The Siege Read Free Page A

take it off once the column was clear of Nessara.
    It was the last town on the general’s list. Fifty miles from the capital. If they were lucky they might do it in three days. Cassius was desperate to get moving. He had gleaned enough from the soldiers and locals to know that Palmyrans approaching from the east might overrun the area at any time.
    Once back in Antioch, he intended to find this Abascantius, take up the post he had been promised and hopefully avoid any more field assignments. But as he had discovered of late, looking too far into the future was a dangerous indulgence. His priority was to get the column out of the town and on the move.
    It was almost midday when they left. Cassius took the lead with the mounted legionaries behind him, riding two abreast. Next came the carts bearing supplies and the wounded. Bringing up the rear were those soldiers on foot and the local auxiliaries.
    Apart from the now abandoned Roman compound, Nessara was little more than a cluster of low, mud-brick houses. Despite the ravages of war and the enervating climate of high summer, life continued apace. Small groups of children darted here and there, stopping only to gaze at the column as it passed. Traders – some with stalls, others with no more than a woven basket – offered all manner of food; from olives, dates, oranges and lemons to chicken, goat and lamb, available alive or dead. One man stood over a selection of military equipment polished to a high sheen: some Roman, some local, even a huge axe from some northern land.
    Approaching the edge of town, the column passed a group of women hanging washing on lines strung between dwellings. Several stopped what they were doing and more than one pair of eyes were drawn to the unusual figure leading the way.
    As if his youth and lean physique were not enough to set him apart, Cassius’ other features did little to help him blend in. His family was from the far north of Italy and, like his mother and three sisters, he had light brown hair and a fair complexion. Thankfully, he had also inherited his mother’s good looks and his distinctive appearance had never done him any harm in his relations with women, not to mention drawing attention from quite a few men. The effect was doubled when he found himself amongst the darker peoples of the East.
    One of the younger women bent over a basket and, before he could help himself, Cassius was leering at the swell of her surprisingly large breasts. The girl caught his eye as she stood up. Hand on hip, she gave a provocative smile.
    This was soon replaced by a frown as an older woman, presumably her mother, slapped the girl hard across the back of her head. Pulling her daughter’s robes together to cover her cleavage, she pushed her away through the laundry before shooting Cassius a venomous glare.
    The scout assigned to assist Cassius was a man named Cotta, who was waiting for the column at the edge of town by a run-down farmhouse. He stepped out of the shade provided by a wall, rounded his horse and nodded a greeting.
    ‘Morning. Or should I say afternoon?’
    Cassius was about to apologise but reminded himself that Roman officers did not offer excuses to scouts.
    Cotta had a thin covering of greying hair and a heavily lined face that carried a certain air of nobility. He wore the white robes of a local, with only a traditional brooch to identify him as Roman.
    ‘Shall we?’ Cassius said, pointing towards the road ahead. It was marked by a darker shade of sand and the occasional line of stones. The lands beyond were dotted with hardy shrubs and trees. In the distance were the undulating hills that signalled a return to safer territory.
    ‘I thought you might prefer to wait,’ said Cotta.
    ‘For what?’
    ‘The messenger.’
    ‘What messenger?’
    Cotta pointed towards the hills. Cassius and the legionaries peered into the haze. About a mile down the road, a speeding rider had just emerged from behind a small copse of trees.
    ‘And