end of the spur and paused as they caught sight of the twinkling lamps strung along the wall of the city and burning faintly in the windows and on the flat roofs of the buildings beyond. A number of fires burned outside the gates where travellers and merchants camped for the night, continuing about their business despite the power struggle taking place within Palmyra.The bulk of the citadel loomed over the eastern side of the city and Cato touched his companion on the shoulder.

'Which way now?'