Centurion

'Your Majesty.' Sempronius bowed his head. 'It is with scorn that I respond to such a demand from our enemies. Rome is your ally, and Rome honours her obligations to her allies, whatever the cost. I speak for every Roman in the citadel in this regard.' He gestured towards Macro and Cato. 'While these fine officers and their gallant men draw breath we shall fight for King Vabathus. We shall not quit the great city of Palmyra, no matter what vile threats are made by the craven enemies of His Majesty. Together, we shall hold the citadel until the governor of Syria arrives with his army and crushes the rebels!'

Before Sempronius had sat down another figure had risen to his feet, just behind Prince Amethus. The man was broad-chested and clearly had a powerful physique beneath the folds of his fine embroidered robes. He bowed his head to the king and turned to the Roman ambassador.

'Might I ask our Roman ally how long we are to wait before the army of Cassius Longinus reaches us?'

Sempronius remained in his seat as he replied, a calculated rebuff and expression of contempt for the speaker.

'The commander of the relief column tells me that the governor will reach us within a matter of days, Krathos.'

'Days? How many days, exactly?'The man's gaze shifted to Macro and he held up his hand to silence Sempronius as the latter started to respond. 'I address my question to the centurion. Well, how many days?'

Macro shifted uncomfortably as all eyes turned towards him. He looked to Sempronius and the ambassador nodded, and muttered, 'Be honest, Centurion.'

Macro swallowed and thought hard as he calculated the likely time it would take for the governor to concentrate his forces and march across the desert to Palmyra. The baggage train would find it tough going, Macro realised. He drew a deep breath and gave his answer.

'At least another fifteen days. Perhaps as many as twenty, sir.'

'Twenty days,' Krathos repeated emphatically.

Sempronius leaned slightly closer to Macro and hissed, 'Not that honest, Macro. For pity's sake!'

'Twenty days!' Krathos spread out his arms. 'How can this citadel endure for twenty days?'

'We have held out for longer than that already,' Sempronius countered. 'We can last another twenty days.'

'On what?' Krathos shot back. 'The water supplies are close to exhausted, and the food will not last much longer. Thanks to the arrival of Prince Balthus and his friends, and our Roman allies, we now have another thousand mouths to feed, not counting the hundreds of horses they have brought with them. Far from rescuing us, these Romans have made the situation even worse! By the time the governor's army reaches us we will have died of thirst and hunger and Prince Artaxes and his rebels will be picking over our bones.'

'Very well then,' Thermon interrupted, rapping his staff on the flagstoned floor. 'What would you suggest we do, Krathos?'

'Negotiate with the rebels. Come to terms so that those who have taken shelter in the citadel are spared.'

'Even if that means His Majesty abdicates? And we break our treaty with Rome?'

'Even that.' Krathos nodded.'Although my loyalty to His Majesty is boundless, he must accept that his continued reign would divide Palmyra. As would Prince Artaxes, should he take the citadel and proclaim himself king. As I see it, there is only one way out of this predicament. We must offer the people of Palmyra a compromise: a ruler who is beholden neither to Rome, nor to Parthia. We must offer them Prince Amethus as their new king.' He took a pace forward and laid his hand on the prince's shoulder. Amethus started and glanced round quickly. Krathos gave him a reassuring smile and Amethus nodded happily and stared off into the mid-distance again.

Krathos cleared his throat and continued, 'Let Prince Amethus preserve the balance of power between the great empires that have us caught between them. Let His Majesty step down from the throne, in favour of his eldest son and heir. And let Prince Amethus bring peace to our kingdom.'

'Peace!' Prince Balthus snorted as he stood up and faced Krathos. 'There would be no peace under my brother and you know it. Amethus is a fool. He's easily led. Particularly by you, Krathos.You have but to tug his leash and Amethus follows you like a whipped cur. Everyone knows it. Just as everyone knows that you would have us beholden to whichever empire offered you the most gold!'

Cato noticed that Amethus barely stirred during his brother's tirade. He wondered how Amethus could be oblivious of the insults. Unless his simpleness had made him immune.

For a moment Krathos' eyes widened in anger, then he forced himself to smile and wave his hand dismissively. 'The prince forgets himself. Has my family not supported King Vabathus, and all his forebears, with unimpeachable loyalty? I will take no lectures on loyalty from a man whose sole sense of duty is to his own self-indulgence.'

Balthus paced towards the nobleman, his hand instinctively reaching to his hip before he recalled that his sword had been handed to the guards at the door. No man was permitted to carry arms in the king's audience chamber except the king himself and his bodyguards. Krathos recoiled as Balthus fumed and stabbed a finger towards his face.

'Truly, you are the son of a dog.' He drew his head up. 'I am loyal to my father, and I would fight and die for him at his merest word of command. Honour is my master. Gold is yours.'

Krathos' smug expression hardened. Cato saw his hands ball into fists, and feared the consequences of any division in the beleaguered ranks of those trapped in the citadel. Before either man could strike, the king rose to his feet and bellowed, 'That is enough! Sit down, both of you! Now!'

With a last glance of mutual hate, Krathos and Balthus reluctantly resumed their seats. The king glared at them for a moment before he continued, in a lower voice. Cato, who had seen him in a tired, despairing mood the night before, was surprised by the sudden power of his presence, and the firmness in his voice that spoke of the man he had been in better days.

'There will be no negotiations with the rebels, let me make that clear for all of you. In any case, I know my son, Prince Artaxes. He would feel nothing but contempt for our offer to negotiate. He will not accept that Amethus is the rightful heir to my throne.' The king's voice wavered for a moment as he continued, 'I had hoped that Artaxes would be his brother's first minister, his general. He promised great things, once. Now? He is no more than a burden to torment an old man's memory.' The king paused and swallowed. 'Amethus will be king, when the time comes.'

'And what of me?' asked Balthus.

'You?' The king seemed surprised. 'When this siege is over, I am confident that you will be what you have always been: a drunken wastrel.'

Balthus' lips pressed together in a thin line as he gripped the arms of his chair.

'That ain't fair,' Macro muttered softly.'He's a damn good fighter.'

'Quiet,' Sempronius hissed. 'Not another word.'

Macro nodded, but tried to register his protest to Cato as they exchanged a glance.

The king was still looking at his middle son.'If I am wrong in my judgement of you, my son, then you must prove it.'

'I shall,' Prince Balthus replied coldly. 'Then you will eat your words.'

Much of the audience gasped at the temerity of the prince's remark, and the king stared at his son, brows knitted together in a deep frown. There was a tense silence, until Thermon cleared his throat and broke the spell.

'Your Majesty, there is still much we have to discuss.' The king's gaze flickered away from his son, and fixed irritably on his chamberlain.

'The supply situation, Your Majesty?' Thermon prompted. 'We have to talk about that.'

'Yes…yes, we must.'The king eased himself back on to his chair. 'Continue.'