CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cato felt his blood freeze in his veins. He sat up,
and the noise came again as the shape lurched sideways, moving
between the two bedrolls.
‘Oh shit,’ Cato
whispered. He kept as still as he could, eyes fixed on the snake.
Behind it he could see the tent pole with his sword and that of
Macro’s hanging on the peg. His heartbeat increased to a pounding
rhythm as he thought frantically. If he moved again he was sure
that the serpent would attack. Instead, he licked his lips
nervously and whispered as loudly as he dared.
‘Macro . . . Macro .
. . Wake up.’
The snoring broke up
and there was an incoherent muttered grumble from the other side of
the tent.
‘Macro.’
‘Whurgh . . . What
the hell is it?’ Macro groaned, stirring as he turned to face
Cato.
‘Keep still!’ Cato
warned him.
‘What?’ Macro’s head
rose. ‘What’s going on then?’
The snake hissed
again, louder, and near the top of its body it began to swell out.
The sinewy coils beneath writhed momentarily as it edged
forward.
‘Shit,’ Macro
whispered. ‘We’re in trouble, lad. What do we do?’
Cato stared at the
snake. It was close enough now to make out the individual bumps of
its scales, and the beady gleam in one of its eyes. A sudden
flicker indicated where its mouth was as the cobra’s head towered
over the two men.
‘Just . . . keep . .
. still,’ Cato whispered.
‘Right.’
Cato had seen some
snake charmers in the market at Alexandria and knew how fast the
serpents could strike. There was no chance of jumping up and
dashing past it towards the swords. If either of them tried, they
were dead. He reached his left hand slowly towards his tunic, lying
rumpled beside the bedroll. His fingers stole across the earth
towards the cloth and closed round a fold.
‘Macro, I’m going to
try and distract it. When I make a move you go for the swords. All
right?’
‘What kind of
distraction?’
‘Doesn’t matter, just
be ready. On three.’
The snake was
unsettled by the noises and hissed again, still louder, and the
head leaned back, ready to strike.
Cato moistened his
lips and spoke softly. ‘One . . . two . . . three!’
He whipped up the
tunic and jumped to his feet, swinging the tunic waist high through
the air towards the snake. The cobra lunged at once, whacking into
the cloth before it reversed direction and hissed again. Macro had
clambered up and taken a step towards the tent post when the snake
slithered round and lunged at him. He jumped back on to his
bedroll.
‘Fuck, that was
close.’
‘I’ll try again,’
said Cato. He wrapped some of the tunic about his fist and
tentatively held the rest out towards the snake. At once it turned
its head back towards him, its eyes burning like rubies. Cato moved
the tunic to the right and shook it. The snake struck again and at
the same time Cato jerked the cloth back. The fangs, caught in the
thick strands of wool, came with it and Cato gave a terrified cry
as the body of the snake came towards him. He threw the tunic over
the cobra’s head and with his spare hand he grabbed at the neck,
just below the hood. The snake’s skin was dry and rough and the
coils writhed wildly as Cato struggled to keep his grip and at the
same time wrap the tunic about its head with his other
hand.
Macro leaped forward,
reached the tent post and snatched out his blade. He turned and
hacked at the wriggling body and struck the ground
instead.
‘Macro!’ Cato shouted
as the head thrashed about inside the tunic. ‘Just kill the
bastard!’
Macro hacked again,
cutting into the middle of the cobra’s body. He cut again, this
time severing it. Half the coils fell back and flopped about on the
ground and Macro hurriedly kicked them to one side. The other half
seemed to grow even more wild and Cato hurled it as hard as he
could towards the back of the tent where it hit the goatskin with a
soft thud and dropped to the ground, writhing frantically, but
unable to move from the spot as it bled out.
Cato’s heart was
beating wildly, his chest felt cold and clammy and he trembled. He
turned to Macro and saw that his friend was just as shaken. Macro
licked his lips and stared at the dying snake as he spoke in a low,
earnest tone. ‘I am really beginning to hate this province . .
.’
‘You’re the one in
charge of the watch, right?’ Macro glared at the optio as the
latter quickly rose from amongst the men sitting around the
fire.
‘Yes, sir.’ The young
soldier nodded.
‘Then you’re
responsible for this getting into our bloody tent.’ Macro shook out
the tunic and the two lengths of the cobra’s body flopped on to the
ground. The optio instinctively took a step back and his face
wrinkled in nervous disgust. There were surprised murmurs from the
other men as they craned their necks and saw the dead
snake.
Macro turned and
pointed towards the tent. ‘The prefect is inside. There is supposed
to be a guard patrolling outside the tent to ensure nothing happens
to him, right? No enemies, or other threats, get past. I mean
that’s standard regulation, even here in Egypt.’
‘Yes,
sir.’
‘So where is the
sentry?’ Macro made a show of looking around and giving up and
raising his hands. ‘Well?’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’ The
optio swallowed. ‘I had a man either end of the camp. I didn’t
think it would be necessary to post any more than
that.’
‘Two men?’ Macro
shook his head. ‘The province is in a state of war, and before you
say it, I don’t care how far away the Nubians are. That’s no excuse
for sloppy watch-keeping. Let me guess. You’re with the
Twenty-Second Legion?’
The optio
nodded.
‘Oh great . . .’
Macro took a pace closer and held his finger an inch from the
optio’s face. ‘I want a proper watch posted every night. It is your
duty to protect the camp and protect your officers and you have
fucked up, my son. The fact is, either the prefect or myself or
even both of us could have been killed and the fault would be
yours.’
‘But sir. Even if
there had been a sentry, the snake could have got into the
tent.’
‘Shut it! You know
what your duty is. I suggest you stick to it, or I’ll be disturbing your
night by kicking your arse so hard your teeth will fall out.’ Macro
took a step back, and prodded the snake’s body with his boot. ‘I’ll
leave you to get rid of this.’
He was about to
return to the tent when the captain of their barge squatted down by
the snake and shook his head. ‘They don’t usually give us any
trouble when we camp. Your tent must be pitched near one of their
nests.’
‘You mean there could
be more of them nearby?’ Macro fumed.
‘No. They’re solitary
creatures. Unless their young are hatching, of
course.’
‘Well, thanks for
that. I’m bound to get a good night’s sleep now, aren’t I?’ He
turned back to the optio. ‘Make that two sentries outside the
tent.’
‘Yes,
sir.’
Macro turned and
marched back to the tent and pulled the flap shut behind him. He
tossed the tunic back to Cato as he crossed to his bedroll and
slumped down. ‘Bloody optio’s from the Twenty-Second. Seems like
you were right to be worried about ’em.’
Cato was sitting
cross-legged on his bedroll, deep in thought. He shook his head and
glanced round. ‘Sorry?’
‘I said you were
right about the Twenty-Second being a bit slack.’
‘Oh,
yes.’
‘Hello, Cato.’ Macro
waved his hand. ‘Still with us?’
‘Just thinking.’ Cato
ran a hand through his hair. ‘About the snake. If there’s one thing
I really can’t stand, it’s snakes.’
‘Why so particular?
They’re just like everything else in this province: crocodiles,
mosquitoes and snakes - never content unless they’re sinking their
bloody jaws into someone. Fuck ’em. I’m going to try to get back to
sleep.’ He glanced over at Cato and continued in a more gentle
tone. ‘So should you. Best get as much rest as you can before we
reach Diospolis Magna.’
‘Yes, you’re right.’
Cato eased himself down and lay still, staring up at the roof of
the tent. After a while he shut his eyes and lay there listening
intently to every sound of the night. Although Macro lay still and
silent on his side, he did not snore and Cato realised that his
friend’s mind was as troubled as his own.
Macro blinked his
eyes open and for a moment frowned. The last thing he remembered
was being unable to get to sleep, and lying still for what seemed
like hours. Well, sleep had come to him in the end, he mused. Dawn
was breaking outside and a shaft of light pierced the tent through
the open flap. Macro turned over and saw that Cato’s bedroll was
empty.
He sat up and
stretched his arms, yawning widely before smacking his lips. Rising
to his feet, Macro saw a dark dry patch in the light-coloured soil
in front of the tent post and immediately recalled the scene the
previous night when he had cleaved the cobra in two, and pursed his
lips sourly. Emerging from the tent, Macro saw his friend sitting
on a palm log a short distance away. He was staring out across the
misty river, the stopper from an amphora in his hands. A short
distance away lay the remains of a broken amphora.
‘Up early, or
couldn’t you sleep?’ Macro called out as he strode over to join
Cato.
‘Not much chance of
anyone sleeping when you start snoring.’ Cato tossed the stopper
aside into the grass. ‘At least we weren’t troubled by anything
else last night. That’s something to be thankful for.’
Further along the
shore the other passengers and the crews from the boats were rising
and rolling up their bedrolls ready to continue the voyage upriver.
Hamedes approached them, carrying his kitbag over his
shoulder.
‘Morning, sirs. I
heard there was some excitement last night.’
‘You could say that,’
Macro replied.
Hamedes tossed his
bag down and squatted in front of them. ‘The optio told me about
the snake just now. Seems you had a close escape. The venom of the
Nile cobra can kill a man within the hour. You’re very lucky,
sir.’
‘Funny, I thought I
was unlucky that it happened at all.’
The priest tilted his
head to one side. ‘Perhaps it was an omen. A message from the gods.
A warning perhaps.’
‘Then again, perhaps
it was just a bloody snake which took a wrong turning.’ Macro stood
up and pointed to two of the legionaries standing by the nearest
fire. ‘You, and you. Get the tent down and stowed. Make sure the
bedrolls are put on the same boat.’
Cato turned to
Hamedes and was silent a moment before he spoke. ‘A message? I
think you might be right.’
‘Oh?’ A brief look of
surprise flashed across the priest’s face.
‘Yes,’ Cato
continued. ‘We seem to have been dogged by bad luck ever since we
began our hunt for Ajax here in Egypt. I’m beginning to wonder if
we’ve offended some of the local gods. You’re the man with the
expertise here, Hamedes. How do we go about appeasing your gods?
Who should we offer prayers to? What sacrifice should we
make?’
Macro glanced at his
friend. ‘Since when did you come over all religious?’
‘There’s been plenty
of times in the last few months when fortune has played us false,
Macro. It could be mere coincidence, but I doubt it. On one or two
occasions, perhaps, but as often as we have endured it, then a man
is right to suspect that the gods, or someone else, are playing
their hand.’
Macro puffed his
cheeks, not quite sure how to respond. ‘You really think an
offering is necessary, sir?’
‘It would give me
some peace of mind,’ Cato admitted. ‘Will you see to it, Hamedes,
on our behalf?’
‘Of course,
sir.’
‘As soon as you
can.’
‘I will do what I
can. The rites associated with good fortune and warding off bad
luck were beyond my remit, sir. I was entrusted with more basic
offerings. But I will find out for you when we reach Diospolis
Magna and I can consult the priests there.’
Cato stared at him
and then nodded. ‘Very well, that will have to do.’ He took a deep
breath and stood up. ‘Meanwhile, let’s get the convoy under way
again. The sooner we reach our destination, the
better.’
The convoy continued
up the river, passing beyond the delta on to the single expanse of
water that flowed through the heart of the great desert that
stretched west from the Erythraeum Sea across the continent and
formed the southernmost boundary of the Empire. From the river Cato
could see the rocky scarps that rose up beyond the narrow belt of
cultivated land spilling out beyond both banks of the Nile. Between
stretches of reeds and palm trees he saw great numbers of fields
tended by peasants and tilled by oxen drawing heavy ploughs as they
turned over the dark silted soil that was the source of the
province’s great wealth. Before the time when Rome had coveted the
fertile farmlands of Egypt, such wealth had funded the ambitions of
the Ptolemies, and before them the ancient lineage of the old
Pharaohs dating back to time beyond record.
Though they were
forgotten, they had lived in an age of marvels, Cato mused as the
convoy passed by the trio of pyramids, guarded by a giant Sphinx, a
short distance downriver from Memphis. Though he had seen them
several days earlier, on the way to report to Petronius, Cato still
viewed them with awe as he stood on the foredeck shading his eyes
as he stared. They were built on the scale of mountains, it seemed,
though geometrically perfect in a manner that nature could never
achieve. The sides seemed to be glassy smooth for the most part,
and patches of what looked like gold leaf reflected the sun’s rays
in such dazzling splendour that Cato thought they would have been
impossible to behold when in their prime.
‘Quite a sight,’ said
Macro as he came forward to stand beside Cato. He stared a moment
longer and then shook his head. ‘Hard to believe it’s the handiwork
of the gypos, ain’t it?’
‘That’s hardly a fair
comment.’ Cato gestured to a village on the shore. ‘These people
are living in the shadows of their ancestors. They are not the
same.’ He paused for a moment in reflection. ‘Perhaps one day they
will say the same of our ancestors when Rome is little more than a
curiosity. When our great monuments are crumbling back into the
ground.’
‘Pfft! You talk utter
bollocks sometimes, Cato.’ Macro nudged him. ‘You know you do.’ He
cleared his throat and then imitated the same hushed and
reverential tones of his friend as he continued. ‘Rome is the
darling of the gods, brought forth into the world to be a shining
beacon of all that is great and best. In the distant future people
will stand in front of the gates of Rome and look in wonder on our
mighty works and despair . . .’
‘Have you quite
finished?’ Cato asked tersely.
Macro sniffed. ‘Give
me a moment, I’m sure I might have missed something pretentious I
could have said.’
‘Fuck
off.’
‘Now that’s spoken
like a soldier. Brief, and to the point. Come, forget about all
them dusty piles of stone and get into the shade before you start
getting even more light-headed, eh?’
Macro slipped back
under the awning and sat down. Cato stared at the pyramids for a
little longer, but Macro’s words had robbed them of some of their
mystique and with a sigh he turned and joined Macro and Hamedes in
the shade.
Ten days after the
convoy left Alexandria the barges sailed round the final bend in
the river before Diospolis Magna just after the sun had fallen
behind the arid mountains on the western bank. On the opposite bank
towered the pylons of the largest temple complex Cato had ever
seen. Tall wooden masts rose from brackets on the carved walls and
tattered banners of faded red wafted and flickered in the evening
breeze. A tall mud-brick wall surrounded the temple, giving it the
appearance of a vast fortress. A stone landing stage stood a short
distance from the edge of the river, where a more recent quay
constructed from wood lined the bank of the Nile.
‘Karnak,’ Hamedes
said with reverence, and then pointed further along the bank to
another, far smaller complex. ‘And that’s the temple of Amun. The
city lies beyond.’
The captain of the
barge sat at the tiller and gently heaved it away from him as he
steered in towards the quay. A number of soldiers were standing
guard along the quay and on towers erected behind the walls. As the
flotilla approached, a party of soldiers emerged from the ornate
landing platform and descended the ramp on to the quay to assist
with mooring the barges. The crews tossed ropes across the water to
them and one by one the barges were hauled in and the ropes
fastened to worn wooden cleats lining the quay.
The two Roman
officers and the priest gathered their kitbags and stepped ashore.
Cato stopped the optio in charge of the mooring party.
‘Where is the army
headquarters?’
‘Who wants to
know?’
Macro stepped forward
to tear a strip off the optio for his insubordination but Cato
raised a hand to stop him. They were wearing only their
standard-issue tunics. Their armour, and insignia, were packed in
their kitbags.
‘Prefect Quintus
Licinius Cato and Centurion Macro reporting for duty with the
Twenty-Second,’ said Cato and nodded at Hamedes. ‘This is our
scout.’
‘Ah, my apologies,
sir.’ The optio stiffened to attention. ‘You want the priests’
quarters, sir.’ The optio turned and pointed to the east of the
temple complex. ‘Over there. I’ll have one of my men guide
you.’
Cato nodded as he
cast an eye over the optio and his men. Most were dark-skinned,
like the natives. A few had the lighter skins of the Greeks or
Romans. ‘Very well.’
Shortly after, they
climbed the ramp to the ceremonial landing stage and the vista
inside the temple complex opened up. Thousands of men were camped
inside the wall, their tents aligned in neat rows stretching out
across the compound. In the distance, towards the rear of the
complex, lay the stables where the horses of the auxiliary cohorts,
and the four squadrons of legionary cavalry, stood sheltered from
the sun beneath shades made from palm fronds. A short distance
outside the walls, between the temple complex and the city, lay the
sprawl of tents belonging to the camp followers. This was where the
soldiers could find drink, trinkets and comfort in the arms of
women from the numerous companies of prostitutes run by seedy Greek
merchants.
‘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.’