‘I live in hope. Nasty business this morning.’
It was the first time Cassius had mentioned the incident with the three legionaries. Simo — now attending to his master’s shoulders — took his time to reply.
‘Evil, sir. Simply evil.’
‘That kind of thing is to be expected at a time like this. Even so, not the sort of treatment likely to win over the locals.’
‘I cannot imagine what possesses people to commit such acts, sir.’
‘Well, it’s in your nature to think the best of people, Simo, but the army does not always attract the most wholesome of characters, and not everyone shares your preoccupation with the well-being of others. I’ve spoken to you about it before, and yet you will persist with trying to help every poor unfortunate we encounter. I’ll remind you again: charity is for Jews and Orientals.’
‘Might I speak freely for a moment, sir?’
‘As long as you hurry up. I’m getting cold.’
‘Sir, you went to help those women without a second thought. Are our attitudes really so different?’
‘Do you know what I should have done, Simo? I should have kept on riding. I am on imperial business. We might easily have fared a good deal worse with those three thugs. And who would have benefited then?’
‘You did the right thing, sir, I’m sure of it.’
‘Well, I’m happy to know you approve, Simo, but think on this. Another hour and we would have missed the whole thing. And who’s to say they didn’t find another poor girl somewhere else?’
Simo put the wet cloth aside and picked up a new one.
‘You don’t think your words might have brought them to their senses, sir?’
‘Your naivety is endearing, Simo. Listen here: life is hard. I think we’ve both seen enough to know that. The world is too big and too cruel for the actions of well-meaning men to make much difference.’
‘Perhaps their superiors could get those men back on the straight and narrow, sir? I suppose that’s not possible now.’
‘You mean because I gave my word I wouldn’t report them?’
Simo didn’t see his master grinning. He was down on his knees, vigorously rubbing away at the dirt caked on Cassius’s legs.
‘You know I’m not one to give an oath lightly but circumstances have changed, Simo. I am now in the employ of the Imperial Security Service and am therefore expected by all and sundry to be a lying, underhand scoundrel. I wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone.’
V
It was quite astonishing to ride through a largely barren wasteland for more than a week, then look down upon the lush, dark green carpet of palm trees that surrounded Palmyra.
From Cassius’s position high on a ridge, he could easily make out the Damascus Gate, where travellers arriving from the south or west entered the city. Down low to his left were more of the tomb towers that dominated the approach and where he and Simo had encountered a legionary patrol. The men had assured him that the path over the ridge was the quickest route to the village of Galanea.
From the Damascus Gate, a grand colonnaded avenue cut a crooked line eastward, embellished by vast arches and tetrapyla. Halfway along the avenue, on the northern side, was a high, imposing building book-ended by domed towers, which Cassius assumed to be Zenobia’s palace. Further east was an even larger edifice, one he recognised from a sketch in one of his neighbour’s books. The massive Temple of Bel honoured a Babylonian god long worshipped by the Palmyrans. It was easily the largest structure in the city. Though surrounded by a vast courtyard, its angular bulk dwarfed dwellings whose size decreased according to their proximity to the main avenue. Beyond the temple was a mile-wide lake where the subterranean waters that sustained the city broke the surface.
‘Impressive,’ Cassius said, though Simo was too far behind to hear him. He turned to the south. ‘Almost as impressive as that.’
The encampment of the Fourth Legion was huge. Though Cassius knew precisely how such a settlement was created, how it was organised, and how swiftly it could be dismantled, he had never seen a legion-sized camp in the field. At moments such as this, he felt proud to be Roman.
The northern perimeter of the camp was perhaps a mile from the city: a deep ditch reinforced by a rampart wall. There was a narrow entrance on each side of the square, and a two-hundred-foot space between the wall and the first lines of tents. This space — a defensive buffer that kept everything valuable out of range of burning missiles — was empty apart from a few horses grazing on what little grass was left. The centre of the camp was remarkably uniform: rows of large, pale tents divided by wide avenues. Beyond the eastern perimeter, a cavalry unit drilled their mounts.
As if eager to share the view, Cassius’s horse nosed him in the shoulder. He pushed it away and looked south beyond the encampment. A wide track marked by darker soil led from the Roman camp to the village. People could be seen travelling in both directions.
Puffing hard, Simo dragged his injured horse to the brow of the ridge. Cassius glanced at the animal.
‘Will it make it down to the village?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Will you?’
‘Of course, sir,’ said Simo, straightening up and trying to control his breathing.
‘Good, because we need to keep moving.’
Cassius squinted at the sun overhead, then started away along the snaking track that ran down to Galanea.
If not for the lame horse, they would have made good time that morning. Despite his blanket bed, Cassius had slept well and had awoken to find Legionary Durio up on his feet and feeling much better. He joined the others for breakfast and helped Gerardus and Simo with the horses. Cassius made no further attempt to extract any information from the pair and they remained cordial — if tight-lipped — until their visitors went on their way.
Of the two sets of legionaries from the Fourth Legion he had encountered since leaving Abascantius, Cassius hoped that those at Palmyra would be more like the second group than the first.
On the outskirts of the village they passed a few mud-built hovels occupied only by children playing at war. Cassius somehow lost the main path and they had to pick their way through several abandoned sets of foundations and assorted rubble before finding the main street. It was lined by large, two-storey buildings of cemented stone. Two veiled women emerged from an alley to their left, carrying woven baskets. They hurried past, heads down. A trio of local men rebuilding a courtyard wall stopped their work to inspect the strangers.
‘Good morning,’ Cassius said in Greek. ‘There’s an inn here — The Goat’s Leg?’
One man looked as if he was about to reply, then turned to the others and said something in Aramaic. They all laughed, then continued with their work.
Cassius shrugged and pressed on. The street widened out into a square occupied by a few dozen legionaries and villagers. Traders had laid out their wares around a big date palm that leaned alarmingly to one side. Beyond the tree were two roads: one led east, the other south. Cassius stopped beside a smaller tree and looped his reins around a branch. Simo did the same, then stood with hands on his hips, breathing heavily.
‘We shall at least both be a good deal fitter after this affair,’ Cassius said as he reached for his canteen. ‘Stay here. I shall try to find this inn.’
Ignoring the curious glances that greeted him as he walked towards the traders, Cassius sipped from the canteen and nodded to any of the legionaries who looked his way. Even when off-duty, they were easily spotted, with their short hair, thick military belts and hobnailed boots.
Whatever the villagers’ attitude to their Roman occupiers, they clearly weren’t averse to profiting from trade with the soldiers. As well as food and clothing, there was glass and fine ware, building tools, firewood, blankets, sheets, cushions, riding equipment, and the ever-present local trinkets and cheap religious icons. Several legionaries were involved in protracted bouts of haggling. One of those looking on was a soldier carrying two folded sheets and chewing on a bread roll.