The Legion (21 page)

Macro leaped forward, reached the tent post and snatched out his blade. He turned and hacked at the wriggling body and struck the ground instead.

‘Macro!’ Cato shouted as the head thrashed about inside the tunic. ‘Just kill the bastard!’

Macro hacked again, cutting into the middle of the cobra’s body. He cut again, this time severing it. Half the coils fell back and flopped about on the ground and Macro hurriedly kicked them to one side. The other half seemed to grow even more wild and Cato hurled it as hard as he could towards the back of the tent where it hit the goatskin with a soft thud and dropped to the ground, writhing frantically, but unable to move from the spot as it bled out.

Cato’s heart was beating wildly, his chest felt cold and clammy and he trembled. He turned to Macro and saw that his friend was just as shaken. Macro licked his lips and stared at the dying snake as he spoke in a low, earnest tone. ‘I am really beginning to hate this province . . .’

‘You’re the one in charge of the watch, right?’ Macro glared at the optio as the latter quickly rose from amongst the men sitting around the fire.

‘Yes, sir.’ The young soldier nodded.

‘Then you’re responsible for this getting into our bloody tent.’ Macro shook out the tunic and the two lengths of the cobra’s body flopped on to the ground. The optio instinctively took a step back and his face wrinkled in nervous disgust. There were surprised murmurs from the other men as they craned their necks and saw the dead snake.

Macro turned and pointed towards the tent. ‘The prefect is inside. There is supposed to be a guard patrolling outside the tent to ensure nothing happens to him, right? No enemies, or other threats, get past. I mean that’s standard regulation, even here in Egypt.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘So where is the sentry?’ Macro made a show of looking around and giving up and raising his hands. ‘Well?’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’ The optio swallowed. ‘I had a man either end of the camp. I didn’t think it would be necessary to post any more than that.’

‘Two men?’ Macro shook his head. ‘The province is in a state of war, and before you say it, I don’t care how far away the Nubians are. That’s no excuse for sloppy watch-keeping. Let me guess. You’re with the Twenty-Second Legion?’

The optio nodded.

‘Oh great . . .’ Macro took a pace closer and held his finger an inch from the optio’s face. ‘I want a proper watch posted every night. It is your duty to protect the camp and protect your officers and you have fucked up, my son. The fact is, either the prefect or myself or even both of us could have been killed and the fault would be yours.’

‘But sir. Even if there had been a sentry, the snake could have got into the tent.’

‘Shut it! You know what your duty is. I suggest you stick to it, or
I’ll
be disturbing
your
night by kicking your arse so hard your teeth will fall out.’ Macro took a step back, and prodded the snake’s body with his boot. ‘I’ll leave you to get rid of this.’

He was about to return to the tent when the captain of their barge squatted down by the snake and shook his head. ‘They don’t usually give us any trouble when we camp. Your tent must be pitched near one of their nests.’

‘You mean there could be more of them nearby?’ Macro fumed.

‘No. They’re solitary creatures. Unless their young are hatching, of course.’

‘Well, thanks for that. I’m bound to get a good night’s sleep now, aren’t I?’ He turned back to the optio. ‘Make that two sentries outside the tent.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Macro turned and marched back to the tent and pulled the flap shut behind him. He tossed the tunic back to Cato as he crossed to his bedroll and slumped down. ‘Bloody optio’s from the Twenty-Second. Seems like you were right to be worried about ’em.’

Cato was sitting cross-legged on his bedroll, deep in thought. He shook his head and glanced round. ‘Sorry?’

‘I said you were right about the Twenty-Second being a bit slack.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Hello, Cato.’ Macro waved his hand. ‘Still with us?’

‘Just thinking.’ Cato ran a hand through his hair. ‘About the snake. If there’s one thing I really can’t stand, it’s snakes.’

‘Why so particular? They’re just like everything else in this province: crocodiles, mosquitoes and snakes – never content unless they’re sinking their bloody jaws into someone. Fuck ’em. I’m going to try to get back to sleep.’ He glanced over at Cato and continued in a more gentle tone. ‘So should you. Best get as much rest as you can before we reach Diospolis Magna.’

‘Yes, you’re right.’ Cato eased himself down and lay still, staring up at the roof of the tent. After a while he shut his eyes and lay there listening intently to every sound of the night. Although Macro lay still and silent on his side, he did not snore and Cato realised that his friend’s mind was as troubled as his own.

Macro blinked his eyes open and for a moment frowned. The last thing he remembered was being unable to get to sleep, and lying still for what seemed like hours. Well, sleep had come to him in the end, he mused. Dawn was breaking outside and a shaft of light pierced the tent through the open flap. Macro turned over and saw that Cato’s bedroll was empty.

He sat up and stretched his arms, yawning widely before smacking his lips. Rising to his feet, Macro saw a dark dry patch in the light-coloured soil in front of the tent post and immediately recalled the scene the previous night when he had cleaved the cobra in two, and pursed his lips sourly. Emerging from the tent, Macro saw his friend sitting on a palm log a short distance away. He was staring out across the misty river, the stopper from an amphora in his hands. A short distance away lay the remains of a broken amphora.

‘Up early, or couldn’t you sleep?’ Macro called out as he strode over to join Cato.

‘Not much chance of anyone sleeping when you start snoring.’ Cato tossed the stopper aside into the grass. ‘At least we weren’t troubled by anything else last night. That’s something to be thankful for.’

Further along the shore the other passengers and the crews from the boats were rising and rolling up their bedrolls ready to continue the voyage upriver. Hamedes approached them, carrying his kitbag over his shoulder.

‘Morning, sirs. I heard there was some excitement last night.’

‘You could say that,’ Macro replied.

Hamedes tossed his bag down and squatted in front of them. ‘The optio told me about the snake just now. Seems you had a close escape. The venom of the Nile cobra can kill a man within the hour. You’re very lucky, sir.’

‘Funny, I thought I was unlucky that it happened at all.’

The priest tilted his head to one side. ‘Perhaps it was an omen. A message from the gods. A warning perhaps.’

‘Then again, perhaps it was just a bloody snake which took a wrong turning.’ Macro stood up and pointed to two of the legionaries standing by the nearest fire. ‘You, and you. Get the tent down and stowed. Make sure the bedrolls are put on the same boat.’

Cato turned to Hamedes and was silent a moment before he spoke. ‘A message? I think you might be right.’

‘Oh?’ A brief look of surprise flashed across the priest’s face.

‘Yes,’ Cato continued. ‘We seem to have been dogged by bad luck ever since we began our hunt for Ajax here in Egypt. I’m beginning to wonder if we’ve offended some of the local gods. You’re the man with the expertise here, Hamedes. How do we go about appeasing your gods? Who should we offer prayers to? What sacrifice should we make?’

Macro glanced at his friend. ‘Since when did you come over all religious?’

‘There’s been plenty of times in the last few months when fortune has played us false, Macro. It could be mere coincidence, but I doubt it. On one or two occasions, perhaps, but as often as we have endured it, then a man is right to suspect that the gods, or someone else, are playing their hand.’

Macro puffed his cheeks, not quite sure how to respond. ‘You really think an offering is necessary, sir?’

‘It would give me some peace of mind,’ Cato admitted. ‘Will you see to it, Hamedes, on our behalf?’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘As soon as you can.’

‘I will do what I can. The rites associated with good fortune and warding off bad luck were beyond my remit, sir. I was entrusted with more basic offerings. But I will find out for you when we reach Diospolis Magna and I can consult the priests there.’

Cato stared at him and then nodded. ‘Very well, that will have to do.’ He took a deep breath and stood up. ‘Meanwhile, let’s get the convoy under way again. The sooner we reach our destination, the better.’

The convoy continued up the river, passing beyond the delta on to the single expanse of water that flowed through the heart of the great desert that stretched west from the Erythraeum Sea across the continent and formed the southernmost boundary of the Empire. From the river Cato could see the rocky scarps that rose up beyond the narrow belt of cultivated land spilling out beyond both banks of the Nile. Between stretches of reeds and palm trees he saw great numbers of fields tended by peasants and tilled by oxen drawing heavy ploughs as they turned over the dark silted soil that was the source of the province’s great wealth. Before the time when Rome had coveted the fertile farmlands of Egypt, such wealth had funded the ambitions of the Ptolemies, and before them the ancient lineage of the old Pharaohs dating back to time beyond record.

Though they were forgotten, they had lived in an age of marvels, Cato mused as the convoy passed by the trio of pyramids, guarded by a giant Sphinx, a short distance downriver from Memphis. Though he had seen them several days earlier, on the way to report to Petronius, Cato still viewed them with awe as he stood on the foredeck shading his eyes as he stared. They were built on the scale of mountains, it seemed, though geometrically perfect in a manner that nature could never achieve. The sides seemed to be glassy smooth for the most part, and patches of what looked like gold leaf reflected the sun’s rays in such dazzling splendour that Cato thought they would have been impossible to behold when in their prime.

‘Quite a sight,’ said Macro as he came forward to stand beside Cato. He stared a moment longer and then shook his head. ‘Hard to believe it’s the handiwork of the gypos, ain’t it?’

‘That’s hardly a fair comment.’ Cato gestured to a village on the shore. ‘These people are living in the shadows of their ancestors. They are not the same.’ He paused for a moment in reflection. ‘Perhaps one day they will say the same of our ancestors when Rome is little more than a curiosity. When our great monuments are crumbling back into the ground.’

‘Pfft! You talk utter bollocks sometimes, Cato.’ Macro nudged him. ‘You know you do.’ He cleared his throat and then imitated the same hushed and reverential tones of his friend as he continued. ‘Rome is the darling of the gods, brought forth into the world to be a shining beacon of all that is great and best. In the distant future people will stand in front of the gates of Rome and look in wonder on our mighty works and despair . . .’

‘Have you quite finished?’ Cato asked tersely.

Macro sniffed. ‘Give me a moment, I’m sure I might have missed something pretentious I could have said.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Now that’s spoken like a soldier. Brief, and to the point. Come, forget about all them dusty piles of stone and get into the shade before you start getting even more light-headed, eh?’

Macro slipped back under the awning and sat down. Cato stared at the pyramids for a little longer, but Macro’s words had robbed them of some of their mystique and with a sigh he turned and joined Macro and Hamedes in the shade.

Ten days after the convoy left Alexandria the barges sailed round the final bend in the river before Diospolis Magna just after the sun had fallen behind the arid mountains on the western bank. On the opposite bank towered the pylons of the largest temple complex Cato had ever seen. Tall wooden masts rose from brackets on the carved walls and tattered banners of faded red wafted and flickered in the evening breeze. A tall mud-brick wall surrounded the temple, giving it the appearance of a vast fortress. A stone landing stage stood a short distance from the edge of the river, where a more recent quay constructed from wood lined the bank of the Nile.

‘Karnak,’ Hamedes said with reverence, and then pointed further along the bank to another, far smaller complex. ‘And that’s the temple of Amun. The city lies beyond.’

The captain of the barge sat at the tiller and gently heaved it away from him as he steered in towards the quay. A number of soldiers were standing guard along the quay and on towers erected behind the walls. As the flotilla approached, a party of soldiers emerged from the ornate landing platform and descended the ramp on to the quay to assist with mooring the barges. The crews tossed ropes across the water to them and one by one the barges were hauled in and the ropes fastened to worn wooden cleats lining the quay.

The two Roman officers and the priest gathered their kitbags and stepped ashore. Cato stopped the optio in charge of the mooring party.

‘Where is the army headquarters?’

‘Who wants to know?’

Macro stepped forward to tear a strip off the optio for his insubordination but Cato raised a hand to stop him. They were wearing only their standard-issue tunics. Their armour, and insignia, were packed in their kitbags.

‘Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato and Centurion Macro reporting for duty with the Twenty-Second,’ said Cato and nodded at Hamedes. ‘This is our scout.’

‘Ah, my apologies, sir.’ The optio stiffened to attention. ‘You want the priests’ quarters, sir.’ The optio turned and pointed to the east of the temple complex. ‘Over there. I’ll have one of my men guide you.’

Cato nodded as he cast an eye over the optio and his men. Most were dark-skinned, like the natives. A few had the lighter skins of the Greeks or Romans. ‘Very well.’

Shortly after, they climbed the ramp to the ceremonial landing stage and the vista inside the temple complex opened up. Thousands of men were camped inside the wall, their tents aligned in neat rows stretching out across the compound. In the distance, towards the rear of the complex, lay the stables where the horses of the auxiliary cohorts, and the four squadrons of legionary cavalry, stood sheltered from the sun beneath shades made from palm fronds. A short distance outside the walls, between the temple complex and the city, lay the sprawl of tents belonging to the camp followers. This was where the soldiers could find drink, trinkets and comfort in the arms of women from the numerous companies of prostitutes run by seedy Greek merchants.