CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
‘They put up quite a fight,’ said Macro as they stood
in the larger of the two courtyards in the temple. Cato, his left
arm in a sling, nodded as he surveyed the bodies littering the
ground. It was late in the morning and the air was already
stifling. The cloying odour of blood added to the discomfort of the
setting. Several legionaries were picking their way across the
courtyard looking for wounded comrades to carry into the columned
hall where the chief surgeon had set up his field hospital. Any of
the enemy wounded were quickly despatched to put an end to their
suffering.
‘Quite a fight,’
Macro repeated, arms on hips. ‘Now comes the fun part. Finding the
body of Ajax. I haven’t seen him anywhere yet. I’ll have to order a
more thorough search.’
‘Assuming he stayed
to fight to the end.’
‘You still think he
had something to do with those horsemen that were seen
earlier?’
‘It’s
possible.’
Macro shook his head.
‘I think we would have noticed if he had ridden out of here, right
through our patrols. It’s not his style. Not from what I recall of
him.’ Macro’s expression darkened as he briefly recalled his period
of captivity. ‘Ajax would rather make a stand than run off and
leave his men to die. Trust me, he’s here. We just have to find
him.’ Macro nudged a severed forearm with the toe of his boot. ‘Or
what’s left of him.’
He looked round the
courtyard again and shook his head. ‘Have to hand it to them, this
lot fought to the last. Not one prisoner. If the rest of the Nubian
army is anything like this then we’ll have quite a fight on our
hands when we finally meet.’
Cato pursed his lips.
Despite what Macro said, the legionaries had had no difficulty in
driving off the sortie that the enemy had made in the hour before
dawn. They had made it as far as the breach and been held there
while reinforcements were rushed forward to drive them back into
the temple. None of the bolt throwers had been damaged. At dawn the
legate launched the second attack in person. He stood in the
breach, in full armour, sheltering behind a shield, as he bellowed
the order for the bolt throwers and archers to commence bombarding
the walls of the temple. This time the missiles were loosed at
close range and the legionaries made short work of any Arabs who
showed themselves on the walls of the temple and on top of the
pylons.
Safe from the danger
of arrows, Macro led the First Century forward again. A section of
auxiliary archers advanced with them, ready to shoot any defender
who risked rising up behind the barricade to try and dislodge the
assault ramps. The legionaries trotted up the ramp and fell on the
defenders behind, cutting a path through their ranks until they
emerged into the courtyard. After that it had merely been a
question of finding and cutting down the small groups of survivors
who made their last stand in the temple’s more easily defended
chambers. The last group, led by one of Ajax’s gladiators, an
African, held out for over an hour in the main pylon, gradually
being forced back up the narrow staircase and on to the platform.
The gladiator, mortally wounded, had thrown himself off the top of
the pylon rather than be taken alive.
‘Shame you missed
it.’ Macro looked at his friend closely. Cato had been too dazed to
join the attack and Macro had found Hamedes and told him to take
care of the prefect in his absence. The priest helped Cato prop
himself up against the trunk of a palm tree to watch the assault.
Once the nausea passed and a surgeon’s assistant strapped up his
arm, Cato had dismissed Hamedes and made his way inside the temple
to find Macro. The latter continued in as sensitive a tone as he
could manage. ‘I know you wanted to be there when we finished off
that mad dog, Ajax.’ He paused. ‘It’s funny, I always imagined that
it would end in a straight fight between him and either you or me.
I didn’t think he would be cut down in some bloody skirmish like
this. Just one of the faceless dead.’
‘We haven’t found his
body yet,’ Cato replied quietly. ‘Until we do, it’s tempting fate
to assume it’s all over.’
Macro snorted. ‘You
always have to see the dour side of events.’ They were interrupted
by a blast of notes echoing down into the courtyard and both
officers turned and craned their necks to squint up towards the top
of the main pair of pylons. Three bucinas were sounding off. Behind
them the standard of the Twenty-Second Legion, with its
gold-embroidered head of a jackal, was fluttering over the temple.
To one side four men were struggling to erect a trophy made up from
the weapons and equipment taken from the enemy dead. Aurelius
stood, proudly looking on.
‘Well,’ Macro
scratched his bristling cheek, ‘at least he’s happy. Now he has a
great victory to go along with his battle wound. Nothing can stop
him. The man thinks he’s a modern Alexander the
Great.’
Cato stared silently
at the legate for a moment. ‘Let’s hope the mood passes quickly,
then. Taking the temple is one thing. Defeating Prince Talmis is
quite another. The last thing we need is a commander who
underestimates his enemy.’
Macro
nodded.
The bucinas sounded
again and the legate approached the edge of the platform and raised
his arms up to draw the attention of the men below. There was a
brief, expectant pause before he spoke, straining his voice to make
sure that his words carried the length of the temple. ‘Men of the
Twenty-Second! My fellow Jackals! Comrades! Today we have won the
first of our battles against the Nubian Prince who dares to defile
the Roman province of Egypt with his presence! His men lie dead at
our feet and their arms are now our trophies.’ Aurelius made an
extravagant gesture towards the arrangement rising up above the
pylon. ‘This is but a poor token of the riches and glory that will
be ours once we have crushed the main enemy army. As long as there
are Roman soldiers in Egypt, the men of the Twenty-Second, and the
name of their commander, will be remembered with pride and honour.
Think on that, and keep it in your hearts as we march from this
place to do battle with the invader!’ He punched the air and there
was a silence before one of the tribunes on the platform drew his
sword and thrust it into the air and chanted. ‘Aurelius! . . .
Aurelius! . . . Aurelius!’
The other officers
joined in and then the cry was picked up by the men down in the
courtyards of the temple.
Macro turned to Cato.
‘Not the best orator I’ve heard, but he has the timeless gift of
keeping it mercifully brief.’
Cato smiled. ‘A pity
the same can’t be said for most politicians I’ve seen in Rome.’ His
smile faded. ‘We’ll have to make sure he doesn’t fall prey to
putting posterity before common sense.’
‘I’ll leave that to
you then, sir,’ Macro replied. ‘It would be better that such advice
came from his acting senior tribune than from his acting first
spear centurion.’
Cato shot him a sour
look. ‘Thanks.’
‘Goes with the rank.’
Macro shrugged. ‘Besides, you’re a smooth talker. I’d lay good
money that you could talk an Aventine whore into giving you a free
shag and then handing you a tip for the fine service.’
Cato frowned. ‘I’m
not certain I have ambitions to be quite that rhetorically
effective.’
‘It’s early days . .
. However, we have work to do.’ Macro turned to a section of his
men who had just finished cheering the legate. ‘You lot! Over here
at the double!’
They trotted over and
Macro gave them as detailed a description of Ajax as he could
before sending them to search for his body. He promised a jar of
wine to the man who found the gladiator and then dismissed them. As
the men hurried away, suitably motivated to work through the
growing stench of the bodies scattered through the temple, one of
the orderlies from the headquarters staff approached Cato and
saluted.
‘The legate sends his
respects, sir, and requests that you and Centurion Macro attend him
in the priest’s quarters at the front of the temple.’
Cato exchanged a
brief look of surprise with Macro. ‘Did he say why?’
‘No, sir. Just that
he wants all his senior officers summoned. As soon as possible,’ he
added pointedly, then saluted and trotted off.
Macro lowered his
head and kicked a small stone away. ‘What now?’
The accommodation
built for the priests of the temple had once been a fairly
elaborate affair but centuries of neglect had left only a faint
reminder of its riches. The heavens painted on the ceiling still
retained their lustre but the chambers built around the courtyard
were bare and sand-blown. The shallow pool that stood in the centre
had once reflected its surroundings but the water had long since
drained away and a layer of silt almost covered the decorative
tiles at the bottom. As Macro and Cato joined the other officers,
the legate was standing at the far end of the pool, sketching a
diagram in the silt with the point of his sword. His subordinates
waited in silence until the legate had finished. Aurelius
straightened up and sheathed his sword as he looked round at his
officers with a broad smile.
‘There’s no time to
waste on platitudes and niceties, gentlemen, so I will come
straight to the point. The enemy is on the run. Today’s victory has
given the legion heart, and will dismay our foes when they hear of
it. Now is the time to press home our advantage, in a way that the
enemy will least expect.’ He glanced at the nearest of his
centurions and clicked his fingers. ‘Give me your vine
cane.’
The officer hurriedly
passed it to his commander and Aurelius pointed the end at his
diagram. The officers pressed forward for a better
view.
‘This is the Nile,
from Diospolis Magna to the first cataract. The Nubians’ plan is
now obvious. They divided their force to allow them to send this
column round and take my army from both front and rear. We have put
a stop to that scheme, and now we have an opportunity to pay them
back in kind.’ Aurelius pointed towards Diospolis Magna. ‘I will
lead the main force up the Nile to confront Prince Talmis. Since he
outnumbers me I am certain that he will stand his ground,
especially if we can close on him before he becomes aware that we
have crushed the column entrusted to the rebel gladiator. The enemy
will think that we are walking into their trap.’ The legate paused,
and then smiled cunningly as he sketched out the movements on his
diagram. ‘However, it is we who will be springing a trap. As I lead
the main advance down the eastern bank, Tribune Cato will take the
auxiliary units and march swiftly down the western bank, cross over
behind the Nubians and attack their rear. Caught between the two
forces, they will be annihilated.’ He looked up, his eyes wide with
excitement. ‘It is as elegant a plan as it is simple. I am sure you
all grasp that.’
He paused, as if that
he was ready to entertain comments, or perhaps he was daring any of
his officers to defy him, Cato mused. He eased himself forward,
wincing as his bruised arm brushed past Junius. ‘Sir, permission to
speak.’
‘Of course,
Tribune.’
Cato looked down at
the sand map as he framed his thoughts. The legate’s enthusiasm for
his plan was evident. He would need careful handling. Cato looked
up and met the legate’s gaze directly. ‘Your plan has the virtue of
turning the tables on the enemy, sir. That much is clear. Under
different circumstances, it would undoubtedly produce the result
you desire. However, the enemy outnumber us by more than three to
one. I respectfully suggest that we keep the army concentrated in
one column if we are to have the best chance of gaining a decisive
victory. If you divide our forces, each column will be weaker than
the subtraction of the parts, as it were.’ Cato stepped forward and
pointed at the diagram of the Nile. ‘Besides, where would you have
my column cross the river back to the eastern bank, sir? We have
barely enough boats to get five hundred men across at a time. You
saw how much trouble we faced landing against a far weaker force
than I will have to overcome next time. We have too few men to risk
dividing the army. Our best chance is a bold strike up the eastern
bank of the Nile. Find the Nubian army and force a battle. The
quality of our troops should give us the advantage. We can break
the enemies’ spirit before they have a chance to make their
superior numbers felt,’ Cato concluded. There was a tense silence
and Cato swallowed. ‘That’s my advice, sir.’
‘Duly noted,’ the
legate said flatly. He stared at Cato for a moment before he
continued. ‘I am pleased that you share my confidence in our men.
The Jackals and the auxiliaries have proved they are up to
standard. Their mettle is beyond doubt. That is precisely why we
can afford to divide the army. Each column will be more than able
to look after itself. Moreover, the enemy will not think for a
moment that we would dare to divide our army. They know they have
the advantage in numbers, and they expect us to go on the defensive
and hand the initiative to them.’ Aurelius paused as a thought
struck him. He smiled faintly as he resumed. ‘Which is exactly what
I have been encouraging them to think. Prince Talmis has fallen
into my trap. That is why he foolishly sent his column down this
bank of the river. He never expected us to respond so swiftly, or
so effectively.’
Cato coughed. ‘Then
perhaps we should learn from his mistake, sir.’
Aurelius shook his
head. ‘I don’t think you grasp the . . . subtleties of the
situation, Tribune.’
Cato raised his
eyebrows. ‘Subtleties, sir?’
‘I am always ready to
let my subordinates learn from my experience,’ Aurelius replied
graciously. ‘Our enemy has been induced into thinking that we are
too cautious to act decisively. He thinks that he can dictate when
and where he will give battle. Therefore he has become complacent.
It is that complacency which we will exploit. The very last thing
he expects us to do now is for us to attack him from two
directions. Surprise will be on our side, and it will enhance the
advantage we already have in terms of the quality and morale of our
men.’ Aurelius paused and smiled at Cato. ‘Now do you grasp my strategy,
Tribune?’
Cato stared back at
him, his mind reeling with the myriad risks that the legate was
prepared to take. The auxilary column would surely be detected long
before it ever crossed back to the eastern bank. Prince Talmis
would have all the time he needed to choose which Roman column he
crushed first. The Nubians also had lighter forces and could march
more swiftly than their opponents. Either column could be defeated
long before they closed the trap. There was a further issue, Cato
reflected. Less than a quarter of the army had taken part in the
assault on the temple. The rest were still in camp on the far bank.
They had missed out on the attack and therefore would still be as
green as grass when it came to facing the enemy for the first time.
Cato well knew that it was hard to predict the behaviour of men
facing battle for the first time. Some would fight like heroes.
Most would anxiously follow their training and obey orders but be
disposed to follow the example of others. Other men would stand in
line, hearts pounding in terror, and then their nerve would break
and they would run. If enough of them did that, the contagion would
spread through their comrades like wildfire and the army would be
doomed. He took a deep breath.
‘Sir, it is my
considered opinion that the risks outweigh the advantages. It might
be different with a battle-hardened army. I strongly suggest that
you reconsider your plan.’
The legate regarded
him curiously. ‘Tribune Cato, you have fought in a number of
campaigns, haven’t you?’
‘Yes,
sir.’
‘I will not ask you
to bore us with the details, but you have faced Celts, Germans,
pirates, Parthians and rebel gladiators. True?’
‘Yes,
sir.’
‘Then why be so
timorous in the face of the Nubians? Surely they are the least of
the many foes you have faced? Why fear them?’
Cato felt his pulse
quicken. The confrontation had taken a dangerous turn once again.
His commander had all but accused him of cowardice. If they had
been facing each other in private, Cato could have confronted the
accusation directly, but he was aware of the tension that now
gripped the officers surrounding him and the legate. If he rounded
on the man now, then Aurelius would be forced to apologise to him
or dismiss him. An apology would damage his authority irreparably,
so the legate would have no choice but to get rid of Cato and send
him back to Alexandria. That would remove any opportunity for Cato
to change his superior’s mind with regard to his campaign plan. It
would result in disaster, Cato was convinced of it. He knew that he
must swallow his pride, for the sake of army, his friend Macro, and
the fate of the province.
‘I do not fear the
Nubians, sir,’ he responded evenly. ‘I am merely offering you my
professional opinion. Based upon my years of service to
Rome.’
‘And how many years
is that, exactly?’
Cato felt furious
with himself. He had walked into a trap of his own making.
Fool, he cursed himself. ‘Seven years,
sir.’
‘Seven,’ Aurelius
repeated with a half-smile. ‘I served ten years in the ranks before
being promoted to centurion. Then another twelve years acquiring
the seniority necessary to become first spear and finally camp
prefect. I rather think that I have all the experience necessary to
command the army as I see fit. Seven years.’ He shook his head and
then swept his arm round, gesturing to all the other officers. ‘I
wonder, is there another man here with less experience than you, Tribune?
Well?’
There was no response
from the officers and the legate turned back to Cato with a
triumphant expression. ‘I think that places your advice in the
appropriate context . . . wouldn’t you agree?’
Cato did not reply.
Anything he said now would damn him either way. He was conscious of
the other men watching him closely, waiting for his response. He
cleared his throat. ‘I have given you my advice, sir. That is my
professional duty. The command of the army is yours. It is up to
you to give the orders for the campaign.’
‘That’s right. The
decision is made and the time for consultation or dissent is over.
Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.
Perfectly.’
‘Then I expect you,
and every one of my officers, to obey my orders without question
from now on.’
Cato
nodded.
The legate was still
for a moment and then nodded. ‘Very well then. You will all receive
your instructions once the headquarters staff at Karnak have them
ready. In the meantime ensure that your men are ready to advance
the moment I give the word.’
The officers nodded
and were waiting to be dismissed when a cavalry auxiliary entered
the room and strode up to the prefect of the Alexandrian mounted
cohort and quickly reported to him. The other officers looked on
curiously as the prefect questioned the man and then dismissed
him.
‘Something to tell
us?’ asked Aurelius.
‘Yes, sir. It seems
that some of the defenders managed to escape us, sir. One of my
squadrons was surprised last night. They were part of the perimeter
we established round the temple. They were killed where they slept.
One of the sentries was still alive when they were discovered this
morning. Before he died he said that one of the men who attacked
them was in Roman uniform and used the night’s password to get
close enough to surprise the sentries.’
‘How did he get hold
of the password?’ asked Macro.
Junius pursed his
lips. ‘Perhaps he overheard some of our men use it around the
temple.’
The cavalry prefect
nodded. ‘It’s possible. Anyway, the attackers must have been the
mounted men we saw at first light. I sent two of my squadrons to
pursue them. They made off towards the north, into the hills. I’ve
just heard that they’ve been caught in a dead end. We have
them.’
Macro turned to Cato
and muttered, ‘That could be Ajax, I suppose.’
‘More than likely.’
Cato nodded. ‘By the gods, that man is like a ghost. A bloody
ghost.’
‘How far away are
they?’ Aurelius asked the cavalry prefect.
‘No more than four
miles, sir. My men are watching them. The leading squadron had the
worst of the first encounter. The officer in charge has asked for
reinforcements before he tries again.’
Cato stepped forward
to intervene. ‘Excuse me, sir, but it’s possible that Ajax is with
them. He could have escaped with what’s left of his band of
rebels.’
‘So?’
‘Centurion Macro and
I were tasked with tracking Ajax down. I request permission to take
charge of his capture, sir.’
Aurelius considered
for a moment. ‘No. I will take command since I am here. Might as
well complete the work I’ve started. I’ll take the auxiliary horse
and the archers, since they will be remaining on this side of the
Nile in any case. The rest of the men can return to Karnak.
However, I shan’t deprive you of the pleasure of being in at the
kill, Tribune. Nor you, Centurion Macro.’
‘Thank you, sir,’
Cato responded with forced politeness.
‘Then let’s not waste
a moment longer.’ The legate clapped his hands together. ‘It’s time
to put an end to this rebel, Ajax. To arms!’