Centurion c-8

by Simon Scarrow

  Parmenion took one last glance over his shoulder before he turned to Cato and grumbled, 'Five days of this, at least, before we reach Palmyra. When I get there, I'm going to make those rebel bastards pay for every step of the way.'

  08 Centurion

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Each day began with the same ritual. At the first glimmer of light on the horizon the duty centurion of each cohort woke the other officers. They in turn moved down the lines of sleeping men, shouting the order to rise and prepare to march, pausing here and there to stick the boot into any man slow to respond. With groans and the stretching of cold, stiff limbs the men stood and shook off the sand that had blown over them during the night. They attached their equipment to their marching yokes and then ate a quick meal of dried meat and hard bread from the rations in their haversacks and washed it down with a few mouthfuls of water. Every centurion and optio was conscious of the need to make the water last as long as possible and closely supervised their men as they drank from their canteens.

  Once the men had formed into their centuries there was a quick roll-call and then Macro gave the order to begin the day's march. As dawn lightened the sky the air was still and cool and the cohorts marched in an easy rhythm, the heavy crunch of their nailed boots accompanied by the irregular slap and jingle of loose equipment, and muted conversation. The early hours were the most comfortable time of the day to march and Macro deliberately kept the pace up, before the day's heat smothered the desert in its searing embrace. Before this campaign Cato had thought that dawn was the most beautiful time of the day. Now, as the sun rose over the horizon, casting long shadows across the desert plain, he quickly came to regard it as a source of torment.

  Gradually the shadows shortened and the light strengthened into a dazzling glare that caused the men to squint their eyes and keep their gaze cast down as they tramped further into the wasteland. Then came the heat. Quickly overpowering the last of the cool dawn air, it wrapped itself around the men of the two cohorts. Now, seasoned veteran and fresh-faced recruit alike began to feel the weight of their equipment and their yokes pressed on to their shoulders as they set their expressions into grim masks and put one foot in front of the other and tried not to think of the remainder of the day stretching ahead of them. As the sun climbed higher and higher into the sky the men became drenched with perspiration that for many caused a hot prickling sensation under their military tunics which became unbearable as the day wore on.

  Finally, as the sun neared its zenith, Macro called a halt and the men downed their yokes with weary sighs and groans, before slumping down and taking the midday drink from their canteens.Then they made what shade they could from their shields and cloaks and rested until the midday heat had passed, and the order was given to make ready to continue the march. Back on their feet, the men raised their yokes again and formed up on the track. Then, as the order was given, they shuffled forward into a leaden stride for the rest of the afternoon until the sun slipped towards the horizon. Only as the light faded did the day's march end.

  On the third night after leaving Chalcis Cato organised the watches and then went to report to Macro. Several more of his men had fallen behind during the march and three of the cavalry horses had gone lame. Under normal circumstances the beasts would be slaughtered and the meat distributed to the men to cook. But since they were not constructing marching camps Macro had forbidden the lighting of any fires – not that much of a fire could be built from the pitiful stunted growths they had occasionally encountered beside the track – so the animals were killed and their carcasses left in the wake of the two cohorts.

  Macro was standing on a small rise, a short distance from his men, surveying the ground ahead of them in the gathering dusk. He turned as he heard the sound of Cato's boots approaching. Forcing a smile on to his cracked lips Macro waved a greeting.

  'Two more days of this, and it's over, Cato. Just two more days.'

  'It'll be over one way or another.'

  'True. But we'll deal with the situation in Palmyra when we get to it.'

  Cato could sense that his friend was exhausted, and nodded. 'Of course. Let's just get through this.'

  Macro stared at him a moment and then laughed at the concern in Cato's tone. 'You sound like my mother. I'm all right, really.' He gazed back over the desert. 'I was just wondering why anyone would want to fight over possession of territory like this. It's a wasteland.'

  'It's a wasteland with a city perched on top of a lucrative trade route right next to an oasis,' Cato replied.

  Macro nodded slowly and then pursed his lips. 'Well, if you put it like that…'

  A sudden burst of angry shouting caused them both to turn back towards their camp. Several men were clustered round the cart from which the canteens were being replenished. As the two officers watched, more men emerged from the surrounding dusk.

  'Bugger! More trouble,' Macro sighed at the chorus of raised voices. 'Come on. Sound like that will carry a long way across the desert.'

  They scrambled down from the low mound and ran across to the cart.

  'Out of the way there!' Macro called out as loudly as he dared. In the gloom it was difficult for the men to make out his rank as he thrust his way through the crowd. Cato grabbed an arm and forcefully hauled a soldier out of Macro's path. 'Make way for your commanding officer, damn you!'

  Ahead of him a handful of men were locked in a savage fight, fists and boots flailing at each other. Macro raised his vine staff and swung it out in an arc ahead of him. It connected with a sharp crack and a man fell back with a cry, hands clutched to his head.

  'Stop this bloody nonsense at once!' Macro shouted briefly, and slashed his cane at two men who were still swinging their fists at each other. 'At once, I said!'

  The fighting stopped abruptly and those involved drew apart as Macro stood his ground by the back of the cart and glared at the crowd, a mixture of auxiliaries and legionaries.

  'What the hell is going on? Where's the optio in charge of the water distribution?'

  'Here, sir.' An auxiliary officer rose up unsteadily from the ground.

  'Report, man! What's the meaning of this?'

  The optio stood to attention. He glanced quickly at the men surrounding him and swallowed nervously. 'Sir, there was a misunderstanding.'

  Macro snorted with derision. 'I should fucking say so! Now what the hell is going on?'

  The optio realised that there was no chance of keeping the situation a ranker affair and continued in a monotone.

  'I was on duty, sir. Supervising the water rations. The canteen carriers from the Second Illyrian came up first, just ahead of the lads from the Tenth. As I start filling the canteens one of the legionaries pushes into the line and demands his section's share before I'd finished with my lads. I told him to wait his turn. He told me that legionaries come first, and that my lads would have to give way for… well, for real soldiers, he said.'

  'Which man said this?'

  The optio glanced over Macro's shoulder, but before he could identify the legionary the man stepped forward.

  'It was me, sir.'

  Macro turned to the man and quickly sized him up.'And you are?'

  'Decimus Tadius, sir. Sixth Century.'

  'And what exactly did you think you were doing, soldier?'

  'Sir, it was like he said. The legions always take the first share of whatever's going.'

  'That applies to booty, Tadius, and you know it. Not rations. And certainly not rations in this situation. Every man gets his fair share, in his turn, while I'm in command. Whether he's an auxiliary or a legionary.' Macro stepped up to Tadius and rapped his vine cane on the man's segmented armour. 'Got that?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Good, because if you cause any more trouble, I'll chuck you out of my cohort and have you serve with the Second Illyrian. Then you might learn something.'

  Tadius opened his mouth to protest.

  'Don't!' Macro warned him. 'Now, the rest of you, get back in l
ine and take your water in turn. Now move!'

  'Wait,' Cato added softly to Tadius as the other men shuffled away. 'Not you,Tadius. Stand still.'

  Macro growled.'What are you doing, Cato? The matter's resolved.'

  'Not yet, sir.This man disobeyed the optio's order.That's a clear breach of the regulations.'

  Macro glanced round at the men and saw that the nearest were watching them curiously, while trying to appear as if they weren't. He eased himself closer to Cato and continued in an undertone, 'Look, it's over. No harm done. No point in making an issue of it.'

  'We can't avoid it, sir. He defied a superior officer in front of witnesses. We can't allow that to pass. He has to be punished.'

  Macro sighed with exasperation.'Listen, Cato. I haven't got time for this. And we've all got enough on our plates without having to worry about some kind of field punishment.'

  'Nevertheless, I insist that this man is punished, according to the regulations.'

  Macro rubbed his brow irritably and then hissed, 'Very well then.' He turned to Tadius and raised his voice. 'Legionary Tadius!'

  'Yes, sir.'

  Macro thought quickly. A fine, fatigues or a flogging would be pointless here in the desert. There was only one punishment fit for the situation, and one that Tadius would feel keenly. 'You are denied a day's water rations. Return to your century.'

  Tadius swallowed hard and replied through gritted teeth. 'Yes, sir.'Then he saluted and, slinging his canteen across his shoulder, turned and strode stiffly away, every step betraying his rage and sense of injustice. Macro nodded to the optio by the water cart.

  'Carry on.'

  As the meagre measures of water were poured into the proffered canteens Macro beckoned to Cato and began to walk away from the line of men.When they were safely out of earshot he stopped and faced his friend with a fierce expression.

  'What the hell was that about?'

  'Discipline, sir.'

  'You can drop the "sir" routine when the men aren't listening, Cato.'

  'All right then.' Cato nodded. 'I can't understand you. When did you ever let a man get away with something like that? If we were back in camp you'd have Tadius digging shit out of latrines for the rest of his life.'

  'I might,' Macro conceded.'But we're not in camp.We're about as far out on a limb as we can be.There's enough bad feeling between your lads and mine already without fanning the flames any further.'

  'Your lads and mine?' Cato repeated. 'You make it sound as if we're not on the same side.'

  'That's the point. If these men see themselves as enemies then we're in deep trouble the moment any real foes turn up. Petty grievances are a luxury we can't afford.'

  'And what about discipline?'

  'Sometimes you have to compromise. Anyway, you've taken care of the discipline, it would seem.' Macro sighed. 'If a day without water doesn't kill Tadius, then you will have made yourself an enemy for life. Congratulations.'

  Cato was about to reply when there was a shout from the camp. 'Cavalry patrol coming in!'

  Macro shook his head wearily. 'Will I get no bloody rest tonight? Come on, something's up.'

  The sound of hooves drumming across the desert announced the return of one of Cato's cavalry patrols and the two officers hurried over to where the decurion and his men were reining in at the edge of the column's sleeping lines.

  'Where's the prefect?' the decurion called out anxiously.

  Cato raised a hand. 'Over here. What's happened?'

  'Beg to report, we've sighted a large force of mounted men, sir.' The decurion was breathing heavily as he steadied his mount, still snorting for breath after its gallop back to the camp. 'To the south.'

  'How far from here?' Macro snapped.

  'No more than two miles, sir. Seemed to be heading towards us.'

  'Could you identify them?'

  'Too dark, sir. I watched long enough to gauge their heading, then came to report. I'm sure they didn't see us.'

  Cato interrupted. 'Mounted men, you say? Horse or camel?'

  The decurion paused for a moment. 'Bit of both, sir.'

  'Then it's likely to be a force from Palmyra, rather than Parthians. Parthians are supposed to favour horses.' Cato glanced at Macro. 'According to my sources, sir.'

  'Your sources?'

  'What I read in the library at Antioch.'

  'Then it's bound to be true,' Macro grumbled sarcastically. 'Right, we haven't time to get out of their way. So we'll have to lie low and keep quiet until they have passed.'

  'And if they ride right up to us?' asked Cato.

  'Then we give them the surprise of their bloody lives.'

  Cato recalled the mounted patrols and sent the cavalry back down the track to hide in a small depression the column had marched through before halting for the night. If there was a fight the Romans could not risk confusing their cavalry with the approaching horsemen in the darkness.When they heard a bucina signal they were to rejoin the column. Meanwhile the auxiliary and legionary infantry put on their armour and drew their swords before lying down beside their shields. If it came to a fight, then this would be a confused affair at close quarters. Javelins would be too cumbersome, so the short sword favoured by the Roman army would settle the affair. The officers, crouching low, passed along their lines harshly whispering to their men the need to keep still and silent and not to move a muscle unless an order was given. Macro and Cato crept a short distance forward, in the direction of the approaching horsemen, and squatted down, straining their eyes as they scanned the almost featureless landscape to their front.

  'If it is the enemy,' Macro said softly, 'we're only going to have one chance to hit them hard. If they can break away from us in good order, then the column's going to be arrow fodder come first light.'

  'I know.'

  'So if the moment comes, you and your men go in hard.'

  'Trust me, Macro. I know my job.'

  The older officer turned to his young friend and grinned. By the dim light of the stars his teeth seemed inordinately white in the muted dark shades of the night. He clapped Cato on the shoulder. 'Of course you know your job.You learned from the best.'

  They both chuckled for a moment and Cato felt a little of the nervous tension drain from his body. If it did come to a fight, there was no man better to have at his side in a battle than Centurion Macro. Then he froze, squinting out across the desert.

  'There!' He leaned closer so that Macro could follow the direction indicated and thrust his finger towards the horizon. At first Macro could see nothing. He blinked to clear his eyes and stared again.

  'Can't see a thing. Are you sure?'

  'Of course I am,' Cato responded irritably. 'Use your eyes.'

  This time Macro saw them, or rather he saw the dark smudge emerging from the greater gloom no more than half a mile off. As the detail began to resolve he could even see the faint penumbra of sand kicked up by the horses' hooves. As the column approached something else occurred to Macro.

  'They're quiet,' he whispered. 'They move like ghosts.'

  For a moment, a chill gripped Macro's spine at the thought.There had certainly been enough blood spilt across this land for it to be haunted by hosts of the spirits of the dead.

  'Relax. They're alive enough, for now,' Cato replied softly. 'They're quiet all right. The question is, what the hell are they doing out here? And why move after dark? They're not part of a caravan, that's for sure. Given the situation, they're almost certainly hostile.'

  'How can we be sure?'

  'We're the only Romans out here, and I'd have thought any friends we have are bottled up in the citadel at Palmyra. Besides…' A nasty thought struck him. 'It's almost as if they're looking for something. Us perhaps. In which case, I doubt they're friendly.'

  'Us? How could they be looking for us? They can't possibly know we're here. Not yet.'

  'Why not? Someone at Chalcis could easily have ridden ahead to raise the alarm.'

  'Shit, you're right.' Macro g
round his fist into the sand. Then he glanced at Cato.'If they're looking for us then why aren't there any scouts?'

  Cato thought for a moment. 'Could be that they don't think we've advanced this far yet. Anyway.' Cato nudged him. 'They're coming our way. We have to get back to the column.'

  The two officers rose into a low crouch and worked their way back to their men, taking care not to disturb too much sand and betray their presence. Macro stole back towards his legionaries as Cato lay down beside his standard-bearer, drew his sword and pulled his shield up beside his body. He glanced round and saw that his men were as flat to the ground as they could be and in the darkness there was every chance that they would be missed by the horsemen, provided the latter did not pass too close or, worse, stumble upon the concealed Romans. Cato's heart was beating like a hammer and his excited senses were overwhelmed by the sight, sound and smell of the cold desert night. For a moment there was nothing, and then the faintest sound of muffled hooves before the head of the column of horsemen was visible against the faintly lighter horizon.

  One of his men muttered something close by and Cato swivelled his head round to glare in that direction, and let a faint sound escape through his clenched teeth. 'Shhh.' If he discovered who the man was later, he thought furiously, he'd have him beaten. If they both survived the night.

  Now Cato could hear the creak of saddles and straps and the snorts and champ of the horses, as the riders closed on the Romans at an angle. Cato frantically tried to calculate their path and realised, with a sick feeling of inevitability, that they were riding straight at Macro and his cohort to Cato's left.

  'Shit,' he muttered under his breath, and then raged at himself for making the sound. He clamped his lips shut and tightened his grasp on his sword and shield. On they came, looming out of the dark so that now he could clearly see the individual details of helmets, spears and shields in silhouette. There was even the soft sound of muted conversation as they approached the waiting Romans.