The Legion (43 page)

CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE

C
ato waited until the last of the officers had settled down on the benches set out in the courtyard of the priests’ quarters. Macro stood a short distance to Cato’s right, erect, boots apart, solid as a bull. The officers watched Cato expectantly, then he stood up and cleared his throat.

‘Acting Legate Aurelius died of his injuries just after midday. I had already assumed command since he was incapacitated, attested to by the legion’s surgeon. However, that is all academic now. As your new commander I have already given fresh orders for the prosecution of the campaign against the Nubians. There will be no division of the army. All forces will concentrate here, at Diospolis Magna, and then the army will march on the Nubians and give battle at the earliest opportunity.’ Cato looked round at the officers. ‘Any questions, gentlemen?’

The brevity of his address left most of his officers surprised. It took a moment before one of the older centurions, whom Cato recognised as being amongst the cronies of the late Aurelius, stood up. Centurion Aescher stared coolly at Cato and then gave him an insincere smile.

‘Sir, I think I speak for most here when I say that the loss of the acting legate is keenly felt. It comes as a hard blow on top of the death of the previous legate and the discovery of the spy that you unwittingly brought into our camp.’

Cato tried not to register his surprise and annoyance that word of Hamedes’ treachery had spread through the legion already. The officer continued.

‘One might be forgiven for thinking the Jackals have been cursed. Both previous commanders were men of immense experience in the service. Both knew the legion and its men well. Therefore, sir, you will understand me when I say that it is in the best interests of the legion, this army and Rome if we send a request to the governor in Alexandria to appoint a new, permanent, commander of the legion. It is in no way a judgement on your competence, sir. Rather, it is a reflection of the troubled state of the men’s morale. They would prefer to be led by a man with the requisite experience and seniority,’ the centurion concluded and resumed his seat.

‘Thank you,’ said Cato. ‘Is there anyone else who wishes to speak?’

He looked round, but the officers kept their silence as they waited for him to respond to the centurion’s remarks. Cato nodded. ‘Very well, then. Your comments are noted. Now, hear my words.’ Cato stared round the room. ‘There will be no request. There is no time to refer the matter to the governor. I have assumed command legally and I will not tolerate any attempt to question my authority. The situation is too serious for playing games, gentlemen. The province is in great danger. We must deal with the threat swiftly and decisively. You may make all the protests you like once the Nubians have been defeated.’

The centurion rose again. ‘Sir, might I ask what was wrong with the original plan? Legate Aurelius—’

‘Acting Legate Aurelius,’ Macro interrupted. ‘Rather, Former Acting Legate Aurelius.’

The centurion shot Macro a hostile look before he continued. ‘The previous commander’s plan seemed sound enough to me. Your plan seems to be rather less subtle and far less likely to result in the trapping and destruction of the Nubians . . . sir.’

‘Really?’ Cato responded flatly. ‘Forgive me, but I thought it was a common maxim of military strategy not to divide a weaker force in the face of a stronger one. Or do you do things differently here in Egypt?’

The sarcastic note of the last comment was not lost on the centurion and his companions. Cato ignored the brief chorus of mutters and continued. ‘Aurelius’s plan would have led to disaster. Our forces would each be defeated in turn and then Prince Talmis would be free to rampage across the province until such time as the Emperor could assemble an army large enough to drive the Nubians out. Meanwhile, the damage to wheat production and the destruction of the cities along the Nile would take many years to recover from. The same fate would await Egypt if we just sit on our arses and wait for a new commander to be sent to us. The only course of action that stands any chance of saving the army and the province is to strike at the enemy at once, with every man we can scrape together.’ Cato paused and looked over the faces of the officers, men he needed to make his own if he was to have any chance of success. He moderated his tone when he spoke again.

‘I do not need to explain myself to you, gentlemen. I have acted within the regulations laid down by the imperial army bureau, in the name of Emperor Claudius. That should suffice under normal conditions. I accept that our situation is somewhat irregular, but then when is war ever a neat and tidy affair? Until recent days the Twenty-Second Legion has been a garrison unit. The only action many of you and your men have seen is a minor skirmish as part of some police action or some punitive raid against brigands. Frankly, compared to the other legions that Centurion Macro and I have had the honour of serving with, the Jackals are second-rate. To be sure, the men are trained and exercised according to regulations, but they lack combat experience. That is the only true test of a soldier’s value. It is a hard-won attribute. Now, some of the men have had the chance to prove themselves in the assault on the temple and they did well enough, but most of the men, and officers, are still to be tested. Including you, Centurion Aescher. I do not say this out of any desire to undermine you, but as a statement of fact. The other fact that cannot be disputed is that both Centurion Macro and I have had considerable campaign and battle experience. If anything, you should feel reassured that we will be leading you into battle. I cannot think of a more courageous example than Centurion Macro to inspire the men who follow him.’

Macro stirred uneasily at his friend’s words then fixed his face in a stern expression and stood stock still.

‘The Jackals have the potential to be fine soldiers,’ Cato continued. ‘And our victory over the Nubians will give them a chance to win a battle honour for their eagle standard. But I will not lie to you about the scale of the challenge facing us. You must understand, and get your men to understand, that there are only two paths ahead of us when we march out to face the enemy – one leads to victory, the other to certain death. Now that I and Centurion Macro are in command, your chances have improved. The rest is up to you. Forget the past. Forget your plans for the future. Think only of killing your enemy. That is all that matters. It’s a simple enough philosophy, gentlemen, and it has worked well enough for Centurion Macro and me over the years we have served together. Isn’t that so?’

‘Yes, sir!’ Macro nodded.

Cato took a deep breath and looked round at his officers, seeing some spark of determination in their expressions. That was good, he reflected. Some of his words had struck home. He had done what he could to instil the right state of mind in his officers and stiffen their resolve in the face of the great test to come. ‘The army marches from Karnak at first light tomorrow. You have the rest of the day to prepare your men, equipment and supplies. Dismissed!’

The officers stood up and began to make their way out of the courtyard, many of them conversing in low voices. Macro stood still until the last of them had left and then let his shoulders droop a little as he exhaled in a long, weary sigh.

‘What do you think?’ asked Cato.

‘Oh, you were on fine form, lad. I have to say that I’ve heard the victory or death routine more than once before. So have you. It’s an old line but, so help me, it still stirs the blood.’

‘Hmmm. I meant what do you think about our officers?’

Macro jerked his thumb towards the entrance to the courtyard. ‘That lot? Not the best I’ve ever come across, and possibly not the worst.’

‘That doesn’t sound very encouraging.’

‘Oh, they’ll fight when the time comes.’ Macro shrugged nonchalantly. ‘After all, what choice have they got?’

‘None, as it happens. I had the report from one of the patrols just before the briefing began. The Nubian army is still camped a day’s march to the south. It has been for the last two days. It seems that Prince Talmis is challenging us to come out and face him.’

‘Or we could wait for him here and hold him off.’

‘No. If we do that, he’ll surround us, bide his time and starve us into surrender. Either way, he has the advantage.’

Macro looked at his younger friend and could see the exhaustion marked in his face, and the bloodshot eyes. Cato had removed the sling before the officers had arrived and now supported his left arm with his spare hand. Macro felt a stab of paternal concern for Cato. ‘Look here, there’s nothing to be done now. The officers will make the preparations and I’ll keep watch over them to make sure they do a good job. You should rest. Let that arm recover. We’re going to need you in good shape tomorrow. Can’t afford to have tiredness cloud your thinking. Not with all our lives at stake.’

Cato stared at him and smiled. ‘Thank you. If there’s time, I’ll rest. But first I have to think about how we’re going to win this campaign. Fine words are one thing, but they never won a battle. And after that business with Hamedes I can understand why they might question my judgement.’

‘Bollocks. Hamedes was a spy. Spies are supposed to be good at winning trust. In any case, he didn’t fool you in the end. You saw through him, and put a stop to his treachery,’ Macro concluded bitterly.

Cato looked at him and saw that his friend was struggling to hide his true feelings. ‘His betrayal hit you hard, didn’t it?’

‘Yes . . . I liked the lad. I thought he showed real guts in going into that valley to find Ajax’s lair. Now I know it was all a sham. That bastard fooled me good and proper.’

Cato felt the need to offer his friend some crumb of comfort. ‘For what it’s worth, I think he admired you, despite being your enemy.’

‘Even if that’s true, what does it matter? Hamedes was Ajax’s man. If I’d known, then I’d have killed him with my bare hands, without hesitation. I feel a bit of a fool, Cato. That’s all there is to it. Good riddance.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Cato nodded, and knew it would be best to drop the subject. ‘Macro, I need your help. I fear that we’re in for the hardest battle we have ever fought.’

The first rays of the rising sun were angling across the low hills to the east as the Romans marched out of the camp at Karnak. The auxiliary cavalry led the way, its squadrons stretched out across the army to screen its advance. The main column was led by an auxiliary infantry cohort. Then came the legionaries, weighted down by their armour and the kit fixed to their marching yokes. Their helmets hung from brass hooks on their belts and the men wore light cotton headscarves to shield them from the glare of the coming day, and soak up the sweat from their scalps.

Long shadows were cast across the dust kicked up by preceding columns and from a short distance away, where Cato and Macro rode at the head of the small group of staff officers, the men appeared as dim figures amid the orange haze of dust. Behind the legion came the baggage train, together with the carts carrying the legion’s complement of bolt throwers. There were rations for seven days and if the Nubians chose to fall back for any reason, Cato knew that he could only afford to pursue them a short distance. Prince Talmis would be certain to strip the land of supplies ahead of the Romans.

Tribune Junius edged his mount forward until it drew alongside the new commander of the army. He was silent for a moment and then coughed.

‘What is it, Tribune?’ asked Cato.

‘Sir, I was wondering what your plans are for the coming battle.’

‘To defeat the enemy.’

‘Yes, of course, sir. Goes without saying.’

Macro turned to look at the tribune with a wry expression. ‘So what more is there to say?’

Junius was not prepared to give in so easily and continued to address Cato. ‘With respect, sir, I am now the senior tribune of the legion. In the event that anything happens to you and Centurion Macro, then the command will fall to me. I should know your intentions, sir. For the good of the army.’

Cato appraised him. It could only have been a few months since Junius was appointed a junior tribune and he was already bearing far greater responsibilities than his peers in other legions across the Empire. Such were the exigencies of war, Cato mused. It was true that Junius was third in the chain of command, in theory, yet although the centurions had accepted his own assumption of the legate’s role, Cato doubted they would tolerate having to obey this callow youth, who had as much military experience as a raw recruit. Cato shook his head.

‘You’ll know my intentions in good time, Tribune. As for the prospect of having the command of the army foisted on you, I advise you to be careful what you wish for. You know how the saying goes?’

‘Yes, sir. But I need to be ready, if misfortune should strike you and Macro.’

‘Misfortune? That’s a nice euphemism.’ Cato chuckled drily. ‘Learn the trade as fully as you can, Junius. Listen to the veterans and profit from their experience. Then you can think about command. For now, this is on-the-job training for you. That’s all. You are not ready. If I fall, Macro takes over. If he falls, then it must be another man, not you. Despite regulations.’

‘Oh . . .’ A look of bitter disappointment clouded the tribune’s face. ‘I only want to serve Rome, sir. As devoutly as I can.’

‘Devoutly?’ Macro chuckled. ‘This is the army, lad, not a religious cult. There’s far more to it than rituals, ceremonies and mumbo-jumbo. We don’t play at what we do. It’s life and death for us and that means we have to be sure that the men are commanded by those who know what they’re doing. See?’

Junius glared at Macro for a moment and then swallowed and nodded. With a curt nod of the head to his two superiors he halted his horse and fell back amongst the rest of the party of horsemen.

‘Keen, isn’t he?’ Cato smiled. ‘Reminds me of myself when I joined up.’

‘Oh no, you were much more of a drip than him.’

Cato’s eyes narrowed. ‘Drip?’

‘Come on, you know you were. Thin streak of piss, and clumsy with it. Yet you ponced in and thought you could command men in the field just because you’d read up on military history.’ Macro smiled fondly at the memory. ‘The army was the making of you, and you know it.’