‘Perhaps,’ said Cassius with a wry smile, determined not to take the bait, ‘but my personal circumstances are not important.’
Strabo frowned theatrically.
‘Aren’t they? Hardly palace duty is it?’ he said, waving a hand towards the square.
Cassius couldn’t find an answer to that, and he was beginning to doubt this man would help him.
Strabo continued: ‘Though I suppose I should admire your loyalty to the cause of Rome in coming here. There are many in these parts who have long since abandoned such commitment.’
‘Yourself included?’
Strabo shrugged and folded his arms across his chest. ‘A soldier’s enthusiasm for war fades when he sees his fellows lost and his purse empty. We are not all Italian nobility out here.’
Cassius noticed the legionary examining his tunic. Though now worn and dirty, it was still identifiable as finest linen, one of three given to Cassius by his mother.
‘There are Galicians, Cilicians, Thracians. I myself am from Sicily. Most of us here took an oath to Odenathus of Palmyra, you know, just three years past. Rome may not have called him emperor but it was he that kept the Persians at bay.’
‘And yet the garrison remains,’ Cassius countered.
‘It does while the men await more than a year’s worth of back pay. Even the funeral fund is still with the cohort clerk in Antioch.’
Strabo stood up and walked past Cassius towards the window. Catching sight of the hole in the top of the helmet, he chuckled heartily.
‘And equally impatient for their money are our local friends. As you may have already noticed.’
Cassius wasn’t sure if the Sicilian had seen the satchel but it reminded him of his strategy. He pushed himself off the desk.
‘I’m sure Barates told you I have a little money. More importantly, when the reinforcements arrive, you men will receive full recompense. I have an assurance from General Navio.’
Cassius felt far less guilty misleading Strabo than Barates. It was a matter of necessity: with no other officers present, the cooperation of the century’s third in command was nothing less than essential.
Strabo stood silhouetted against the bright window, his features almost invisible.
‘To be honest,’ Cassius continued, ‘I don’t believe these men will follow me if I act alone. But with your support they might. Barates tells me you’re the best soldier here, the closest-’
Strabo chuckled again.
‘Barates is an old fool. I know a little of soldiering, yes. But why do you think a man of my age didn’t make it past guard officer? I have been in the army for more than half my life and I know one thing above all others. I have no desire to lead.’
‘I am not asking you to lead. I’m asking you to help me lead.’
Cassius removed the satchel of money from under the helmet and threw it to Strabo.
He caught it one-handed.
‘Here. An incentive. Consider it payment in advance.’
The Sicilian investigated the contents.
‘A substantial sum.’
‘Indeed.’
‘You must be desperate.’
‘Unusual circumstances call for unusual measures.’
‘Of course. But we’ve heard nothing for months and then you suddenly show up. I’d wager the Palmyrans are heading in our direction. Perhaps they’ve learned that the food and water remains. No army can fight without that.’
‘As I said to Barates, it is possible. Yes.’
Strabo moved closer to Cassius. The glare from the window still shrouded his features and Cassius narrowed his eyes, trying to read the Sicilian’s expression as he spoke.
‘You do realise that I could run you and your fat friend through right now, take all your money and one of those fine horses you rode in on and disappear. Just like that.’ Strabo snapped his fingers.
Cassius was surprised by his words but sensed that they were meant as a test, not a genuine threat.
Simo came in from the bedroom. Strabo ignored him.
‘I do,’ said Cassius, trying not to swallow nervously, ‘but I don’t believe you will.’
Strabo moved forward again, his frame blocking out the light.
Cassius met his stare as it slowly softened into a playful grin.
‘You’re not as young in the head as you are in the face, centurion. I’ll give you that.’
Strabo headed for the door, then stopped mid-stride.
‘On second thoughts, it might be better if this stays with you and our arrangement remains. . confidential.’
The bag of coins landed on the desk with a solid thud. Strabo pointed at Cassius.
‘I have your word I’ll receive it when the garrison is relieved? In addition to my pay?’
‘You have my word.’ Cassius nodded towards the square. ‘As long as you stand by me out there.’
‘I’ll do as you’ve asked. For now.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Strabo, grinning as he reached for the door, ‘sir.’
VII
The heat in the square was almost unbearable. As he came to a halt beneath the flagpole, Cassius tugged irritably at the straps of his helmet, then wiped his clammy hands against his tunic.
After the meeting with Strabo, Simo had tidied up the officers’ quarters and made some useful discoveries: a bronze tuba for sounding orders, a log book and the century roll. Cassius had been through every page of the rolclass="underline" it listed names, wage levels and dates and places of birth. Petronius had been a conscientious officer; almost up to his death he had made notes in the log about supplies and work details. There was no mention of disciplinary infractions or punishments.
‘What do you think, sir? I thought it would be good for the lads to see this again.’
Barates arrived holding a tattered legion flag.
‘Excellent idea.’
The veteran, now wearing his belt and sword, unfurled the flag and knelt down in front of the pole.
Squinting through the glare and the sweat running down into his eyes, Cassius turned to face the assembled troops. Most had made some kind of effort and all now wore tunics, belts and swords. A few even sported metal insignia: decorations for honourable action. One group was making a show of ignoring Cassius completely. They included Flavian: the stocky legionary was still wielding his stave and looked rather unsteady on his feet.
Cassius was curious about what Strabo had said to them. The guard officer stood to his right, looking bored, apparently disinterested in taking the lead. Wondering if it was another one of his tests, Cassius decided to get things moving.
‘Guard officer.’
‘Sir?’
‘Get the men into close formation. Three lines.’
Strabo repeated the command, then yawned. The men organised themselves with surprising efficiency. Only Flavian and his cronies dragged their heels, successfully making a mess of the third line.
Cassius felt a tap on his shoulder. Barates pointed up at the flag, now hanging listlessly in the enervating heat. As with all legions raised by Caesar, the symbol of the Third Legion was a bull, in this case rendered in golden thread. Though the red of the standard had faded to a thin pink, the bull itself shone reassuringly bright.
‘Well done.’
Barates moved away but Cassius held up a hand. ‘Stay here would you, I may need your help.’
‘Of course.’
Barates put his hands behind his back and surveyed the men. Strabo was doing nothing to quieten the shuffling feet and whispered comments. Before beginning, Cassius reminded himself to consider his audience and simplify his language. As he had discovered during training, the military was not the place for the embroidered vernacular of the orator.
‘I am Centurion Cassius Quintius Corbulo and I am here on the direct orders of General Marcus Galenus Navio. I have been instructed to take charge of Alauran.’
Though the men were listening, Cassius sensed this was due more to curiosity than respect. There were more than a few quizzical looks at the unusually young officer before them.