The Eagle In The Sand (2 page)

‘What now?’ he whispered softly.

‘Fuck knows.’

‘Great. Just what I needed to hear.’

Cato sensed a movement to one side and turned just as one of the killers lunged forward, stabbing towards Macro’s side.

‘Watch it!’

But Macro was already moving, his sword a glittering blur as it swept round and knocked the blade from the man’s hand. Even as it clattered to the ground another sicarian feinted, causing Cato to turn towards him, ready to parry. As he moved, another of the men jumped forward, knife point flickering out. Cato turned back just in time to meet the threat. He lowered his spare hand and snatched out his dagger, broad-bladed and unwieldy compared to the narrow-bladed weapons of the killers, but it felt good in his hand all the same. The leader shouted another order, and Cato heard the anger in the man’s voice. He wanted this finished at once.

‘Macro!’ Cato shouted out. ‘With me! Charge!’

He threw himself at the men backing onto the courtyard and his comrade followed him, bellowing at the top of his voice. The sudden reversal of roles startled the sicarians and they paused for a vital instant. Cato and Macro slashed at the men in front of them, causing them to jump aside, and then the Romans were through, running across the paving, back towards the entrance to the Great Courtyard. There was a cry of rage from behind and then the scuffling pad of sandals as the sicarians chased after them. Cato glanced back and saw Macro close behind, and just a few paces behind him the leader of the killers, lips drawn back in a snarl as he sprinted after the Romans. Cato knew at once they would never outrun them. They were too heavily weighed down and the sicarians wore nothing but their tunics. It would all be over in moments. Just ahead lay an amphora, abandoned in the rush to escape from the courtyard. Cato jumped over it and immediately turned round. Macro, with a puzzled expression, leaped past him just as Cato slashed his sword down, shattering the large jar. With a gurgling rush the contents sloshed across the paving slabs and the air filled with the aroma of olive oil. Cato turned and raced after Macro, and glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the leader of the sicarians slither, lose his footing and tumble back on to the ground with a thud. Two of the men immediately behind him also slipped over, but the rest skirted the spreading slick of oil and chased after the Romans. Cato saw that they were only a short distance from the stragglers of the crowd: the old, the infirm and a handful of small children, crying out in terror.

‘Turn round!’ he shouted to Macro and scraped to a halt, swivelling to face their pursuers. An instant later Macro was at his side.The sicarians charged forward for a moment before they suddenly drew up, glaring past Cato and Macro.Then they turned away and ran back towards their leader and the others who were back on their feet, and the sicarians raced towards a small gate on the far side of the Great Courtyard.

‘Cowards!’ Macro called after them. ‘What’s the matter? No balls for a real fight?’ He laughed and slapped a thick arm round Cato’s shoulder. ‘Look at ‘em go. Bolting like rabbits. If two of us can scare them off then I don’t think we’ve that much to worry about in Judaea.’

‘Not just two of us.’ Cato nodded towards the crowd and Macro glanced back and saw the optio and his men shouldering their way through the edge of the crowd and hurrying to the aid of the centurions.

‘After them!’ the optio bellowed, thrusting his arm out towards the fleeing killers.

‘No!’ Cato commanded. ‘There’s no point. We won’t catch them now.’

Even as he spoke the sicarians reached the gate and ducked out of sight. The optio shrugged, and could not hide a look of resentment. Cato could understand how the man felt and was tempted to explain. Just in time he stopped himself. He had given an order – that was all there was to it. There was no point in letting the auxiliaries go on a wild and dangerous goose chase through the narrow streets of Jerusalem. Instead, Cato gestured towards the overturned stalls and the dead and injured victims of the sicarians.

‘Do what you can for them.’

The optio saluted, recalled his men and hurried over to what was left of the tax collectors’ area of the market. Cato felt blown from his exertions. He sheathed his sword and dagger and leaned forward, resting his hands just above his knees.

‘Nice move, that.’ Macro smiled and thrust the point of his sword back towards the shattered jar of oil. ‘Saved our skins.’

Cato shook his head and drew a deep breath before replying. ‘We’ve only just arrived in the city . . . haven’t even reached the bloody garrison, and already we’ve nearly had our throats cut.’

‘Some welcome.’ Macro grimaced. ‘You know, I’m beginning to wonder if the procurator was having us on.’

Cato looked round at him with a questioning expression.

‘Hearts and minds.’ Macro shook his head. ‘I get the distinct impression that the locals are not warming to the idea of being part of the Roman Empire.’

‘ Hearts and minds?’ Centurion Florianus laughed as ‘he poured the new arrivals some lemon-scented water, and slid the cups across the marble top of the desk in his office. His quarters were in one of the towers of the massive fortress of the Antonia, built by Herod the Great and named after his patron Mark Antony. These days it was garrisoned by the Roman troops charged with policing Jerusalem. From the narrow balcony outside his office he had a fine view out over the temple and the old quarter of the city beyond. He had been roused from his seat by the terrified cries of the crowd and had been witness to Macro and Cato’s desperate skirmish. ‘Hearts and minds,’ he repeated. ‘Did the procurator really say that?’

‘He did.’ Macro nodded. ‘And more besides. A whole speech on the importance of maintaining good relations with the Judaeans.’

‘Good relations?’ Florianus shook his head. ‘That’s a laugh. You can’t have good relations with people who hate your guts. This lot would stick a knife in your back the moment you dared turn away from them. Bloody province is a disaster. Always has been. Even when we let Herod and his heirs run things.’

‘Really?’ Cato cocked his head slightly to the side. ‘That’s not what you hear back in Rome. As far as I was aware the situation in the province was supposed to be improving. At least, that was the official line.’

‘Sure, that’s what they tell people.’ Florianus laughed bitterly. ‘The truth is that the only places we control are the larger towns and cities. All the routes between are plagued by bandits and brigands. And even the towns are riven by political and religious factions jockeying for influence over their people. It’s not helped by the fact there are so many dialects that the only common tongue is Greek, and not many of ‘em speak that. Hardly a month goes by without some trouble flaring up between Idumaeans or Samaritans or someone. It’s getting out of hand. Those people you had a fight with in the Great Courtyard were from one of the gangs hiring themselves out to the political factions. They use the sicarians to kill off rivals, or make a political point – like this morning’s demonstration.’

‘That was a demonstration?’ Macro shook his head in bewilderment. ‘Just making a political point? I’d hate to get into a full scale row with those bastards.’

Florianus smiled briefly before he continued. ‘Of course, the procurators rarely see that side of things from Caesarea. They just sit on their arses and send out directives to the field officers, like me, to make sure the taxes are paid. And when I send them reports on how shit the situation is, they bury them and tell Rome that they’re making great progress on settling things down in the sunny little province of Judaea.’ He shook his head. ‘Can hardly blame them, I suppose. If they told the truth it’d look as though they were losing their grip. The Emperor would have them replaced at once. So you can forget about what you’ve been told back in Rome. Frankly, I doubt we’ll ever tame these Judaeans. Any attempt to Romanise them slips away quicker than crap through a goose.’

Cato pursed his lips. ‘But the new procurator – Tiberius Julius Alexander – he’s a Judaean, and he seemed more Roman than most Romans I’ve ever met.’

‘Of course he does.’ Florianus smiled. ‘He’s from a wealthy family.Wealthy enough to be raised and educated by Greek tutors in expensive Roman academies. After that someone was kind enough to set him up with a glittering commercial career in Alexandria. Surprise, surprise – he ends up rich. Rich enough to be a friend of the Emperor and his freedmen.’ Florianus snorted. ‘Do you know, I’ve spent more time in this land than he has. That’s how much of a local boy he is.The procurator may have pulled the wool over the eyes of Claudius, and that Imperial Secretary of his, Narcissus, but the people here can smell a rat.That’s always been the trouble. Right from the outset, when we made Herod the Great their king. Typical one pattern fits all approach to diplomacy. Just because we’ve managed to impose a king and ruling class in other lands we assumed the same thing would work here. Well, it hasn’t.’

‘Why not?’ Macro interrupted. ‘What’s so special about Judaea?’

‘Ask them!’ Florianus waved his hand towards the balcony. ‘Eight years I’ve been posted here and there’s hardly a man amongst them I can call a friend.’He paused to take a long draught from his cup and set it down with a sharp rap. ‘So you can forget any notion of winning their hearts and minds. It’s not going to happen. They hate the Kittim, as they call us.The best we can do is grab ‘em by the balls and hang on until they cough up the taxes they are due to hand over.’

‘Colourful image.’ Macro shrugged. ‘Reminds me of that bastard Gaius Caligula. What was it he used to say, Cato?’

‘Let them hate, as long as they fear me . . .’

‘That’s it!’ Macro slapped his hand down. ‘Bloody fine piece of advice that, even if Caligula was barking mad. Sounds as if it might be the best approach to these people, if they’re as difficult as you say.’

‘Take it from me,’ Florianus replied seriously. ‘They’re as difficult as I say. If not, worse. I blame that self-righteous religion of theirs. If there’s any slight to their faith they take to the streets and riot. A few years back, during the Passover, one of our men stuck his arse over the battlements and farted at the crowd. Just a crude soldier’s joke you might think, but not to that lot. Scores of deaths later we had to hand the soldier over for execution. Same thing with an optio up at some place near Capernaum who thought he would burn a village’s holy books to teach them a lesson. Nearly caused a revolt. So we let them have the optio and the crowd tore him to pieces. It was the only way to restore order. I warn you, the Judaeans are not prepared to compromise on the slightest detail of their religion. That’s why we have no cohort standards here and no images of the Emperor. They look down their nose at the rest of the world and cling to the idea that they have been singled out for some great purpose.’ Florianus laughed. ‘I mean, look at this place. It’s a dusty little rat-hole. Does it seem to you like the land of a chosen people?’

Macro glanced at Cato and shrugged. ‘Perhaps not.’

Florianus poured himself another cup of water, took a sip and considered his guests thoughtfully.

‘You’re wondering why we’re here.’ Cato smiled.

Florianus shrugged. ‘It had crossed my mind. Since I doubt the Empire can spare the services of two centurions to nursemaid a column of recruits to their new postings. So, if you don’t mind my being blunt, why are you here?’

‘Not to replace you,’ said Macro and smiled. ‘Sorry, old son, but that’s not in the orders.’

‘Damn.’

Cato coughed. ‘It seems that the imperial staff is not as ignorant of the situation in Judaea as you think.’

Florianus raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh?’

‘The Imperial Secretary has heard some worrying reports from his agents in this part of the Empire.’

‘Really?’ Florianus looked steadily at Cato, his face expressionless.

‘More than enough to doubt the reports given out by the procurator. That’s why he sent us here. Narcissus wants the situation assessed with fresh eyes.We’ve already spoken to the procurator, and I think you’re right about him. He simply can’t afford to see things as they are. His staff are well aware of what is going on, but know that Alexander isn’t best pleased by any views that contradict his official line. That’s why we needed to see you. As Narcissus’ chief intelligence agent in the region, you would seem to be the best person to speak to.’

There was a brief, tense silence before Florianus nodded his head slightly. ‘That’s right. I assume that you made no mention of this to the procurator.’

‘What do you take us for?’ Macro said flatly.

‘No disrespect, Centurion, but I have to guard my true role here very carefully. If the Judaean resistance movements got wind of it, I’d be food for the vultures before the day was out. Only after they’d tortured me to get hold of the names of my agents, of course. So you can see why I have to be sure that my secret is quite safe.’

‘It’s safe with us,’ Cato reassured him. ‘Quite safe. Otherwise Narcissus would never have told us.’

Florianus nodded. ‘True . . .Very well then, what can I do for you?’

Now that the air had been cleared Cato could speak freely. ‘Since much of the information Narcissus has gathered comes from your network you’ll be familiar with his most obvious concerns. The most dangerous threat comes from Parthia.’

‘And there’s nothing new there,’ Macro added. ‘As long as Rome has had an interest in the east we’ve been facing those bastards.’

‘Yes,’ Cato continued, ‘that’s right. But the desert forms a natural obstacle between Parthia and Rome. It’s allowed us to have some kind of peace along that frontier for nearly a hundred years now. However, the old rivalry remains, and now it seems that the Parthians are playing politics in Palmyra.’

‘So I’ve heard.’ Florianus scratched his cheek. ‘I have a merchant on the payroll who runs a caravan to the city. He tells me that the Parthians are trying to stir up trouble between members of the royal household at Palmyra. It’s rumoured they’ve promised the crown to Prince Artaxas if he agrees to become an ally of Parthia. He’s denying it of course and the King dare not have him removed without hard evidence, in case he panics the other princes.’