The Eagle In the Sand - Scarrow Simon - Страница 23

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What the hell were you doing back there?' Cato ' snapped. 'Why didn't you back me up?'

They were sitting in the room allocated to Macro. Cato had been given a room nearby. Scrofa had explained that until the issue of Macro's appointment had been sorted out there was no question of providing them with quarters appropriate to their alleged status. So the cohort's quartermaster and his assistant had been required to temporarily give up their offices and the clerks had laboured into the evening to clear the rooms and introduce the bare minimum of furniture needed by the newly arrived centurions. The column had returned to the fort some time after dusk, in the silvery light of a crescent moon, and it was not until the fourth hour of the night that the preparation of their hastily arranged quarters was complete. Symeon had been allocated a bunk in the cavalry barracks and had immediately gone off to sleep, leaving the two officers to sit in an atmosphere of muted tension until at last their rooms were ready.

'What was I doing?' Macro looked astonished. 'I was behaving like a bloody officer, that's what I was doing. Not buggering about like some indignant bloody child.'

'Excuse me?'

'Cato, when a senior officer gives an order, you obey it without hesitation.'

'Macro, I know that. But he's not the senior officer. You are.'

'Not until I can prove it. Until then Scrofa is in command, and what he says goes.'

'No matter how wrong-headed the order?'

'That's right.'

Cato shook his head. 'That is ridiculous, Macro. The woman did nothing wrong. Nothing to deserve having her house burned down.'

'I agree with you,' Macro responded with forced calmness. 'It's a bloody great shame. An injustice. Call it what you will.'

Cato was exasperated.'So why didn't you say anything at the time?'

'You know the score. When an order is given there is no discussion, whatever I might think.'

'But that's madness.'

'No – it's discipline. It's what makes the army work. There's no room for debate. No place for weighing up the pros and cons. The order is given and you obey.' Macro paused and continued in a harsh tone. 'What you don't do – in any circumstances – is question the order of a senior officer, and never in front of the bloody men. Do I make myself clear?'

Cato, surprised at Macro's hostility, nodded.

Macro went on. 'You start down that road, my friend, and discipline crumbles. If men start thinking about orders and not acting on them, then the army falls apart and we become easy pickings for our enemies.There's no shortage of them. Then who's going to protect the Empire, eh? So go ahead and weigh that up against some woman's house going up in smoke. Next time, you think about that before you go and question the orders of a superior.'

Cato was silent as he considered Macro's argument, then he looked up and shrugged. 'I suppose you may be right.'

'Of course I'm bloody right.' Macro sighed with exasperation. 'Look here, Cato. The army's your life now. It's a hard life sometimes I grant you, but I love it. And I will not let anybody fuck it up, however well meaning they be, even if they are my best friend. Make sure you understand that.'

Cato pursed his lips. 'All right. But it was still wrong to punish that woman.'

Macro groaned and cuffed his young friend on the shoulder. 'That's enough. We've got bigger problems to think about. We're not here for the good of our health, Cato.'

'Hardly.'

Macro smiled for a moment, and then looked thoughtful. 'You know, there might be more to this than meets the eye.'

'What do you mean?'

'Burning that house. Crucifying that brigand.' Macro raised his eyebrows. 'It's just that, now I think about it, there's little more he could have done to deliberately provoke the people of that village, and at the same time lose the chance to get some good intelligence from the prisoner.'

'I see.' Cato nodded.'In that light it certainly seems to back up Narcissus' suspicions about what's going on here.'

'And if he's right about Scrofa, and that adjutant of his, Postumus, then we're going to have to tread carefully, and watch our backs all the time. I don't fancy going the way of Scrofa's predecessor.'

The next morning, at first light, the survivors of the cavalry escort set off on the return journey to Jerusalem. Scrofa had appointed one of his junior officers to temporary command of the squadron and ordered Symeon to guide them safely to Jerusalem by a different route from the one they had taken to reach the fort. The veteran carried a message from Macro for delivery to the procurator at Caesarea requesting urgent confirmation of his appointment as commander of the Second Illyrian. Given the distances involved it would take at least several days for a reply to reach them. Until then, the two centurions would be regarded as supernumeraries – free of duties and free to come and go around the fort. Macro and Cato, mindful of the true purpose behind their presence there, joined the other officers for the prefect's morning briefing immediately after breakfast in the mess.

The centurions and the junior officers of the cohort crowded the benches in the hall of the headquarters building, and as they talked idly while waiting for Scrofa and his adjutant to appear Cato scrutinised them surreptitiously. The officers seemed somehow distracted and edgy and spoke in subdued tones. Occasionally one of them would glance in the direction of the new arrivals, but no one came over to introduce himself. It was as if they were suspicious, Cato decided. But suspicious of what? They could not know that Macro and Cato were working for Narcissus. The appointment of Scrofa had been temporary so they would be expecting a permanent commander to replace him. There should be nothing untoward about the arrival of Macro and Cato and yet Cato sensed that something was amiss.

His speculations were interrupted as Centurion Postumus marched through the door and barked out, 'Commanding officer present!'

With a scraping of benches the assembled officers rose to their feet and stood stiffly at attention while Scrofa entered the hall and made his way to the desk at the end and sat down.

'Be seated, gentlemen.'

The officers relaxed and sat back down on their benches. When all was still, Scrofa cleared his throat and began the briefing.

'First, let me formally introduce you to Centurions Macro and Cato.' He gestured to them and the new arrivals briefly rose to their feet in acknowledgement as Scrofa continued. 'Now, I'm aware that there have been a few rumours doing the rounds about the reason for their presence at Bushir. For the record, Centurions Macro and Cato claim to have been sent out from Rome to replace myself and Centurion Postumus. Unfortunately, in the rush to escape his pursuers yesterday, Centurion Macro was obliged to drop his baggage, which contained his orders from the palace.'

There was a ripple of light laughter and amused expressions amongst the officers and Macro flushed with embarrassment and anger. Scrofa smiled as he continued.

'So, until his appointment is confirmed we welcome them as honoured guests to Fort Bushir. You gentlemen might want to take the chance to make yourself known to the commander designate in the coming days, if you wish to thrive under his command, as you have under mine. Centurion Macro will need to learn how we do things here, if he is to enjoy your confidence in the months ahead…'

The prefect glanced through the notes on the waxed slate in front of him and went on. 'We've had word that two caravans bound for the Decapolis are due to pass through our area in the next few days. The first belongs to Silas of Antioch. We'll be sending out our usual welcoming committee and should have no trouble getting their agreement to escort the caravan as far as Gerasa. The second belongs to one of the Arab cartels that's just started up in Aelana. Since they're new to the game, Centurion Postumus will lead a strong force out to greet them and explain the procedure. Then escort them safely up the trail as far as Philadelphia before returning to the fort… On to more onerous tasks. There's been a band raiding the borders of the Decapolis from somewhere out in the desert. Decurion Proximus will take a patrol to Azrakh, and offer their headman a bounty for tracking down and eliminating these raiders.' Scrofa paused and glanced round the room before he spotted Proximus. 'Make sure you agree a good deal. No point in cutting too deeply into our profit margins.'

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