Emerging on to the campus martius, Ballista saw Antoninus Posterior standing in the centre of the broad open space. The centurion was bareheaded, his helmet in his hand. He was shouting at his men. There were but ten of them. One or two appeared none too steady on their feet. Ballista rode over.
'We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.' The irony in speaking the ritual phrase on behalf of his reduced company did not appear to have struck the centurion.
'Is this it, Antoninus?'
'Afraid so, Dominus. I have sent five others off to try and rouse more of the boys.'
'It is as the gods will. As soon as you have a few more, I want you to lead them down to the tower on the south wall that is nearest the desert wall.'
'We will do what is ordered, and at every command we will be ready.'
Ballista started to turn his horse.
'Dux, wait.' Out of the darkness from the north came Acilius Glabrio. The young patrician was riding a fine horse and wearing gilded armour. There was a sword on his hip. Ballista felt a jet of pure anger rising in himself, but before he could speak, demand to know how the young bastard dare break his house arrest, dare disobey another command and arm himself, Acilius Glabrio slid from his mount. The horse was well trained; it stood stock still. Acilius Glabrio walked up to Ballista, then knelt in the dust, arms up in the gesture of supplication.
'Dux Ripae, I have disobeyed your commands. But I would not have you think that I am a coward. If the Sassanids are within the defences you will need every man. I ask your permission to accompany you as a private soldier.'
Ballista did not like and did not trust the perfumed aristocrat at his feet, but he had never doubted that the loathsome young man was a fine soldier. 'Get on your horse and come with us.'
Ballista wheeled his mount and set off south. There was no gate in the wall that separated the campus martius from the civilian part of the town, so they had to backtrack. After three blocks they struck the main street which ran across town from the Palmyrene Gate to the Porta Aquaria. There were more people here, soldiers and civilians, but too many of the latter and not enough of the former. Ballista turned right and reined in outside the great caravanserai. Throwing his leg over the gelding's neck, he jumped down and ran inside. In the light of guttering torches, the scene was much the same as on the campus martius. In the middle of the courtyard, bareheaded and exasperated, was Antoninus Prior. The centurion, since the disgrace of Acilius Glabrio the temporary commander of all the legionaries in Arete, was yelling at his men. Again there were only about ten of them. Again several looked the worse for wear. Ballista snapped out the same orders as before and ran back to his horse.
This was all taking time. No one knew what was happening. There was as yet no sound of fighting. But all this was taking time.
They rode towards the Palmyrene Gate for a block then left down the street that would bring them out near the tower where Calgacus had seen the blue warning lantern. There was a great deal of noise but still nothing that spoke unambiguously of fighting. It could be a false alarm. But Calgacus was not given to fancies. In all the years he had known him, Ballista had never seen the Caledonian give way to panic. The lantern could have been lit by mistake. Allfather, let that be the case. But if it was, why had no messenger come from the tower to explain and offer profuse apologies? Ballista kicked on, pushing his horse into something near a gallop.
Apart from a drunken soldier who stepped out into their path then went reeling back, they reached the end of the street without incident. Ballista held up his right hand and reined in. The tower was about fifty yards away, just off to their right, across open ground.
The tower was in darkness. Ballista thought he could see men up on the fighting platform. He sat, playing with the horse's ears, thinking. A bend in the wall prevented him seeing the next tower to his left but, to his right, all looked normal on the southernmost tower on the desert wall. Torches burnt there, unlike on the tower in front of him.
He indicated that they should move forward. Walking their horses on to the open ground, they fanned out into line. Maximus was on Ballista's right, Pudens on his left. It seemed very quiet, the background noises very far away. The only sounds that Ballista could hear close to were the hooves of their horses on the hard-packed ground, the hiss of the breeze blowing through the jaws of the draco above his head and his own harsh breathing.
Halfway across the open space Ballista called a halt. The horses stood in line, shifting their feet. It was very quiet. The inner wall of the tower was about twenty paces away. The door was shut. Ballista sucked air into his lungs to hail the tower.
He heard the twang of the bows' release, the wisp, wisp sound of the fletchings in the air. He caught just a glimpse of the arrow. He jerked his head to the left and took a jarring blow as the arrow ricocheted off the right shoulder of his mail coat, sparks flying. The bay gelding reared up. Already off balance, Ballista was thrown. He lost his shield as he landed heavily. He rolled to get clear of the gelding's stamping hooves. The next horse was plunging, its hooves cracking down on the hard ground inches away. Ballista curled into a tight ball, his arms up covering his head.
A strong grip under his armpit hauled him to his feet. 'Run,' said Maximus. Ballista ran.
They ran towards the desert wall, arrows skittering off the ground around them. They veered right to put a fallen horse, its legs flailing, between them and the bowmen on the tower. Head down Ballista ran.
They reached the earth bank inside the desert wall. Running, scrambling on hands and knees, they reached the top. His back against the wall, Ballista crouched in the angle where the southern and desert walls met. Maximus covered both of them with his shield but no one was shooting at them now. Ballista looked around him. Acilius Glabrio and two of the equites singulares were still with him. There was no sign of Castricius, Pudens or the other guardsmen. He looked back the way they had come. A column of Sassanid warriors was pouring across the open ground. They seemed to erupt from the very ground beneath the wall on the near side of the tower.
'Fuck, there was another mine,' said Maximus.
Ballista raised himself up and peered over the wall. Outside in the starlight a long column of Persian warriors snaked up the side of the southern ravine. Lights flared on the Sassanid-held tower. Torches were waved to signal. In the sudden light Ballista saw a familiar figure on top of the tower. 'No, they are coming up through the Christian tombs cut in the wall of the ravine,' he said.
Bald head catching the torchlight, bushy beard thrust out, Theodotus, councillor of Arete and Christian priest, stood motionless on the tower amid the mayhem.
'Never did trust the fuckers,' said one of the guardsmen.
The Persian column was streaming north into the town, up the street that, moments before, Ballista and his party had ridden down.
There was a commotion on the wall walk to the north. Ballista drew his sword and, with the others, turned to the left to face the new threat. 'Roma, Roma': the newcomers shouted the night's password. Turpio and half a dozen troopers of Cohors XX ran into view. 'Salus, Salus,' Ballista and his group shouted back.
'More bad news,' said Turpio. 'Another group of Christians has overpowered the sentries on the Palmyrene Gate. They are letting down ropes for the Sassanids to climb. There are not enough sober men on the wall walks to dislodge them.' Turpio smiled. 'Who would have thought they had it in them?' His manner suggested that he was merely making a light, throwaway comment on the social foibles of a group; who would have thought that they of all people would be so devoted to the baths or the circus? Nothing about him betrayed the fact that he had just announced the death sentence for the town of Arete and almost certainly for most of his listeners.
Everyone was looking at Ballista. He ignored them, withdrawing into himself. His eyes, unseeing, gazed out over the dark ravine. They were trapped in the south-west corner of the town. Calgacus and the horses were waiting in the palace in the north-east of the town. The direct route, the streets just below them, were filling with Sassanid warriors. If they went north along the desert wall they would run into the Persians coming in over the Palmyrene Gate. The route along the southern wall walk was blocked by the enemy on the tower where Theodotus stood. Whichever way Ballista chose, they would have to cut their way out. He thought of Bathshiba. She should be in her father's house. Iarhai's mansion lay near the Porta Aquaria in the south-east corner of the town. Ballista made up his mind.
'There.' Ballista pointed at the glinting bald pate of Theodotus up on the tower to the east. 'There is the traitor. We will have our revenge.' In the near-darkness there was a low growl of approval from the men. 'Form up quietly, boys.'
