The Legion (30 page)

‘I have no quarrel with his attitude, as long as it doesn’t start becoming irritating.’ Cato strode over to the steps leading down to the wooden quay. ‘Come on. Let’s get on with it.’

‘Well,’ Macro shrugged, ‘there’s no pleasing some people.’

Cato pulled a section of legionaries from the First Cohort and boarded the nearest of the barges, shaking the crew out of their slumber as they lay on deck. The captain gave the order for his two crewmen to fend the barge off and into the current. He was about to raise the sail, but Cato stopped him.

‘No. There’s a chance that the sail might be seen. Use the oars.’

‘It’ll take longer,’ the captain protested. ‘And it’ll be tiring work.’

‘You’ll use the oars,’ Cato insisted, and went forward to sit just in front of the mast. Macro and Junius joined him and the legionaries sat on the deck, keeping clear of the two sailors who unshipped the long oars and began to stroke the barge out into the black water of the Nile. They rowed across the current and slowed down to creep forward once they approached the far bank. Ahead, the fire was starting to die down and an odd glow outlined the walls of the fort, dark and gaunt against the wavering light.

Cato turned and called softly back to the captain. ‘Get your boat as close to it as you can. If we have to leave in a hurry, I don’t want to run any further than I have to.’

The captain grumbled a sour reply and steered the barge along the riverbank. They passed a few small houses whose dwellers slept on, unaware. Once the barge was as near to level with the fort as Cato could judge in the darkness, he ordered the captain to steer in, aiming for a narrow stretch of earthen bank. Having seen one crocodile strike from the concealment of reeds, Cato was fearful of repeating the experience. The barge grounded softly and gently jolted the soldiers. Cato stood up, took off his sword belt and removed his helmet and scale vest.

Macro stared at him. ‘And what do you think you’re doing, sir?’

‘We’re not going into a fight, just scouting.’ Cato picked up his sword belt and slipped the strap over his head. ‘What are you waiting for?’

With a sigh Macro followed suit, and a moment later so did Junius. Cato turned to him. ‘Not you.’

Junius paused. ‘Sir?’

‘You’re staying here.’

‘I was told to come with you, sir.’

‘And I’m ordering you to remain here. I’m leaving you in charge of the boat. Make sure that the captain doesn’t get cold feet. If we come running, I want the men ready to hold the bank until we reach the boat. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cato slipped over the side of the barge and splashed into the calf-deep water. He made his way ashore and up the bank to the edge of the long grass that grew there. Macro joined him a moment later and then they set off towards the fort, no more than half a mile away. They reached the edge of a wheat field and picked their way through the crop and then encountered a wide irrigation ditch, with reeds growing along each side. Cato paused, listening.

‘What is it?’ Macro whispered.

‘I . . . nothing. Let’s go.’ Cato was about to climb down into the reeds when there was loud splash and something large rustled through the reeds a short distance to his left. At once Macro drew his sword. They both froze for a moment.

‘What was that?’ Macro asked.

‘Without seeing it, I’d guess it was a crocodile. I think we should find a way round the ditch.’

‘Crocodile?’ Macro quietly put his sword away and muttered, ‘Good idea.’

They followed the ditch for a quarter of a mile without finding its end, or any means of crossing it. Cato fumed at the time they had wasted and decided to double back. Perspiring freely in the warm air, they retraced their steps until they came across a narrow footbridge supported by a crude wooden trestle.

‘After you, sir,’ said Macro.

‘Thanks.’ Cato tested his weight on the narrow plank and found that it bowed slightly. Taking each step carefully, he crossed over and waited for Macro before continuing towards the fort, They were close enough now to hear the crackle of the dying flames. Cato paused.

‘I can’t hear any voices.’

Macro strained his ears. ‘No. Nothing. Looks like I was wrong about it being an accident.’

‘If the enemy took the place, then why aren’t they still here?’

‘Maybe it was a hit and run raid,’ Macro suggested.

Cato nodded. ‘Perhaps. Let’s get a closer look.’

They reached the bottom of the knoll and began to climb towards the fort. The acrid smell of burning filled the air and as they neared the gate, a new odour was added to the stench: burnt flesh. The gatehouse had collapsed and the two officers cautiously poked their heads round the side of the ruined arch. Cato winced as the heat struck his face, forcing him to squint. The interior of the fort had been destroyed by the blaze and by the light of the small fires that still burned he saw the blackened, twisted shapes of bodies.

‘That’s proof enough for me,’ said Macro. ‘They were attacked. And no raiding party would have dared take on a fort like this. It might be small, but even so it would present too much of a challenge.’

‘I agree. We’d better report back to the legate.’

At that instant a voice cried out in the distance. A rising ululation. It continued for a moment and then stopped.

‘That came from the direction of the boat,’ said Cato. ‘Let’s go.’

They hurried down the slope and entered the field they had crossed a moment earlier, following their trail back through the trampled wheat. Then another cry rose up in the darkness, behind them now, some distance beyond the fort.

‘Shit,’ Macro hissed. ‘Whoever that is, there’s more than one of ’em.’

They reached the far side of the field and then entered some long grass. This time it was impossible to determine which direction they had come from. Looking at the dull mass of the distant hills to their left, Cato estimated the direction they should take and they set off again. Another cry came from ahead, closer, and was quickly answered by another some distance behind, and then another, away to their left.

‘Right, now I’m starting to worry.’ Macro spoke in an undertone. ‘We’d better get a move on, before any more turn up.’

But Cato was still. ‘They can’t be hunting us.’

‘Why not?’

‘How would they know we’re here?’

‘Maybe they saw us by the fort. Let’s think it through later on, eh?’ Macro nudged his arm.

Cato nodded and they set off again, moving more quickly, ears and eyes strained to detect any sign of the enemy, or whoever might be making the strange noises. They crossed back to the other side of the irrigation ditch and were heading across the fields towards the grass and the river beyond when Cato heard a harsh grunt to their left, and the soft padding of feet. A voice called out, ‘Huthut!’

‘Camels?’ Macro guessed.

Cato increased his pace to a trot and they both hurried across the last stretch of the field and entered the grass. Almost at once they blundered into a crouching figure. Macro wrenched his blade out and leaped forward, knocking the man down. He was about to strike when a familiar voice gasped, ‘Sir! It’s me, Junius!’

‘Junius . . .’ Macro rose up, lowering his blade a fraction. ‘Shit. I almost killed you.’

Cato was furious the moment he recovered from his surprise. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing here? I told you to stay with the boat.’

‘Sorry, sir. I heard someone calling out a while back. I thought it best to investigate.’

‘You don’t think. You do as you are ordered.’

The sound of camels grew louder and now they could hear voices as their riders talked to each other.

‘They’re almost on us,’ Macro growled. He thrust Junius forward. ‘Move. Back to the boat.’

The three officers ran on through the long grass, making for the river, Junius stumbling in the lead, Macro next, holding his sword ready, and then Cato, constantly glancing over his shoulders for signs of the camel riders searching for them. Then they emerged from the grass and the broad black expanse of the Nile lay before them. Macro glanced both ways and then thrust his arm to the left. ‘There’s the boat. Come on!’

Cato came out of the grass and saw it, no more than two hundred paces away. As they broke into a run along the riverbank, the swish of grass sounded and their pursuers closed in. They had run half the distance when Junius stumbled and sprawled forward with a loud cry of alarm.

Macro bent down, grasped the scruff of his tunic and yanked the large youth back on to his feet.

‘Just give us away, why don’t you? Idiot.’

‘Sorry.’

Macro kept his fist bunched in the man’s tunic and hurried him on. Cato brought up the rear. The tribune’s cry had alerted the men and they let out a shout as they spotted their prey running along the riverbank. Glancing to his left, Cato could see several of them riding through the grass, as they made to run down the Romans.

Cato realised there was nothing to be gained from trying to be quiet any more and he yelled out towards the boat, ‘Legionaries! On me!’

The soldiers snatched up their shields and clambered over the side and began to struggle up the bank, just as Junius and Macro reached the top and half ran, half slid down towards the water. Cato was a short distance behind them when a camel lurched out in front of him. He dodged round, ducked beneath the long curve of its neck and ran on. The rider shouted in alarm and drew his sword with a dry rasp. But he had reacted too late and Cato was already stumbling down towards the boat, the legionaries falling back with him as they presented their shields to the other riders who had appeared on top of the bank. One of them leaped down from his saddle, landed heavily and then rushed down the slope, crashing into the shield of a legionary. He gave a sharp grunt as the Roman thrust his sword into the rider’s gut and then wrenched it free. Beyond, Macro heaved Junius aboard and then rolled over the side on to the deck. Cato clambered aboard and bellowed to the legionaries to follow him. The barge captain and his men were already easing the barge away from the riverbank with one of the long oars. The legionaries turned and splashed into the shallows and scrambled aboard.

There was a crack on the deck close by Cato and he instinctively ducked before he had the presence of mind to shout out a warning. ‘Watch out!’

Another arrow whirred through the air close overhead. The barge lurched free of the silty river bed and was caught by the flow of the water and started to drift downriver. The crew hurriedly placed the oars into the rowlocks and strained to get the craft away from the bank. An arrow splashed into the water close by, then another struck the deck. Moments later there was a soft whack and one of the legionaries gave a cry as he collapsed on to the deck, while his shield landed awkwardly and tumbled over the side. Cato saw an arrow shaft projecting from just below the man’s neck. The soldier reached for it with both hands, making a ghastly gurgling noise. His boot scraped across the deck for a moment before his struggles eased and stopped and he lay in a slowly expanding pool of his own blood. More arrows splashed into the water behind them before the enemy realised their target was out of range and ceased shooting.

Macro let out a sigh of relief, then turned on Junius. ‘Next time the senior tribune gives you an order, you obey it to the letter. Do you understand, you fuckwit?’

‘Y—yes. I’ll do as you say.’

‘Good.’ Macro turned to Cato. ‘You all right?’

‘I’m fine.’ Cato turned to look back to the western bank. ‘No doubt about it now. Looks like the legate has been saved a job. The Nubians have decided to bring the war to us.’

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

‘
T
his is going to be tricky,’ said Macro as he stood on the foredeck of the felucca with Cato and surveyed the west bank of the Nile the following morning. The enemy had several patrols watching the movements of the Romans on the opposite side of the river. ‘They’ll see us coming and be ready to give us some grief wherever we land.’

Cato nodded. The enemy would be able to head off any attempt to cross the river. The problem was made worse by the lack of boats with which to make the crossing. The moment that the people of Diospolis Magna had heard of the enemy’s presence so close to the city, many of them had fled. The wealthier inhabitants had hired every available boat and had set off downriver with as much of their portable wealth as possible. By the time Aurelius took action to stop the flight, there were only a handful of barges and feluccas left. Enough to carry five hundred men at a time. The Roman officers on the felucca had already seen at least that number of men waiting for them on the west bank. Any attempt at a landing would be in the face of superior numbers. The first men over the river were going to have to hold their ground while the boats returned with reinforcements. It would be tricky indeed, Cato agreed, with a wry smile at Macro’s understatement.

‘Tricky or not, it has to be done,’ Aurelius announced from the main deck where he sat on a padded stool. One of the headquarters slaves stood behind him, holding a sunshade over the legate. A handful of other officers stood on the deck in the open sun, sweating profusely in the heat. Although there was a strong breeze blowing, the hot air it carried across the river merely added to the discomfort. Aurelius pondered a moment before continuing. ‘Before the army can advance, we have to remove the threat posed by this enemy column.’

Macro stared at the nearest of the Arab patrols: six men on camels keeping level with the boat as it sailed slowly upriver, safely beyond bowshot. He was frustrated by the legate’s failure to get stuck into the enemy. His patience, limited at the best of times, was being sorely tested by the vacillation of his superior. ‘Sir, we don’t know how many of them there are over there. It could be a relatively small force. We should focus our attention on dealing with the main army. In my view, it is dangerous to keep handing the initiative over to the Nubians. We should press on and deal with Prince Talmis, sir.’

Cato glanced quickly at Aurelius, but the legate did not take issue with this challenge to his authority. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, staring at the deck in thought. ‘I am not so sure that is wise. It would be dangerous to leave our base in Diaspolis Magna while the enemy is lurking nearby. What if they cross the Nile and attack? They could take the city, destroy our stores and then march on our rear. We would be trapped between the two enemy forces. If we are defeated, then there will be nothing standing between the Nubians and the delta. Governor Petronius will not be able to stop their advance.’ Aurelius looked up at Macro. ‘If we lose control of the Nile then the wheat supply will be cut off. Alexandria would starve, not to mention the mob in Rome who depend on the grain from Egypt. No, the risk is too great. We must deal with the enemy forces one at a time.’ He nodded towards the Arabs. ‘Starting with them.’