The Eagle In The Sand (37 page)

There was no immediate threat and Macro looked round again and saw that the auxiliaries were still holding the enemy back. They had not been able to gain a foothold anywhere on the wall and Cato had them stalled in the breach of the inner wall. Now was the time to break their will. Macro’s toe stubbed against a loose rock on the fighting platform and he glanced down at it in anger, then smiled. He sheathed his bloody sword and snatched the rock up. Taking quick aim he hurled it into the mob pressing up against Cato and his men. The rock struck a man on the side of the head and his eyes rolled up and he slumped back as he lost consciousness, blood coursing from the tear in his scalp. Macro snatched up another rock, from the wall this time, and hurled it into the crowd. He looked across the gap to a handful of auxiliaries staring forward, waiting to be attacked, while the ladder parties were trying to assault the wall a little further away.

‘You men!’ Macro bellowed across the gap and they turned to him at once, conditioned to the imperative tone of the parade ground. ‘Use rocks, javelins, whatever you can get your hands on and hit them. Like this!’

Macro looked down, saw the enemy’s sword, grabbed it and hurled it into the mob, grinning with satisfaction as the blade struck another attacker in the shoulder. The auxiliaries began to pluck loose chunks of masonry from the wall and rained them down on to the heads of the enemy packed helplessly below them. It was impossible to miss, and the Judaeans could only watch as the Romans picked them off in a killing frenzy. A few of them tried to hurl stones back but were thwarted by the men crowding around them. At last those in the less compact part of the crowd outside the breach began to give way.At once the pressure of the back ranks eased and Cato and his men began to creep forward, heaving their shoulders against the insides of their shields. As the pressure in front of them eased they increased their pace, bearing the attackers back into and through the breach. As the crest of Cato’s helmet appeared on the far side of the inner wall and then more Romans appeared, a low moan of despair rose up from the enemy ranks. They began to back away, even as the more resolute of their comrades screamed at them to keep fighting. But once the contagion of fear and uncertainty spread there was no stopping it, and the enemy fell back from the inner wall, clambering awkwardly up the rubble slope and out of the fort.

As they retreated, Cato seized the chance to press home the advantage, and waved his troops on.

‘They’re running for it! Get after them! Cut ‘em down!’

The men poured out of the breach behind him and quickly spread out across the body-strewn area in front of the wall as they chased after the enemy. Moments ago the Judaeans had been pressing home their attack and now they were fleeing for their lives. Cato was shocked by the sudden reversal in the tide of the battle, and then he regained control of himself and ran forward with his men, chasing the enemy back up the rubble slope. He reached the crest and paused at the sight of the enemy streaming away from the fort like rats in the loom of the flames from the fort and the torches of the enemy lines. He could not risk this brief moment of victory rushing to his men’s heads, or they would be annihilated. Quickly he sheathed his sword and cupped a hand to his mouth.

‘Second Illyrian!’ he bellowed as loud as he could. ‘Second Illyrian, on me! Back inside the fort! Now!’

The nearest men heard and turned to respond, reluctantly giving up the chance to slaughter more of the enemy. A few others carried on a few paces before their blood rage faded and they retreated towards the fort. But a handful, maddened with battle rage, charged on and were lost amid the dark shadows of the Judaean ranks. Cato waited for the last of his men to clamber down the rubble slope, then turned to follow them, ducking as a slingshot zipped close overhead. Macro was waiting for him in front of the breach, grinning.

‘I tell you, Cato, you’re losing it. A few more wild charges like that and I’m sending you into the arena. You’d scare any gladiator out of his skin.’

Cato felt himself blush, instantly angry that he had made himself look so foolhardy.

‘Oh, come now.’ Macro clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You and the lads did well. They won’t be coming back again in a hurry.’

‘Maybe not in a hurry,’ Cato conceded. ‘But they will be back.’

‘Of course they will.’ Macro nodded over his shoulder at the flames rising up from the buildings a short distance behind the inner wall. ‘Meanwhile we’ve got other problems to worry about . . .’

They made their way back through the breach and went to find Centurion Parmenion. The veteran officer was working alongside his men pulling down the cohort’s stables in an attempt to create a firebreak so that there was still a way through to the rest of the fort for the men defending the breach. A short distance away fire was consuming the granary and the roaring of the flames was punctuated by explosions of sparks from the building’s timbers. Cato and Macro felt the heat hit them as they approached Parmenion and Macro had to squint as his eyes began to sting. Parmenion ordered his men to continue the work as he made his report to the prefect. His face was streaked with sweat and grime.

Macro pointed towards the stables. ‘Where are the horses?’

‘Scrofa took them to the far side of the fort, sir. He’s tethering them along the east wall.’

‘Fair enough,’ Macro conceded. ‘Good job. Better move the hostages there as well, in case the fire spreads to their cells. Now then, what’s the news on the fire?’

‘We’re not going to be able to stop it spreading, sir. This firebreak’s only going to divide it, keep an avenue open for you and the boys on the inner wall, if you get pushed back.’

‘If we lose the wall, we lose the fort,’ Macro responded bitterly.

‘Maybe not,’ said Cato. ‘Not immediately at least. If we lose the wall then we have to use the fire as the next line of defence. It won’t burn itself out for some hours.’

‘And then?’ Macro tipped his head to one side. ‘Well? What then?’

It was a good question, Cato realised.The answer was straightforward. ‘Then they march over the ashes and massacre us. Or we try to make a break for it. Leave a few men behind to make it seem as if the wall is still being defended, while the rest of us head out of the eastern gate and try to get as far from the fort as possible before daybreak. After that, head north to the Decapolis.’

Parmenion shook his head. ‘They’d cut us to pieces if they caught us in the open. Those Parthians would pepper us with arrows so that we’d have to stop and cover ourselves with shields. They’d pin us down until the rest of Bannus’ force turned up and finished off what was left. Battle of Carrhae, all over again.’

‘All right, then,’ Cato responded. ‘We try something else. Something they can’t possibly expect.’ His eyes gleamed with excitement.

‘Here we go again,’ Macro muttered, turning to Parmenion. ‘Brace yourself . . . All right, Cato, let’s hear it.’

‘If we stay on the wall, the flames will either get us or force us out of cover so that we’d have to face them on the ground outside the walls. If we retreat through the firebreak and close it off with burning debris, then we’re just postponing being slaughtered a few hours.’

‘Yes. So?’

‘So we leave some men to man the walls, take the cohort out of the eastern gate, circle round and strike at their camp.’ Cato looked from one man to the other. ‘Well?’

Parmenion shook his head. ‘That is the most hare-brained idea I’ve ever heard. No offence, or anything.’

‘None taken. But what’s the alternative?You’re already agreed that we can’t just wait and see what happens. Bannus won’t be expecting us to take the initiative.’

‘With good reason!’ Parmenion snorted. ‘He outnumbers us four or five to one.’

‘Which is why he won’t even think it is us.’

Parmenion frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I think I know what the lad’s thinking,’ Macro interrupted. ‘We hit them from the north, making as much noise about it as we can, and Bannus might just think that it’s a relief force from Syria. Is that it, Cato?’

Cato nodded. ‘They just might.’

Parmenion chuckled mirthlessly. ‘And when morning comes and they see exactly how few we are, they just might take us for lunatics.’

Cato ignored him and kept his attention focused on his friend. ‘We could carry it off, sir. If we strike from the darkness, the enemy will have no idea of the size of the force attacking them.They’ll assume the worst and panic. It’ll take a while before they even guess at the truth, and by then we could have scattered them, burned the surviving onager and sacked their camp. It’ll take Bannus days to recover.’

Macro was not yet fully convinced. ‘What if it goes wrong? If they don’t run, but stand their ground, then we’ll be given a good kicking.’

‘No worse than if we just stayed put and waited for a good kicking here in the fort.’

‘Good point,’ Macro conceded. ‘All right, we’ll give it a try. After all, we’ve nothing to lose.’

‘Except our sanity,’ Parmenion muttered. ‘And our lives.’

Macro glanced round at his officers, all those who could be spared for the operation. Parmenion and the others were manning the west wall and towers, doing their best to move around as much as possible to give the impression that there were far more men defending the breach than was the case. Macro was briefing the rest of the officers in the courtyard of the headquarters building. During the night Scrofa, Postumus and the men of the reserve squadron had been busy creating a firebreak along the route that bisected the fort, pulling down buildings on either side and carrying off the combustibles.The fire had raged across half of the fort and finally seemed to be shrinking in intensity now that it had exhausted its fuel. Unfortunately, not before it had gutted the prefect’s quarters. All the fine murals and furniture that Scrofa had surrounded himself with had already been consumed by flames.

‘The trick of it will be to get our men into position without alerting the pickets that Bannus has established round the fort.That’s why we have had to wait for the fire to die down – can’t risk them seeing us quit the gate. A party of scouts will go out ahead of the main force and clear the pickets on the north side so they can’t give any warning to Bannus. We’ll have to go carefully until we clear the belt of defences, but then I want the cavalry to run down the pickets closer to the enemy camp. Centurions Scrofa and Postumus will be in command of the cavalry squadrons. Once the pickets are dealt with they will move half a mile north of the enemy camp and form up on the flanks. Centurion Cato and I will follow with the infantry. When the line is complete we’ll approach in silence for as long as possible and when I give the signal we sound every horn we have. Make sure the men give it full voice when they respond. I want Bannus to think every Roman soldier between here and Armenia is charging down on him. Tell your men to go in hard.They’re to charge on until they hear the recall.At that point everyone is to retire through the breach, covered by the cavalry.’ Macro opened his hands. ‘That’s it. Any questions?’

Centurion Postumus raised his arm.

‘Yes?’ Macro growled.

‘Who dreamed up this nightmare?’

Macro glared at him for a moment before he turned back to address the rest of the cohort’s officers. ‘That’s it then. I know it’s a tough job, but we’re in a bitch of a situation, gentlemen, and there’s not much else we can do. If this works, then we’ll have bought ourselves a few more days, and perhaps frightened off many of the men Bannus managed to recruit from the local villages. All right then. Get your kit and join your units. Dismissed!’

The officers tramped out of the courtyard and Cato edged closer to Macro and muttered, ‘I think we need to keep an eye on Postumus, sir.’

‘Fair enough, but he’s in the same boat as us. He fights or dies. We can trust him that far at least.’

Cato glanced at Macro wearily. ‘If you say so.’

Macro frowned. ‘How long since you had any rest, Cato?’

‘Not for two days, at least. Same as you.’

‘I can take it, but you look done in.’

‘I am,’ Cato admitted. ‘But there’s nothing I can do about it until after the attack on their camp.’

‘No.You can sleep afterwards maybe.’

‘Yes. Afterwards.’ Cato forced a smile. ‘One way or another.’

The Roman column slipped out of the eastern gate in the third hour before dawn.The men had blackened their faces and limbs with ash and charred wood. Since they would have to march quickly into position and then chase down the more lightly armed men in Bannus’ army, they had been ordered to leave their body armour behind. Each man carried his shield and was armed with a javelin and short sword, and wore a strip of white linen on his sword arm for identification. As the four cavalry squadrons trotted ahead and then turned to the left and moved round the fort’s defences, the infantry advanced as quickly as they could, out of step, so as not to give themselves away by the rhythmic tramp of Roman army boots. Macro and Cato marched at the head of the column. Cato was shivering in the cold night air and hoped that the march round the fort would warm him up so that he didn’t have to clench his teeth to stop them chattering. The auxiliaries had been threatened with dreadful punishment if they dared to speak and the column moved forward in silence, only the noise of their boots breaking the hush, until they turned off the stony track and then the sand muffled the sound almost entirely.

Almost at once they came across two bodies, sprawled on the ground. Macro halted the column and paused to turn one over with his boot.

‘Seems that the scouts have done a good job,’ he said in an undertone. ‘I just hope they get them all without any trouble. If not . . .’

‘They’ll do fine,’ Cato reassured him. ‘Every man in the cohort knows what’s at stake.’

‘It’s down to the gods then,’ Macro concluded as he raised his arm and waved the column forward.’I just hope Fortuna doesn’t think I’ve used up my allotment of luck.’

‘Of course you haven’t,’ Cato replied softly. He had grown used to Macro’s superstitious tendencies, and had long since given up any attempt to talk his friend round to a more rational view of the world. Cato even doubted that there were any such things as gods. But the belief in them certainly served a purpose, helping most men to bridge the gap between knowledge and experience, and Cato had resigned himself to having to humour the superstitions of others, and even be seen to go along with them.