The Legion - Scarrow Simon - Страница 35

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'I'm not bloody alarmed,' Macro growled. 'I'm just saying the boat looks overloaded, that's all.'

Hamedes nodded understandingly and then stretched himself out on his back, resting his head carefully on the bulky kitbag he had brought aboard and settled down to get some sleep. The two Romans watched the receding skyline of Alexandria for a while, taking turns to sip from a wineskin that Macro had bought in one of the markets of the Canopic Way. At length, Macro coughed and turned to Cato.

'Do you really think Ajax will be down there, with the Nubians?'

'The more I think about it, the more certain I am,' Cato replied. 'It offers him the best way of continuing his war against Rome.'

'And us?'

'Why not? There's every chance of killing two birds with one stone. Where else would we be when the governor needs every soldier he can scrape together to repel the invasion?'

'I'm not so keen on being considered to be part of the scrapings, if it's all the same to you.' Macro flashed a smile. 'But I take your point. And if you're right, it should make the task of finding Ajax that much easier. But duty first, eh? Defeat the Nubians and then find Ajax.'

'Defeating the Nubians might be a rather harder task than you think.'

'How so?'

'I had a word with one of Petronius's staff officers before I left the palace. I wanted some information on the forces available to Candidus. The two infantry cohorts sound like good formations, but the cavalry is under strength. It's the Twenty-Second I'm not so sure about.'

'They're legionaries. They'll stand up to whatever the Nubians throw at them.'

'I hope so.' Cato rubbed his chin and wished that he had taken the opportunity to have a shave in Alexandria before embarking. 'The fact is that the Twenty-Second is something of an oddity.'

'Oh? What's their story, then?'

'The legion was raised by Mark Antony. He filled the ranks with men from Cleopatra's army. When Antony was defeated by Octavian, the Twenty-Second was integrated into the rest of the army and has been stationed on the Nile since then. They're a mix of Greeks and Egyptians from the Nile cities.'

'You think they might be a bit soft then?'

'Maybe. They have had no part in a major campaign since the civil war. For most of them, this is going to be the first action they've gone into. I just hope they've been trained well enough for the job.'

Macro shook his head. 'Cato, even if the quality of the men is suspect, they're still commanded by centurions, and centurions, my friend, are the same the world over. As hard and demanding a bunch as you will ever find.'

'Not all of them. We've seen our share of bad officers in our time.'

'A few bad eggs, that's all,' Macro replied tersely, not willing to endure too much disparagement of the brotherhood he felt honoured to be a part of. 'The centurionate has a fine tradition. There are always exceptions.'

'Then let's hope we don't find too many of them in the Twenty-Second. '

'I need some rest,' Macro announced suddenly. He removed the armour from his kitbag and punched spare tunics, cloak and boots that remained into a rough pillow and laid his head down, turning his back to his friend. Cato smiled at his touchiness, and then eased himself down on to an elbow as the barge entered the canal that linked the lake to the Nile. On either side the banks were lined with reeds and clumps of palm trees, interspersed with small settlements of the ubiquitous mud-brick houses. Women were busy taking advantage of the cooler morning temperature to wash clothes in the placid waters while children played slightly further out, splashing each other, their shrill cries of joy carrying clearly across the canal. As the barges sailed past, they stopped their games to wave, and Cato smiled as he waved back.

He had grown so used to the demands and the strains of commanding soldiers that he had forgotten some of the simple pleasures of life, he realised sadly. His childhood seemed all too brief to him at that moment. He brushed the sentiment aside, cross with himself for allowing a moment's idleness to sour his mood. He realised that there would be plenty of time for reflection in the next few days, and resolved that he would focus his thoughts on more useful, and pleasing, matters, such as the future he planned to have with Julia when he returned to Rome. And so he spent the rest of the morning watching the landscape of Egypt drift by as the convoy made its way upriver towards Diospolis Magna. Occasionally Macro and Hamedes stirred and exchanged a few words, before closing their eyes again. In the afternoon the convoy left the canal behind and entered the river. The sun beat down on the barges, and a steady hot breeze blew over the deck like the heat from a nearby furnace.

At dusk the barges put into the shore and grounded gently on a grassy stretch of the riverbank. Fires were lit and rations issued and the insects began to swarm round in whining clouds of dark specks against the light of the flames. Hamedes said he would bed down amongst the sailors, once he had drunk his fill of wine.

'Suit yourself,' Macro responded. 'But I'm not going to lie out here and get bitten to death.'

Macro called over several of the legionaries and ordered them to erect the tent he and Cato would be sharing.

'Quick as you can now, lads!' Macro barked as he swatted the mosquitoes away. 'Before these little bastards drain the blood out of me.'

As soon as the tent was up, Macro ducked inside and laid his bedroll out on the ground. Cato joined him a little later, after a last look up at the brilliant display of stars in the heavens. The glow of the fires lit up the linen walls of the tent and occasionally the wavering shadows of men passed along the cloth, like the profiles of the paintings he had seen on the province's temples, Cato decided. No air moved through the tent and it was hot inside. Cato slipped his tunic off and lay sweating in his loincloth. On the other side of the tent, Macro had quickly fallen asleep, even though he had rested most of the day, and his rumbling snores vied with the sounds of chatter and laughter of the men by the fires. Cato smiled and closed his eyes. He might as well make the most of this short, restful interval, he decided.

He woke suddenly, not moving, his eyes wide open, staring up at the roof of the tent. Cato was not sure what had broken his sleep and he was about to stir when he heard the faint sound of movement outside the tent. Then the sound was gone and with a sigh he turned on to his side and closed his eyes again. At once there was a low rush of sound like a long sharp escape of breath. Cato's eyes snapped open as he realised that he and Macro were not alone in the tent. He slowly turned himself back and raised his head to look round. The campfires were still burning and provided a faint rosy light inside the tent. A short distance away, close to the foot of Macro's bedroll, a slender shape rose up from the ground, swaying slightly.

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.

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