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.’