The Siege by Nick Brown Page A

we’re back in the city before long.’
    ‘And how many times have we heard that before!’ came a loud retort. The man was standing in the second line and Cassius took a step left to get a better view. The legionary was of a good age, over forty certainly, with a thinning thatch of spiky grey hair and the battered face of a seasoned campaigner.
    ‘Serenus,’ whispered Barates. ‘Highly decorated but afflicted by illness for a year or more.’
    ‘Legionary,’ said Cassius, ‘you and every other man in this square are members of this garrison. Now I am too. We are not brigands or mercenaries or auxiliaries. We are professionals and we will do a professional job.’
    For the first time, there was silence.
    ‘Now, once you have been dismissed, I will be deciding on a precise plan of action. Until then, I want each of you to return to your quarters and ensure that your personal kit is up to scratch. If it stinks, wash it. If it’s dirty, make it shine. If it’s blunt, make it sharp enough to cut the balls off an elephant. Muster parade will be held just before sundown. The roll will be called.’
    Strabo dismissed the men line by line. As they broke up, Cassius observed a number of differing reactions. Some of the men trudged off with blank expressions, others walked briskly away, apparently glad to have something to do. A few remained on the square, exchanging comments with their compatriots, weighing up the new officer still standing stiffly below the legion flag.
    Though he knew there was precious little of substance to be happy about, Cassius was relieved. Most of the legionaries had at least shown a willingness to follow orders.
    He had made a start.
    Not long afterwards, the new commander of the Alauran garrison sat at the table inside the officers’ quarters. Occupying chairs to his left and right were Strabo and Barates. Simo sat on the low bench opposite him. The Gaul had managed to find some spare papyrus sheets and an old reed pen. Having just made up some ink from a lump of gum and some water, he was now ready to make notes as requested.
    Strabo belched loudly.
    ‘Do you happen to know the date?’ asked Barates suddenly. ‘I have been trying to keep track, but—’
    ‘Late August,’ answered Cassius. ‘The twenty-fifth, -sixth, perhaps. Simo?’
    ‘Somewhere around there, sir. I could work it out if you like.’
    ‘No matter. Doesn’t seem to mean much in these parts in any case.’
    Cassius had been bemused to learn that many of the Syrian cities still maintained their own calendars, stubbornly refusing to adopt the Roman system. An officer in Antioch had regaled him with several related tales, the last of which involved leaving one city in March, only to arrive at another in February.
    ‘Well, gentlemen,’ he said, keen to get started, ‘my mother always says: “If in doubt, make a list.” And so we shall.’
    Ignoring both sets of raised eyebrows, Cassius continued.
    ‘Our aims are simple and twofold. Firstly, to consolidate the defences of the fort and secondly to turn that rabble next door into something approaching a fighting unit. We need to establish the most urgent tasks and set about them immediately. Barates, you seem to know the place as well as anyone, any thoughts?’
    ‘Several. Number one – the wall.’
    ‘Clay brick, yes?’
    ‘Unfortunately. There are no quarries near here, only clay pits. I believe it’s about twenty years old. Originally there was just a village around the spring and at some point the army decided to enclose it.’
    ‘But it’s at least in reasonable shape.’
    ‘For the most part yes, apart from the breach.’
    Cassius’ frown deepened as Barates continued.
    ‘It’s behind the barracks. A few months ago a pair of pack horses were startled by something and bolted. They hauled a cart half the length of the fort and it overturned as they rounded a corner. It made quite a hole and over time the area above has collapsed. Perhaps if I show