The Legion

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘It’s a wonder the tub stays afloat,’ Macro mused as he set his kitbag down and made himself comfortable under the small awning that covered the foredeck.

  Cato nodded. There was scarcely more than a foot of freeboard over the side and he wondered what would happen if the barge was caught by a sudden gust of wind. With all the cargo aboard, it would surely sink like a rock and Cato had no desire to be pitched into the Nile. It was not the prospect of swimming to the nearest bank that concerned him so much as the thought of the crocodiles that might be lurking amid the reeds, waiting to snap up some easy prey.

  ‘Rest easy, Centurion.’ Hamedes smiled. ‘The waters of the Nile are always calm, and the wind constant. There is no cause for alarm. Besides, I have an offering of a jar of oil for the Nile gods.’ He patted his kitbag. ‘They will protect us.’

  ‘I’m not bloody alarmed,’ Macro growled. ‘I’m just saying the boat looks overloaded, that’s all.’

  Hamedes nodded understandingly and then stretched himself out on his back, resting his head carefully on the bulky kitbag he had brought aboard and settled down to get some sleep. The two Romans watched the receding skyline of Alexandria for a while, taking turns to sip from a wineskin that Macro had bought in one of the markets of the Canopic Way. At length, Macro coughed and turned to Cato.

  ‘Do you really think Ajax will be down there, with the Nubians?’

  ‘The more I think about it, the more certain I am,’ Cato replied. ‘It offers him the best way of continuing his war against Rome.’

  ‘And us?’

  ‘Why not? There’s every chance of killing two birds with one stone. Where else would we be when the governor needs every soldier he can scrape together to repel the invasion?’

  ‘I’m not so keen on being considered to be part of the scrapings, if it’s all the same to you.’ Macro flashed a smile. ‘But I take your point. And if you’re right, it should make the task of finding Ajax that much easier. But duty first, eh? Defeat the Nubians and then find Ajax.’

  ‘Defeating the Nubians might be a rather harder task than you think.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I had a word with one of Petronius’s staff officers before I left the palace. I wanted some information on the forces available to Candidus. The two infantry cohorts sound like good formations, but the cavalry is under strength. It’s the Twenty-Second I’m not so sure about.’

  ‘They’re legionaries. They’ll stand up to whatever the Nubians throw at them.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Cato rubbed his chin and wished that he had taken the opportunity to have a shave in Alexandria before embarking. ‘The fact is that the Twenty-Second is something of an oddity.’

  ‘Oh? What’s their story, then?’

  ‘The legion was raised by Mark Antony. He filled the ranks with men from Cleopatra’s army. When Antony was defeated by Octavian, the Twenty-Second was integrated into the rest of the army and has been stationed on the Nile since then. They’re a mix of Greeks and Egyptians from the Nile cities.’

  ‘You think they might be a bit soft then?’

  ‘Maybe. They have had no part in a major campaign since the civil war. For most of them, this is going to be the first action they’ve gone into. I just hope they’ve been trained well enough for the job.’

  Macro shook his head. ‘Cato, even if the quality of the men is suspect, they’re still commanded by centurions, and centurions, my friend, are the same the world over. As hard and demanding a bunch as you will ever find.’

  ‘Not all of them. We’ve seen our share of bad officers in our time.’

  ‘A few bad eggs, that’s all,’ Macro replied tersely, not willing to endure too much disparagement of the brotherhood he felt honoured to be a part of. ‘The centurionate has a fine tradition. There are always exceptions.’

  ‘Then let’s hope we don’t find too many of them in the Twenty-Second. ’

  ‘I need some rest,’ Macro announced suddenly. He removed the armour from his kitbag and punched spare tunics, cloak and boots that remained into a rough pillow and laid his head down, turning his back to his friend. Cato smiled at his touchiness, and then eased himself down on to an elbow as the barge entered the canal that linked the lake to the Nile. On either side the banks were lined with reeds and clumps of palm trees, interspersed with small settlements of the ubiquitous mud-brick houses. Women were busy taking advantage of the cooler morning temperature to wash clothes in the placid waters while children played slightly further out, splashing each other, their shrill cries of joy carrying clearly across the canal. As the barges sailed past, they stopped their games to wave, and Cato smiled as he waved back.

  He had grown so used to the demands and the strains of commanding soldiers that he had forgotten some of the simple pleasures of life, he realised sadly. His childhood seemed all too brief to him at that moment. He brushed the sentiment aside, cross with himself for allowing a moment’s idleness to sour his mood. He realised that there would be plenty of time for reflection in the next few days, and resolved that he would focus his thoughts on more useful, and pleasing, matters, such as the future he planned to have with Julia when he returned to Rome. And so he spent the rest of the morning watching the landscape of Egypt drift by as the convoy made its way upriver towards Diospolis Magna. Occasionally Macro and Hamedes stirred and exchanged a few words, before closing their eyes again. In the afternoon the convoy left the canal behind and entered the river. The sun beat down on the barges, and a steady hot breeze blew over the deck like the heat from a nearby furnace.

  At dusk the barges put into the shore and grounded gently on a grassy stretch of the riverbank. Fires were lit and rations issued and the insects began to swarm round in whining clouds of dark specks against the light of the flames. Hamedes said he would bed down amongst the sailors, once he had drunk his fill of wine.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Macro responded. ‘But I’m not going to lie out here and get bitten to death.’

  Macro called over several of the legionaries and ordered them to erect the tent he and Cato would be sharing.

  ‘Quick as you can now, lads!’ Macro barked as he swatted the mosquitoes away. ‘Before these little bastards drain the blood out of me.’

  As soon as the tent was up, Macro ducked inside and laid his bedroll out on the ground. Cato joined him a little later, after a last look up at the brilliant display of stars in the heavens. The glow of the fires lit up the linen walls of the tent and occasionally the wavering shadows of men passed along the cloth, like the profiles of the paintings he had seen on the province’s temples, Cato decided. No air moved through the tent and it was hot inside. Cato slipped his tunic off and lay sweating in his loincloth. On the other side of the tent, Macro had quickly fallen asleep, even though he had rested most of the day, and his rumbling snores vied with the sounds of chatter and laughter of the men by the fires. Cato smiled and closed his eyes. He might as well make the most of this short, restful interval, he decided.

  He woke suddenly, not moving, his eyes wide open, staring up at the roof of the tent. Cato was not sure what had broken his sleep and he was about to stir when he heard the faint sound of movement outside the tent. Then the sound was gone and with a sigh he turned on to his side and closed his eyes again. At once there was a low rush of sound like a long sharp escape of breath. Cato’s eyes snapped open as he realised that he and Macro were not alone in the tent. He slowly turned himself back and raised his head to look round. The campfires were still burning and provided a faint rosy light inside the tent. A short distance away, close to the foot of Macro’s bedroll, a slender shape rose up from the ground, swaying slightly.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Cato felt his blood freeze in his veins. He sat up, and the noise came again as the shape lurched sideways, moving between the two bedrolls.

  ‘Oh shit,’ Cato whispered. He kept as still as he could, eyes fixed on the snake. Behind it he could see the tent pole with his sword and that of Macro’s hanging
on the peg. His heartbeat increased to a pounding rhythm as he thought frantically. If he moved again he was sure that the serpent would attack. Instead, he licked his lips nervously and whispered as loudly as he dared.

  ‘Macro . . . Macro . . . Wake up.’

  The snoring broke up and there was an incoherent muttered grumble from the other side of the tent.

  ‘Macro.’

  ‘Whurgh . . . What the hell is it?’ Macro groaned, stirring as he turned to face Cato.

  ‘Keep still!’ Cato warned him.

  ‘What?’ Macro’s head rose. ‘What’s going on then?’

  The snake hissed again, louder, and near the top of its body it began to swell out. The sinewy coils beneath writhed momentarily as it edged forward.

  ‘Shit,’ Macro whispered. ‘We’re in trouble, lad. What do we do?’

  Cato stared at the snake. It was close enough now to make out the individual bumps of its scales, and the beady gleam in one of its eyes. A sudden flicker indicated where its mouth was as the cobra’s head towered over the two men.

  ‘Just . . . keep . . . still,’ Cato whispered.

  ‘Right.’

  Cato had seen some snake charmers in the market at Alexandria and knew how fast the serpents could strike. There was no chance of jumping up and dashing past it towards the swords. If either of them tried, they were dead. He reached his left hand slowly towards his tunic, lying rumpled beside the bedroll. His fingers stole across the earth towards the cloth and closed round a fold.

  ‘Macro, I’m going to try and distract it. When I make a move you go for the swords. All right?’

  ‘What kind of distraction?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter, just be ready. On three.’

  The snake was unsettled by the noises and hissed again, still louder, and the head leaned back, ready to strike.

  Cato moistened his lips and spoke softly. ‘One . . . two . . . three!’

  He whipped up the tunic and jumped to his feet, swinging the tunic waist high through the air towards the snake. The cobra lunged at once, whacking into the cloth before it reversed direction and hissed again. Macro had clambered up and taken a step towards the tent post when the snake slithered round and lunged at him. He jumped back on to his bedroll.

  ‘Fuck, that was close.’

  ‘I’ll try again,’ said Cato. He wrapped some of the tunic about his fist and tentatively held the rest out towards the snake. At once it turned its head back towards him, its eyes burning like rubies. Cato moved the tunic to the right and shook it. The snake struck again and at the same time Cato jerked the cloth back. The fangs, caught in the thick strands of wool, came with it and Cato gave a terrified cry as the body of the snake came towards him. He threw the tunic over the cobra’s head and with his spare hand he grabbed at the neck, just below the hood. The snake’s skin was dry and rough and the coils writhed wildly as Cato struggled to keep his grip and at the same time wrap the tunic about its head with his other hand.

  Macro leaped forward, reached the tent post and snatched out his blade. He turned and hacked at the wriggling body and struck the ground instead.

  ‘Macro!’ Cato shouted as the head thrashed about inside the tunic. ‘Just kill the bastard!’

  Macro hacked again, cutting into the middle of the cobra’s body. He cut again, this time severing it. Half the coils fell back and flopped about on the ground and Macro hurriedly kicked them to one side. The other half seemed to grow even more wild and Cato hurled it as hard as he could towards the back of the tent where it hit the goatskin with a soft thud and dropped to the ground, writhing frantically, but unable to move from the spot as it bled out.

  Cato’s heart was beating wildly, his chest felt cold and clammy and he trembled. He turned to Macro and saw that his friend was just as shaken. Macro licked his lips and stared at the dying snake as he spoke in a low, earnest tone. ‘I am really beginning to hate this province . . .’

  ‘You’re the one in charge of the watch, right?’ Macro glared at the optio as the latter quickly rose from amongst the men sitting around the fire.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The young soldier nodded.

  ‘Then you’re responsible for this getting into our bloody tent.’ Macro shook out the tunic and the two lengths of the cobra’s body flopped on to the ground. The optio instinctively took a step back and his face wrinkled in nervous disgust. There were surprised murmurs from the other men as they craned their necks and saw the dead snake.

  Macro turned and pointed towards the tent. ‘The prefect is inside. There is supposed to be a guard patrolling outside the tent to ensure nothing happens to him, right? No enemies, or other threats, get past. I mean that’s standard regulation, even here in Egypt.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘So where is the sentry?’ Macro made a show of looking around and giving up and raising his hands. ‘Well?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’ The optio swallowed. ‘I had a man either end of the camp. I didn’t think it would be necessary to post any more than that.’

  ‘Two men?’ Macro shook his head. ‘The province is in a state of war, and before you say it, I don’t care how far away the Nubians are. That’s no excuse for sloppy watch-keeping. Let me guess. You’re with the Twenty-Second Legion?’

  The optio nodded.

  ‘Oh great . . .’ Macro took a pace closer and held his finger an inch from the optio’s face. ‘I want a proper watch posted every night. It is your duty to protect the camp and protect your officers and you have fucked up, my son. The fact is, either the prefect or myself or even both of us could have been killed and the fault would be yours.’

  ‘But sir. Even if there had been a sentry, the snake could have got into the tent.’

  ‘Shut it! You know what your duty is. I suggest you stick to it, or I’ll be disturbing your night by kicking your arse so hard your teeth will fall out.’ Macro took a step back, and prodded the snake’s body with his boot. ‘I’ll leave you to get rid of this.’

  He was about to return to the tent when the captain of their barge squatted down by the snake and shook his head. ‘They don’t usually give us any trouble when we camp. Your tent must be pitched near one of their nests.’

  ‘You mean there could be more of them nearby?’ Macro fumed.

  ‘No. They’re solitary creatures. Unless their young are hatching, of course.’

  ‘Well, thanks for that. I’m bound to get a good night’s sleep now, aren’t I?’ He turned back to the optio. ‘Make that two sentries outside the tent.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Macro turned and marched back to the tent and pulled the flap shut behind him. He tossed the tunic back to Cato as he crossed to his bedroll and slumped down. ‘Bloody optio’s from the Twenty-Second. Seems like you were right to be worried about ’em.’

  Cato was sitting cross-legged on his bedroll, deep in thought. He shook his head and glanced round. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I said you were right about the Twenty-Second being a bit slack.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Hello, Cato.’ Macro waved his hand. ‘Still with us?’

  ‘Just thinking.’ Cato ran a hand through his hair. ‘About the snake. If there’s one thing I really can’t stand, it’s snakes.’

  ‘Why so particular? They’re just like everything else in this province: crocodiles, mosquitoes and snakes - never content unless they’re sinking their bloody jaws into someone. Fuck ’em. I’m going to try to get back to sleep.’ He glanced over at Cato and continued in a more gentle tone. ‘So should you. Best get as much rest as you can before we reach Diospolis Magna.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ Cato eased himself down and lay still, staring up at the roof of the tent. After a while he shut his eyes and lay there listening intently to every sound of the night. Although Macro lay still and silent on his side, he did not snore and Cato realised that his friend’s mind was as troubled as his own.

  Macro blinked his eyes open and for a moment frowned. The last thing he remem
bered was being unable to get to sleep, and lying still for what seemed like hours. Well, sleep had come to him in the end, he mused. Dawn was breaking outside and a shaft of light pierced the tent through the open flap. Macro turned over and saw that Cato’s bedroll was empty.