Balthus wheeled his mount round and trotted back towards his men. Macro stared at them a moment, impressed by the ruthless speed with which they had struck and wiped out the patrol.With a few thousand such men in the service of Rome there was no telling what might be achieved on the eastern frontier of the Empire.Their skill with bow and sword while mounted was matchless. Only the Parthians were better at this highly mobile form of warfare, and even then, Macro decided, the men of Palmyra must surely give a good account of themselves when they fought Parthian troops. As the uneven footsteps of the rest of his men reached Macro's ears he shrugged off his speculative frame of mind with a slight smile. He was thinking a good deal too much since he had met Cato. Especially when there was soldiering to be done.
'Column!' he called out as loudly as he dared. 'Advance!'
The men of the two cohorts emerged from the rocks like a black snake.They marched quickly past the site of the butchered patrol and followed in the wake of Balthus and his men as they headed directly for the east gate of Palmyra.They met no more rebels, and startled only a young shepherd boy, who immediately took off into the night with his small flock of sheep, which bleated irritably as they fled.
By the time they drew close to the city, Macro and his men were exhausted. Marching at night was always more tiring than during daylight, with the added burden of the strain on eyes and ears as they watched for any sign of the enemy, or an ambush. Balthus halted his riders and dispersed them to the flanks as Macro came up with his infantry. The men were quietly ordered to lie down and remain still and silent until the order to attack was given. Macro and Balthus crept a short distance ahead of their men and crouched down no more than a quarter of a mile from the gate. The walls of the city now loomed dark and tall and torches flickered along its length as the men on watch duty moved slowly between the towers watching for trouble.
The citadel was visible in the distance and Macro could just make out the tallest of its towers. If Cato had got through, that would be where the signal was shown, and Macro kept his eye fixed to the spot. The night gradually wore on and there was no sign of a signal. Balthus stirred and turned towards Macro.
'Perhaps your comrade, and my slave, failed to get through.'
'Give the lad a chance,' Macro responded. 'Cato can do it. He always does.'
Balthus stared at him a moment before he continued, 'You think highly of that young officer.'
'Yes. Yes, I do. He's a rare one, is Cato. He won't let us down.'
'I hope not, Centurion. It all depends on him now.'
'I know,' Macro replied softly, and they both gazed towards the city walls as they waited, and wondered what had become of Carpex and Cato.
08 Centurion
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
'Roman?' asked the soldier in Greek as he lowered his sword. 'What in Hades is a Roman doing popping up out of our sewer?'
'Just get me out of here,' Cato snapped, hearing the laboured breathing and scraping in the tunnel as the rebels came after him.
The Palmyran soldier paused a moment, as his comrades came hurrying over. Then the soldier sheathed his sword, grasped Cato's arm and hauled him up through the grating and into the barrack room, still watching him suspiciously. He gestured to Carpex lying stunned in the gutter that ran through the room and fed into the drain. 'Well, he's certainly no Roman.'
'Explain later,' Cato gasped and pointed back into the tunnel. 'Rebels, down there.'
'A likely story,' someone snorted derisively. 'They're bloody spies, the pair of them. Silence his tongue,Archelaus.'
The man who had felled Carpex and hauled Cato out of the sewer reached for his sword, and then paused, staring into the hole. Cato glanced down and saw the glow of a torch, and then the tip of a spear came into view.The Greek called Archelaus snatched out his sword and took a step back as he called out to his comrades, 'He's right! There's someone in there. Arm yourselves!'
At once the barrack room was a mass of rushing figures as those who had not yet taken up their weapons ran back to their bunks to get them. The spear tip rose through the hole, a hand gripped the rim, and a moment later a helmeted head appeared above the floor. Archelaus leaped forward and cut down savagely with his falcata.There was a dull ring and a crunch as the blade cut through the helmet and the skull beneath, lodging just above the rebel's brow. His eyes were wide and startled for an instant before a sheet of blood obscured his face. Archelaus pressed a foot on the man's shoulder and yanked his blade free, and the body and spear dropped out of sight. There was a loud shout of rage from the tunnel, but none of the pursuers dared to take the place of the first man.
Cato pointed to a cauldron suspended over an iron stove in the side of the room used as the soldier's mess. Wisps of steam curled up from the lip of the cauldron.
'Use that! Get the cauldron over here!'
'But that's our stew,' one of the soldiers protested. 'It's almost ready to eat.'
Cato scrambled up to his feet, and rose to his full height as he snapped out the order. 'You and you, get it over here, now!'
The two men turned to Archelaus with a questioning look and he waved his dripping blade at them. 'Do it!'
The two men hurried over to the cauldron and picking up rags they grasped the heavy iron handles and lifted it off the stove, grunting with the effort as they struggled towards the drain with their burden. As one of the Greek mercenaries leaned over the hole the head of a spear shot up at his face, and he threw himself back just in time to avoid a terrible wound. As soon as the men with the cauldron reached the edge they set it down and grasped the rim with their rags, straining as they tipped the cauldron. The steaming liquid and some lumps of meat sloshed over, most of it going straight down into the sewer in a thick brown gush. At once there were several agonised screams, and the glow from the torch blinked out. A puff of steam came up through the hole with the cries of pain and rage.Then they heard the rebels scrambling down the tunnel, before anything else was poured on them.
Archelaus let out a loud laugh. 'That's cooked 'em nicely! Now get the grille back in place, and you, Croton, keep a watch on it.' The Greek glanced at Carpex, who had propped himself up on an elbow and was shaking his head. 'Sorry about that, friend, but if you will pop your head up out of a sewer unannounced, that's your own lookout.'
Carpex looked up at him, winced and then let out a low groan. Archelaus saw the slave brand on his forehead and turned to Cato. 'This one yours, Roman?'
'No. He belongs to Prince Balthus. The prince told him to guide me into the citadel. We carry a message for the king. I have to speak to him at once.'
'Not so fast.'Archelaus held up a hand. 'First, tell me who you are, and what's going on here.'
Cato restrained the impulse to snap angrily at the man and demand to be taken to the king. He took a deep breath to calm his frustration. 'I'm the prefect of the Second Illyrian cohort. Part of a relief column sent by the governor of Syria. The rest of the force is outside the city waiting for a signal to assault the eastern gate and cut their way through to the citadel. Now, if that's enough for you, I must see your king.'
The Greek mercenary narrowed his eyes. 'That's quite a story. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't believe a word of it. But the unusual nature of your appearance seems to support your tale. Just as well we had come off watch, otherwise there would have been no one here to help you.' Archelaus turned to the hole. 'And now it seems that you have shown the rebels a way into the citadel. Well, that's sorted out easily enough. You!' He pointed to one of his men. 'Get some rubble into that tunnel. Fill it up and then cover the grille over with something heavy. Come, Roman, you'd better follow me.'
He made to help Carpex back on to his feet then sniffed distastefully. 'Better get rid of those robes first though, eh?'