The Legion (29 page)

‘Hrrrmmm . . .’ The auxiliary stirred and smacked his lips. ‘Whatsmatter?’

He began to struggle up on his elbow and Ajax drew his sword and threw himself on top of the man, clamping his left hand over the auxiliary’s mouth. He rammed his sword into the man’s stomach, point angled up under the ribs. There was a muffled cry and the man arched his back, nearly throwing Ajax off. As he worked the blade ferociously from side to side, Ajax smashed his forehead down on to the crown of the auxiliary. The man abruptly went limp and slumped back into the straw. Ajax thrust up towards the heart once more to make certain and then wrenched his blade free. He could hear the footsteps of the sentry approaching. Ajax hurriedly eased the body back into a reposed position and threw some straw over the bloodstain on the tunic. Then he buried himself beside the man and lay still. The sentry came closer and then the sound of his steady pace stopped.

‘What, Minimus, no longer sleeping?’

Ajax, heart beating wildly against his chest, drew a breath and grumbled, before making a guttural snore as near to the sound of the fat man as possible. The sentry laughed and continued on his way and Ajax carried on snoring until he could no longer hear the footsteps. Then, easing himself up from the straw, he climbed back on to the wall and resumed hauling his men over the rampart. Ortorix came last, heaved up by Ajax and two more of his men, gritting their teeth as they tried not to groan with the effort. With the Celt and the others, Ajax hurried along the walkway towards the gatehouse. The sentry had not emerged from his last circuit and they discovered his body slumped to one side as soon as they entered the low tower.

‘Once we get the gate open, get stuck in and make as much noise as you can,’ Ajax ordered. ‘Understood?’

They nodded to him in the gloom and then he made his way over to the narrow stairs leading down into the fort. Emerging from the tower gatehouse, Ajax gestured to Ortorix to help him and they tried to ease the locking bar into its receiver without making any noise. The sentry in the tower straightened up from the rail and turned away from the Nile to gaze down into the fort. He seemed to be staring directly towards the gatehouse and Ajax realised that he was looking for the other man on duty. He cursed himself for not ordering one of his men to take the sentry’s place and continue his beat. Too late for that now, he thought bitterly.

‘They’ll be on to us any moment,’ he said softly to the Celt. ‘Let’s get this bastard opened up.’

They heaved the bar back and grasped the heavy iron rings and pulled the doors inwards. There was a deep groan from the hinges and the sentry in the tower leaned towards them briefly before cupping a hand to his mouth.

‘To arms! To arms!’ His voice echoed down inside the fort. ‘We’re under attack!’

Ajax thrust his sword up, angled towards the barrack blocks. ‘Get in there! Kill them! Kill them all!’

With a deafening shout the gladiator and his bodyguards charged forward. Behind them in the darkness another cry went up and hundreds of shadows leaped from cover and ran up the slope towards the open gates.

Ajax raced ahead of his men, making for the line of small buildings to the right. Already the defenders were stumbling out into the night, clutching the first weapon that came to hand, a mixture of swords and spears. None wore any armour or helmets, he noted, giving them no edge over their attackers. A shape rushed out of a door directly in front of Ajax so that he cannoned into him. Instinctively he stabbed his blade high into the man’s chest as they collided and the soldier fell away with a pained cry as Ajax stumbled over him. He regained his balance just in time to parry the spear thrust aimed at his throat by another auxiliary who had turned at the sound of his comrade’s cry. The auxiliary swung the butt of his spear round and punched it towards Ajax, glancing off the side of his head and grazing his scalp. The pain enraged the gladiator and he charged forward, inside the reach of the spear, and caught him by the throat with his left hand, crushing his fingers into the soldier’s windpipe. The auxiliary dropped his spear and clawed at Ajax’s hand and then he spasmed as the sword blade punched into his guts repeatedly. Thrusting him aside, Ajax glanced round and saw that his bodyguards were cutting down the defenders across the interior of the fort. Caught by surprise, and assaulted by men who were the best trained killers in the Empire, they stood little chance. Then there was a rush of sandalled feet as the Arabs burst into the fort and joined the unequal struggle.

‘We yield!’ a figure cried out a short distance ahead of Ajax. ‘We surrender! Drop your weapons, men!’

Those outside the fight, and just emerging from their quarters, began to throw down their weapons. There was a last ring of blades and a groan and then a pause in the fighting.

‘No quarter!’ Ajax bellowed. He lurched forward, cutting down a stick-thin veteran. As the mortally wounded auxiliary tumbled to the ground, Ajax lunged at the fort’s commander, a squarely built man with thinning hair. The centurion ducked to avoid the strike and snatched up his blade, twisting to strike Ajax as he rushed past. The blow missed and Ajax spun round, braced his feet apart and faced the Roman.

‘Die!’ he bellowed, and then launched a savage sequence of blows. The centurion parried desperately and then threw up his sword as Ajax made a cut towards his head. At the last moment Ajax switched his angle and the edge of his well-honed blade cut right through the centurion’s wrist and on down into his shoulder. The sword clattered to the ground, still in the grip of the hand, and the centurion fell back with a howl of agony. Ajax stood over him, grinning in triumph, then leaned down and slashed open his throat, leaving the man to shake as his blood pumped out of the severed arteries and pattered across the ground beside him.

Ajax looked up and saw that the fort was in their hands. Not one of the Romans was still on his feet and his men stood over the bodies, breathing heavily as the battle rage began to ebb away. Ortorix laughed nervously. ‘We did it, lads.’ He punched his sword into the night sky and bellowed the war cry of his Gallic forefathers. The others followed suit and then one of them called out Ajax’s name and his companions took up the chant. Around them the Arabs bent over the corpses of the Romans, and hurried inside the barrack blocks, searching for loot.

Ajax nodded at his men with satisfaction. ‘Good work! Now let’s finish the job. Torch the place!’

As the column headed away from the fort, back towards the temple, Ajax paused to view his handiwork. Bright flames licked up from inside the walls, illuminating the small knoll upon which the fort stood, and casting a wavering glow over the fields and palms for a short distance around. The timbers of the signal tower were consumed by a tracery of flames and then there was a soft burst of crackles as the thatched roof caught fire and went up in a fierce but short-lived explosion of light. Moments later one of the tower legs gave way and the structure lurched to one side, then slowly toppled into the heart of the fort with a burst of sparks. The sound of its crash reached Ajax’s ears an instant later.

‘A fine sight,’ Ortorix muttered happily at his side. ‘Warms the heart, so it does.’

Ajax could not help smiling at the comment and patted the giant on his shoulder.

‘That’ll be hard to miss from the other side of the Nile,’ said Ortorix.

‘Yes. I think we can safely say that we have announced our arrival. Now let’s see what the Romans do about it.’

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

T
he legate and his senior officers made their way through the camp to the landing stage in front of the temple complex by the light of the torches held by the legate’s escort. All around them the men of the Twenty-Second and the cohorts attached to the legion were emerging from their tents, armour and weapons in hand. Those who were the first to dress and fasten their straps hurried to their stations as each unit formed up and waited for orders.

As they made their way up the ramp between the line of Sphinxes, Cato could clearly see the flames leaping up from a distant site, hovering a small distance above the rippling sparkles of the reflection in the Nile.

‘Is that the outpost?’ he asked Tribune Junius.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Tell me what you know about it,’ Cato snapped.

Junius looked at him in surprise.

‘Look, I’ve only been here a few days,’ Cato explained. ‘I haven’t had a chance to familiarise myself with the area.’

‘Sorry, sir. I don’t know much. It’s little more than a fort. Garrisoned by a half century of auxiliary troops. It’s there to keep an eye on the trade route running along the far bank. Or it was, before the Nubians got here.’

Macro stood on the landing stage and strained his eyes towards the distant fire. ‘And how do you know that’s the work of the enemy, eh? Could be desert raiders, or perhaps some fool’s set the granary alight. Has there been any word from the garrison commander?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Hmmm.’ Macro stroked his lip. ‘Still, we can’t be sure. If you’re wrong, Tribune, then you’ve sounded the alarm and called the entire army out for nothing. You’re not going to be a popular man. Oh, and by the way, you don’t call me “sir”, even if I am the first spear centurion.’

‘Sorry.’ Junius looked abashed and Cato decided to come to his rescue.

‘You did the right thing. It’s possible that it’s an accident. However, we’re on a war footing and it could be the result of enemy action. It’s hard to say now that we’re not sending patrols out any further than ten miles.’

Aurelius overheard the remark and stirred but he did not say anything, continuing to stare across the river. At length he turned to his chief of staff. ‘Geminus, any other reports of enemy movement?’

‘None, sir. Nothing from the lookouts, and none of the day’s patrols reported anything out of the ordinary.’

‘Well, something’s up now. It could be an accident. If we’ve had no report from the fort within the hour then send someone across the river to investigate.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Geminus cleared his throat. ‘And the men, sir?’

‘What?’ Aurelius turned towards him.

‘Shall I stand them down, sir?’

Aurelius looked back towards the fire and was silent for a moment before he replied, ‘No. Not until we know for certain what is going on over there.’

Macro glanced at Cato and cocked an eyebrow. Cato ignored him and stared at the fire. It was clearly growing in intensity and looked as if it threatened to consume the entire fort. He made up his mind and approached Aurelius.

‘Sir, I don’t think we should wait for a report. We should send someone across the river to investigate at once. If it is the work of the enemy then we need to know immediately. Even if it is just an accident we need to know if the garrison requires any assistance.’

‘Are you volunteering to cross the river and reconnoitre, Tribune?’ asked Aurelius wryly. ‘Or are you not too subtly volunteering a more junior officer?’

‘I’ll go, sir,’ Cato replied. He was infuriated by his superior’s insinuation. ‘Better to send someone with experience.’

‘In that case,’ Macro intervened, ‘I’d better go too, sir.’

Cato turned to him. ‘It’s not necessary. I can do the job by myself.’

Macro was about to speak, and then remembered that the days of fatherly advice had passed. He kept his mouth closed but looked at Cato imploringly. Cato shook his head.

‘Not this time.’

‘Why not?’ asked Aurelius. ‘Surely two sets of eyes are better than one? I’m sure the legion can spare you both for a few hours. Take Macro.’ He looked at Cato and forced a solicitous expression. ‘For my peace of mind, eh? Oh, and you can take Junius too, as he was so keen to sound the alarm. If it turns out to be a minor incident then perhaps spending a night grubbing around in the darkness might teach him to think twice before reacting so precipitately in future.’

‘Is that an order, sir?’ Cato asked flatly.

‘It is. Report to me the moment you return.’ Aurelius raised an arm to gather the attention of the other officers. ‘I’ve seen enough. Come, back to headquarters. Geminus, pass the word to all formations that they are to stand to until further notice.’

‘Yes, sir.’

With that, the legate turned away and led his entourage back towards the entrance to the temple complex. Cato shook his head.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Junius. ‘I didn’t mean to cause unnecessary trouble. Will the men really hold it against me? Will they resent me?’

‘Lad,’ Macro smiled at him, ‘you’re a tribune, doubtless by virtue of family connections, like most who hold your rank. You have no prior military experience and once you have served your time in the legion, you’ll be returning to some cushy job in Rome. Take it from me, the common soldiery will always resent you.’

‘Oh, dear.’ Junius looked crestfallen. ‘I had hoped to win their respect at least.’

‘You can still do that,’ Macro nodded, ‘when the time comes to face the Nubians.’

Cato gestured towards the fire. ‘That may well happen rather sooner than you think.’

‘Or not. Why would the enemy strike there?’ asked Macro. ‘It doesn’t make sense. If they wanted to surprise us then why not go directly for the camp? Why take out an outpost and alert us to their presence? I tell you, it’s a false alarm, and when I get my hands on the fool who caused that fire, I’ll be sure to give
him
a roasting.’

A figure emerged from the ramp and hurried towards Cato. It was Hamedes.

‘Sir, I overheard the exchange with the legate,’ the priest said apologetically. ‘I wish to go with you. If there is any trouble I will fight at your side. If you give me the chance.’

‘No. I don’t need you. I have enough men already. Go back to the camp and wait for us there.’

Hamedes looked hurt. ‘Sir, I have sworn an oath to Osiris to serve at your side until you are victorious.’

‘I’m sure Osiris will understand,’ Cato replied placatingly. ‘Now return to camp. That’s an order.’

Hamedes frowned and then turned away and disappeared into the darkness.

‘No question of it, the lad’s keen,’ Macro said in an amused tone. ‘Even after a day’s hard marching.’