The party took the safest route, the track that ran along the inside of the Roman fortifications. Only when they were close to the Galeagra tower did they pass through a gate into no man’s land. To the credit of the extraordinarii, their pace did not slow, but that didn’t stop a frisson of nervousness rippling up and down Quintus’ spine as they left the safety of their lines. His comrades’ faces were marked with tension, and even Corax seemed on edge. Yet the truce held. No missiles were launched as they drew close to the city walls.
Their destination lay to the east of the Hexapyla and adjacent to the Trogilus harbour, an anchorage that had formerly been used by the Syracusans to unload merchant goods for transport into the city. The area was now under Roman control, but it had fallen into disuse, thanks to the enemy artillery. When the chance arose, Quintus and his comrades were fond of swimming in its shallows — under the cover of darkness.
Leaving the water at their backs, the column made its way towards the Galeagra, a squat, hexagonal affair that guarded the point where the fortress walls met both sea and land. It was unsettling to see defenders lining the parapet in silence, their weapons kept from sight. Yet as Corax muttered, they couldn’t show the bastards anything but a brave face. So the hastati marched on, chins jutting, with their shields held high. Knowledge that a truce was in place didn’t mean that treachery was out of the question. There were plenty of men whispering prayers. There was nothing wrong with asking the gods for protection that might not be needed; Quintus did the same. Better that than to end up dead.
Nearing the gate, the column came to a halt. The extraordinarii took up a position to the left, nearest the sea, while the hastati stood to their right. The tribunes, with Pera and their entourage in attendance, advanced a short distance before the soldiers. The trumpeter sounded his instrument. It was a mangled version of the ‘recall’, a derisive set of notes that delivered a peremptory summons to the Syracusans and which amused every Roman present.
The Syracusans must have realised the insulting nature of the trumpet call because there was no response for over an hour. During this time, the tribunes had the trumpeter play twice more, but it made no difference. Although the ramparts remained full of spectators, the gate remained firmly shut until the sun was high in the sky. The legionaries were cooking in their armour, and a couple of men reached for their water skins, but Corax’s threats soon put paid to that. Appearances were everything, and so their thirst had to wait.
When the gate did finally open, there was no warning. The tension shot up, but Corax was quick to mutter reassurances, and his men settled. The troops who emerged in a double file were similar to the Syracusan infantry that Quintus had encountered before. Dressed like Greek hoplites, they bore large round shields and long thrusting spears. He counted them as they formed a defensive line. At eighty, a party of officers in muscled cuirasses and Hellenic helmets walked out. They watched the Romans from a spot by the gate as the first section of their troops moved into a mini phalanx some fifty paces from Corax’s maniple. A second set of eighty soldiers followed; they formed up opposite the extraordinarii. The Syracusan officers then paced to stand facing their Roman counterparts.
‘This feels bloody weird,’ said Urceus, glaring at the Syracusans. ‘Let’s fight these goat-fuckers!’
As he so often did, Corax overheard. ‘That’s not why we’re here,’ he called in a low voice. ‘We keep a watchful eye on this lot, and that’s it, unless one of the tribunes says so. So help me, great Jupiter, if a single man among you as much as scratches his balls without my saying so, I will personally shove a sword in his guts.’ He broke formation and marched up and down the front rank, eyeballing every hastatus. Urceus in particular was careful not to meet his gaze. ‘Do you hear me?’ His tone was low but threatening.
‘Yes, sir,’ they replied meekly.
A moment later, one of the Syracusan officers approached the tribunes. He was shieldless, and held his hands up to indicate his peaceful intentions. Twenty steps from the Romans, he stopped. After a brief pause, Pera paced out to meet him. They spoke, and each man returned to his superiors. Next, Corax was summoned by the tribunes. He came back wearing a big grin. ‘We’re to guard the officers, not the sodding extraordinarii.’
A pleased murmur rose from the hastati. This was more honour than they’d expected. It was always a sore point among citizen infantry that a group of allied troops protected the consul. Tradition or no, it rankled. This went a small way to redress the balance.
Corax didn’t waste any time. He took the first five ranks of eight men, Quintus and Urceus among them, and had them form in an open square. With the tribunes and Pera safely inside, they marched to meet the Syracusans, who responded by also moving forward with a similar number of men. The tension rose once more. Not a soldier present — on either side — had ever been this close to the enemy without intending to kill them. Who would order his men to stop first? wondered Quintus. They drew close enough to see the strain they all felt mirrored in the Syracusans’ faces, and then the sweat beading below the rims of their helmets. Still no order came to halt. Shit, thought Quintus. What will happen if we hit them?
Five paces separated the groups when a command in Greek had the enemy soldiers grind to a stop. It was followed a heartbeat later by a similar order from the senior tribune. The victory, while tiny, gave the hastati an instant feeling of superiority. They sneered over their shields at the Syracusans, who glowered back.
‘Open ranks!’ cried Corax.
The same instruction was repeated in Greek.
The four Romans came together with a quartet of Syracusans not a dozen paces from where Quintus stood. To his surprise, Kleitos was one of the enemy officers. He looked as arrogant as ever. Like Pera, he appeared to be there to act as an intermediary for his superiors.
Quintus and every other man within earshot — Roman or Syracusan — listened in with all his might as polite greetings were exchanged, in Greek and Latin, and each set of officers introduced themselves. The decision was made to talk in Greek, as the tribunes — and particularly Pera — spoke it better than the Syracusans did Latin. Quintus was pleased; he’d be able to eavesdrop on the entire process. Enquiries were made as to the health of both Epicydes and Marcellus; both parties thanked the other for honouring the truce.
The flowery courtesies ceased at last, but the negotiations did not move fast. Initially, the tribunes denied that they were holding Damippus captive. Even when they had admitted it, their manner seemed to indicate that Marcellus’ commands were to spin things out as slowly as possible. The Syracusans responded in kind, acting as if they did not care one way or another whether Damippus was repatriated to them, or whether he ended up crucified. When Corax’s eyes were elsewhere, Quintus explained what was going on to Urceus.
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.