The Zealot

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘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 …’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  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 face 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 straight-forward. ‘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. Each man 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.

  ‘Don’t you think I’ve run out of luck?’ Macro whispered. ‘I wonder, given all the shit that’s flown in my direction since we arrived in Judaea.’

  ‘No, sir,’ Cato replied patiently. ‘For the most part you have made your own luck. Fortuna has just topped it up from time to time. We really shouldn’t talk.’

  ‘No.’ Macro quickened his pace slightly so that he drew slightly ahead of Cato, and then advanced, his ears and eyes straining to detect any sign of movement ahead of them. To their left the walls of the fort were clearly visible in the glow of the dying embers and the silhouettes of Parmenion’s men could be clearly seen manning the towers and patrolling the walkway. As they marched in a wide arc round the fort the enemy camp came into view: a sprinkling of fires, twinkling in the distance. Half a mile to the north of the camp was a slight fold in the landscape that had been chosen as the site where the force would form up. When Macro judged that they had skirted round far enough to avoid being detected he changed course and began to lead the column towards the enemy camp at a tangent. Now was the most dangerous moment. If they were spotted before they could deploy for attack Bannus could bring the full weight of his army to bear and the Romans would be overwhelmed in short order.

  As they approached the fold in the ground, there was no shout of alarm, no call of a trumpet to indicate that the enemy had detected their presence. Then, at last, the ground began to slope down and there ahead of them lay two darker masses separated by a stretch of open ground: the small forces of cavalry sent ahead of the main column. Cato pointed them out to Macro who nodded, and led the column to a point midway between them. As the column deployed, a horseman trotted down the line and stopped when he saw the crests on Macro’s and Cato’s helmets.

  ‘Sir?’

  Macro at once recognised the quiet voice as Scrofa’s.

  ‘Is that the prefect?’

  ‘Yes. Come here.’ Macro beckoned to him. ‘Anything to report?’

  ‘We took care of their outlying pickets, sir. Their relief came out of camp a short while back. We took care of them too. Surprised them quickly enough to stop anyone raising the alarm.’

  ‘Good. But the men coming off watch will be expected back. We’ll have to attack at once.’

  Cato had a sudden thought. ‘Wait. Perhaps there’s a way to maximise the surprise of the attack.’

  ‘What?’ The gloomy shape of Macro turned towards him. ‘What do you mean?’

  Cato looked up at Scrofa. ‘The bodies of the relief. Where are they?’

  ‘Just over there.’ Scrofa pointed to the ground rising up in the direction of the enemy camp.

  ‘Cato,’ Macro cut in. ‘What are you thinking of doing?’

  ‘They’re expecting a party of men to come off watch. What if I, and some of our men, took their place? We overpower the guard on the edge of the enemy camp, and I signal you to approach. Sir, we could be inside the camp before they even knew we were here.’

  Macro considered the plan briefly. ‘All right then, Cato. It’s worth a try. What signal will you use?’

  Cato thought quickly. As they had approached the camp earlier he had seen the braziers burning round the perimeter of Bannus’ army. ‘I’ll wave a torch from side to side. That should do it.’

  ‘A torch. Very well, but don’t take unnecessary risks. If they see through you, just shout and we’ll come.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’d better get going.’

  Cato saluted the prefect and turned to the nearest men in the line stretching out on either side. ‘This section! Follow me.’

  He led the men up the slope in the direction that Scrofa had indicated, and just before the crest they found the bodies of the enemy relief pickets. Ten men, scattered in a loose heap, mostly dead from the injuries they had sustained in the brief skirmish, and a few with cut throats: the men who had been wounded, but could not be left alive to give any cry of warning.

  ‘Get their robes on,’ Cato ordered. He reached down to the nearest body and winced as his fingers closed on a wet and sticky patch of cloth. Forcing himself to continue, he pulled the heavy wool covering off the body and draped it over his shoulders. He finished the disguise with the man’s padded leather helmet and then turned to inspect the rest of his party. They stood in their native cloaks and turbans and helmets. Cato was satisfied that they would pass for the enemy in the darkness. At least, no one would take them for Romans. He turned towards the enemy camp.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  They set off across the stony sand, heading for the nearest corner of the camp, where the two onagers had originally been positioned. There had been little attempt to organise the camp in an ordered manner. Only a few large tents were clustered in the centre for Bannus and his lieutenants. Some of the army had constructed scratch-built shelters of skins stretched over flimsy wooden frames fashioned from slender, flexible lengths of wood that they had brought with them. The rest slept in the open, as close to a fire as they could get. By the surviving onager five men stood round a brazier on this side, clearly intent on keeping warm rather than doing an efficient job of keeping watch. Cato lowered his head a little as he marched towards them, as if they might somehow see from his face, at a distance in the dark, that he was not
Judaean. As they marched into the light of the brazier one of the enemy turned to them and called out a greeting. The tone was friendly enough and good-humoured, so Cato raised a hand and waved as he made for them, shifting his shield round so that only the edge of the frame showed beyond his cloak. The man continued talking as they approached, and then paused, clearly inviting a response. Cato quickened his pace and nodded his head. The man frowned, and just as Cato and the others reached the brazier, his eyes widened in alarm and he snatched at the sword hanging at his side. Cato leaped forward, his sword rasping from its scabbard, swinging round and up so that the edge sliced into the man’s head with a dull crunch that dropped him immediately. The other men round the brazier looked on in stunned surprise before they realised what was happening. By then it was too late. Cato’s men sprang on them, and in a brief frenzy of savage thrusts and cuts from their short swords all the sentries were cut down and lay sprawled on the ground. Cato pointed to a cart parked behind the burned remains of the first catapult. ‘Hide the bodies.’

  While the others hurriedly dragged the dead away and then returned and stood around as their replacements, Cato fashioned a torch from some of the kindling lying to one side of the brazier. He plunged it into the fire, waited a moment until the slender twigs and brush were ablaze, then drew it out, stepped towards Macro and the others waiting out of sight in the darkness and held the torch high as he waved it steadily from side to side. Then he turned and thrust the torch into the brazier and stood with the others, waiting. It would take a while for Macro to march the cohort up to the edge of the camp. Until then Cato and his party would have to stand in for the men on watch. He gazed towards the eastern horizon, beyond the fort, and stared for a moment. There was definitely the faintest glimmer of light along the horizon that just demarcated the land from the sky. Cato turned to look for the first sign of the approaching cohort, but it was still too dark to pick them out. A little while after Cato had given the signal a man approached them from inside the camp. He gave a brief wave as he passed by and was singing softly to himself as he headed out into the darkness.