'The Dux began:
'In the past I was distressed and grieved. I could not behold the loveliest city on which the sun shines down. Now I see her, I cease from grief, I shake off distress. I see all I longed for, not as in a dream, but the walls themselves, the temples, the colonnades, the whole city a harbour in the desert.'
Impressive the way he cut straight into what would normally be the second section. The whole city as a harbour was clever. Now he was off into a lengthy encomium of the mighty Euphrates – river and god, unsleeping guardian, unwearying road, bringer of food and riches. After nature came nurture: the people of Arete were hospitable, law-abiding, dwelt in harmony and treated strangers as they did each other. All very well – despite the unintentional irony of the last point.
The Dux ran through accomplishments and actions and returned in the brief epilogue to the city as a harbour in the sea of the desert.
Anamu felt his uneasiness lift. This barbarian had been worth waiting for. He spoke good Greek. He understood eloquence and speechmaking. Anamu could deal with him.
The civil side of the ceremony of adventus had passed off well. Now Ballista issued a volley of commands: he felt it was important to be seen to be in charge from the beginning. First he would sacrifice to the tyche of the city and other gods for the safe arrival of the column, then he would go to his official residence, the 'palace'. In two hours' time he would address the council.
Civic affairs may have gone without a hitch at the gate, but the same could most certainly not be said for the military side of things.
A military officer, his horse across the road, had blocked Ballista's entry into the town.
'Marcus Acilius Glabrio, Tribunus Laticlavius, commanding the vexillatio of Legio 1111 Scythica in Arete.' His accent and manner would have shown him to be from an old Roman senatorial family if his title Laticlavius had not already done so.
He had not dismounted to meet the new Dux. Ballista took one look at the supercilious young man on his elaborately outfitted horse and disliked him instantly.
'We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.' Ballista had never heard the standard army formula spoken with less respect.
'I will inspect your men tomorrow at the second hour of daylight on the campus martius,' said Ballista.
'As you wish.' Glabrio did not add Dominus. This was proving something of a habit among the officers in the eastern provinces.
'And then at the fourth hour we will inspect the accounts of your unit in the military headquarters building.'
'I will tell the exactor and librarius.' Glabrio's tone implied that he left such things to his accountant and secretary.
His attitude promised trouble, but at least, so far, he had not directly disobeyed orders – unlike the commander of Cohors XX. Again, as at Seleuceia, there was no sign of Gaius Scribonius Mucianus. There was no likelihood that Ballista would ever forget the tribune's name now. What was this bastard Scribonius doing? This second deliberate snub was even worse than the first. It was one thing that Scribonius had failed to travel to Antioch to greet his new Dux, even though such had been his orders, it was quite another not even to bother to go to the city gate. It could only be a deliberate attempt to undermine the authority of Ballista's new command, to wreck the northerner's mission almost before it had started.
Ballista looked around. There was Turpio, clearly wishing he was somewhere else.
Glaring at him, Ballista said, 'Pilus Prior, I want Cohors XX on the campus martius at the third hour tomorrow. The unit accounts will be inspected at the sixth hour.'
Turpio curtly acknowledged the order. Whatever rapport the long journey had fostered between the two professional soldiers had dropped away as if it had never existed. Turpio's face was closed and hostile.
'Tell your tribune that if he values his future he should attend.'
Ballista was certain that Turpio knew more about Scribonius's absence than he would willingly say. Accepting that he would find out nothing in front of a large audience of troops and half the population of the town, he turned away.
Having made sacrifice, and bathed in his new palace, Ballista walked to the temple of Artemis. There, at the threshold of what passed for a bouleuterion, town hall, he stood and waited. He did not feel at all nervous about the speech he had to make now. It was not like his earlier one; this one had a hard edge of reality to it.
The precinct of Artemis took up the whole block. The council used a smallish building in the south-east corner. It said a lot about the political balance between rich and poor in this town that the bouleuterion could be removed from the agora, that the councillors felt free to meet in seclusion, away from the common people.
'Dominus, would you please step this way?' said the archon.
Demetrius whispered his name in Ballista's ear. Anamu was a strange-looking man. It was not intentional. His dress was a formal toga with a narrow purple stripe and his full beard and receding hair were conventionally cut. It was his head that was the problem: his face was far too long and his eyes were far too wide, their turned-down corners matching those of his mouth.
Anamu led them into a U-shaped room containing about forty men, the councillors of Arete. 'Marcus Clodius Ballista, Vir Egregius, Dux Ripae, welcome.' Anamu sat down where his name was inscribed in the first tier. Only larhai and Ogelos the priest of Artemis were already seated there. Many of the other names in the front tier had been defaced. Obviously, politics was a deadly business in this town. These three survivors were the men who really mattered. Yet it would not be safe to discount the other councillors. Ballista saw that most of the priests who had met him at the gate sat as councillors, including the hirsute Christian priest.
It was quiet. Motes of dust moved in the sunlight. Ballista began to speak.
'Councillors, you must prepare yourselves for very great sacrifices. The Sassanid Persians are coming. Next spring they will advance up the Euphrates. They will be led by Shapur, the King of Kings himself. As the people of Arete massacred his garrison last year, he will stop at nothing to take the city. If he succeeds, the living will envy the dead.' Ballista paused. 'I have been sent by the emperors Valerian and Gallienus with full powers to ready Arete for defence. We can hold out until the great Valerian brings an imperial field army to our aid. But it will be difficult. I will need your unquestioning help. You can be sure that if we do not all hang together, we will all hang separately on the cross of crucifixion.'
It had been a long, long day. Ballista found it hard to believe that he had seen Arete for the first time that morning. He sat sideways on the low wall of the terrace. The Euphrates was 250 feet below him. There were groves of tamarisk and the occasional date palm on this side; on the other cultivated fields stretched almost as far as he could see. A pair of plovers chased each other over the river. Julia would love it here. Bathshiba would too.
'I will have a drink, thank you.'
Maximus poured the watered wine and put the jug down carefully. He sat on the wall, one knee bent, facing Ballista. Neither felt the need for formality when alone.
'It is not good, your palace.' Maximus gave the word a strange emphasis and smiled. 'It is a death trap.' He took a drink. 'The first courtyard is all right, just the one great gate. The second has no security at all. There is a gate in the north wall for the stables, a gate in the south for the kitchens, and doors connecting back to the first courtyard and through here.' He nodded at the private apartments of the Dux. 'The doors are not the real problem. The walls are low, easy to climb. There is open ground to the south but buildings come right up to us on the north. In at least three places you could jump from one roof to another.' He took another drink and picked up an olive.