Cassius was ready to investigate further when Simo touched his shoulder.
‘Sir.’
Coaxing the horses round with him as he turned, the Gaul nodded back towards the gate. Only when Cassius had skirted around the flank of his mount did he see what Simo was so concerned about.
At the opposite end of the street, about a hundred feet away, was a man. He stood absolutely still and wore a long, black, sleeved tunic. Even at that distance they could see a dark complexion and wreaths of hair that hung far below his shoulders.
Cassius was unsure what to do. He was, however, throughly sick of the weighty helmet and thought it best to suggest peaceful intent, not that there was any realistic alternative. Slowly lifting it from his head, he cradled the helmet under his right arm and wiped his brow.
‘Might I suggest we retire to one of these dwellings, sir,’ Simo said shakily.
As he spoke, the black-clad figure raised an arm.
Cassius squinted into the sunlight, trying to see what the man was doing. He realised after a moment that the stranger’s arm was moving in a circle. The arm suddenly accelerated into a blur of motion. Cassius glimpsed something glinting under the sun then heard a loud crack.
‘What-’
For a moment, he thought he’d been hit; that he was about to sense an injury somewhere on his body. Then he noticed a small object lying in the sand. It was a leaden ball the width of a thumbnail. Turning the helmet over, he saw a neat hole in the iron close to the crest.
‘Slinger,’ he said, gulping as he showed the helmet to Simo.
The stranger was now motionless again, arm back by his side.
‘If we can get behind the horses,’ Cassius said quietly, ‘we might have a chance at the closest doorway. Are you ready to move?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘On three then.’ Cassius could hear what he thought was Simo’s breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. Then he realised it was his own.
‘One, two-’
Cassius spied movement to his right. He could not think why Simo would be moving forward but then saw that the figure walking past was certainly not the Gaul.
‘I really must apologise, sir, but you know how these locals can be. Back in a moment.’
The interloper must have been sixty-five if he was a day. Despite the inelegant gait produced by his bandy legs, he moved with impressive speed. His hair was snowy white, thinning on top but tied in a long tail. He wore a tatty pair of sandals and a dirty, ragged tunic. He didn’t seem to be carrying any weapons. Continuing down the street, the old man held up a hand of greeting to the black-clad warrior.
Cassius exchanged confused glances with Simo, then recalled Cotta’s last words.
‘Thank you! Barates — is it?’
The veteran stopped, turned and bowed before striding away again.
Simo let out a long breath and patted the nose of his horse.
‘Well,’ said Cassius. ‘Quite a shot. It must be, what-’
‘Thirty yards or so I should say, sir.’
‘At least.’
Cassius picked up the leaden ball and held it against the hole in his helmet. He knew the iron was vulnerable to arrows but had no idea a slingshot might penetrate at such range.
Barates was now speaking to the mysterious warrior.
Circling back round the horses, Cassius saw that the square was still empty.
‘Looks like he has things in hand. Let’s see if we can rouse anyone else.’
At the eastern end of the barracks, two stretchers had been left against the wall. Knowing that small aid posts were usually constructed for minor forts such as Alauran, Cassius aimed for the closest doorway, hoping to find a surgeon or attendant inside. He belatedly realised that two men were lying under the stretchers. One was snoring loudly, the other drooling. There were several abandoned wine jugs next to them. Both their mouths were stained red.
‘Gods, it’s hard to tell if they’re even soldiers,’ said Cassius. One of the drunkards was wearing a tunic and one sandal. The other was naked except for a sheet he had donned in the style of a toga.
Behind the aid post was a flimsy wooden structure, complete with a poorly thatched roof and a few rough-hewn tables and stools. On the other side of a short bar were several shelves lined with empty wine bottles. It was, in short, an inn.
Shaking his head, Cassius put his hands on his belt and wondered what to do next. He had half a mind to pour water over the two men but there was no telling how they might react, even if they were part of the garrison. He walked past the aid post, then the barracks, glancing inside each gloomy window as he passed. There was little to be seen except the edge of a few bunks and the odd arm or leg sticking out, and there was little to be heard but snoring.
‘At least there’s a few of them here,’ Cassius said quietly to Simo.
Hearing a noisy slurp, he turned to see the horses dipping their noses into the water trough. With more of an angle on the street, he could now see Barates deep in conversation with the warrior. The veteran seemed to be emphasising every other word with some wild gesticulation.
Cassius reflected on what he’d discovered. It now seemed unlikely that any officer remained and that discipline amongst whatever legionaries were left had completely broken down. It was therefore essential to find out as much as he could from Barates about the men and their state of mind.
Deciding it was still quiet enough to take a quick look at the temple, he left Simo with the horses and hurried across the corner of the square. He passed the well, with its four-foot clay surround, and bracket and winch for raising and lowering pails, then ducked under the low doorway of the temple. There was just enough light to see a simple stone altar opposite the door. Two figures had been crudely engraved on its surface. The legend underneath read: to mars and hercules. from the men of the third legion. Beneath the altar was an ancient-looking spear, a dagger with an embossed handle and a helmet that had almost rusted away. A pair of candles, standing sentry-like in front of the altar, appeared not to have been lit in a long time. Cassius also noticed that his were the only footprints in the sand that had blown in off the square.
It seemed that the legionaries of the Alauran garrison had forsaken religion along with military discipline.
Exiting the temple, he was surprised to see the horses trudging slowly away from the barracks, their reins trailing in the dust. Behind them, Simo seemed to be drinking from the water trough below one of the windows. Cassius then realised that he was in fact being held down.
As Simo tried to free himself, Cassius sprinted over to him. The owner of the large hands gripping Simo’s neck leaned further out of the window. He was a man of about thirty, with curly hair, a blunt nose and a demeanour that suggested he had just woken up.
‘Use our trough for your beasts, would you?’ he shouted at the back of Simo’s head. ‘Let’s see how you like sharing with ’em.’
‘Let go at once!’ Cassius ordered.
The man looked up, blinking.
‘And what concern is it of yours, boy?’ he snarled.
‘It is my concern because unless you are some wandering peasant, I will assume from your location that you are a legionary of Rome. With that in mind, I will give you a moment to wipe the sleep from your eyes and a chance to look at me again. Perhaps you might notice the helmet in my hand or the stripe on my tunic?’
Cassius had heard such speeches hundreds of times during training. The words came easily enough but he was less confident of predicting their effect.
After a moment’s pause, the legionary released Simo and placed his hands on the window. Grunting, he disappeared into the shadows. Simo, coughing and spitting out water, took a couple of steps backward.
‘Sorry, sir. He caught me unawares.’
‘Don’t worry. Just fetch the horses, would you.’
‘Yes, sir.’
As Simo moved away, Cassius waved at Barates and gestured towards the officers’ quarters. Barates waved back.
Turning on his heels, Cassius immediately found himself faced by the curly-haired legionary and two of his fellows, all armed with wooden staves. They had clambered out of the low window next to the officers’ quarters and now barred his way.
For once Cassius knew exactly what to do. He could not be seen to wait for Barates or show indecision. He strode along the side of the barracks, aiming for a gap between two of the legionaries.
‘Good morning,’ he said, smiling.
The soldiers frowned as he passed them, struck dumb by the cordial greeting.
Half expecting to feel a stave thump down on his head, Cassius only breathed out when he reached the door of the officers’ quarters. It was unlocked. Glancing to his right, he saw that the legionaries had been joined by two more men. All five stood in a row, silently studying him.
He opened the door and stepped inside.