CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
‘Are you quite certain?’ the legate asked Hamedes
directly.
‘Yes, sir.’ The
priest nodded. ‘I saw them enter the tomb. Ajax and some of his
men.’
‘What about you?’
Aurelius turned towards Tribune Junius. ‘Can you confirm
this?’
Junius shook his
head. ‘I went in a different direction, sir. Beyond the place where
the priest says he saw this tomb. I went to the end of the track
that led off from the main valley. I must have missed it,’ he
confessed with a hint of shame in his voice. ‘Just as well that the
priest picked up on it, sir, or we’d never have located
them.’
‘All the same, good
work. Both of you!’ The legate smiled at Hamedes. ‘I shall see that
you are rewarded when the campaign is over.’
Hamedes shook his
head and responded with quiet intensity, ‘Revenge is its own
reward, sir.’
Cato intervened. ‘Can
you describe the location of this tomb?’
‘Of course, sir.’
Hamedes squatted down beside the track where a small mound of
gritty sand had collected in a hollow. Smoothing it out, he drew a
basic map of the terrain with his finger as he explained. ‘Here is
the final bend in the track. Beyond that is the valley. There are
many tombs dotted about the cliffs, but I saw no one enter or leave
any of them. Just here are several large boulders. The track
mentioned by the tribune branches off from the main valley and
climbs up into the cliffs. About a quarter of a mile along it there
is a steep path leading up to the base of the cliff. There is an
opening cut into the rock there and steps leading down to a tomb
entrance. It is easily missed, sir. I am not surprised the tribune
passed by it without seeing anything. It was only because I saw
Ajax and two of his men emerge from the steps that I discovered its
location.’
‘And you are certain
you can find it again?’ asked Cato.
‘Yes,
sir.’
‘How many of his men
did you see?’
Hamedes thought for a
moment. ‘Six Arabs, all told, and four big men, like Ajax,
gladiators probably. There may have been more that I
missed.’
The legate snorted
with derision. ‘Ten men, or thereabouts. It seems I have brought a
mallet to crack a walnut. Very well, now that we know where they
are we can move up and take them.’ He glanced up at the sky. The
valley was already in shadow. ‘We have an hour or so before
nightfall. I’ll lead the attack. We’ll take torches into the tomb
and hunt them down. Two cavalry squadrons should suffice, and a
half century of archers to pick off their lookouts. Tribune Junius
will lead the rest of the men back to camp.’
Junius bowed his
head. ‘Yes, sir.’
Aurelius clapped his
hands together. ‘Let’s be about our business then,
gentlemen!’
It was dark by the
time the contingent reached the entrance to the tomb that Hamedes
had identified. The Arabs had only briefly delayed their entrance
into the valley, hitting two of the auxiliary archers before they
were pinned down by a steady rain of arrows while a second party of
archers worked up to higher ground from where the Arabs could be
easily targeted and swiftly disposed of. Aurelius led the column
past the empty tombs in the main part of the valley where the
horses were left in the charge of one of the cavalry squadrons.
Then the priest guided them along the winding track, past a handful
of other openings and then up the short climb to the steps cut down
into the rock. As they approached, the Romans saw a figure just
inside the entrance to the tomb. He shouted a warning to his
comrades before scurrying down the tunnel that led deep beneath the
cliff. The leading section of auxiliaries made a rush down the
steps before Macro bellowed at them to come back.
‘What the hell do you
think you’re doing? It’s pitch black down there. You go flying into
the tunnel and the first man that falls will break his bloody neck,
and the rest of you will trip over him and go the same way. Get a
fire going and make up some torches.’ He turned to Cato with a
disgusted look. ‘Idiots.’
‘Quite right.’ The
legate nodded as he peered into the dark tunnel. ‘We’ll need
illumination. Plenty of it.’
The last of the
daylight faded in the heavens as the soldiers gathered some dry
branches of vegetation that clung to cracks in the rock. One of the
archers produced a tinderbox and struck his flints until he managed
to coax a tiny flame on to the thin slivers of charred linen in the
box. The fire quickly took once the flame was presented to the
kindling and soon the cliff above the entrance was aglow with the
light from the flames that crackled up from the fire burning a
short distance from the mouth of the tomb.
‘Twenty men should
suffice,’ Aurelius decided. ‘And I’ll take a section of archers. If
the tunnels are straight, they should be able to get a few shots
off if they get the chance. Make sure we have plenty of torches,
Macro.’
‘Yes, sir.’ He
gestured to the tightly bound bundles of dry twigs and brush piled
to one side. ‘I’ve already seen to that.’
‘Good man.’ Aurelius
nodded approvingly, his gaze fixed on the entrance to the tomb.
Macro realised that the legate was rapidly losing his enthusiasm to
lead the party now that he found himself staring into the dark
hole, wherein lurked a small group of desperate and deadly
fugitives.
‘I’ll lead the men,
if you like, sir,’ Macro suggested quietly. ‘No need for you to
come.’
The legate tore his
gaze away from the tomb and frowned at Macro. ‘Certainly not. A
legate should share the same dangers as his men. Otherwise he is
not fit to command them.’
‘Yes, sir. Shall we
begin then?’
‘Yes . . . Yes, of
course.’ Aurelius strode across to the bundle of torches and picked
one up. He lowered it into the fire and let it catch light, then
stood by the steps leading down to the tomb entrance. Macro lit
another torch and detailed two of the archers to go first, one with
an arrow notched, the other holding a torch. Macro was about to
follow them when Cato paced over to pick up a torch.
‘You’d better stay
here, sir,’ Macro said firmly.
Cato shook his head.
‘I’m coming.’
‘Not with that arm in
a sling. The first stretch of the tunnel looks steep. We’ll need to
keep a hand spare to stop stumbling. You’ll only get in the way,
sir. Be more of a hindrance than a help.’ Macro meant it in a
kindly fashion but Cato shot him a sour look.
‘Thanks. But if you
think I’m prepared to sit by while you go up against Ajax, then
you’re mad.’
‘The centurion’s
right,’ Aurelius interrupted. ‘You’ll stay here with the rest of
the men until it’s over. That’s an order.’
Cato’s lips pressed
together in a thin line for a moment before he responded through
clenched teeth. ‘Yes, sir.’
He backed away and
sat on a rock that overlooked the cut steps. He watched sullenly as
the archers entered the tomb, then Macro descended the stairs,
followed by Hamedes. Cato cleared his throat and called
down.
‘Take care, Macro . .
. Watch your back.’
Macro looked up at
him briefly and grinned, then he passed out of sight. The legate
followed Hamedes into the tomb, then came the rest of the
auxiliaries and archers, several of them carrying lit torches. The
last man, bearing a coil of rope over his shoulder, entered the
tunnel and the bright glow of his torch wavered and faded and then
there was only the faint scrape of iron-nailed boots on the floor
of the tunnel and echoed comments which gradually faded away. Cato
sat still for a moment, uneasy with the burden of his fears and
suspicions. Then he glanced irritably down at his arm in the sling
and slowly eased it free and attempted to flex it. At once there
was a red-hot shooting pain through his shoulder joint and he
groaned and stilled his arm. When the pain had receded, he eased
the sling back on and looked down at the pitch-black entrance to
the tunnel. Whatever happened in the tomb, there was nothing he
could do about it now. Without Cato being aware of it, his left
foot began to twitch in an agitated rhythm as he settled back on
his rock and waited for Macro and the others to
return.
The passage was wide
enough for two men to walk abreast, but the incline was steep and
Macro found that he had to step cautiously down the pitted rock
surface to avoid slipping. By the wavering and flaring light of his
torch and the one ahead of him held by the archer, he could see
that the walls of the tunnel were painted with detailed depictions
of the native gods and kings. Sometimes the kings, wearing the
combined crowns of the upper and lower Nile realms, were making
offerings to the gods. In other images they were leading their
armies to war. The images were interspersed with the
incomprehensible but strangely beautiful script of the ancients
that Macro had grown used to seeing on the religious buildings that
dotted the province. The air in the tunnel was warm and
damp-smelling and the further they went down into the rock, the
more the walls and roof seemed to close in about him. It was an
illusion, he told himself. He had never liked enclosed spaces and
the fact that Ajax and his men lay in wait ahead only added to the
burden of apprehension that settled on Macro.
They had gone at
least a hundred paces when the floor of the tunnel evened out
slightly and made the going easier. Macro glanced back to make sure
that the others were not too bunched up, and then gave the order
for the party to halt. The echoing footsteps slowly died away and
the tunnel fell silent.
‘What is it?’
Aurelius whispered. ‘Why have you stopped?’
‘To listen, sir.’
Macro touched his finger to his lips and then cocked his head to
one side and stood still, straining his ears to detect any sound of
movement from ahead above the rasp of his own breathing. At first
there was nothing, then a faint rustling and soft whispers that
made the hair rise up at the back of Macro’s neck. He eased himself
forward, past the archer holding his bow ready. The lead man held
his torch out in front of him and was staring intently down the
tunnel. The gently wavering hue cast by the still torch lit up the
way ahead for a good twenty paces. Then, just as it faded into the
darkness, there was a black outline as the tunnel gave out on to a
wider space.
‘Seen anything moving
down there?’ Macro whispered.
‘I thought so,
sir.’
‘Thought so?’ Macro
growled. ‘You did, or you didn’t. Which?’
The archer swallowed.
‘I-I did, sir. Sure of it.’
Macro nodded, and
shuffled back past the second archer. ‘Be ready to shoot the moment
you see any of ’em.’
As he returned to his
original place in the line, Macro passed on the order to draw
swords and make ready, then he hissed at the leading archer to
continue down the tunnel. The line of men moved cautiously towards
the opening. The glimmer of the torch revealed that their path
continued downwards but there was darkness where the chamber opened
out with a pit on either side. As Macro emerged into the space, he
raised his torch and looked round. The builders of the tomb had cut
out a cube, roughly forty feet in each dimension, through which a
ramp-like walkway passed at an angle. The precision of the angles
and dimensions appeared eerily perfect. On either side of the ramp
there was a drop of about twenty feet, and by the light of the
torch Macro could make out the spoil and rubbish that had been
abandoned in the tomb by successive robbers and the curious who had
dared to explore the darkened tunnel over the
centuries.
‘Watch it!’ the
leading man cried out as he ducked. An arrow whirred over his head
and struck the next man in the right arm. He cried out and let go
of the arrow string and his shaft skittered across the ramp. He
staggered back, and the men behind him instinctively ducked down or
moved aside as they anticipated another arrow.
‘Watch it, you fool!’
Aurelius’s voice cried out behind Macro. As he turned, there was a
scrabbling of boots and a desperate shout of panic.
He glimpsed the
legate teetering on the edge of the ramp, arms flailing, his torch
flaring madly, then he fell into the pit, the flames of the
tumbling torch illuminating his swift descent, broken by a heavy
thud that cut off his cry.
‘Shit!’ Macro
snarled, as he braced his feet and looked over the edge of the
ramp. By the light of the torch guttering close to the legate,
Macro saw Aurelius lying spreadeagled on his back. His mouth was
open in a soundless scream and his eyes blinked rapidly as blood,
dark as pitch, spread out behind his head.
Another arrow shot up
the tunnel, narrowly missing the two archers before it bounced off
Macro’s shield at an upward angle and clattered off the wall of the
chamber. Macro quickly stepped past the wounded archer and lowered
his shield to provide cover from the next arrow. A moment later
there was a loud crack, amplified by the surrounding rock, as a
second arrow struck Macro’s shield squarely and punched through the
layers of leather and wood as it lodged. He grabbed the torch from
the leading archer. ‘Get behind my shield and start shooting
back!’
The man nodded and
hurriedly plucked an arrow from his quiver, strung it, drew back
and then bobbed up just long enough to release the shaft down the
tunnel.
‘Keep that up!’ Macro
ordered, and then turned to look up the ramp. The wounded archer
was shuffling back along the line of men who had pressed themselves
to the ground, and where the ramp entered the tunnel, they hugged
the walls. Hamedes was crouched down a short distance behind
Macro.
‘What happened to the
legate?’ asked Macro.
‘I don’t know, sir.
He was just ahead of me, then stumbled and must have lost his
footing.’
‘Right, well, we have
to get him out.’ Macro raised his voice and called back up the
line. ‘Pass the rope forward!’
There was a brief
delay, during which another three arrows came flying up from the
depths of the tomb, two striking Macro’s shield while the third
whipped past and splintered against the rock just beside the tunnel
leading up to the tomb’s entrance. Then the coil of rope appeared,
passed from man to man until Hamedes took hold of it. Macro had
already seen that there was nothing to tie the end to and he
pointed back up the tunnel. ‘Find an anchor man to tie it round his
waist and then have four more on the rope to take the
strain.’
‘Yes, sir. Let me go
down and get the legate.’
‘No. You take my
shield. I’ll do it,’ Macro decided.
Hamedes came forward,
squeezing between the archer and Macro, and took hold of the
handle. Macro grasped his shoulder as he gave him his orders. ‘Move
forward, nice and slow, like. No more than ten paces into the next
section of tunnel. The archer goes with you. Keep harassing whoever
it is that’s down there taking pot shots. Clear?’
Hamedes and the
archer nodded.
‘Then get on with
it.’
As soon as the rope
was ready Macro tied a loop in the end and put his boot in. He
eased himself over the edge, clinging to the rope with both hands
as his men took the strain and began to lower him into the pit. As
soon as his boot touched the ground, Macro let go and scrambled
across the rubble to the legate. Aurelius’s eyes had closed and his
breathing was swift and shallow. Macro carefully examined his body
and felt a swelling around the legate’s leg and the misshapen bend
to his left arm. The back of his head was drenched in blood and
felt pulpy. Aurelius let out a long deep groan and Macro withdrew
his hands.
‘You’re in a bad way,
old son.’ Macro shook his head sadly. ‘Best get you out of here
quickly.’ He pulled the rope over, called for some slack and then
fastened it around the legate’s chest, under his arms.
‘Pull him up, nice
and gently!’
The rope creaked
under the burden as Macro guided the legate’s body into the air.
Halfway up he began to tremble wildly and let out a series of
breathless grunts. Then he reached the ramp and the auxiliaries
pulled him up the tunnel and returned the end of the rope to Macro.
When he had climbed back up, Macro took a deep breath and gave his
orders. ‘Get the legate and the wounded man out of the tomb.
Tribune Cato can have them taken straight back to the main camp.
Meanwhile, we’ll settle our business here.’
Macro made his way
into the tunnel and rejoined Hamedes. The archer was squatting down
beside the priest, making no attempt to shoot down the
tunnel.
‘What the hell have
you stopped for?’ Macro demanded.
‘There’s been nothing
coming the other way for a while now, sir,’ the archer
explained.
‘Fair enough,’ Macro
relented. ‘Let’s push on. Hamedes, you take charge of the torch,
keep it as high as you can.’
With Macro holding
the shield to the front, and the torch held up and to the side,
while the archer fitted another arrow, the three men continued
slowly down the tunnel, followed by the rest of the small force.
Soon, Macro could discern another chamber ahead of them. This time,
the space was illuminated as the defenders had lit some torches of
their own. Another arrow whipped up the tunnel towards them, going
to the side where it ricocheted off the wall. Macro kept moving.
Now he could clearly hear voices ahead of them. He continued
forward, to the threshold of the new chamber, and by the light of a
torch left burning on the ground he could see that it was larger
than the one they had passed through earlier but had a solid floor
with square columns running down its length, also cut from the
rock.
There was no sign of
the defenders. Macro waited for the rest of his men to join him and
prepare to charge into the chamber as soon as he gave the order. A
movement by one of the columns to his left drew Macro’s eye just as
the man loosed an arrow. It struck the wall close to Macro’s head
and he felt a chip of stone cut into his chin.
He snarled, turning
towards the man.
Macro roared as he
rushed down the length of the chamber towards the enemy who
hurriedly prepared his next arrow. He just had time to raise the
bow, draw the string and release the arrow before Macro reached
him. The arrow zipped past Macro’s ear, and then he smashed his
shield into his opponent, sending him flying back. He hit the floor
with a solid thud. Macro looked quickly from side to side, but
there was no movement except for the auxiliary soldiers spilling
out into the chamber. By the light of the torches Macro saw that
the man he had downed had a large stained dressing on his thigh.
Near him, on the floor of the chamber, was a makeshift walking
stick fashioned from a cavalry lance. He had recovered from the
blow and was already reaching for his bow. Macro stepped forward
and kicked it away. The man reached for the dagger in his belt
instead, drawing it and making a wild slash at Macro’s leg. Macro
parried the blow and stepped outside the range of the
dagger.
‘Drop
it!’
The gladiator
shuffled away until he reached the wall of the chamber and then he
leaned back and held the dagger out, ready to strike
again.
‘I said drop
it.’
‘Fuck you, Roman!’
the rebel spat. ‘If you want it, come and get it!’
He held the knife up,
daring Macro. With an impatient sigh, Macro stepped forward,
parried the dagger low on his shield and then thrust his blade into
the man’s chest. He gasped under the impact, then slumped aside as
Macro wrenched the blade free and turned away. ‘Any more of them
here?’
None of his men
replied and Macro frowned as he sheathed his sword. ‘Where the hell
are they all? Where is Ajax?’
‘Sir! Over
here!’
Macro found one of
his men pointing to a small opening on the far side of the chamber.
There was a short slope down into yet another chamber. Macro
squatted and cocked his head for a better look. There was no sign
of any movement. He tried to listen but the footsteps of his men
and their muttering filled the chamber.
‘Stand still!’ Macro
bellowed.
As the last echo
faded away, he listened again. There was no sound from the chamber.
Nothing. Then he heard it, the faintest of sounds, like a dog
panting in the distance.
‘Ajax! . . . Ajax,
you are trapped. I’ll give you one chance to surrender, then we’re
coming for you and your men . . . Ajax, you hear me?’
There came no reply
as he had expected and Macro listened again and then muttered,
‘Damn.’ He turned back to his men. ‘I’m going down there. I’ll call
for you if I need help. If there’s any trouble then you pile in and
take no prisoners. Got it?’
Macro sheathed his
sword and took one of the torches held by his men and inspected the
passage more closely. It was steeper than the others they had
descended, but no more than twenty feet in length. The floor of
another chamber opened out beyond. Macro tested his boots at the
top of the ramp but it was clear that he would not be able to keep
his feet if he tried to walk down. Instead he crouched down,
pushing his shield out at a shallow angle in front of him and held
the torch aloft in his sword hand.
‘Be careful, sir,’
said Hamedes.
Macro smiled at him.
‘Here I go.’
Macro shifted his
weight and began to slide down the tunnel, his nailed boots
scraping over the stone. The rush of air made the torch burn
brighter, filling the narrow passage with a fiery glow. Then he
entered the chamber and took half a step forward to establish his
balance as he reached flat ground. He quickly turned from side to
side, waving the torch in front of him. The chamber was much
smaller than the one above, with just four columns. There was a
crudely fashioned ladder, some discarded cloaks and waterskins
lying on the ground but no sign of anyone, nor any sign of another
opening in its walls.
Then he heard some
scrabbling coming from the far corner of the chamber. Macro raised
his torch towards it and saw a man sitting propped up against the
wall. He wore only a loincloth and like his comrade in the chamber
above he was wounded; he had a large dressing covering his stomach.
He held a dagger in his hand but made no attempt to raise it
towards Macro. The centurion cautiously approached him and the glow
of the torch revealed the man’s glistening skin and the sweat that
dripped from his brow. His chest rose and fell in short jerks as he
struggled to breathe. He shut his eyes for an instant and then
blinked them open, trying to focus on Macro.
‘Where are they?’
Macro asked him. ‘Where are Ajax and the others?’
‘Gone,’ the man
rasped, and then licked his lips and smiled faintly as he repeated.
‘Gone . . .’
‘Where?’ Macro asked
harshly. ‘They were in this cave. Where are they?’
The other man shook
his head. ‘Are you Centurion Macro?’ The man struggled to get the
words out.
‘What if I
am?’
‘He - Ajax - told me
to give you a message.’ The man smiled weakly. ‘He said to tell you
that he’s fucked you before, and now he’s fucked you again, and
he’ll fuck you for as long as he lives.’
Macro stared at the
dying man for a moment, his mind and heart filling with blind rage.
The torch dropped from his hand and he snatched out his sword
before he even realised that he had done so. With a cry of hatred
and anger that tore at his throat, Macro raised the blade and
smashed it down on the other man’s head so brutally that skin,
skull and brains exploded into one gory welter as the edge of his
sword cleaved the man’s skull from the top of his cranium right
down to his jaw. Macro yanked his sword free and raised it to
strike again, his lips curled back in a savage snarl, but the man
was quite dead.
Macro’s sword hung,
poised over the body, blood dripping from its edge. He breathed in
and out through his nose, his nostrils flaring. Slowly reason
returned to him and he backed away from the body. He took one look
round the cave in the hope of seeing something, some clue, that
would reveal the presence of Ajax, but there was nothing. Macro
turned back to the entrance to the chamber and called up to
Hamedes.
‘Lower me the rope.
It’s all over. We’re done here.’
‘And
Ajax?’
‘Ajax?’ Macro shook
his head. ‘Not here. It’s like he just vanished . . .’