The Eagle In The Sand (32 page)

Cato was looking at Macro’s torch and Macro noticed the excited glint in his friend’s eyes that always accompanied the sudden rush of thought when Cato came up with one of his hare-brained schemes. He felt his heart sink.

‘Let me lead a raid, sir.’

‘Are you so tired of living already, Cato?’

‘No, I’m just not terribly keen on sitting here, waiting to be killed. Besides, I think there’s a way of safely passing through our defence lines . . .’

‘Are you sure about this?’ Macro said softly as he looked at Cato.The young centurion had blackened his face and the rest of the flesh that was not covered by the dark brown tunic that he wore. His sword belt was buckled round his waist and a haversack hung from his shoulder containing a tinderbox and several small pots of oil. Behind him stood a party of twenty men, similarly equipped for the night’s work.

‘I’ll be fine, sir. Just make sure those lamps are kept alight.’ Cato nodded up to the rampart where the wan glow of an oil lamp flickered in the darkness. Back at headquarters a second lamp had been lit and placed in the highest window in line with the lamp on the wall and the narrow path through the screen of traps and obstacles that stretched out beyond the north wall of the fort.

Macro clasped his friend’s arm. ‘Do what you have to do and come straight back. Don’t get carried away. I know what you’re like.’

Cato grinned. ‘Trust me, sir. I don’t want to be out there any longer than I have to.’

Macro gave Cato’s arm a brief squeeze. ‘Good luck then.’

He stepped back and nodded to the sentry. As quietly as he could, the sentry slid back the bolts of the sally port and eased the door open.There was a faint grating squeal from the hinges and Macro sucked in his breath at the sound that seemed so loud in the stillness behind the wall. The sentry paused for a moment and then opened the door more slowly, until there was a sufficient gap for Cato and his men to file through.

‘Come on,’ Cato whispered, and with a last reassuring glance towards the dark shape of Macro he crept out of the fort. The sky was moonless and dim grey strands of cloud covered most of the stars so the landscape was wrapped in darkness – perfect cover for Cato and his party. Of course, the same lack of illumination was the main danger facing the Romans. It would be easy enough to stumble into an enemy sentry or a patrol in such conditions. That was why Cato was determined to proceed as cautiously as possible. As the last man exited the fort the sally port was gently closed behind them. Cato waited a moment for any sign or sound that their presence had been detected, and then he beckoned to the man behind him and began to creep along the foot of the wall. In the distance they could hear the sounds of the men at the main gate, hurriedly trying to repair some of the damage done to the gatehouse during the day. The night’s labour would be undone in the first few hours if the bombardment continued in the morning, but it would gain the garrison a little more time. Cato headed towards the narrow path that led from the north face of the fort.

As they reached the point where the lamp glowed faintly on the wall Cato halted, and let his men catch up. Already he was shivering, partly from the penetrating cold of the air and partly from the state of nervous excitation as he led his men on this dangerous raid into the enemy camp. He took a deep breath to try to calm his anxiety, and then headed down into the ditch that surrounded the fort, and climbed up the far side. Picking the black mass of a distant rocky outcrop as a landmark he began to feel his way towards it on hands and knees. His left hand recoiled from contact with the sharp point of a caltrop and he felt ahead and soon found another to give him some sense of that side of the passage.They had crept over a hundred paces from the wall, by Cato’s reckoning, before he glanced back and saw the lamp at headquarters as well, almost perfectly aligned with the other one on the wall. He adjusted his position until the two lamps were in line, and then continued forward slowly.

It took a long time to reach the limit of the defences that Macro had prepared and Cato felt a hand on his shoulder as the man behind grasped him suddenly. Cato turned and saw his arm pointing away to the right. Less than a hundred yards away Cato could just make out the silhouettes of two Judaeans against the marginally lighter night sky.There was a snatch of conversation and laughter and the two figures moved slowly away, continuing their patrol around the fort’s perimeter. The small party of Romans continued forward until they were well clear of the defences and then Cato turned parallel to the fort’s wall and led them towards the red gloom of the fires in the enemy camp.

All his senses strained to detect any presence around him, any sign of danger.The cold had crept into his body and now his chest felt tight and he could do nothing to contain his shivering as they approached the enemy, crouching down as they moved slowly through the darkness. At length he saw the perpendicular frames of the onagers some distance away, picked out by the glow from a nearby fire. He halted his men and indicated to them to form up round him in a loose circle.

‘Sycorax?’ he whispered.

‘Here, sir.’

Cato turned towards the dark figure kneeling a short distance away. ‘The carts and their animals are over that way.’ He indicated the mass of a rise in the ground a quarter of a mile from the onagers.’Get rid of the sentries and start a blaze. Make it as large as you can and once you have their attention make as much noise as you can.Then get back to the fort.’

‘Don’t worry, sir. We know what to do.’

‘Good luck then. Off you go.’

Cato watched as Sycorax and his men shuffled off and were swallowed up by the night.Then he waved his men on and they crept closer to the onagers. As they slowly got nearer, the sounds of the enemy camp grew louder and Cato feared that the noise would mask the position of the men guarding the onagers, even as it might help to conceal the approach of Cato and his party. As soon as he saw the first man standing by the onagers, Cato halted his men.

‘Wait here.’

Lowering himself on to his stomach Cato slithered forward, head raised slightly as he scanned the ground ahead. He worked his way to one side of the onagers and saw that there were at least ten men beside the siege engines, an even match for Cato and his auxiliaries should the guards not be tempted to abandon their post when Sycorax started his diversion. Cato crawled back to his men and they lay in the dark and waited.

It was not long before there was a shout in the distance and a moment later the flicker of flames as a heavy cart was consumed by wild tongues of orange and yellow. In the glow cast round the cart Cato could see horses and mules straining at their tethers as they desperately tried to escape the heat. The shrill braying and whinnying rose to a terrified pitch. He turned back to the onagers. The guards had all moved to one side to watch the fire. Beyond them a horn blasted out in the enemy camp and suddenly the dark floor of the desert teemed with figures flowing towards the blaze. One of the guards shouted, and ran a few paces towards the flames, then paused and gestured angrily for the others to follow. One shook his head and shouted back, stabbing his finger to the ground at his feet, refusing to move. But a handful of others rushed to join the first man and they ran off into the night.

Cato turned to his men. ‘Follow me. No man strikes until I say.’

Rising to a crouch, Cato ran towards the onager furthest from the remaining guards and with a soft padding of footsteps his men followed. When they reached the onager Cato took off his haversack and opened it.

‘As soon as I’ve got this one alight take down those guards. Draw your swords.’

The was a quiet chorus of rasps as the men slowly took their swords from their scabbards and held them ready. While two of them started dousing the onager’s frame and torsion ropes with oil, others found some spare rope and combustibles to place under the frame. Cato prepared some carbonised linen in his tinderbox together with some shreds of dried bark.Then he struck his flints. After the first few frustrating attempts a small shower of sparks caught on the linen and he blew softly over them until, with a tiny pop, a small lick of flame appeared. Carefully he drew some of the bark over to feed the flame and then when there was a healthy crackle he lowered it to the kindling materials. There was a maddening delay before the flames spread from the tinderbox, but at last the flames were licking up from the base of the onager and spread rapidly as the oil caught fire and bathed the surrounding area in a lurid glow.

There was a shout of alarm from the remaining guards as they turned towards the blaze.

‘Get ‘em!’ Cato shouted to his men and they rose up and charged the guards. Cato snatched up a burning length of wood from the fire licking up round the onager and raced after the rest of the incendiary group making for the other siege engine. There was no need to use the tinderbox this time and Cato thrust the burning piece of wood into the kindling his men had swiftly packed under the torsion ropes. The fire caught quickly and Cato watched it long enough to make sure that it was well ablaze before he drew his sword and looked round.

The guards had been quickly cut down by his men, but in the light cast by the flames Cato could see more of the enemy streaming out of the darkness towards the burning onagers. It was vital that he held them off long enough for the eager flames to consume as much of the siege weapons as possible.

‘On me!’ he called out. ‘On me, Second Illyrian!’

As his men came running up Cato formed them into a loose cordon in front of the burning onagers and they stood ready, swords out and slightly crouched as they prepared to take on the enemy rushing into the rippling glow of the flames. With the fire at their backs the Romans were dense black silhouettes casting long dark shadows before them and the first of the Judaeans wavered at the sight.Then, with a snarled shout of anger and contempt, a Parthian thrust his way through them and charged directly at the Roman line. The auxiliary facing him braced for the impact, then at the last moment suddenly kicked sand and gravel into the Parthian’s face. Instinctively the Parthian hesitated and raised his arm to protect his eyes.The instinct killed him, as the Roman pounced forward and thrust his sword into the man’s guts, then ripped the blade free with a ferocious roar. The Parthian slumped to his knees, glancing down in shock at the blood and intestines bulging from the terrible wound.

Behind him the enemy stopped dead in their tracks, not willing to take on the Romans, and Cato saw his chance. He drew a deep breath and roared, ‘Charge!’

He ran straight forward, his men following him an instant later, adding their cries to his. Just before he reached the enemy Cato’s mind was blazing with crazy rage and he sensed a current of energy, like fire, coursing through his veins. As he swung his sword in a quick cut at the nearest man, small, dark-featured and terrified, Cato heard himself cry out in meaningless rage.The man threw an arm up, fingers snatching towards the hilt of Cato’s sword as it swept towards him. The edge of the blade crushed the man’s hand and swept on and down, shattering his collar bone as it cut deep into his shoulder. He cried out in fear and pain, and Cato wrenched his blade free and thrust the man aside as he looked for his next foe. On either side his small force had ploughed into the enemy and were cutting and hacking at them in wild abandon, screaming and shouting all the time as they were caught in the bright red glow of the flames and the leaping shadows of other men.

Cato fixed his glare on a broad man with a long dark beard. He carried a heavy curved sword in both hands, and as soon as he saw that the Roman had singled him out he swung it over his head and rushed towards Cato. The side of the blade gleamed a fiery orange as it caught the light of the flames, then it was a blur as it arced down towards Cato’s head. He knew he could not parry the blow. It would mean certain death to even attempt it. Instead he sprang to one side, colliding with another man, and both fell, sprawling on the ground. The curved sword thudded into the ground at Cato’s side, striking sparks off the edge of a small rock. Cato lashed out with his boot, feeling the nailed sole strike the man’s wrist hard.With a cry of pain the Judaean loosened his grip and the heavy sword dropped to the ground. But before Cato could strike a killing blow, the man he had collided with threw himself on top of Cato, desperate fingers tearing at his throat and face. Cato’s sword hand was pinned to his side; he clenched his left hand into a fist and smashed it against the side of the man’s head. The blow made him gasp, but he clung on to Cato with gritted teeth and his thumbs clamped down on Cato’s windpipe with agonising pressure.

‘No!’ Cato growled. ‘No you fucking don’t!’

He brought his knee up hard between the man’s legs and felt the kneecap thud into his genitals. The man gasped and rolled his eyes and for an instant his hands loosened their grip.With a convulsive heave of his whole body Cato thrust him off, and then stabbed his sword into the man’s side as soon as his right arm was free. The blade slid out of the wound with a wet sucking noise and Cato scrambled back on to his feet. On either side his men had cut down several more of the enemy, but already many more were appearing in the glow of the flames. Far too many to take on, and with the confidence of numbers the enemy surged towards the Romans. Cato realised that he and his men had done all that they could. To remain here for another instant was to invite death.

‘Fall back!’ he cried out. ‘Go!’

He turned and raced away from the enemy, between the burning onagers, and back towards the safety of the darkness. His men hurried after him, breathing heavily from their exertions and excitement. The enemy came on, rushing after the Romans in a wave. Some realised what their true priority was and leaped towards the blazing onagers, heedless of the scorching heat as they desperately struggled to pull away the blazing wood piled round the thick timbers of the frames. A few scooped up sand and tried to smother the flames, while others pulled off their cloaks and tried to beat the flames out. But more, many more, were filled with a desire for revenge on those Romans who had dared to venture from the fort to attack their camp.They charged past the burning onagers and rushed after Cato and his men, pursuing them into the darkness beyond the orange loom of the flames.