Текст книги "The Legion"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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CHAPTER NINETEEN

'Hmmm.' Macro shook his head. 'Not the prettiest of sights.' The headless bodies of the legate and two of the tribunes lay in the back of the cart. A cloud of insects buzzed over the bloated corpses and gorged on the blackened tendrils of gristle and bone on the stumps of their necks, and the right wrist of Candidus. A decurion held back the goatskin cover and stood to one side as his superiors gazed into the back of the cart. Cato and Macro had been discussing their appointments with Aurelius when a clerk had intervened to tell them that the patrol sent to look for the legate had found his body, and those of his escort.

Cato clenched his nostrils tightly and edged away from the back of the cart. 'Where did they find them?'

The decurion nodded vaguely towards the south. 'A ravine, some thirty miles up the road towards Ombos, sir. The men of the escort were all dead, save one, but they hadn't been mutilated. Just the senior officers. The survivor's been taken to the surgeon. He's in a bad way. Hamstrings cut and been with almost no water for three days.'

'Did he say who carried out the attack?' asked Macro.

The decurion shook his head. 'He was babbling like a baby, sir. Hardly a coherent word. But it is likely that the attackers were Arabs. They raid from the desert from time to time. Make the most of it while we gather together a column to drive them off. That said, it's unlike them to choose a target like the legate and his escort. Not much in the way of rich pickings after a hard fight.'

'I take it that you didn't find any bodies besides those of our men?'

'No, sir. But then the Arabs never leave their dead behind if they can help it. Makes the natives nervous if they think the Arabs are like some kind of evil spirits who can strike and disappear at will.'

'Then could it be the Nubians?' asked Cato.

'It's possible, sir. But the last report I heard was that they were still camped close to the cataract. But they could have stolen a march on us, or sent a raiding column forward to gather intelligence and harass our outposts. I still think the Arabs are the most likely culprits.' He paused a moment. 'They might have taken the heads and the ring hand to the Nubians to prove their deed and gain some reward. Or it's possible that Prince Talmis has recruited Arab mercenaries to serve in his army.'

'The Arabs then,' Aurelius intervened. 'Once the Nubians are dealt with we shall send a punitive expedition to deal with them. Harshly.' He gestured to the decurion. 'Cover them up. Take them to the legate's quarters. Have their personal effects removed for return to their families and then tell the surgeon's staff to prepare the bodies for cremation.'

'Yes, sir.' The decurion pulled the goatskin back over the corpses and climbed up on to the driver's bench. With a click of his tongue and a flick of the reins, he urged the mule team into a walk and the wagon rumbled out of the gate of the priests' quarters.

Aurelius watched the cart leave. The fingers of his left hand twitched momentarily before he turned to Cato and Macro with an anxious expression. 'That explains the legate's disappearance.'

It was an asinine thing to say and he winced at himself immediately. Cato could readily understand the shock that the death of the legate might cause his close subordinate.

'Did you know the legate well?'

Aurelius nodded. 'We have served together for the last eight years.'

'So long?' Macro looked surprised. 'Sorry, sir, it's just that I've never known a legate serve so long with one legion.'

'Yes, well, it's different here in Egypt,' the camp prefect responded tersely. 'Candidus was appointed by Emperor Tiberius at the end of his reign. The commanders of the Egyptian legions and the governor are appointed from the equestrian class. The senators are not permitted to hold high office here. For that matter, they're not even allowed to enter the province without the express permission of the Emperor. So the appointments tend to last much longer in Egypt.'

'What about you, sir? You can't have been camp prefect all that time.'

'No indeed. I've held the rank for the last three years. First spear centurion before that.'

Macro glanced at Cato, unable to conceal his shock. The senior centurion of the legion was traditionally its toughest, bravest and most experienced officer. The thin, dapper figure of Aurelius was adorned with a finely spun tunic and his cuirass was inlaid with swirls of gold and silver. But, unlike Macro and Cato, he did not have a leather harness to carry the medallions they had been awarded for displays of courage and battles won. In every other legion Macro had served in, the camp prefect and the first spear were seasoned fighters with swathes of awards on their chests. 'You were a first spear, sir?'

'I was.' Aurelius frowned. 'I have served my time, you know.'

Macro was about to say something when Cato coughed loudly, warning his friend off. Before Macro could intervene any further, Cato spoke. 'What are your intentions now, sir?'

'My intentions?'

'Yes, sir. You are the next in the chain of command. Now that Candidus is dead, you are the commander of the forces gathered at Diospolis Magna.'

'Of course I am,' Aurelius replied shortly. 'I know that.'

He stood still for a moment, looking down at his boots, and then nodded to himself. 'I'll summon my senior officers. They have to be informed about Candidus's death. And then we shall set about dealing with the Nubians.' He looked up, straightened his back and cleared his throat. 'We shall meet here at headquarters at noon, gentlemen.' With that he turned and marched back into the entrance of the priest's quarters.

Cato watched him go and then spoke softly. 'What do you make of our new legate?'

Macro dabbed at the sweat on his brow. 'Have to say that I'm not encouraged. It seems that the man's been a professional stylus-pusher throughout his career. I've never seen the like of the Twenty-Second. Must be the cushiest posting in the entire army. Swanning around the Nile while their officers have nothing better to do than wait until it's their turn to take the job of first spear centurion or camp prefect. Gods!' He shook his head in frustration. 'I just hope the other senior officers aren't the same. Or their men. I tell you, Cato, I don't fancy going into battle against the Nubians with a bunch of time-serving bureaucrats at my side.'

Cato nodded as he stared into the mid-distance and Macro sighed wearily. 'All right then, what's on your mind?'

'Sorry?' Cato stirred and looked at his friend vaguely.

'I know that look on your face. The body's there but the mind is off with the muses. So, what are you thinking?'

'We should go and see the survivor of the ambush.'

'Why?'

'There's something not quite right about it.' Cato chewed his lip. 'The decurion seemed to know his business and I could see he wasn't convinced that either the Arabs or the Nubians were responsible for killing the legate. Come on, Macro.'

The hospital had been set up in a large airy pavilion to the rear of the temple complex. The legion's surgeon was doing the rounds of the men on the army's sick list when Cato and Macro located him. Like most of those who served in the same capacity in legions across the Empire, the surgeon was an easterner. His dark face was rimmed with silvery hair, cropped short over his scalp and along his jawline. The creases in his skin told of the long years he had served in the profession. He regarded the two Roman officers coolly as he heard Cato's request to see the wounded man who had been brought into the hospital shortly before.

'He's resting. The man is exhausted and cannot be questioned.'

'It won't take long. I just need to find out one thing. Then he can rest.'

'No,' the surgeon replied firmly. 'I will send word to you when he is in a fit state to talk.' He paused to look at them. 'I do not know your faces. You must be new appointments to the Jackals.'

Cato nodded. 'Senior Tribune Cato and First Spear Centurion Macro.'

'Senior tribune?' The surgeon looked surprised, then bowed his head. 'My apologies, sir. I took you for a more junior officer.'

Macro stifled a smile.

Cato ignored him as he confronted the surgeon. 'And you are?'

'Chief Surgeon Archaelus, sir.'

'Look here, Archaelus, I must speak with your patient. Urgently.'

'I appreciate that, sir, but it is my professional view that it would be detrimental to his recovery, his survival even, if he is put under any further distress.'

Cato had exhausted his cordiality, and hardened his tone. 'I have no time for this. I order you to let me see the patient. At once.'

As chief surgeon, Archaelus carried the notional rank of centurion and was outranked by the legion's senior tribune. An order had been given and there was little he could do but obey. He bowed his head reluctantly. 'If you'd follow me, sir.'

He turned and led them through the pavilion's colonnade and into the more sheltered part of the structure where the priests had held their banquets in the years when Karnak was at the height of its influence. Unlike much of the rest of the temple complex, the walls were covered with painted symbols. Overhead the ceiling was dark blue and covered with five-pointed representations of stars in yellow. Linen screens had been erected around the most severe cases in the hospital, and they kept out the worst of the hot wind and dust.

'Here is your man.' Archaelus indicated a man laying naked, except for his loincloth, on a low cot in the middle of the pavilion's banquet hall. One of the orderlies sat beside the patient, gently daubing an ointment on to the sunburned flesh. Cato could see the blisters on the legionary's face. He had lighter skin than most of the other men and Cato guessed that he must be Alexandrian. As well as the burns on his face and limbs, the man's thighs were bandaged and there was a dressing on the side of his chest. Beneath the blisters and ointment on his face, it was clear that the soldier was strikingly handsome with fine bones beneath his skin.

'What's his name?' asked Cato.

'Optio Carausius.'

Cato looked round, saw a stool, and drew it across to the side of the cot. He sat down and leaned closer to the optio. The man's breathing was light and ragged and his brow was creased. Perspiration pricked out in the hairline and his dark hair was plastered to his scalp in thick dark ringlets.

'He has a fever,' Cato observed.

'Yes, sir. His wounds were not cleaned until he reached the hospital. I fear they are poisoned. However, he may recover.'

'Is that likely?' asked Macro.

The surgeon shrugged. 'We have done what we can. His life is in the hands of the gods now. I have made a brief offering to Serapis on his behalf. If it is accepted then he may recover. But even if he does, he will be a cripple for the rest of his life.' Archaelus indicated the bandaged thighs. 'The attackers severed his hamstrings so that he could not leave the site of the ambush. It would seem that they intended him to survive and remain to be found.'

Cato glanced at Macro. 'Something we've encountered before.'

Macro frowned. Then his expression altered and he stared at Cato. 'Are you saying it's him, Ajax? He did this?'

'It could be. We pursued him upriver as far as Memphis before the trail went cold. He could have continued along the Nile as far as here. And he's certainly bold enough to attack the legate and his party, and good enough to come off best. He's even left someone to tell the tale.'

'Only this time, he won't be able to pin it on us,' Macro sneered. 'But why take the heads? He's a mad, cruel bastard, I know, but he's not done that before.'

'Perhaps the decurion was on the right track with regard to the Arabs. It's possible that Ajax took the heads as proof of the dead, to offer them to the Nubians.'

Cato turned back to the optio and leaned closer to him. He spoke softly. 'Carausius… Can you hear me?'

The soldier did not stir, so Cato gently laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke again. 'Carausius… You must tell me who attacked you.'

With a faint groan the man turned his head away from Cato and mumbled.

'What's that?' Macro moved round to the other side of the cot and leaned over. 'What did you say? Speak again.'

Archaelus intervened. 'Centurion, go easy on him.'

Cato ignored the surgeon and shook the optio's shoulder gently. 'Tell us. Who attacked you?'

The optio's eyes flickered open, clenched shut and then opened again, darting around as he tried to speak through cracked lips.

'We didn't have a… chance,' he whispered. 'They… fought like… demons. Came at us out of the dusk.' His voice fell away into an incoherent mumble.

Cato waited briefly and then tried again. 'Who?'

The legionary slowly rolled his head towards Cato and licked his lips. 'No name. Just said he was a gladiator.' He paused, wincing at a sudden wave of pain. Then, as it passed, his eyes focused again. 'A gladiator…'

'What else?' asked Cato. 'Come on, tell us.'

'Told me to be sure that… Cato and Macro knew it was… him.'

'Thank you, Carausius. Rest now.' Cato leaned back and looked across at Macro. 'Now we know.'

Macro nodded. 'And he sends us a direct challenge. Whatever we may think of Ajax, you have to admit that he has balls of steel.'

Archaelus cleared his throat. 'It seems you have what you need. Would you mind continuing your discussion elsewhere now?'

Cato stood up and beckoned to Macro and the two left the banqueting hall and stepped out of the pavilion into the bright glare of the sun. The harsh light forced them to squint until their eyes began to adjust.

'On the upside, at least we know Ajax is nearby,' said Macro.

'True, but not very comforting. And if he does join the Nubians then I fear our situation has taken a turn for the worse.'

The prefects of the four auxiliary cohorts, together with the centurions of the Twenty-Second Legion and the remaining tribunes, sat on benches at one end of the colonnaded pool at the army's headquarters. Word of Candidus's death had got round the camp and the men were conversing in low, anxious tones. Cato and Macro sat slightly apart, and the latter regarded the other officers with a critical eye.

'Too many old men and too many who look unfit.'

Cato said nothing, but he knew that his friend was right. The long years of untroubled garrison duty had made the men of the Twenty-Second soft. A large number of the officers were running to fat – there were clear gaps between the front and back plates of their cuirasses, which could not accommodate their heavy torsos. Their fleshy jowls and veined noses betrayed their fondness for drink. There were others who looked more like the centurions Cato was familiar with from the other legions he had served with since he had joined the army. Powerfully built men who shared the steady, unflappable demeanour of the centurionate. They at least looked as if they would serve well enough when the campaign got under way. However, Macro was right that rather too many of them looked as if they were nearing the end of their careers. It was sad to see how a legion's combat readiness could be so badly eroded by the benefits of a prolonged peace.

There was a loud stamp of boots as the sentries at the entrance to the colonnade stood to attention and an optio barked out. 'Commanding officer present!'

The officers rose and stood stiffly as Aurelius strode down the length of the pool, his reflection wavering in its surface as a light gust of hot air wafted over the water. He took up his position behind a campaign table and stared round at his officers in a theatrical manner, as if seeing them for the first time.

'Be seated, gentlemen.'

The officers eased themselves back down and sat quietly, waiting for his address to begin. Aurelius carried a slate tablet in his hand and he laid it down on the table before him and glanced at the notes he had made in the wax surface. Macro watched with a twinge of unease. He preferred commanders who addressed their men without notes, as if their words came from their hearts. Aurelius had revealed himself as one of those officers who lacked belief in their own authority and needed prompts to carry them through such occasions. It was not a good sign, Macro decided.

Aurelius looked up and cleared his throat. 'As all of you no doubt have heard, the legate is dead. He and his escort were wiped out a few days ago as they were on the road to Ombos. Whether this was at the hands of Arab brigands or a Nubian patrol we do not yet know.' He paused and swallowed. 'As camp prefect of the Twenty-Second Legion, and therefore the senior officer present, command of the army falls to me. It is my duty to lead our forces against the Nubians and complete the task started by Legate Candidus, namely to drive the enemy out of our province as swiftly and decisively as possible.'

Cato noticed that while some of the officers nodded approvingly at their new commander's intentions, most did not. Some looked apprehensive and a few muttered quietly with their neighbours.

'To that end,' Aurelius continued, 'I will be finalising our campaign plans with my staff officers after this meeting. Orders will be sent to my senior officers at first light tomorrow. And speaking of officers, I am pleased to introduce the two latest to join the legion. Firstly, my new senior tribune.' He gestured to Cato to rise. 'Cato is newly arrived from Alexandria where the governor has appointed him to the Twenty-Second Legion for the duration of hostilities. Despite his young years, the governor assures me that the new tribune has a fine military record. As does my new first spear centurion. Stand up, Macro.'

'I'm not a bloody performing monkey,' Macro growled as he stood up and stared round at the other officers, straight-lipped.

'You may sit,' Aurelius said graciously. Once Macro and Cato were back in place, the new commander looked over his officers once again and then nodded. 'We have been set a great challenge, gentlemen. It has been a long time since the legion and the auxiliary cohorts of the province have been called upon to prove their mettle. There are some who doubtless say that we have grown soft, that the soldiers of this province compare poorly with those of the rest of the Empire.' He paused to consult his waxed tablet briefly. 'To them I say you are wrong. Our day has come and we will show the rest of the Empire what the soldiers of the province of Egypt can do. I have heard that the enemy outnumber us. So much the better. We shall win even greater glory.' He had a quick glance at the wax tablet again and smiled. 'The eyes of the Emperor are upon us, my friends. The Roman Empire looks to us with bated breath. When we have won our great victory, the Empire will never forget us and every man here will walk in honour until his dying day!'

Aurelius thrust his fist in the air. A handful of officers followed suit, then a few more, anxious to win the favour of their new commander. Some of the more experienced and professional officers merely nodded or applauded politely. Others, Cato noted, sat in stony silence. Once Aurelius realised that he had won all the acclaim that he was going to get, he raised his hands and gestured for quiet. 'That's all for now, gentlemen. You are dismissed.'

There was a low hubbub of conversation as the men rose and edged away around the pool and filtered out through the columns at the far end. Macro turned to Cato. 'Quite the orator, our camp prefect,' he said wryly. 'There wasn't a dry eye in the house, though for my part it was due to embarrassment. What a pillock.'

'I think he meant it. Every word of it.'

'You're not serious?'

'Oh yes. He knows he is never going to make his mark as a competent staff officer. This is his one chance to win some fame. This has potential to become a dangerous situation, Macro.'

'Really? I thought the fact that we are outnumbered, the soldiers are of questionable quality and now it's possible that Ajax has thrown in his lot with the Nubians meant that things were already dangerous.'

Cato frowned at him. 'All right then, it could be even more dangerous. Happy now? Come on, we have to speak to Aurelius.'

'What about?'

'We have to persuade him to rein in his thirst for glory.' Cato made his way round the end of the pool towards the table where Aurelius was talking to a handful of other officers, some of whom Cato had seen at headquarters since he and Macro had arrived. Aurelius turned towards them as they approached and smiled warmly.

'What did you think of my small oration?'

'Inspiring,' Cato responded warily.

'I know. I have been waiting for the chance to make such a speech,' Aurelius continued in a pleased tone. 'I confess that I was much influenced by a book I read in the Great Library some months back. Battle addresses of history's great commanders. A minor work by Livius, but beautifully written. Just the stuff to stir a man's blood, eh?' He tapped Cato on the chest.

'I haven't had the chance to read it, sir,' Cato replied evenly. 'Perhaps I will once the campaign is over. Speaking of which, I would welcome the opportunity to discuss your plans for the campaign. I assume you will be following normal practice and therefore include both myself and the first spear centurion in drawing up the army's orders, sir.'

A brief look of irritation clouded Aurelius's expression. 'There is no need, Tribune Cato. The plans were drawn up by the legate and his closest advisers. Now they are dead. Only I remain from the ranks of those he trusted with his scheme for defeating the Nubians.' Aurelius paused briefly. 'Of course, I may see fit to amend some details, but I have my own advisers.' He indicated the four men standing to his other side. 'So I will not need to trouble you for any advice.'

'It's no trouble, sir. We would be glad to offer you the benefit of our considerable experience.'

'Your considerable experience?' Aurelius smiled faintly. 'Tribune, these men and I were, in all likelihood, serving the Emperor when you were but an infant suckling at your mother's tit. We can manage with the experience we already have between us. But I thank you for your offer all the same.' His eyes brightened as another thought struck him. 'However, I have every wish to put your abilities, and those of good Centurion Macro, to use. I would be obliged if you would take charge of the training regime of the legion. The men are already fine soldiers, but a little exercise and some sword practice will hone their spirits to the appropriate edge, I should think. Macro here has the stern look of a drill instructor, and the voice of one too, I should imagine. Let your experience be of use to the Twenty-Second Legion in that manner, eh? Leave the operational planning to those who have served in Egypt and know the ground well.'

'It ain't as simple as that, sir,' Macro responded. 'We have good reason to believe that the Nubians have been joined by the fugitive slave that Prefect – Tribune Cato and I had been hunting before we were reassigned to the legion.'

'Oh? And how did you come by this snippet of intelligence?'

'We questioned the survivor of the ambush, sir. He told us that a gladiator led the attack and left a survivor to tell the tale.'

'Nonsense,' Aurelius said firmly. 'The man is delirious. You heard the decurion say so earlier this morning.'

'He seemed lucid enough when we spoke to him, sir,' said Cato. 'If Ajax serves with the Nubians then I think it is vital that we, who have faced Ajax before, and know his methods, should be involved in any plans that are made for the coming campaign.'

Aurelius shook his head. 'I think the fact that you have failed to track down and capture this man is eloquent testimony of your failure to comprehend his methods, Tribune. Perhaps it is time a fresh mind was set to the task. Meanwhile I would like you, and Centurion Macro, to take care of the training. I want a full report on your training scheme, and an accurate projection of the number of men who will be fit to serve once the campaign begins. I would like that report on my desk as soon as possible.' He offered them a brief smile. 'I think you will soon see that we have the measure of our enemy, without the help of any advice you might care to offer. That is all, gentlemen.'

'Yes, sir.' Cato saluted, and after a brief hesitation Macro followed suit. They turned about and strode swiftly away from Aurelius and his staff.

'Why the hell didn't you say something, sir?' asked Macro in an undertone.

'I did, in case you missed it.'

'How dare he dismiss us in such a fashion!' Macro fumed. 'You in particular. No commander of a legion ever ignores the advice of his senior tribune and his first spear centurion. Not if he's any good.'

'It is only common practice, Macro. He is under no obligation to consult us.'

Macro was silent, then he glanced at Cato. 'Fuck, you were right, sir.'

'I was? What about?'

'The situation just got more dangerous.'