Centurion (33 page)

Cato nodded. ‘So would I.’ He glanced quickly over his shoulder, but the only other men on the tower were on the far side, absorbed in a game of dice. ‘And I’d take further comfort from the fact that there’s a fair amount of dissent amongst the defenders.’

‘How can Artaxes know that?’

‘Because he’s family. He knows how deeply divided his brothers are, and how little faith his father has in either of them. Artaxes will also know that Balthus is no great admirer of Rome and is likely to resent our presence here. There’s one other thing. If any of the nobles or refugees begin to lose confidence that the king will hold out against Artaxes, they might well come to believe they have more to gain by throwing their lot in with the prince, and betray us. The prospect of some kind of reward might be an added inducement to treachery.’ Cato smiled bleakly. ‘Not the best situation we have ever been in.’

‘And not the worst, either.’

‘Perhaps not.’

Macro gave his friend an appraising look.

‘What?’ Cato frowned. ‘What is it?’

‘I’m just glad you and your devious mind are on my side. It’s as I told that woman: you’re a thinking man, a thinking soldier.’

‘Which woman?’

‘The one in the hospital. She saw to my wounds. The ambassador’s daughter, Julia Sempronia.’

Cato felt a tremor of nerves in his gut. ‘You were discussing me?’

‘Sort of. She was asking questions.’

‘About me?’

‘Yes. What of it? I didn’t tell her anything you wouldn’t have told her yourself.’

Cato wasn’t sure about that at all. He thought he knew Macro well enough to fear that some indiscretion, large or small, would eventually be teased out of him by Julia. ‘What did she want to know?’

‘What I thought of you. Whether you were married, or had a woman of some kind.’

‘And what did you say to her?’

‘That there was no one at the moment, and that you were available.’

Cato swallowed nervously. ‘You told her that?’

‘Of course!’ Macro slapped him on the shoulder. ‘She’s a lovely-looking girl. Bit too classy for my liking, though. More your type.’

Cato shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead. ‘Please, please tell me that you didn’t suggest that she might like to . . . attach her affections to me.’

‘Oh, very well put!’ Macro swore softly. ‘Very romantic. Anyway, what kind of idiot do you take me for? I just hinted that you were free of any commitments and you’d be a fine catch. Cato, this isn’t a children’s party.There is every chance that we may not hold out against Artaxes for much longer. If that’s the case, what has she got to lose? For that matter what have you got to lose? I think she’s taken a shine to you. If you are interested in her then make your move, while there’s time.’

‘And if we all survive this? What then?’ Cato could imagine the awkwardness of a relationship forged in the shadow of annihilation, only for the participants to emerge unscathed back into the same old world of hazardless routine. That was assuming that Julia did not rebuff him in the first place.

Macro yawned. ‘You could always make an honest woman of her.’

They stared at each other for a moment, before Macro burst out laughing. ‘Just joking!’

‘Funny bastard,’ Cato muttered sourly. Nevertheless, the merest suggestion of marriage to Julia briefly filled his mind and made his heart feel light. Then he cursed himself for such foolish speculation. What could a highborn Roman woman ever see in the son of a freedman? It was unthinkable, and yet . . .

Cato pushed himself away from the parapet and composed his expression. ‘Sir, I think we’re done here. I still have to do an inventory of my cohort’s weapons.’

‘An inventory of kit?’ Macro tried not to smile at his friend’s obvious attempt to avoid further discussion of the matter. Instead he mimicked Cato’s officious tone.’Very well then, Prefect Cato. Carry on.’

They exchanged a formal salute and then, as Cato turned and strode stiffly away, Macro shook his head and muttered, ‘She’s got right under that boy’s skin . . .’

Shortly after noon a messenger from King Vabathus arrived at the makeshift quarters Macro was sharing with Cato.The latter had finally completed his inspection and reluctantly joined Macro in the cool interior of the citadel to sit out the heat and glare of the midday sun.

‘His Majesty requests your company at a small feast he is giving this evening in your honour,’ the royal servant explained. ‘At sunset. Formal dress code.’

‘Formal dress?’ Macro’s expression darkened. He gestured at his worn and dirty tunic and dusty boots. ‘This is all we have. When we set off from Antioch we were marching to war, not a bloody dinner party.’

The servant bowed his head and responded, ‘His Majesty’s chamberlain suggests that you procure some spare clothes from the Roman ambassador. His excellency Lucius Sempronius has already said he would be happy to provide you with tunics, togas and sandals.’

‘Oh, very well,’ Macro grumbled. ‘We’ll be there. You may go.’

The servant made a deep bow and backed out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Macro lay back down on his mattress, folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the rafters. ‘Here we are, surrounded by bloodthirsty enemies and we’re off to a fancy dinner. Still, at least it’ll make a nice change from horsemeat.’

‘I suppose so,’ Cato replied. ‘But I hardly think it’s going to do much for the morale of the people in the citadel to know that the king and his circle are feasting while they’re on limited rations.’

As the sun dipped towards the horizon and bathed the city in an orange glow Macro and Cato entered the royal quarters. At the rear of the citadel, tucked between the main building and the wall, was a small roof garden with a colonnade that stretched along each of the open sides. Occasional pergolas provided shade and small trees and shrubs grew in large tubs and raised flower beds. A slave was watering the plants as Macro and Cato entered and Cato could not help wondering about the king’s sense of priorities. On the far side, overlooking the city wall and the lush oasis beyond, a number of couches had been arranged around low tables. An awning had been rigged above the couches and in the light breeze blowing in off the desert it gently shimmered and billowed. Most of the guests were already present. Cato recognised some of the nobles, alongside Thermon, Balthus, Amethus, Sempronius and his daughter.

Cato felt a quickening of his pulse at the sight of her, but when she looked his way his gaze shifted to examine the other guests. He saw Balthus approach Julia and with a gracious bow begin to engage her in conversation.

Sempronius smiled as he caught sight of the two officers and came over to greet them.

‘Centurion Macro, I see that my tunic is a bit tight around the shoulders.’

Macro swung his arms loosely. ‘It’s comfortable enough, sir. I’ll manage. And thank you for helping us out.’

‘My pleasure.’ Sempronius turned to Cato. ‘You on the other hand seem made to fit my clothes. They look even better on you than on me.’

Cato shifted self-consciously and Sempronius smiled.

‘Don’t grow too used to them. I’ll want them back later on. Anyway, let me show you to your places.’ He put a hand on each man’s shoulder and steered them towards the couches. ‘The king will be seated at the head of the centre table, when he joins us.Thermon and the princes will sit to his left and you two have been given the place of honour at his right. I and my daughter will be on the other side. Normally the locals don’t approve of women feasting alongside the men, but they have made an exception for Julia.’

‘Very accommodating of them,’ said Macro.

‘I suppose so, but I imagine it’s mainly because Balthus has his eye on her.’

‘Really?’ Macro looked at Cato and raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s understandable enough, sir. She’s a lovely-looking young woman. Any man in his right senses would be proud to have her as his wife.’

Cato glared furiously at his friend, while Sempronius frowned and said with evident sadness, ‘I just wish her former husband had shared your sentiments. Anyway, the prince seems to like her well enough, which is useful.’

‘Useful?’ Cato was surprised by the odd choice of word.

‘Of course. Right now I value any influence that I can get over Balthus, or any of these people. So please, think like diplomats tonight, and not like . . .’

‘Soldiers?’ Macro suggested.

Sempronius nodded. ‘If you wouldn’t mind. For the sake of the Empire.’

‘In that case,’ Macro assumed a thoughtful expression, ‘I suppose I might try to avoid any behaviour that could cause a scandal, although I can’t speak for my friend Cato. He’s the one you should keep an eye on.’

‘Really?’ Sempronius looked at Cato with raised eyebrows.

‘Ignore him,’ Cato muttered. ‘Just ignore him.’

Thermon rapped his staff on the ground and the conversation died abruptly as the Palmyran nobles turned towards the entrance to the roof garden and bowed their heads. Sempronius gestured to his companions to do the same. After a moment’s stillness, King Vabathus came striding through the doorway. He swept through the small crowd of guests and eased himself down on to the royal couch. Thermon waited for his master to settle and then rapped his staff again.

‘All may be seated!’

The guests hurriedly took up their places and a low hubbub of conversation slowly swelled to a more comfortable volume. Macro and Cato, lying on their couches to the right of the king, kept quiet, waiting to be addressed by him.Vabathus regarded them for a moment and then cleared his throat.

‘We owe you our gratitude, Romans, for the fine defence of the citadel gates this morning.’

Macro bowed his head. ‘Thank you, sir, but we were just doing our duty.’

The king gestured towards Macro’s arms. ‘You are wounded?’

Macro shook his head. ‘Just some burns, sir. They’ll heal in a few days.’

‘I see.’ The king glanced past Macro to address Cato. ‘And you?’

‘Your Majesty?’

‘Are you wounded?’

‘No,Your Majesty. Not today.’

‘Ah.’ The king nodded and turned away with a dull expression to stare out over the wall, towards the oasis. The molten glow of the sun barely rimmed the horizon and long shadows spilled across the sand and the dark green fronds of the palm trees. Macro waited a little longer, in case there was any further remark from the king, and then he turned to Cato with a subtle shake of his head. But Cato was already looking the other way. Julia was lying beside her father and Cato was pleased that she was temporarily parted from Prince Balthus.

‘So tell me, Prefect.’ Sempronius spoke just loudly enough in Greek for the other guests to hear. ‘How much of a fight did the rebels put up?’

Cato could not help a small smile as he considered the staged question and he made sure that his reply was equally audible. ‘The majority of them are little more than a rabble, an armed mob. We have nothing to fear from them. Apart from that, I’m sure we can deal with Prince Artaxes’ regular soldiers if they have the stomach for another fight. But I doubt they’ll trouble us for a few days yet.’

Sempronius nodded sagely. ‘And by then, I imagine General Longinus will be approaching the city with his legions.’

‘I should think so, sir.’

‘Good.Then we’re saved.’ Sempronius turned to face the king’s chamberlain, who was standing a short distance in front of his master’s table, his post for the night as he oversaw the timing and announcement of each course.The two men exchanged a slight nod and Thermon rapped his staff and called out towards a small side door on to the garden. At once a steady stream of slaves spilled out carrying platters of food.The king was served with a large selection first and he began to pick at some meat dainties. Then the rest of the guests were presented with a somewhat less generous range of dishes. Macro propped himself up on his elbows and looked over the offerings before him.

‘Horsemeat sausage, horse steaks, horse cutlets in honey . . .’ He forced a smile and raised his voice. ‘Best rations I’ve had in months.’ He paused as he saw a small bowl of what looked like a curious white fibrous fruit. He turned to Sempronius. ‘Sir, excuse me. Do you know what those are?’

‘Those?’ The ambassador glanced at the bowl and smiled slightly. ‘Why of course I do. That’s a local delicacy, Centurion. You should really give them a try. And remember, always use the right hand,’ he added as Macro leaned forward.

‘Delicacy, eh?’ Macro grinned. ‘My favourite kind of food.’

He reached over and plucked one out of the bowl. As he withdrew his hand and examined the object in his fingers his expression froze. ‘It looks like an eye.’

‘It is. A sheep’s eye to be precise.’

‘Sheep’s eye? Good Gods! What kind of delicacy is that?’

‘One that you must try,’ Sempronius insisted. ‘And you too, Prefect, if you don’t want to mortally offend our hosts.’

‘What?’ Cato looked horrified. But there was an earnest expression of compulsion from the ambassador. Even so, Cato shook his head. ‘I can’t.’

Despite his reservations of a moment earlier, Macro was amused by his friend’s squeamishness. He leaned forward again and picked out another eye. ‘Here, this one looks nice and juicy.’ He held it out to Cato, who tried not to shrink away too obviously.Then Cato became aware that the other guests were looking at him expectantly, and reluctantly accepted the offering. Macro watched him with amusement for a moment and then winked.

‘Bottoms up!’With one swift movement Macro popped the eye he still held into his mouth and made a brief chewing motion before he swallowed and smacked his lips. ‘Delicious.’

Cato felt sick, but dared not refuse for fear of causing offence. He swallowed nervously, and with a last quick battle against his stomach’s inclination to retch raised the eye to his lips and pressed it into his mouth. The tough muscle tissue surrounding the eyeball was slimy and tasted vaguely of vinegar. He tested the texture with his teeth and it was as unyielding and chewy as he had feared. Summoning up all his courage, he forced the eye to the back of his mouth and swallowed.

The guests cheered and grinned at him, some holding up eyes for him to see, as if they were making a toast, before they ate them. Cato snatched at the goblet of wine that had been poured for him and took a big mouthful, swilling it round his teeth and gums to eradicate any hint of flavour left behind.