Cato shrugged uncomfortably. Both men were silent for a moment before Macro continued. ‘Any luck with the new legate on the planning front?’
‘No. He still refuses to consult me. I’ve asked him when he intends to lead the army out of Diospolis Magna and he just says we will take the field when the situation is propitious.’
‘Propitious?’ Macro mused.
‘He refused to clarify when I asked him. The thing is, he had better give the order soon, or the enemy will have free run of all the province between here and the cataract. They’ve already advanced on Ombos. The last report from the garrison there was that the Nubians were about to place them under siege. Even then, Aurelius refused to move.’
‘Sounds like our glory-hunting commander is developing cold feet.’
‘Perhaps.’ Cato did not feel comfortable criticising his commander. In truth he had begun to discover the vulnerability of his position over the last few days. His promotion had elevated him to a position where he should share some responsibility in determining the course of a campaign. Before the suppression of the revolt on Crete, he and Macro had been junior enough simply to be told where to go and who to fight. The strategy was largely determined by other men of higher rank, and officers like Macro and Cato were left to execute their orders. Now, Cato had both rank and experience of command, yet he was still regarded as too fresh-faced or, worse, regarded as too ambitious. How else could someone of his years have advanced to his rank without being ruthless in his ambition? It was a question that those who perceived him as a rival would ask in order to justify their lack of cooperation. It was a double-edged burden, Cato decided, especially as he had never actively pursued elevation to his present rank. It had been conferred on him by those who had valued his achievements in the past. The envy of men like Aurelius would prevent him from providing the best service he could to Rome, and at the same time they would willingly do him down to maintain their own prestige.
With the death of Candidus, Aurelius was the most powerful man along the Nile south of Memphis. If Aurelius was against him then the only course through which he might pursue a complaint was through Governor Petronius in Alexandria. Cato had no patrons in the province. His nearest friend with any influence was Senator Sempronius in Crete - assuming Sempronius had not already relinquished his temporary control of the island and was on his way back to Rome. Cato was on his own, he realised. If he was to have any influence over the direction of the campaign, then he must find a way of working round Aurelius’s prejudices towards him. Maybe this was the real test of those promoted to high rank. No longer was he being judged purely on the basis of his talent as an instrument of war. The time had come when political skills were every bit as vital.
‘Ah, my chief training officer!’ Aurelius greeted Cato as the latter approached his desk at the end of the pool. Torches flickered in brackets attached to the columns and lit up the space with a golden hue. Outside, the sun had just set and the red sky reflected on the surface of the water. Cato hoped that it was not an ill omen for the campaign as he stood erect in front of the legate’s desk.
‘What can I do for you, Tribune?’ Aurelius leaned back in his chair.
‘It concerns a training matter, sir. If you recall, you said that I would have complete authority in matters relating to preparing the men for the coming campaign.’
‘Yes, I did,’ Aurelius replied warily. ‘Subject to my ultimate approval, naturally.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Well? How are things proceeding?’
‘The soldiers are steadily improving and given time they will be in good shape once the campaign begins. It would help to know when you intend the army to march, sir.’
‘Of course.’ Aurelius nodded, and gestured towards the sheets of papyrus on his desk. ‘As you can see, the need to prepare the men is not the only consideration affecting my decision. There are conflicting reports on the location of the enemy. Rumours are rife. Some say that Prince Talmis is no more than fifty miles away. Others say that he is still camped outside Ombos, besieging the garrison there. The overall picture is very uncertain, Tribune.’
Cato was not surprised. Since the ambush of the previous legate’s column, Aurelius had restricted the range of his patrols to within half a day’s march of the army’s base at Diospolis Magna. Any intelligence of the enemy’s movements beyond that margin depended upon questioning travellers or those fleeing the Nubians, and the truth had to be filtered out from rumours and wild speculation.
‘It appears that the enemy have rather greater numbers than I thought,’ Aurelius continued. ‘So I have sent a request to the governor for reinforcements before we proceed.’
‘Reinforcements?’ Cato raised his eyebrows. ‘Sir, when I last spoke with the governor he was adamant that every man that could be spared had been sent here.’
‘There is always a way to find more men,’ Aurelius responded dismissively. ‘In any case, I do not ask for a vast host with which to overwhelm my enemy, merely enough to ensure the job is done well. Until then, it would be imprudent to proceed, even though I am straining at the leash to get to grips with those Nubians.’
Cato briefly wondered if he had ever met so supine a hunting dog. He thrust the thought aside and cleared his throat. ‘Sir, it is possible that the enemy are also using this time to call on reinforcements. In any case, the longer they remain on Roman soil the greater the damage they do to the province. The natives are bound to feel resentment that they have been left to the mercy of the invader.’
‘All part of the exigencies of war, alas.’
Cato could see that this line of argument would not be productive, and so switched his tactics. He nodded thoughtfully before he continued. ‘Something occurs to me, sir.’
‘Oh?’
‘While I understand your prudence in delaying the opening of the campaign, other men far removed from this theatre of war will wonder at the delay.’
‘Only because they lack full understanding of the circumstances,’ Aurelius countered.
‘Yes, sir. But that will not stop them muttering. My chief fear is that Governor Petronius will anticipate the musings of such men and be concerned lest he be thought to have sanctioned your inaction, as he might see it. When your request for reinforcements arrives, I fear that it may spur the governor’s anxiety that the campaign is not being fought to a swift conclusion. Anxiety was ever the enemy of sound judgement, sir. What if the governor felt impelled to replace you with a commander less inclined to prudence? Some hothead who would lead the army in a wild dash straight at the enemy, with little thought.’
Aurelius stared directly at Cato. ‘That could lead to disaster. I see what you mean. And there’s no shortage of ambitious men in Alexandria who will regard me with envy now that the fates have elevated me to command of the army.’ He nodded. ‘Men like that thug Decius Fulvius. He’s always looked down on me. The thought of that fool being placed in charge of the campaign is frightening.’
‘Yes, sir. It is your duty to make sure that the governor has no excuse to send such a man to take command of the army.’ Cato did not mention that it was more than likely that Fulvius was still attached to the force in Crete.
‘Yes . . . Yes, it is my duty,’ Aurelius nodded. ‘Damn, I should never have sent that request. It’s too late now.’ He closed his eyes and made a quick calculation. ‘It will take at least another two days for the message to arrive. Perhaps a day for the governor to react and then five days to send a reply.’ He blinked. ‘I must move fast. The army must be on the march before any reply can reach Diospolis Magna. Within the next seven days. I must consult my staff.’ Aurelius paused, and then looked again at Cato. ‘I must apologise. You were here to discuss a training matter, I believe.’
‘Yes, sir. It concerns the officers of some of the cohorts. They have been avoiding the unit exercises and drills.’
‘That’s right. They have other duties to attend to. I gave them permission.’
‘So they said. However, once the campaign begins, every legionary and every officer must be able to keep up with the column. We cannot afford to have any men slowing us down, sir. Officers included. As you just pointed out, the legion must march soon, and strike decisively. You cannot permit those officers who are infirm or unfit to hold you back.’
‘You’re right,’ Aurelius agreed quietly. ‘They must be made ready for the campaign. They must join their men in the training. I will not allow them to be excused from now on. Is that clear, Tribune? All officers will take part.’
Cato nodded.
‘Was there anything else?’
‘No, sir. That’s all.’
Aurelius regarded him for a moment before he continued. ‘Thank you, Tribune Cato. You are a most useful sounding board. It seems there’s something more to you than meets the eye.’
It was clear that he had concluded their interview and Cato bowed his head and turned to leave the legate’s presence. Only once he had passed through the entrance and entered the colonnade where some of the clerks still laboured at their desks did he permit himself a small smile of satisfaction.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The pale light of dawn bled out across the hazy sky as the dim figures of the legionaries and their officers made their way out of the temple complex and fell in. A small column of carts stood at the rear to pick up those who failed to complete the march. Macro and Cato had drawn full legionary kit from the legion’s stores and retained only their crested helmets to signify their rank. It had been a while since either man had last taken part in a formal route march. Cato recalled the tips given to him when he had been a fresh recruit and placed pads of wool beneath his feet inside his boots. He also folded his cloak across his shoulder to provide a rest for the shaft of the marching yoke. His shield, mess tins and kitbag hung from the fork at the end of the yoke and a javelin rested on the other shoulder. A full canteen and a waterskin completed his load and he shuffled slightly to adjust it to a more comfortable position as he stood beside Macro at the head of the column.
A number of the officers were already in place. The more rotund or elderly men regarded Macro sourly, while their more professional comrades tried not to reveal their amusement over their discomfort.
‘Happy-looking bunch, aren’t they?’ Macro grinned. ‘Let’s see how they look after the first five miles.’
‘Forget them,’ Cato muttered. ‘Worry about me. If I don’t get through it then the whole point of the exercise is lost.’
‘You’ll do. Tough as old boots, that’s what you are, thanks to everything I’ve taught you.’
‘I’d hate to disappoint you.’
‘And I’d hate to have to use my vine cane on your back if you begin to falter.’ Macro looked down at the short, knotted staff he carried instead of a javelin, the same as the rest of the drill instructors who would be marching with the column. ‘Those were your orders, sir. No special treatment for officers.’
Cato nodded. ‘Though you might consider taking the sting out of the blow if you can, in my case.’
‘Ah, if I did it for you then I’d feel obliged to do it for some of those fat fucks standing over there as well.’ Macro gestured to the officers taking up their positions. ‘And speaking of slackers, where’s Hamedes got to?’
Cato turned and looked towards the temple. ‘There he is.’
The priest walked quickly towards them and stopped close by with a nervous grin. ‘Do you Romans always march loaded down like mules, sir?’
‘You’ll be silent, unless spoken to,’ Macro replied harshly. ‘You’re in the army now, lad. Until this is over you can forget being a priest.’
Hamedes had also been issued with full kit and Macro looked him over to ensure that everything was in place and correctly fastened. ‘Not bad,’ he mused. ‘The armour fits well. Did you get some help putting it on?’
Hamedes hesitated before he nodded. ‘One of the supply clerks showed me, sir.’
‘Very well. Fall in with the officers, where I can keep an eye on you.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Hamedes smiled, then thought better of it, and turned and strode off, taking up position a respectful distance behind the rest of the officers.
Cato nodded at him. ‘For a priest he has a pleasing disposition towards soldiering.’
‘That he does,’ Macro agreed. ‘And he’ll be tested to the full in the days to come.’
The last of the legionaries came trotting across to join their centuries and when they were in place Macro hefted his yoke on to his shoulder and strode down the column. He breathed in deeply and began to address the column.
‘Today’s jaunt will take us eight miles down the Nile and back. Nothing that should present a challenge to real soldiers. I am delighted to see my brother officers joining us today.’
A few men laughed in the ranks and there was a brief catcall before one of the optios standing beside the column turned to try and spot the perpetrator. Failing, he roared out, ‘Keep your fucking mouths shut, or I’ll ’ave you on a charge.’
Macro waited until there was complete silence again. ‘Officers and men of the legions are all expected to complete route marches. It is a minimum standard and applies to all, regardless of rank. There is no excuse for any man here failing to finish the march.’ He paused and then strode back to the front of the column, a short distance ahead of Cato and the other officers. ‘Column! Prepare to march . . . March!’
Macro paced forward, followed by the rest, four ranks abreast. He led them across the training ground and down the rough track that joined the Nile road. Even this early in the morning the farmers and merchants who were making their way into Diospolis Magna to sell their wares were on the road and they hurriedly pulled aside as the legionaries turned right and began to head north, along the road that followed the course of the Nile.
A few boats were already out, the skiffs of fishermen rowing across the current to inspect their nets, and the larger broad-beamed vessels that carried goods up and down the great river. On the far bank was a thin strip of green vegetation and then the rocky mass of the lifeless mountains rising above the desert.
An hour after the column had set off, the sun had risen over the horizon and the pale yellow disc hung in the haze like an eye surveying the ribbon of water and crops that threaded its way across the great desert of northern Africa. Cato had settled into an easy rhythm; and an early ache that had started at the bottom of his back had faded away and he was starting to feel confident about completing the march. Sweat pricked out from his scalp, saturating his felt helmet liner, and every so often a trickle escaped, coursing down his brow, and he blinked it away rather than transferring the javelin to his shield hand so that he could mop his brow.
Glancing round he saw that some of the officers were already struggling to keep up with the pace. The nearest, a centurion from the First Cohort, was puffing out his full cheeks as he laboured under his kit. One of Macro’s training optios fell into step beside him.
‘Come on, sir. Put some bloody effort in! I’ve seen old men march better than that.’
The centurion clamped his lips together and struggled on. Cato turned back, feeling slightly guilty over his plan to break men like that centurion. However, if the man made it through the day then there was obviously more to him than met the eye - though given his girth, Cato thought wryly, that would be something of a challenge. Up ahead, Macro led the way, striding steadily down the road without the slightest sign of tiring.
The heat from the rising sun began to burn the haze and light mist away from the banks of the Nile and the marching men were exposed to its direct rays. The temperature began to rise swiftly and added to the discomfort of the dust kicked up by the passage of thousands of iron-nailed army boots. Every so often the road passed through small villages and little gangs of children would work their way along the column, begging for money in their chirping voices, hurriedly moving on from those soldiers who spat curses or swung a boot at them. Cato j
ust ignored them, concentrating on placing one boot in front of the other as he followed in Macro’s tracks. As the sun rose higher, the heat became intense, searing the landscape in its harsh glare. Cato felt the sweat on his back soak through his tunic and plaster it to his skin. Occasionally a cold trickle dribbled down from his armpits and traced its way over his ribs until it caught in a fold of his tunic. His mouth was dry and it was hard to resist the impulse to call ahead to Macro and suggest that he permit the men a short rest to take some water.
After the second hour there was a groan and a clatter and Cato looked back to see that one of the officers had collapsed on the road. A companion stopped and leaned down to help his friend, before an optio pounced, cracking his staff down on the officer’s shield.
‘What the fuck are you doing? Don’t stop, sir! Keep moving!’
‘You can’t leave him there,’ the centurion protested.
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