The Legion

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Anything to report?’ asked Macro.

  ‘Yes, sir. The last barrel of salted mutton was broached this morning. The hard bread will be exhausted tomorrow and I’ve halved the water ration.’ The trierarch refrained from offering any advice on the troubling supply situation. The decision on what to do about it was not his, nor even Macro’s. It was up to the prefect to give the orders to put into the nearest port and reprovision the ships.

  ‘Hmmm.’ Macro frowned. Both men glanced towards the leading warship, as if trying to read the mind of Prefect Cato. The prefect had conducted the hunt with a hard-driving obsession. One that Macro could understand easily enough. He had served with Cato for some years now, as his superior until very recently. Cato’s promotion had been deserved, Macro accepted readily enough, but it still felt peculiar to have their former relationship inverted. Cato was in his early twenties, a slender, sinewy figure that belied his toughness and courage. He also possessed the brains to plot his way through the dangers that had faced them over recent years. If Macro had to choose a man to follow, it would be someone like Cato. Having served for nearly fifteen years in the Roman legions before being promoted to the rank of centurion, Macro had enough experience to spot potential and yet he had been wrong about Cato, he reflected with a rueful smile. When Cato had trudged into the fortress of the Second Legion on the Rhine frontier, Macro had thought that the skinny youth was hardly likely to survive the hard training that lay ahead. Yet Cato had proved him wrong. He had shown determination, intelligence and above all courage and had saved Macro’s life in his first skirmish with a German tribe raiding across the great river that marked the boundary of the Empire. Since then, Cato had proved himself to be a first-rate soldier again and again, as well as the closest friend Macro had ever had. Now, Cato had won promotion to the rank of prefect and for the first time he was Macro’s superior. It was an arrangement that both men were struggling to get used to.

  The prefect’s determination to track down Ajax was as much motivated by a desire for revenge as it was by the need to carry out his orders. Even though he had been tasked with taking Ajax alive if possible, and delivering him to Rome in chains, Cato felt little inclination to do so. During the slave rebellion on Crete, Ajax had captured the woman betrothed to Cato. Julia had been kept in a cage, and left to endure in her own filth and in rags while Ajax had tormented her with the prospect of her torture and death. Macro had been captured at the same time and had shared the same cage, and his thirst for vengeance was almost as powerful as that of his superior.

  The trierarch cleared his throat. ‘Do you think he’ll give the order to put in for supplies today, sir?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Macro shrugged. ‘After yesterday’s little incident, I’m not so sure.’

  The trierarch nodded. The previous evening the two ships had made towards a small coastal village to anchor for the night. As they had approached the shore the inhabitants of the cluster of mud-brick buildings had fled inland, taking their valuables and as much food as they could carry. A party of legionaries had cautiously searched the village and had come back empty-handed. No one had remained behind and any food had been carefully concealed. The only sign of something out of the ordinary was a number of freshly dug graves and the burned-out remains of a handful of buildings. With no one to interrogate, the legionaries had returned to the ships and during the night they had been attacked with slingshot. Macro had only been able to see a handful of dark figures against the lighter loom of the beach. The rap of stones on the hulls and decks and the plop of the shot landing in the water had continued all night. Two of the marines had been injured before the rest of the men were ordered to keep down. The sporadic attack ended shortly before dawn and the two ships had set sail at first light to continue searching for Ajax.

  ‘Deck there!’ the lookout called from the top of the mast. ‘The Sobek is spilling her wind!’

  The trierach and Macro stared forward. The sail of the other ship was billowing as the crew released the main sheets to slow the ship.

  ‘Looks like the prefect wants to confer,’ the trierarch suggested.

  ‘We’ll know soon enough. Bring us alongside,’ ordered Macro. Then he turned and made his way back to the cabin to retrieve his sword and vine cane and put on his boots so that he would be more presentable in front of his superior. By the time he had returned to the deck, his own ship, the Ibis, was closing up on the other vessel’s quarter. He could see Cato at the stern, cupping his hands together as he called across the swell.

  ‘Centurion Macro! Come aboard!’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ Macro shouted back and nodded to the trierarch. ‘Polemo, I’ll need the tender.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’ The officer turned to order his sailors to raise the ship’s boat from its cradle on the main deck. While several strained on a pulley rope, others steered the small boat over the side and then it was lowered into the sea. Six men clambered down and took up the oars and then Macro descended the rope ladder and cautiously made his way to the stern seat and sat quickly. A moment later the craft shoved off and the sailors heaved on their oars, propelling the boat towards the Sobek. As they approached the side, one of the sailors lowered his oar, took up a boat hook and caught the rope looped either side of the gap in the ship’s rail. Macro clambered forward, steadied himself and waited for the boat to rise on the swell, then launched himself at the ladder hanging down the ship’s side. He climbed quickly, before the swell passed and dunked him in the sea. Cato was waiting for him.

  ‘Walk with me.’

  They made their way to the bows where Cato curtly ordered a couple of sailors aft so that the two officers would not be overheard. Macro felt a pang of concern as he noted his friend’s gaunt features. It had been several days since they had last spoken face to face and once again Macro noted the dark patches round the young man’s eyes. Cato leaned forward and rested an elbow on the thick timber of the bulwark as he turned to face Macro.

  ‘What is your supply situation?’

  ‘We can last another two days if I put the men on quarter water allowance. After that they won’t be good for anything, even if we do find Ajax, sir.’

  A flicker of pained irritation crossed Cato’s face at Macro’s reference to his superior rank. He coughed. ‘Look here, Macro, you can drop the “sir” when no one’s listening. We know each other well enough for that.’

  Macro glanced round at the men further along the deck and turned back. ‘You’re a prefect now, my lad, and the men will expect me to treat you as such.’

  ‘By all means. But when I need to speak frankly to you, in private, then we speak as friends, all right?’

  ‘Is that an order?’ Macro replied sternly and then his lips could not help lifting a little, betraying his real mood. Cato raised his eyes. ‘Spare me the aggrieved feelings of a former fellow centurion, eh?’

  Macro nodded and smiled. ‘All right then. So, what’s the plan?’

  Cato concentrated his weary mind. ‘Ajax’s trail has grown cold. The men need a rest.’

  ‘And so do you.’

  Cato ignored the comment and continued. ‘Both ships are all but out of supplies. We will turn about and make for Alexandria. We’re three days out so we’ll need to find somewhere to take on water and rations. I just hope we don’t meet the same reception we had yesterday.’ He frowned and shook his head. ‘That was strange.’

  ‘Perhaps they took us for tax collectors.’ Macro shrugged. ‘Can’t say that I’m impressed by the hospitality of the natives. Hope we get better treatment in Alexandria. If all the gypos are as friendly as that lot then I shall be glad when the chase is over and we get back to Rome, eh?’

  ‘That might not be for some time yet, Macro. Our orders are clear. We are to hunt Ajax down, whatever the cost, and however long it takes. And that’s what we will do until we are issued new orders. No Roman province, nor even Emperor Claudius, can afford to rest easy while Ajax and his followers are still at large. You’ve seen at first hand
how he inspires his followers. He could raise the standard of rebellion anywhere across the Empire, and the slaves would flock to his side. While Ajax lives he is a grave threat to the Empire. If Rome falls, there will be chaos and everyone who lived under the protection of the legions, free and slave alike, will fall prey to barbarian invaders. That’s why we must find and destroy Ajax. Besides, we owe him personally, you and me.’

  ‘Fair enough. But what if he’s given us the slip? Ajax could be anywhere. He could be at the other end of the Mediterranean, or up in the Black Sea. He might even have abandoned his ship and headed inland. If that’s the case then we’ve as much chance of finding him as finding a straight lawyer in the Subura quarter of Rome. Speaking of which, you have a pretty good reason to return there as soon as possible.’ Macro lowered his voice. ‘After all that’s happened, Julia’s going to need you at her side.’

  Cato glanced away, down into the blue depths of the sea. ‘Julia has been in my thoughts almost every day, Macro. I think of her, and then I imagine her in that cage Ajax kept the pair of you in. It torments my mind, picturing what she went through.’

  ‘We both went through the same thing,’ Macro replied gently. ‘And I’m still here. Still the same Macro as ever was.’

  Cato looked up at him sharply, his gaze intense. ‘Really? I wonder.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I know you well enough to see how bitter you are, Macro.’

  ‘Bitter? And why not? After what that bastard put us through.’

  ‘And what did he put you through? What exactly? You haven’t told me much about it. Neither did Julia before we left Crete.’

  Macro watched him closely. ‘Did you ask her?’

  ‘No . . . I didn’t want to remind her of it.’

  ‘Or is it that you didn’t want to know?’ Macro shook his head sadly. ‘You didn’t ask, and now you are forced to imagine instead. Is that it?’

  Cato stared at him and then nodded. ‘Something like that, and the fact that I did nothing to help you.’

  ‘There was nothing you could do. Nothing.’ Macro rested his elbows on the bulwark. ‘Don’t take it out on yourself, Cato. That won’t achieve anything. It won’t help you catch Ajax. Besides, all you have to know is that Julia is a strong woman. Whatever she went through, give her some time and she’ll cope with it.’

  ‘Like you have?’

  ‘I’ll deal with it in my own way,’ Macro said firmly. ‘If the gods see fit to place Ajax in my path, then I’ll carve his fucking balls off and ram them down his throat before I finish with him. I swear it by every god that I have ever prayed to.’

  Cato raised his eyebrows and gave a dry chuckle. ‘Sounds like you’ve managed to put it all behind you.’

  Macro frowned. ‘I will, when it’s all over.’

  ‘And until then?’

  ‘We don’t rest until we’ve carried out our orders.’

  ‘Good. That’s settled.’ Cato eased himself up. ‘Then I’d better give the orders to turn the ships about and make for Alexandria.’

  Macro stood to attention and saluted. ‘Yes, sir.’

  The moment of companionship was at an end, Cato accepted sadly. They were prefect and centurion once more. He nodded at Macro and raised his voice, as if he was an actor declaiming in front of an audience. ‘Very well, Centurion. Return to your ship and take station behind the Sobek.’

  They turned back towards the main deck and had almost reached the base of the mast when the lookout’s voice called from above.

  ‘Sail sighted!’

  Cato halted and tipped his head back. ‘Where away?’

  The lookout thrust his hand out, pointing off the port bow, out to sea. ‘Over there, sir. Hull down. Eight, maybe ten miles.’

  Cato turned to Macro with an excited gleam in his eye. ‘Let’s hope it’s our man.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Macro replied. ‘But he might have seen or heard something of Ajax.’

  ‘That’s good enough for me. Now back to your ship and make sail. I’ll close on him from the sea, you from the direction of the coast. There’ll be nowhere for him to run, whoever it turns out to be.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  The ship made no attempt to evade the two warships and seemed to wallow, directionless, on the sea. As the crew furled the sail and used oars to manoeuvre closer, Cato could see that the sail was billowing freely. The sheets had been set loose or cut, he decided. The wide beam and high stern were those of a cargo ship and Cato felt briefly disappointed that he had been cheated of finding his prey. There was no sign of life on the deck, and the steering paddle rocked gently from side to side as the waves sloshed against the hull.

  To landward, Macro’s ship was making the best use of the offshore breeze to close swiftly before using oars, although he would reach the cargo vessel a short time after the Sobek.

  ‘Shall I form my lads up, sir?’ asked Centurion Proculus, the commander of the legionaries assigned to the prefect’s ship.

  ‘No. I’ll use the marines. They’re trained for boarding actions.’

  Proculus breathed in sharply, offended at having to give way to men he considered his inferiors. Cato ignored him, well used to the tensions between the two services. Besides, the decision was his. He turned to the decurion in charge of the ship’s complement of thirty marines. ‘Diodorus, have your men formed up ready to board.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Shall I deploy the corvus?’ He nodded to the contraption lashed to the deck in front of the mast. The corvus was a gangway, which was raised and lowered by a pulley. A wooden pin at one end allowed it to pivot round, over the side of the vessel. At the far end was an iron spike like a crow’s beak. When the device was in position above the target vessel’s deck, it was released and the spike would slam down, piercing the deck and pinning both ships together while the marines rushed across and into action. Although there was no sign of life, Cato decided to stick to convention in case there was a trap waiting to be sprung.

  ‘Yes. Use the corvus. If you need to be reinforced we can send over the legionaries to settle the issue.’

  Proculus puffed up his chest. ‘We’ll get the marines out of any trouble, sir. You can depend on us.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Diodorus muttered sourly as he made off to issue his orders.

  As the Sobek closed on the cargo ship, the deck teemed with armed men taking up their positions. When all was in readiness, they stood still, awaiting the order to go into action. The warship’s trierarch slowed the beat of the sailors manning the oars and cautiously brought his vessel up on the stern quarter of the drifting hulk. When he judged that they were making just enough to carry them down the length of the cargo ship, he shouted the order to ship oars.

  Cato had put on his full armour and climbed into the turret on the foredeck to survey the other vessel as the Sobek glided alongside. There were dark streaks around the scuppers which faded away as they approached the waterline. Blood, he realised. A moment later he saw the first of the bodies, a man slumped over the side rail. Then more corpses scattered across the steering deck.

  ‘Make ready the corvus!’ Diodorus bellowed and there was a grating creak as the gangway swung out, round and over the side of the cargo ship.

  ‘Release!’

  The gangway dropped, the iron point curving down, gathering speed, and then it slammed into the deck with a splintering crack.

  ‘Forward marines!’ Diodorus cried out, raising his sword as he climbed on to the gangway and raced across towards the other ship. His men ran after him, coarse, leather-soled boots pounding the boards of the gangway. In moments the marines were across and warily fanning out across the deck of the cargo ship.

  Cato climbed down from the turret and called out to Proculus. ‘You and your men wait here. If I call for you, come at once.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  There was no sound of fighting, no shouts or cries of alarm from the cargo ship, and Cato left his sword in its scabbard as he strode across th
e gangway, briefly glancing down at the water washing between the two hulls. Despite being aboard for the best part of two months, he still feared and hated the sea; another good reason to pray that his current quest came to a successful conclusion as soon as possible. When he reached the far end of the gangway, Cato jumped down and looked round slowly. There were bodies strewn across the deck and dark patches of dried blood. The cargo hatches had been dragged aside and the freight below was a jumbled mess of goods: shattered amphorae, discarded bales of cloth and split sacks of rice and spices. Diodorus was squatting beside one of the bodies and Cato joined him.

  ‘There’s little sign of corruption.’ The decurion sniffed and then touched his fingers to the blood on the deck beside the corpse. ‘Still tacky. They were killed only a day or so ago. Certainly no more than two days.’