Beyond the spring, where the depression ended, was one side of the fort. Constructed of the ever-present cream-coloured brick, the wall was well over a hundred feet long, perhaps ten high. A tall timber structure dominated the south-east corner of the compound. Cassius thought it might be the granary, housing the precious supply of food.
‘No smoke, sir,’ said Simo thoughtfully.
‘And a flagpole with no flag on it,’ Cassius added.
Leading the horses by the reins, they walked steadily towards the fort. Cassius stared fixedly at the wall, hoping rather than expecting to see the reassuring sight of a standard or a raised spear.
By the time they neared the closest of the palms, this preoccupation had distracted him from what Simo had already noticed. The Gaul tapped him on the shoulder and pointed towards the tree.
A large, black-feathered buzzard had just hopped out of the palm’s shadow. Claws scraping the sand, it shook its head at the strangers. Clasped in its crooked beak was something red with flies buzzing around it. With a single flick of its neck, the bird swallowed the morsel and hopped back towards the palm. Still looking on, Cassius belatedly realised what Simo had been pointing at all along.
Wrapped in faded shrouds, and arranged in an untidy line under the tree, were six bodies.
IV
Covering their noses with cloth unwrapped from their headgear, Cassius and Simo stared down at the corpses. One was no more than a pile of bleached bones, wrapped in a thin sheet that looked like it might blow away at any moment. The shrouds covering the middle four forms were a little newer. A section of cloth covering the face of one had come loose, revealing a portion of sunken, lined skin. This figure was notably smaller than the others.
‘A child perhaps,’ said Simo quietly. Unwilling to open his mouth, Cassius nodded and turned his attention to the last body. It could not have been there more than a week. Apart from the sweet odour of rot, the skin, visible where the buzzard had pecked a wide hole, had hardly decayed at all. Flies had gathered on the wound.
Cassius felt a wave of nausea, reminding him of the seasickness he had endured during the three-week crossing from Ravenna to Seleucia Pieria, the port that served Antioch. He had eventually resorted to offering daily prayers to Neptune, with no obvious effect.
He clapped his hands, driving the bird away. It hopped towards three more of its brethren, gathered together under another palm.
‘Well somebody put them here,’ he said.
‘Victims of disease perhaps?’ replied Simo, following Cassius back towards the horses. Neither of them chose to mention the obvious suspicion. Outbreaks of plague had afflicted the area for years; the disease could arrive at a settlement borne by a single individual and spread to the entire population in weeks. Cassius was fully aware of the risk; his uncle had died during one such outbreak while stationed in Cyprus.
Taking his mount by the reins, he started towards the south-eastern corner of the wall, examining the structure as he walked, knowing he might soon have to depend on it. The clay brick looked solid enough, the edges of each block visible under a thin layer of white paint. The foundations also seemed secure, with little evidence of slippage or subsidence. The top of the wall, however, was rather unconventionaclass="underline" there were no guard towers or battlements.
In the time it took them to traverse the southern side of Alauran, not a single sound was heard from within. It was almost midday; Cassius could not conceive how a garrisoned settlement, even one so remote and undermanned, could remain so deathly quiet.
They reached the corner. Cassius stopped and handed his reins to Simo.
‘Your knife is at hand, I see.’
‘It is, sir.’
Cassius retrieved his helmet from one of the saddlebags. If there were any troops left, first impressions would count. Having secured the strap under his chin, he took a final drink of water.
‘Eyes and ears open then.’
Simo took charge of both horses, looping the reins together as he followed Cassius round the corner.
In the middle of the eastern wall was a small but sturdy-looking gatehouse. The two towers bore the familiar hallmarks of a traditional fortress, though on a far smaller scale. Each was square, perhaps ten feet wide, extending two yards above the wall, with several arrow slits close to the roof.
The gate itself hardly deserved the name: two thick wooden doors mounted on a frame set into the wall. One door was slightly ajar.
Simo’s horse snorted. Cassius placed his hand on his sword, concerned that the noise would alert any potential enemy inside. Noting some vulgar graffiti at the bottom of the door, he leaned round it and peered inside.
Directly ahead was a street of sorts, separating two rows of ramshackle housing and leading through to a paved square. Beyond that were a well and a small temple.
Checking that Simo was right behind him, Cassius gripped the edge of the door and pushed it inward. The hinges squeaked, protesting noisily until there was enough space for the horses to pass. He took four steps forward and stopped. Though no people were in view, there were a few signs of life: a line of washing hanging from a roof, a discarded sandal, a large pail in the middle of a doorway.
Fairly sure he could hear voices coming from somewhere, Cassius swept his eyes across the compound. To the left was some kind of encampment where awnings had been strung from the houses to the southern wall. Under the awnings were assorted barrels, amphoras, blankets and several piles of clothes. There was also a well-maintained fireplace, complete with a spit and a stack of cooking pans.
To the right was a U-shaped marketplace with stalls on three sides. Many of the stalls had been cannibalised for wood. Woven baskets of various sizes and shapes littered the ground. They were all empty.
‘Keep your eyes on those houses,’ Cassius told Simo, turning to look at the inside of the eastern wall. The towers were accessed through a low doorway on each side of the gatehouse. Along the remainder of the wall a number of wooden planks had been affixed five feet from the ground to form a series of rudimentary firing platforms.
Cassius steadied himself, reminded himself of his rank and his orders and set off at a brisk pace towards the square.
‘Follow me, Simo.’
Resisting the temptation to examine every potentially treacherous window, he instead pressed on until he could see the rest of the fort. The square was about sixty feet in diameter and paved by alternating grey and white tiles, many of which needed replacing.
The building behind the well was indeed a temple, its narrow doorway framed by two spiral columns. In a larger settlement they would have been marble but these were of some lesser stone. Faded outlines and blotches of orange and red on one side suggested an abandoned attempt at decoration.
Occupying most of the space to the left of the square was the large wooden building they had seen from outside. Its sloped roof was thatched with dried palm fronds, the supporting beams visible underneath. The manner in which the entire structure had been mounted on a series of short thick timbers confirmed it was the granary: by keeping a flow of air through the building, its contents could be better preserved and protected from vermin. At the eastern end was a wide double door. At the other end, separated from the granary by a narrow alley, was a smaller building with three half-doors: undoubtedly the stables.
Equally recognisable was the barracks, situated to the right of the square. Like every other building except the granary, it bore the pale tones of clay brick. There were two doorways at the near end, a number of wide, low windows and a long water trough outside. It looked about the right size to house a century. A few tunics and sheets had been draped over the windows to dry, yet, once again, there was a bemusing lack of activity. At the far end of the barracks were the officers’ quarters: a small block fitted with a wooden door and a large, shuttered window. Some throwing javelins had been propped up against the shutters.