The Siege by Nick Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

flank of his mount did he see what Simo was so concerned about.
    At the opposite end of the street, about a hundred feet away, was a man. He stood absolutely still and wore a long, black, sleeved tunic. Even at that distance they could see a dark complexion and wreaths of hair that hung far below his shoulders.
    Cassius was unsure what to do. He was, however, throughly sick of the weighty helmet and thought it best to suggest peaceful intent, not that there was any realistic alternative. Slowly lifting it from his head, he cradled the helmet under his right arm and wiped his brow.
    ‘Might I suggest we retire to one of these dwellings, sir,’ Simo said shakily.
    As he spoke, the black-clad figure raised an arm.
    Cassius squinted into the sunlight, trying to see what the man was doing. He realised after a moment that the stranger’s arm was moving in a circle. The arm suddenly accelerated into a blur of motion. Cassius glimpsed something glinting under the sun then heard a loud crack.
    ‘What—’
    For a moment, he thought he’d been hit; that he was about to sense an injury somewhere on his body. Then he noticed a small object lying in the sand. It was a leaden ball the width of a thumbnail. Turning the helmet over, he saw a neat hole in the iron close to the crest.
    ‘Slinger,’ he said, gulping as he showed the helmet to Simo.
    The stranger was now motionless again, arm back by his side.
    ‘If we can get behind the horses,’ Cassius said quietly, ‘we might have a chance at the closest doorway. Are you ready to move?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘On three then.’ Cassius could hear what he thought was Simo’s breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. Then he realised it was his own.
    ‘One, two—’
    Cassius spied movement to his right. He could not think why Simo would be moving forward but then saw that the figure walking past was certainly not the Gaul.
    ‘I really must apologise, sir, but you know how these locals can be. Back in a moment.’
    The interloper must have been sixty-five if he was a day. Despite the inelegant gait produced by his bandy legs, he moved with impressive speed. His hair was snowy white, thinning on top but tied in a long tail. He wore a tatty pair of sandals and a dirty, ragged tunic. He didn’t seem to be carrying any weapons. Continuing down the street, the old man held up a hand of greeting to the black-clad warrior.
    Cassius exchanged confused glances with Simo, then recalled Cotta’s last words.
    ‘Thank you! Barates – is it?’
    The veteran stopped, turned and bowed before striding away again.
    Simo let out a long breath and patted the nose of his horse.
    ‘Well,’ said Cassius. ‘Quite a shot. It must be, what—’
    ‘Thirty yards or so I should say, sir.’
    ‘At least.’
    Cassius picked up the leaden ball and held it against the hole in his helmet. He knew the iron was vulnerable to arrows but had no idea a slingshot might penetrate at such range.
    Barates was now speaking to the mysterious warrior.
    Circling back round the horses, Cassius saw that the square was still empty.
    ‘Looks like he has things in hand. Let’s see if we can rouse anyone else.’
    At the eastern end of the barracks, two stretchers had been left against the wall. Knowing that small aid posts were usually constructed for minor forts such as Alauran, Cassius aimed for the closest doorway, hoping to find a surgeon or attendant inside. He belatedly realised that two men were lying under the stretchers. One was snoring loudly, the other drooling. There were several abandoned wine jugs next to them. Both their mouths were stained red.
    ‘Gods, it’s hard to tell if they’re even soldiers,’ said Cassius. One of the drunkards was wearing a tunic and one sandal. The other was naked except for a sheet he had donned in the style of a toga.
    Behind the aid post was a flimsy wooden structure, complete with a poorly thatched roof and a few rough-hewn tables and stools. On the other side of a short bar