The Legion (22 page)

‘Impressive.’ Hamedes nodded. ‘I have never seen such a powerful army. The Nubians would tremble at such a sight. I could not guess at the number.’

‘The number is less impressive than you might think,’ Macro replied. ‘A legion has over five thousand men on its roll at full strength. But then, they never are at full strength. The auxiliary units amount to perhaps three thousand men. At best Candidus has eight thousand men to counter the Nubians.’

‘But surely, sir, the Roman soldiers are the best in the world? How else could they have won such an empire?’

‘There are soldiers and there are soldiers,’ Cato responded quietly.

The legionary assigned to escort them to headquarters led them down a short avenue of Sphinxes and through the gates of the first set of pylons, across a courtyard and between two large statues into a hall filled with vast columns. At the far end they turned right towards another set of pylons stretching to the south. The courtyards here were packed with supply carts and thousands of sacks of grain to supply the army once they marched south to do battle with the Nubians. For Hamedes the army’s preparations for war were something of a novelty and he kept glancing about him with insatiable curiosity.

‘Hey,’ Macro called to the legionary. ‘You had any word on the enemy?’

The man glanced back and shook his head. ‘Nothing for days, sir. Last I heard was that their mounted troops had been seen as far north as Ombos.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘A hundred or so miles upriver.’

Macro turned to Cato. ‘Not exactly blazing a path through the underbelly of the province, are they? And Candidus isn’t exactly rushing to drive them back either.’

Cato shrugged. ‘I’m sure the legate has his reasons.’

‘I’d be interested in hearing them.’

They strode down through the last set of pylons, and saw another avenue of Sphinxes heading towards the temple of Amun, over a mile away. A short distance from the avenue was a large low building, surrounded by another mud-brick wall. A section of legionaries stood guard at the gate.

‘This way, sir.’ Their guide gestured to Cato. The optio in command of the gate raised a hand as they approached.

‘Halt! State your business.’

‘Officers joining the legion,’ the legionary explained and stood aside as Cato reached inside his tunic and took out his orders and handed them over for the optio to inspect. He ran his eyes over the papyrus scroll and then saluted. ‘Welcome to the Jackals, sir.’

‘Jackals?’

The optio turned and pointed at the standard rising up above the gate leading into the priests’ quarters. Above the legion’s number, a depiction of a canine head in gold stood out against the red cloth of the fall. Cato and Macro briefly examined the standard and exchanged a knowing glance: there wasn’t a single battle honour adorning the staff.

‘I expect you’ll want to be entered on to the roll, sir.’

Cato nodded. ‘But first I wish to see the legate.’

‘He’s not here, sir. You’ll have to see the camp prefect instead. Caius Aurelius.’

‘Where is the legate?’

‘He left the army several days ago, sir. I heard he was touring the forts along the Nile to make sure they were adequately prepared to hold out against the Nubians.’

‘When is he due back?’

‘Can’t say, sir. Best ask the camp prefect.’

‘Where do I find him?’

‘Through the gates and straight on, sir. Admin offices are just beyond the pool.’

‘Pool?’ Macro smiled as they strode through the gates. ‘Sounds like a cushy posting.’

In stark contrast to the bland exterior of the wall running round the priests’ quarters, the interior afforded comfort in some style at first glance. Palm trees shaded the paved paths that surrounded the buildings. Flower beds were watered by pipes that ran through the gardens. Few plants remained, however, and those that did were sadly neglected and their leaves were covered in a layer of fine dust. The path from the entrance led through a double line of columns and opened out on to a tiled courtyard surrounded by airy cells. A large awning covered the courtyard and in its shade the staff of the headquarters had set up their trestle tables. The clerks were busy cleaning their pens and putting aside their work as they looked forward to the evening meal. On the far side of the courtyard was another line of columns and beyond they could see the mirror gleam of water. The cells of the second courtyard were given over to the senior officers of the army and cots had been set up at the back of each cell while a desk stood at the front. Several officers were still hard at work and Cato asked a passing orderly for the camp prefect.

‘Over there, sir. Far end of the pool.’ He pointed out a slight man with dark, tightly curled hair, hunched over a large desk as he examined a document. Cato led the small party round the shallow pool. As he approached the cell, the camp prefect glanced up. He looked tired and anxious.

‘Yes?’

‘Prefect Cato, sir. I’ve been sent from Alexandria to take up the senior tribune’s vacancy. My orders.’ He handed the document over. ‘This is Centurion Macro, assigned to the legion.’

‘And him?’ He nodded at Hamedes.

‘Our scout, sir.’

Aurelius quickly glanced at the orders and pushed them to one side. ‘It’s good to have you with us. Even though we had a junior tribune join us yesterday we’re still short of the full complement of officers, particularly in the First Cohort. Our best officers can be called on to act as magistrates right across the province. Two of our centurions were serving south of Ombos and we’ve had no word from them. The same goes for the first spear. He was overseeing the construction of a new fort at Pselchis. Frankly, I fear the worst.’

‘Sorry to hear it, sir,’ said Macro.

‘Well, perhaps no news is good news,’ Aurelius replied unconvincingly. ‘In the meantime, Prefect Cato, you’re acting senior tribune. Centurion Macro gets command of the First Century.’ He tapped the scrolls. ‘You come highly recommended, and we need experienced officers. As you might know, it’s a while since the entire legion saw active service. We’ve been carrying out policing action most of the time. Still, the opposition’s little more than a mob of mounted brigands. That’s what we’re told, anyway.’

As the man spoke, in his high voice with its sing-song cadence and rhythm, Cato’s earlier fears about the combat readiness of the legion seemed to be justified. Aurelius was clearly a man far more at home wielding a stylus than a gladius. Cato could only hope that the legate had wider military experience.

‘Sir, if I may, I’d like to present myself to Legate Candidus at the earliest opportunity when he returns. I need to speak to him about the possibility of an additional threat to this region.’

‘I’m sure you would like to speak to Candidus,’ the camp prefect replied. ‘So would I. The fact is, he said he would be back three days ago. I’ve sent patrols to look for him but there’s no sign of him on the road to Ombos. The gods only know where he’s got to.’

T
he Nubian army was in camp twenty miles to the north of Ombos, in a shallow loop of the Nile that watered their horses and camels, as well as the herds of goats that served as mobile rations. There was little sense of the orderly layout that Ajax had seen in the Roman army at Diospolis Magna. The gladiator had halted his column of mounted men on a rocky outcrop a mile away from the camp. Prince Talmis’s forces sprawled across the flattened fields of wheat. Ajax estimated that the Nubian army must be at least thirty thousand strong. There were tents dotted around, but most of the men had erected temporary shelters constructed from palm fronds. The majority of the Prince’s men seemed to be Nubian warriors, with a smaller contingent of Arabs, swathed in flowing dark robes. At the heart of the camp lay a cluster of larger tents, and Ajax could make out a loose ring of spearmen guarding the cleared perimeter that stretched a short distance around the tents.

‘That’s where I think we’ll find Prince Talmis.’

Karim nodded. ‘I hope you’re right about this, General.’

‘Trust me. He’ll welcome us. Especially when we offer him a few tokens of our friendship.’ Ajax smiled as he patted the sacks hanging across the back of his horse. ‘Relax, Karim, if there’s one thing you can be certain of in this world it’s that the principle of my enemy’s enemy being my friend applies everywhere.’

The flesh wound he had received from Cato was still healing and Ajax twisted round carefully in his saddle to inspect his men. Only twenty-eight of them were still with him. Some had been lost in a skirmish with the Romans five days earlier, and more when they had raided an outpost to seize the horses. Still, most of the gladiators who had formed his bodyguard back during the rebellion in Crete had survived, as had the strongest of the slaves he had liberated from the captured ships. They handled their weapons competently enough, and had plenty of courage and loyalty and in time would prove themselves alongside the cadre of gladiators.

‘When we approach their camp, keep your hands away from your weapons. Whatever happens, you do nothing unless I give the order. Is that clear?’

His men nodded.

Ajax gestured to the tall Nubian gladiator mounted astride a horse whose hide was as black as the skin of its rider. ‘Hepithus, come forward!’

‘Yes, General.’ The Nubian clicked his tongue and urged his mount alongside.

‘Those are your people. You will act as my translator. Only use the words I speak to you, and you will tell me all that passes between those who address us.’

Hepithus nodded.

Ajax turned back to scan the camp spread out before him. Half a mile from the foot of the outcrop a score of warriors mounted on camels slowly patrolled the northern approaches to the camp. Ajax pointed them out to Karim and Hepithus. ‘We’ll make for those men. If there’s any trouble we’ll have plenty of room to make our escape.’

‘I thought you said we were guaranteed a warm welcome,’ said Karim.

Ajax smiled. ‘It is as well to be prepared in case the welcome is too warm, my friend.’ He flicked his reins. ‘Let’s go.’

The small column of horsemen began their descent from the outcrop. A narrow path wound down the slope on to the river plain and the hoofs of the horses immediately kicked up a haze of dust that was bound to be seen by the Nubian patrol. Sure enough, Ajax saw them halt briefly, then one rider turned and urged his camel into a loping gallop as he raced back towards the camp. The rest spread out into a line and turned to approach the horsemen. As they came on, Ajax saw them draw out light javelins from the long quivers hanging from their saddle frames. He turned to call back to his men. ‘Remember. Keep your hands away from your weapons unless I say otherwise.’

The gap between the two formations rapidly narrowed and when they were no more than a hundred paces away from the line of camels, Ajax raised his hand and reined in. ‘Halt!’

The column clopped to a standstill and the men sat in their saddles, both hands holding on to their reins. The camels approached steadily and then, when they were within javelin range, their leader called out an order and they slowed and stopped. The riders wore dark robes and headdresses and held their weapons in an overhand grip, ready to hurl them the instant they received the order.

Ajax cleared his throat and raised a hand in greeting. ‘We come as friends. I wish to speak with Prince Talmis.’ He nodded to Hepithus and the Nubian spoke with the leader of the patrol, then turned to Ajax.

‘He asks who you are.’

‘Then tell him that I am Ajax, the gladiator, leader of the rebellion against Rome on the island of Crete, and I have come to offer my services to Prince Talmis, against our common enemy.’

Hepithus translated and there was a short pause before the leader of the patrol spoke again.

‘He wants us to hand our weapons over to his men. Then he will escort us into their camp.’

Karim edged his mount forward and spoke quietly. ‘General, it would not be wise to venture any further without the means to defend ourselves.’

Ajax took a deep breath and shook his head. ‘We will do as he says. Swords out!’

There was a chorus of steely rasps as his men drew their weapons and held them ready. The Nubians stirred uneasily and several raised their javelins.

‘Throw them down!’ Ajax ordered and tossed his sword to one side. His men followed suit, save Karim who watched the Nubians warily.

‘Do as I say,’ Ajax hissed angrily. ‘Now.’

Karim swung his arm down and the sword stuck into the ground close by the heel of his boot. The leader of the patrol shouted an order and four of his men made their camels kneel before they slid from the saddles and ran across to the column of horsemen to gather up the weapons. They hurried back and placed them in their saddle buckets before remounting and urging their camels back on to their feet. There was a brief series of throaty grunts from the camels before all was still again. The patrol leader gestured to Ajax to follow him and turned his camel towards the camp. Half his men followed him, and the rest waited for the horsemen to pass by before taking up the rear.

As they entered the camp, the nearest Nubians stood up and watched curiously as they passed by. The odour of manure and woodsmoke filled the air and Ajax cast a professional fighter’s eye over the warriors of Prince Talmis’s army. Those on the outer fringes of the camp were lightly armed, barely more than simple tribesmen armed with hunting spears and hide shields. Some had bows, or javelins. What they may have lacked in equipment they made up for in numbers. Ajax estimated there must be at least fifteen thousand of them. The next section of the camp was given over to men with swords and armour. Many wore breastplates over long robes and bronze helmets rimmed with linen to shade their faces and necks. There were several thousand of these armoured warriors and Ajax felt his heart lighten at the prospect of the odds facing the far smaller Roman army camped downriver.

Ahead lay the open patch of ground surrounding the complex of tents belonging to Prince Talmis and his generals, Ajax surmised. To their right, in the bend of the river, thousands of horses and camels grazed on the crops of the Egyptian peasants, or drank from the river.