The Eagle In The Sand (20 page)

Canthus drew himself up and stared straight ahead, still unsure of what was happening to him, and Cato felt sick with pity over the man’s fate. Then Parmenion turned to Cato.

‘Get the column moving. Out of the village as quick as you can. I’ll follow on.’

Cato nodded, keen to be as far from this place as he could be. He paced over to his horse, slid awkwardly on to its back and gave the order for the column to move out of the square. At first the crowd stood firm, blocking the route by which the Romans had come. The horsemen at the head of the column walked their beasts steadily towards the silent villagers, and then the priest shouted out to them and with dark expressions they shuffled aside and let the head of the column through. Cato waited for the last of the mounted men to pass and then eased his horse into position ahead of the standard carried at the head of the infantry.

‘What’s going on with Canthus?’ a voice cried out.

Cato swung round and shouted, ‘Silence! Optio, take the name of the next man to utter a word. He’ll be flogged the moment we return to the fort!’

The men trudged on, casting wary glances at the villagers massing on either side of them. But the crowd just stared back, glowering with hatred, and made no threatening moves as the Romans passed. Once he was out of the square Cato tried not to look up at the figures looming above him on either side of the narrow street. Parmenion had been right. If there had been a confrontation then the Romans would have been caught like rats in a trap, showered with missiles and unable to strike back. Cato shuddered at the thought and then stiffened his back and stared straight ahead, refusing to appear intimidated.

When the column had cleared the village Cato eased his mount to the side of the track and called over the centurion in command of the infantry. ‘Get ‘em up that track there. I’ll wait for Parmenion.’

‘Yes, sir.’

As the men marched away Cato sat in the saddle and gazed back at the village.The crowd was no longer silent; an angry chorus of shouts sounded from its heart and Cato willed the veteran to hurry up and quit the place. Just when Cato had gripped his reins and was about to ride back to find him there was the dull thrumming of hooves and Parmenion came trotting out of the alley. A vest of mail armour hung over his saddle horn and a shield hung from straps tied to his belt. His face was set in a grim expression and he barely acknowledged Cato as he rode by and continued towards the column, a short distance off. Cato turned his horse and followed. When they reached the brow of the small hill that Cato had indicated to the centurion the two officers halted and turned to stare down into the centre of the village.

At first all that Cato could see was a dense mass of dark heads and skullcaps, all facing the synagogue expectantly. ‘What did they do to Canthus?’ he asked quietly.

‘I didn’t wait to find out. The priest and some of his men took him as I rode off.’ Parmenion glanced down. ‘He begged me not to leave him.’

Cato did not know what to say.

A fresh roar rose from the village. A small group of men had emerged on the roof of the synagogue, all but one of them clad in the flowing shirts of the local people. Writhing in their midst was a man in the red tunic of a Roman soldier.

‘That’s Canthus!’ someone called out, and the nearest soldiers glanced back over their shoulders.

‘Silence there!’ Parmenion bellowed. ‘Mouths shut, eyes front and keep marching!’

There was a thin scream in the distance and a fresh roar from the crowd. Cato looked back and saw that Canthus had his arms pinioned tightly behind him. Someone had wrenched the tunic over his head and he stood naked above the crowd. Another man bent down to pick something up, and as he rose to his feet the sun glinted brilliantly off a curved blade. A reaping tool, Cato realised. As he and Parmenion watched, the man swung the blade into the Roman soldier’s side, and then wrenched it across his stomach in a sweeping movement. Blood and intestines burst out from Canthus’s body and spilled down the front of the synagogue, leaving a bright red smear on the white plaster wall. The crowd let out a shrill cry of delight that echoed up the slope and Cato felt the bile rise in the back of his throat.

‘Come on,’ Parmenion said huskily. ‘We’ve seen enough. Let’s go.We need to reach the next village before nightfall.’

‘The next village?’ Cato shook his head. ‘After that? Surely we’d better get back to the fort and report to Scrofa.’

‘Why? Because of Canthus? The fool should have known better.We still have our orders to carry out, Cato.’ Parmenion pulled his reins harshly, turning his horse away from the scene below. ‘Maybe next time, our men will have learned a lesson.’

We’ve got ourselves into a right nasty situation here,’ Macro mused, when Cato had finished telling him about the patrol through the local villages. Parmenion had taken hostages from every one of them, including Heshaba, and now forty men were languishing in a store shed, fed and watered, but forced to stay inside. In the days that followed the incident at Beth Mashon Parmenion had made no mention of the fate of Canthus and curtly rebuffed any attempt by Cato to raise the matter.The death of their comrade had soured the rest of the men and their grim mood was reflected in their treatment of the other villagers they encountered, with the result that, far from subduing the locals, Scrofa’s measures had made them hate Rome even more. Cato had little doubt that the ranks of Bannus’ band of brigands would be swelled in coming days by young men from the villages visited by Parmenion.

Cato had stripped down to his loincloth and was busy washing the dust and grime from his skin. He was as sombre as Macro had ever seen him. Macro leaned back on his bed and gazed at the ceiling. ‘I don’t see how we can do any good here, Cato. Scrofa’s got most of the officers involved in his protection scam; the rest of ‘em are trying not to notice and losing heart. The men are pissed off that they aren’t getting a share of the spoils, and now it seems that Scrofa is pushing the locals towards open revolt. If that happens then the Second Illyrian is going to land right in the shit, at least while Scrofa is in command, which won’t be for much longer, I hope. We should hear from the procurator any day now, confirming my appointment.’

‘Assuming the message got through to Caesarea,’ Cato said quietly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘If the officer tasked with carrying the message was one of those on the take, I suspect he would be in no hurry to see Scrofa replaced. It would be an easy thing to do to lose the message.’

‘He wouldn’t dare.’

‘We’ll see. And what if the message was lost in an ambush? Or what if the message got through to the procurator, but the orders were lost on the return journey?’

Macro propped himself up on one elbow and stared at Cato. ‘Cheery little devil, aren’t you?’

‘Just pointing out the possibilities.’ Cato shrugged, and dabbed at his skin with a woollen cloth. ‘Besides, you’ve hardly mentioned half our problems.’

‘Do, please, enlighten me. I could do with some light relief.’

‘All right.’ Cato sat down on the couch opposite Macro’s and sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. ‘As you say – the cohort’s in poor shape. The locals are after our blood. If Longinus really is trying to provoke a revolt then he’s almost got what he’s after. And if it happens then we’ll be facing Bannus with an enlarged force, armed to the teeth, with little prospect of receiving any reinforcements, or even the despatch of a relief column to help us reach safety. My main worry is Bannus. At the moment he is a brigand chief, but if he manages to raise a force large enough to take us on, then there’s every chance that he will try to present himself to the Judaeans as the mashiah. Only the latest in a long line of claimants to the title, of course. But if he has an army of thousands, equipped with Parthian armour and weapons, then he’s going to look very credible to his people. If the rising spreads beyond this area, the whole of Judaea could join in the revolt.’

‘Oh, sure!’ Macro laughed. ‘Come now, Cato, that’s just not going to happen.’

‘Why not?’

‘They wouldn’t stand a chance. A bunch of farmers and sheep herders up against professional soldiers? Auxiliary troops admittedly, but still good enough to scare a bunch of peasants back into line. Even if they were thinking of rebelling, they’d know that the Syrian legions were on their doorstep. No amount of rebels would be a match for the legions. As far as the local people are concerned, the moment they get stroppy the legions are going to jump on them and kick them into the dust.’

‘Yes,’ Cato conceded. ‘I’m sure they believe that . . .’

‘But?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Cato frowned.’Ever since we arrived in the province, I’ve had the feeling that this place is like a tinderbox. One spark could set it off, and Judaea will go up in flames. If Narcissus’ suspicions about Longinus turn out to be well founded, then there won’t be any help coming from Syria.’

‘Yes. But Bannus and his boys don’t know that.’

‘Don’t they?’ Cato looked up. ‘I wonder.’

Macro snorted. ‘What are you suggesting now? That Longinus has cut a deal with some hairy-arsed barbarian bandit hiding out in the hills? Don’t you think that’s a bit far-fetched?’

‘Not really.’ Cato stared back wearily. ‘If Bannus knows that Longinus will refuse to march, then he can launch his revolt in the knowledge that he will only be opposed by auxiliary troops. That’s quite an incentive to action. And Longinus gets his revolt, and justifies his request for reinforcements. Both men get what they want. Coincidence? I think not.’

Macro was silent for a moment. ‘A Roman general bargaining with a common bandit . . . that’s quite a nasty thought.’

‘No. Just straightforward politics.’

‘But how would Longinus have got in touch with Bannus?’

‘He must have some kind of intermediary. A dangerous job to be sure, but at the right price I’m sure Longinus could have found someone to approach Bannus and make him aware of the Governor’s offer not to intervene. All that would remain to be done would be to provoke the locals into rebellion, and Scrofa and Postumus have been doing their best to fan the flames of discontent.’

‘Fan the flames of discontent?’ Macro smiled. ‘You’ve not been writing poetry on the sly, have you?’

‘Just a figure of speech. Be serious, Macro.’ Cato concentrated again before continuing. ‘The thing is, I’m not sure that Longinus is fully aware of what he is unleashing. It seems that Bannus has also been in contact with the Parthians. So far I imagine they’ve promised him some weapons for his men. Of course, they’d never own up to it. Anything they can do to undermine Roman power in the east is all part of the great game as far as they are concerned. However, if they got wind of an arrangement between Bannus and Longinus then they’d instantly see the chance to settle the score with Rome once and for all.The moment Longinus leaves Syria with the eastern legions at his back, Parthia would have a free hand in the region. If they moved quickly enough they could overrun Syria, Armenia, Judaea, Nabataea, and maybe even Egypt.’ Cato’s eyes widened as the implications of what he had said hit home. ‘Egypt! If they took that then they’d have a stranglehold on the grain that feeds Rome.They could force peace on Rome on almost any terms they wanted.’

‘Hold on there!’ Macro raised his hand. ‘You’re jumping at shadows. Remember, Cato, you’re just outlining possibilities.’ He smiled. ‘There’s still a long way to go before the situation represents any serious threat to Rome.’

Cato couldn’t help smiling at the way his thoughts had run away with him. Nevertheless, there was a great deal at stake, and not much time to try to do something about it. Until confirmation of Macro’s command of the Second Illyrian came through there was little action that the two officers could take except observing events as they unfolded. ‘All right then, I’ll keep my mind focused on the here and now.’

‘For the moment, that would be best.’

Cato nodded, and then reached for a spare linen tunic and pulled it over his head. ‘What about you? How did your patrol go with Postumus?’

‘Aside from a bit of a punch-up with some desert raiders, I was let in on the little arrangement that Scrofa and most of his officers are operating with the caravans from Nabataea. It’s a protection racket, pure and simple. They blackmail the caravan owners into making a payment or let the desert raiders carve them up and make off with their goods. Seems that almost everyone out here is doing business with the enemy. Postumus was kind enough to offer to cut me into the deal. Needless to say I politely declined, tempting as it was.’

‘I bet.’

‘Anyway, I’ve had an idea about how we can put an end to their arrangement. But I have to take command here first, and I’ll need to get in touch with some people in Petra.’

Cato looked at him curiously.’Hardly been here a few days and you’re already in with the locals. I’m impressed.’

‘So you should be.’ Macro looked pleased with himself. ‘Best idea I’ve had in ages, and I can’t wait to see the raiders’ faces when they try it on with the next caravan to pass through our turf.’

Macro carried on smiling and Cato finally gave in.’All right. I’m intrigued. Now would you care to explain your brilliant plan?’

There was a loud knock at the door, and Cato shook his head in frustration as he called out, ‘Come in!’

The door swung open and one of Scrofa’s clerks stepped inside, stiffened his back and saluted.’The prefect sends his compliments, and requires you at headquarters immediately.’

Cato and Macro exchanged a look before the latter responded. ‘All right. We’re coming. Soon as Centurion Cato has finished dressing.’

‘Sir?’ The clerk frowned. ‘I was only instructed to summon you.’

‘Well now you have. And I’ll deal with it from here. Now go.’

‘Yes, sir.’The clerk saluted and turned to leave.

Cato turned to Macro. ‘What’s up?’

‘I imagine Scrofa wants to resolve a confrontation I had with Centurion Postumus while we were out on patrol.’

Cato did not hide his exasperation. ‘Oh, fine. Another fight?’