Bathshiba stepped back offended. Her eyes were hard and angry. 'You fool. You may know how to defend a town, but I doubt that you could take one.' She swept up her cap, turned and walked furiously back across the terrace.
For a time after Bathshiba left Ballista stood by the wall. His desire slipped away and he was left with a feeling of frustration and an ill-defined sense of foreboding. The cup was still in his hand. He finished the wine.
At length he walked back into the palace. He called for Maximus. The Hibernian came clattering down the stairs from the flat roof.
'What were you doing up there?'
'I do not know to be sure. Certain, I was not spying on you. As always these days, fuck all to see there. I was just looking around. Sure, I cannot put my finger on it, but something is not right.'
'For once I know what you mean. Fetch a cloak. Tell Calgacus we are going out. We will walk the defences.'
The orders of the Dux Ripae had been obeyed to the letter. All along the wall walks and at every tower were twice the usual number of sentries. Blue warning lanterns hung ready on every tower. Looking mulish, the sentries paced slowly or leant against the parapets feeling resentful at their enforced sobriety and envious of their fellow soldiers' celebrations. From within the town came the noise of the celebrations: bursts of laughter, indecipherable shouts, girls' squeals, the sounds of running feet and cups being smashed – the distinctive cacophany of Roman soldiers baying for alcohol and women.
The sentries saluted Ballista and Maximus as they walked south along the desert wall. 'We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.' There was unhappy resignation, sometimes bordering on insubordination, in their voices. Ballista shook their hands, praised their disciplina, promised them three days' leave and a carefully unspecified sum of money as a donative. It did not seem to do an iota of good.
To the west the great dark plain stretched away. Beyond it were the lights of the Persian camp. There were men awake there. Lights flickered as they passed in front of the torches or fires. Yet it was strangely quiet. There was none of the keening mourning, the plaintive music and high-pitched wailing Ballista had expected. The silence of the Sassanids was unnerving. It added to Ballista's feeling of foreboding.
In the depth of the night Ballista and Maximus returned to the palace. They had a cup of warmed wine and Ballista retired to his sleeping quarters. He stripped off his clothes and lay down in the big, very empty bed. After a few moments' regret, he fell asleep.
It was well after midnight, maybe towards the end of the third watch, when Ballista heard the noise. Instinctively, his hand closed on the pommel of his sword. He knew it was pointless: somehow he knew what he would see. Ballista forced himself to look. There by the door was the big man, the great pale face under the deep hood of the shabby dark-red caracallus. The big man walked forward. He stood by the foot of the bed. The light of the oil lamp glittered on the thick golden torque and the eagle carved in the gem set in the heavy gold ring.
'Speak,' said Ballista.
'I will see you again at Aquileia.' The great grey eyes shone with malice and contempt.
'I will see you then.'
The big man laughed, a horrible grating sound. He turned and left the room.
The smell of the wax that waterproofed the hooded cloak lingered.
Ballista was sweating heavily. He threw back the covers, got out of bed and opened the window to let in the fresh night air. Naked, he stood by the window, letting the sweat dry on his skin. Outside, he saw the Pleiades low on the horizon.
It would all fall out as the Allfather willed.
Ballista went to the washbowl, splashed cold water on his face, towelled himself dry and got back into bed. After what seemed an eternity he fell into a deep sleep.
'Wake up! Wake up!'
Ballista struggled to the surface.
'Wake up, you lazy little shit.'
Ballista opened his eyes. Calgacus was standing by the bed shaking his shoulder.
'What?' Ballista felt drugged, stupid with sleep. Calgacus's sour, thin mouth was more pinched than ever.
'The Sassanids are in the town.'
Ballista swung himself out of bed. Calgacus talked as he handed the northerner his clothes and he dressed.
'I relieved Maximus up on the roof. I saw a blue warning lantern on one of the towers on the south wall. It shone for a moment, then went out. Pudens is raising the alarm. Castricius is turning out the guard. Maximus is saddling the horses. Demetrius and Bagoas are taking your armour down to the stables.'
'Which tower?'
'The one nearest the desert wall.'
Dressed, Ballista picked up his sword belt. 'Then we should go.'
The stables, when they reached them, were in a state of just controlled chaos. Grooms ran here and there carrying saddles, bridles and other bits of tack. The horses shook their heads, stamped their feet and called out in indignation or excitement at being woken at this unusual hour. In one of the further stalls a horse was misbehaving, rearing up and plunging against its headstall. Calgacus went off to find what had become of Demetrius and Bagoas.
Ballista stood still, a point of calm in the eye of the storm. He breathed in the familiar homely smell of the stables, the evocative mixture of horse, leather, saddle soap, liniment and hay. He was struck by the timelessness of the scene. Stables would always be much the same; the needs of horses did not change. Give or take the odd marble manger or bit of fine wood panelling, stables were the same in the imperium as anywhere else. They were the same in his homeland as they were in Sassanid Persia. Horses were not much affected by the culture of the men who rode them.
In the golden glow of the lamps Ballista saw Maximus making his way down the line of horses. The air was thick with dust raised from the straw by the boots of men and horses' hooves.
'I have saddled Pale Horse for you,' Maximus said.
'Thank you.' Ballista thought for a few moments. 'Thank you, but leave him in his stall-leave him saddled. I will ride the big bay gelding.'
Maximus did not question the order but went off to carry it out.
Calgacus appeared, chivvying along Demetrius and Bagoas, who were carrying Ballista's war gear. Ballista was pleased to see that they had not brought the fancy Roman parade armour of earlier that day but his old war-worn mail shirt. Asking just Calgacus to attend him, Ballista stepped into an unoccupied stall. As the aged Caledonian helped him into his armour Ballista spoke, his voice low so no one else could hear.
'Calgacus, old friend, I have a very bad feeling about this. When we are gone I want you to collect our essentials, saddle all the remaining horses, pack supplies on three of them: skins of water, army biscuit, dried meat. Wait here in the stables with Demetrius and the Persian boy. Have your sword drawn. Do not let anyone touch the horses. I will leave five of the equites singulares here in the palace. I will tell them to take their orders from you. Post one at each of the three gates, one on the terrace and one on the roof.'
Outside in the narrow alley between the palace and the granaries, Ballista rapped out orders. He organized his little mounted column and told his staff, the house slaves and the five guardsmen who were staying behind to do as Calgacus instructed. The latter received the command with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
Ballista squeezed the big bay gelding with his thighs and set off, around the small temple of Jupiter Dolichenus and down the wide road that led to the campus martius. The small column rode at a loose canter in single file. They kept well closed up. After Ballista came Maximus, Castricius, Pudens and the five equites singulares.
Trumpet calls echoed through the town. In the distance men were shouting. There were the sounds of crashing and banging. Yet the military quarter was strangely deserted. A few soldiers were running, some staggering, but not nearly the proper number were heading to their posts. In some doorways soldiers lay unconscious through drink. As he clattered past the military baths Ballista saw one soldier lying on the steps dead to the world, a half-naked girl next to him, one of her pale white legs across his. A large wine jar stood next to them.
