By the time Quintus had finished his tale, he was aware that every man in the tent was listening. He wasn’t sure if it was Placidus who had woken the rest; it didn’t matter. Everyone in the contubernium, the soldiers who had been Marius’ friends, knew that the conspiracy in Syracuse might not have been betrayed if Pera had gone to Attalus. More importantly in their minds, Marius might well not have died. ‘Now you know why I want to do this,’ he said, breathing heavily.
Urceus reached out to grip his shoulder. ‘I understand your motivation, but what I don’t comprehend is how doing this will avenge Marius. Pera might find out that it was us who measured the stones, but he won’t know why we did it.’
Quintus could feel the weight of the others’ stares through the darkness. If he didn’t pitch his answer in the right way, he might lose them all. Help me, Fortuna, he prayed. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Jug, because our chance will come when we storm the walls at Galeagra. I’m going to seek out Pera and find a way to kill the cocksucker in the confusion. As he slips into oblivion, the last thing he’ll hear is my voice telling him what we did, and why, and that he was never going to get away with leaving me and Marius to die like dogs.’
No immediate response was forthcoming, and Quintus’ heart sank. It was natural for his tent mates not to want to risk their lives on such a risky venture. Unease licked the base of his spine as a further thought occurred to him. If but a single one disagreed with what he’d just said, they could denounce him to Corax, or any officer. There would then be only one conclusion.
‘Forget it,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll go to Corax. Tell him what I’ve seen. He can do what he wants with the information.’
‘We’ll approach Corax after we’ve measured the wall,’ said Urceus.
‘Aye,’ said Placidus.
Stunned, Quintus counted the growls of agreement that followed. There were four — with Urceus, that was everyone left in his diminished contubernium. His heart swelled with emotion, with pride that his comrades would do this. ‘Thank you,’ he muttered.
By the time that they had reached the walls near Galeagra, Quintus was beginning to think that everything would go off as planned. They had waited until the cavalryman whose duty it was to check on their sentry post had come by and collected their tessera, the wooden tablet with the day’s password on it. It was almost unheard of for another inspection to take place after that, but to minimise the risk, Quintus and Urceus had waited about an hour before making their move. It was the middle of the night by the time their comrades had lowered them between the projecting wooden spikes and down the ramparts’ face to the ground below.
Faces, arms and legs blackened with soot gathered from the fire, and without any arms or armour save a dagger each, they had tiptoed away until they were a good five hundred paces from the Roman fortifications. At this point, another sentry would be unlikely to hear them, but they had moved with caution nonetheless. It would have been foolish to use a torch, but fortune had favoured them with a clear sky, and a sliver of moon to add to the stars’ light.
Five score paces from Galeagra, recognisable by its shape and the noise of lapping waves nearby, they had halted. Quintus wasn’t afraid to admit that he was scared now. Urceus’ stiff posture revealed the same emotion. If they made the slightest sound, the Syracusans would rain a barrage of missiles down on them. There was no telling if the darkness would be any protection. They would have to be as silent as cats creeping up on their prey.
Quintus placed his lips against Urceus’ ear. ‘Can you see the gate?’
Urceus pointed at a square that was blacker than the rest of the bottom of the wall.
‘We need to stand about thirty or forty paces to the right of that.’
Urceus nodded. He motioned for Quintus to go first, that he would follow three steps behind.
A metallic sound carried from the walls, and they froze. Quintus studied the ramparts with intense concentration. After a moment, he saw something moving slowly towards Galeagra — a sentry. Casting his eyes to and fro, he observed no one else atop that section. His mouth was bone dry. This was it. He couldn’t back out, or the risks that they’d taken would have been for nothing. Quintus took a step forward. Asking Somnus, the god of sleep, to render the enemy sentries drowsy, he began to walk towards the spot that Urceus had identified.
After ten paces, he paused to look and listen. Not a thing. Quintus’ gut instinct told him that the sentry was gossiping with the soldiers in the tower. Ten more steps, and still he saw and heard nothing. At thirty paces it was the same, and at fifty. Quintus’ pulse was increasing steadily, but Urceus’ presence gave him strength. He forced himself onward, praying that there weren’t pits or other traps that he hadn’t spotted during the negotiations. When they were thirty paces out, the sentry reappeared on the rampart. Quintus stopped dead, indicated that Urceus do the same. This was when, break over, duty reasserted itself. At such times, it was Quintus’ ritual to gaze out from the Roman defences for long moments, until he was satisfied that nothing was awry. The Syracusan wasn’t quite as vigilant. Barely ten heartbeats later, he moved on. It didn’t take long for him to vanish from sight. Quintus waited, counting silently, until the man had returned. When he had gone again, Quintus beckoned Urceus towards him, bent to his ear once more. ‘We have a count of two hundred to get in and out. I’ll take twenty off that to be sure. You keep tally as well. Ready?’
Urceus nodded. ‘Go,’ his lips framed.
They were going to do this, Quintus told himself. Twenty. He slid his feet forward with cool purpose. Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three. All the while, his gaze moved from the ground to the ramparts and back, seeking obstacles that would trip him or make noise, and an unexpected sentry who might see them. A score of paces from the base of the wall, they met the defensive ditch, a ‘V’ shaped trench as deep as a man standing on another’s shoulders. Thirty, thirty-one. They both sat down on the edge. Quintus slid down first, using his heels as brakes. The bottom was lined with spiked branches, but he was able to stand upright and wave Urceus on. Forty-eight, forty-nine.
Quintus looked up the wall, which towered over them now, and his stomach wrenched. In the darkness, it seemed even more insurmountable. Sentries would be able to spy on him too, yet they’d be out of his sight. Don’t dwell on that, he thought. Stay focused. Fifty-six, fifty-seven. He squeezed between two sets of branches, snagging his tunic in the process. Urceus came after. There was no need for words about what they had to do next; it had been discussed beforehand. Sixty-four, sixty-five. This was the riskiest part, but Quintus did not pause. If he did, his fear might gain the upper hand. Urceus stood with his back to the wall, as close as possible to the inward face of the ditch, and made a bridge with his hands. Quintus placed his right foot in it and leaped up, placing his other foot on Urceus’ left shoulder and gripping his friend’s head for balance. When he was steady, he lifted his right sandal up so that he was crouched astride Urceus’ shoulders. Seventy-nine, eighty.
Quintus was breathing heavily, from nerves and physical effort. Calm down. He inhaled deeply and held it for a count of four before letting the air out through his nostrils. Urceus moved a little beneath him. It was damn hard to carry a man like this, Quintus knew, but it was better this than he jump and miss his grip. He peered at the ditch, the surface of which was made of packed earth. Spiked branches had also been buried here, but some had broken off and not been replaced. Luckily, he was facing such a spot. Ninety, ninety-one. Gods, but the time was flying by. A trickle of panic entered his mind. Ninety-three, ninety-four. Raising his arms, Quintus launched himself up and forward. As he hit the bank, a protruding stone drove into his tunic, striking him just under the ribcage. The pain was excruciating, and Quintus had to bite his lip, hard, to stop himself crying out.