Centurion

'That'll be the day,' Macro grumbled.

'Nothing would please us more,' said Cato. He leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table. 'And Julia?'

'Julia?'

'Do I have your permission to marry her, sir?'

Sempronius looked at the young officer for a moment. 'No. Not yet.'

The answer struck Cato's heart like a hammer blow and he bit back on the wave of bitterness and despair that threatened to engulf him. 'Why?'

'By your own admission, you are facing great danger in the coming days. However, if you live, if you return to Palmyra unharmed, if you can complete your work here in the eastern Empire, then I would give my consent. But only then.'

Cato felt the relief wash through him, but it was tempered by the knowledge of the odds stacked against him, and he nodded sombrely. 'I will live.'

The door opened and Julia entered the room with a plain wooden tray bearing a small stoppered jug, and four silver goblets.

'The last of my Falernian?' Sempronius frowned as he recognised the jug.

'You said the good stuff, Father.'

'Yes.Yes, I did. Well then, let's have our toast.'

Sempronius reached for the jug and pulled out the stopper. The musty fruit scent of the wine wafted into the air. He carefully poured them each a full goblet and put the stopper firmly back in place.

In the distance the flat blast of a bucina rang out.

'They're sounding assembly,' Macro explained to Sempronius and his daughter. He turned to Cato. 'Better drink up quickly. We have to go.'

'Wait,' said Sempronius. He glanced at Julia and then raised his goblet. 'We shall always be grateful to both of you for what you did here in Palmyra. I doubt that there are two finer men in the Roman army. Rome needs you. To that end, I propose this toast. Come back alive.'

Macro laughed. 'I'll drink to that!'

He raised his goblet and drained it in one gulp and set his cup down with a sharp rap on the table. He smacked his lips. 'Nice drop of wine.'

Sempronius, who had sipped his, winced slightly as he glanced at the empty goblet. 'If there was time, I'd offer you some more.'

'Ah, thank you, sir. You're most kind.' Macro picked up the jug and tucked it under his arm. 'For the road, then. Come on, Cato, we have to go.'

Julia reached her spare hand across the table and clasped Cato's. She stared into his eyes pleadingly.'Come back alive.'

Cato felt the warm pressure of her fingers and caressed the soft skin on the back of her hand with his thumb. 'I will come back. I swear it, by all that's sacred.'

08 Centurion

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The army set off along the trade route that Artaxes had retreated down the previous night. General Longinus had sent his two cavalry cohorts and legionary scouts ahead to skirmish with the enemy's rearguard in an attempt to slow the rebels down.The rest of the army trudged along in a haze of dust that choked the lungs and made them squint and blink as it found its way into their eyes. Some tried to pull their scarves over their mouths to filter the dust even though it was awkward and made them feel the heat still more.

Naturally, the worst place to be in the line of march was at the rear, where Macro and his men marched behind the rest of the Tenth Legion, with Cato and the Second Illyrian following. On their flanks rode Prince Balthus and his small contingent of horse-archers, now remounted from the few horses left behind by the rebels. Cato and Macro were marching together beside their men when Balthus trotted over to them and dismounted, leading his horse by the reins as he closed up with the two Romans.

'So here we are again, my friends,' he said cheerfully. 'This time the tables are turned and my brother is on the run. Ha, when we catch up with him, I pray to Bel that it is my arrow, or blade, that takes his life.'

Macro shook his head. 'Growing up must have been fun in your family.'

'Family?' Balthus thought for a moment. 'A royal palace is not like a home, Centurion. And the people who live there are not like a family. From childhood one knows that one's brothers are rivals. Deadly rivals. Once the king has chosen a successor, then his brothers are u

Macro shrugged. 'How should I know?'

'One.'

'One?' Cato mused. 'Where is he then?'

'Did you not realise?' Balthus looked amused. 'He is Thermon. My father's youngest brother. And he only lives because my father ordered him to be castrated so that there would be no family rivals for my brothers and me.'

Macro frowned. 'By the Gods, this is a truly fucked-up little kingdom.'

'You think so?' Balthus raised his eyebrows. 'Is it so different in Rome? What happened to your previous emperor? Gaius Caligula? Was he not butchered by his own bodyguards? I am not an ignorant provincial, Centurion. I have read many books. Many histories. Yours most of all. Truly you have a uniquely violent past.'

'What do you mean?'

'Before Caesar Augustus, how many of your people died fighting each other? Your generals and great statesmen were tearing at each other like wolves in a pit. Raising vast armies against their rivals. It's a wonder there are enough of you left to rule your empire.'

Macro stopped abruptly and turned towards the prince. 'Did you ride over here just to have a go at me and my empire?'

'No, of course not.' Balthus smiled. 'I meant no offence. I merely wished to say it is good to have the chance to fight at your side again. After the bad atmosphere back in the citadel.'

'There was a reason for that. I don't take kindly to being accused of murder.'

'And nor do I.'

'Ah, but who benefits from Amethus' death? That's the question.'

Cato glanced at his friend.'You've been reading Cicero?'

'I was bored. What else was there to do when you were off every spare moment with that aristocratic bit?'

'Her name is Julia,' Cato said tersely.

'So I gathered. Anyway, Prince, I'd say that you had rather more to gain than Rome did from his death. That's logic.'

'Logic? You make it sound like an accusation.'

'If you like.'

'I'm telling you. I did not kill my brother.'

'So you say.'

The tension between the two men was getting on Cato's nerves and he glanced round at the prince's retinue, now reduced to little more than forty men. 'Where is that slave of yours, Carpex?'

Balthus frowned. 'I don't know. He disappeared this morning when I was looking for horses for my men.'

'Disappeared? What happened?'

'I don't know. I sent him to my father's palace to bring me a spare bow and arrows from my quarters. He never returned. I had to take one from one of my men and then we left. As far as I know he's still in Palmyra. No idea where he got to. Strange.'

'Yes,' Cato reflected. Carpex had never been far from his master's side during the siege.

'If he's decided to run away, he'll pay dearly for it when he's found.'

'But why would he run away?' Macro asked.'He has it as good as any slave, and better than most freedmen.'

Cato smiled. 'I doubt he saw it that way when we were picking our way through the sewers. That's probably why he's run off. Sick of being in the shit.'

'Well, in that case he's done the smart thing,' said Macro. 'I get the feeling we're about to be in the very deepest of shit.'

By mid-afternoon the army had crossed the low foothills to the east and Palmyra and its oasis were left behind. General Longinus did not permit his men to take more than the briefest of rests as they strove to close the distance between them and the forces of Artaxes. As the sun sank towards the horizon the army passed over some broken ground, deep gullies stretching out on either side for a distance of some miles. Then the trade route emerged on to a great flat plain that spread before the Romans, desolate and lifeless in the still shimmering heat. Miles ahead the dust raised by the rearguard of the rebel force was clearly visible and in its wake were the tiny dots of stragglers. Small clusters of mounted men tracked across the wasteland, mostly keeping a wary distance from each other, and sometimes charging forward in a brief flurry of action before they broke off and resumed their positions.