'Speak,' said Ballista.
'I will see you again at Aquileia.' The great grey eyes shone with malice and contempt.
'I will see you then.'
The big man laughed, a horrible grating sound. He turned and left the room.
The smell of the wax that waterproofed the hooded cloak lingered.
Ballista was sweating heavily. He threw back the covers, got out of bed and opened the window to let in the fresh night air. Naked, he stood by the window, letting the sweat dry on his skin. Outside, he saw the Pleiades low on the horizon.
It would all fall out as the Allfather willed.
Ballista went to the washbowl, splashed cold water on his face, towelled himself dry and got back into bed. After what seemed an eternity he fell into a deep sleep.
'Wake up! Wake up!'
Ballista struggled to the surface.
'Wake up, you lazy little shit.'
Ballista opened his eyes. Calgacus was standing by the bed shaking his shoulder.
'What?' Ballista felt drugged, stupid with sleep. Calgacus's sour, thin mouth was more pinched than ever.
'The Sassanids are in the town.'
Ballista swung himself out of bed. Calgacus talked as he handed the northerner his clothes and he dressed.
'I relieved Maximus up on the roof. I saw a blue warning lantern on one of the towers on the south wall. It shone for a moment, then went out. Pudens is raising the alarm. Castricius is turning out the guard. Maximus is saddling the horses. Demetrius and Bagoas are taking your armour down to the stables.'
'Which tower?'
'The one nearest the desert wall.'
Dressed, Ballista picked up his sword belt. 'Then we should go.'
The stables, when they reached them, were in a state of just controlled chaos. Grooms ran here and there carrying saddles, bridles and other bits of tack. The horses shook their heads, stamped their feet and called out in indignation or excitement at being woken at this unusual hour. In one of the further stalls a horse was misbehaving, rearing up and plunging against its headstall. Calgacus went off to find what had become of Demetrius and Bagoas.
Ballista stood still, a point of calm in the eye of the storm. He breathed in the familiar homely smell of the stables, the evocative mixture of horse, leather, saddle soap, liniment and hay. He was struck by the timelessness of the scene. Stables would always be much the same; the needs of horses did not change. Give or take the odd marble manger or bit of fine wood panelling, stables were the same in the imperium as anywhere else. They were the same in his homeland as they were in Sassanid Persia. Horses were not much affected by the culture of the men who rode them.
In the golden glow of the lamps Ballista saw Maximus making his way down the line of horses. The air was thick with dust raised from the straw by the boots of men and horses' hooves.
'I have saddled Pale Horse for you,' Maximus said.
'Thank you.' Ballista thought for a few moments. 'Thank you, but leave him in his stall-leave him saddled. I will ride the big bay gelding.'
Maximus did not question the order but went off to carry it out.
Calgacus appeared, chivvying along Demetrius and Bagoas, who were carrying Ballista's war gear. Ballista was pleased to see that they had not brought the fancy Roman parade armour of earlier that day but his old war-worn mail shirt. Asking just Calgacus to attend him, Ballista stepped into an unoccupied stall. As the aged Caledonian helped him into his armour Ballista spoke, his voice low so no one else could hear.
'Calgacus, old friend, I have a very bad feeling about this. When we are gone I want you to collect our essentials, saddle all the remaining horses, pack supplies on three of them: skins of water, army biscuit, dried meat. Wait here in the stables with Demetrius and the Persian boy. Have your sword drawn. Do not let anyone touch the horses. I will leave five of the equites singulares here in the palace. I will tell them to take their orders from you. Post one at each of the three gates, one on the terrace and one on the roof.'
Outside in the narrow alley between the palace and the granaries, Ballista rapped out orders. He organized his little mounted column and told his staff, the house slaves and the five guardsmen who were staying behind to do as Calgacus instructed. The latter received the command with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
Ballista squeezed the big bay gelding with his thighs and set off, around the small temple of Jupiter Dolichenus and down the wide road that led to the campus martius. The small column rode at a loose canter in single file. They kept well closed up. After Ballista came Maximus, Castricius, Pudens and the five equites singulares.
Trumpet calls echoed through the town. In the distance men were shouting. There were the sounds of crashing and banging. Yet the military quarter was strangely deserted. A few soldiers were running, some staggering, but not nearly the proper number were heading to their posts. In some doorways soldiers lay unconscious through drink. As he clattered past the military baths Ballista saw one soldier lying on the steps dead to the world, a half-naked girl next to him, one of her pale white legs across his. A large wine jar stood next to them.
Emerging on to the campus martius, Ballista saw Antoninus Posterior standing in the centre of the broad open space. The centurion was bareheaded, his helmet in his hand. He was shouting at his men. There were but ten of them. One or two appeared none too steady on their feet. Ballista rode over.
'We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.' The irony in speaking the ritual phrase on behalf of his reduced company did not appear to have struck the centurion.
'Is this it, Antoninus?'
'Afraid so, Dominus. I have sent five others off to try and rouse more of the boys.'
'It is as the gods will. As soon as you have a few more, I want you to lead them down to the tower on the south wall that is nearest the desert wall.'
'We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.'
Ballista started to turn his horse.
'Dux, wait.' Out of the darkness from the north came Acilius Glabrio. The young patrician was riding a fine horse and wearing gilded armour. There was a sword on his hip. Ballista felt a jet of pure anger rising in himself, but before he could speak, demand to know how the young bastard dare break his house arrest, dare disobey another command and arm himself, Acilius Glabrio slid from his mount. The horse was well trained; it stood stock still. Acilius Glabrio walked up to Ballista, then knelt in the dust, arms up in the gesture of supplication.
'Dux Ripae, I have disobeyed your commands. But I would not have you think that I am a coward. If the Sassanids are within the defences you will need every man. I ask your permission to accompany you as a private soldier.'
Ballista did not like and did not trust the perfumed aristocrat at his feet, but he had never doubted that the loathsome young man was a fine soldier. 'Get on your horse and come with us.'
Ballista wheeled his mount and set off south. There was no gate in the wall that separated the campus martius from the civilian part of the town, so they had to backtrack. After three blocks they struck the main street which ran across town from the Palmyrene Gate to the Porta Aquaria. There were more people here, soldiers and civilians, but too many of the latter and not enough of the former. Ballista turned right and reined in outside the great caravanserai. Throwing his leg over the gelding's neck, he jumped down and ran inside. In the light of guttering torches, the scene was much the same as on the campus martius. In the middle of the courtyard, bareheaded and exasperated, was Antoninus Prior. The centurion, since the disgrace of Acilius Glabrio the temporary commander of all the legionaries in Arete, was yelling at his men. Again there were only about ten of them. Again several looked the worse for wear. Ballista snapped out the same orders as before and ran back to his horse.