There was a shout from inside the tower and Macro looked up and saw light flickering from a small window halfway up the wall. The light quickly intensified and now the crackle of flames came to his ears.
'What the hell?' He hurried round to the door as the first of his men came stumbling outside.
Macro grabbed the legionary. 'What's going on?'
'There's a fire in the sentry's quarters, sir! The oil lamp must have gone over and set light to one of the bedrolls.'
'Fuck,' Macro gritted his teeth. 'We have to put it out, quick.'
He ran back inside, up the stairs. Already the air was thick with smoke and the flames flared up against the walls, lighting the space in a hellish red light. There were shouts from above as the flames licked up the stairs. Macro looked round desperately, then saw an amphora leaning in the corner. He rushed over and snatched it up, and pulled out the stopper, instantly releasing the sharp tang of wine. Moving towards the fire, and wincing at the heat that struck him like a stinging blow, Macro shook the contents towards the flames. The wine landed in gouts, quenching the flames, but not quickly enough.
'Bugger this,' Macro growled, stepping back. He hefted the amphora, took aim at the wall where the flames were most fierce and hurled the jar. The heavy pottery exploded, wine splattered on the rough plaster and drenched the sleeping mat below. Snatching up a cloak from the table, Macro started beating out the flames.
He looked over his shoulder and saw Hamedes. 'Give me a bloody hand!'
The priest hesitated for an instant, his eyes wide with fear, then he plucked a cloak from a peg on the wall beside him and joined Macro, smothering the remaining flames. When the last of the fire was stamped out, Macro nodded his thanks. He looked round the smoke-filled room. An acrid stench gripped his throat and he coughed. Throwing the cloak down, he stumbled to the stairs, pushing the priest ahead of him, and climbed up on to the roof. He crossed to the wooden rail and breathed deeply to clear his lungs. The dawn was coming up fast; a band of pale light thickened along the horizon. By its glow Macro could already see the full extent of the bay from the shadowy mangroves, across the water to the fort. Several figures had emerged from the gate and were looking directly towards the headland. More appeared on the walls of the fort and then there was a shrill blast of a horn.
'Damn, they've seen the fire.' Macro clenched the rail. A moment later, he watched a strong force of men emerge from the gate. They carried shields and a mix of weapons – swords, spears, axes and a handful of bows. Several of them carried torches that flared brightly as they broke into a trot. They hurried along the path leading to the headland. Macro sucked in a breath. 'Now we're for it.'
Cato had given the order for the Sobek to head for the entrance to the bay at full speed and the drum beneath the deck beat the time as the oars swept forward, down and back, powering the warship forward. In the near darkness, Macro's signal had stood out clearly. But then more flames had appeared briefly, licking up out of the tower and illuminating the surrounding rocks.
'What the hell is he playing at?' said the trierarch. 'He's going to give the whole thing away.'
'Something's gone wrong,' Cato responded anxiously. 'How long before we make the entrance to the bay?'
The trierarch squinted at the coastline and estimated the distance. 'Within the half-hour if we keep up the current speed.'
'So long?' Cato stared at the headland. He forced himself to push his concern for Macro aside and concentrated on the timing. From his experience of the last two months he knew that a well-handled ship could be refloated from a beach in less than a quarter of the time. If Ajax moved quickly he could get his men aboard their ship and make for the open sea before the trap was closed. That could not be allowed to happen, Cato resolved. He turned to the trierarch.
'Can the ship go any faster?'
'Yes, sir. Ramming speed is part of the drill. But we can only keep it up for a short stretch.'
'Then give the order.'
'But sir, it will exhaust the men. They need their strength for when we close to do battle.'
'There won't be any battle unless we reach the bay in time. Your men must row their hearts out. Understand?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Then give the order. Pass it on to the other ships. Go!'
The trierarch dropped down the ladder on to the deck and ran to the midships hatchway to shout the order to his timekeeper. Cato heard the drum increase its pace, and the deck gave a little lurch beneath his boots as the Sobek began to speed up. To the east, off the port bow, the sky was turning pink and painting the undersides of a few scattered clouds in a warm delicate hue. Cato willed the ship on. The flames on the tower had died away now and he could not help wondering what had become of Macro and his men. If they still lived, then they were on their own until the warships reached the bay. Even as his thoughts were with this friend, Cato saw a tiny pinprick of light dancing along the headland, then another, and more, and with a sick feeling in his stomach he realised that Ajax and his men were already hunting down Macro and his small band.
CHAPTER EIGHT
'Sir!' a voice called to Macro. 'They're coming!'
He trotted over to the edge of the tower and saw the figures emerging between two rocks, less than a quarter of a mile away. They came on at a run and Macro quickly saw that he and his men were outnumbered at least three to one.
'What are you going to do?' asked Hamedes. 'There's too many of them. We should get out of here while there's still time. Or surrender.'
'Surrender? To that bastard? Never!' Macro snarled.
'Then let's run.'
'Run? Where? We're on a bloody headland. There's nowhere to run to, you idiot. Now shut up and give me a hand.' Macro moved over to one of the bolt throwers and swivelled it round to face the oncoming attackers. 'Open the ammunition box,' he snapped and pointed at a weathered chest beside the wall. While Hamedes fetched a bundle of the heavy bolts, two feet long with heavy iron heads and wooden flights, Macro wound the handle and ratcheted back the thick tarry cord that stretched between the two arms of the weapon. Once it was ready, he took the first bolt from the priest and laid it in the long groove that passed between the boxes containing the torsion ropes. The first of the renegades was little more than two hundred paces from the tower now and Macro pulled out the elevation pin and then grunted as he raised the bed of the weapon, sighted the bolt thrower on the man, then slipped the pin back in. He straightened up.
'Stand clear!'
He glanced round, then grasped the lanyard that released the ratchet. He gave it a quick tug and the throwing arms snapped forward against the leather buffers with a sharp crack. At once Macro looked over the rail and saw the slender shadow slash through the dawn air towards the oncoming men. It flew over the leading man's head even before he was aware it was there. The bolt flew on, past another man before it hit the ground, sent up a spray of grit and ricocheted up and tore through the leg of one of the renegades, lifting him off the ground and sending him spinning into a small group close behind, knocking them down.
'Ha!' Macro growled with satisfaction, and hurriedly prepared the next shot. 'Bolt!' He held out his hand and Hamedes fumbled for the next round. He dropped it and ducked down to retrieve it as Macro cursed him. Looking up, Macro saw that the attackers had spread out and were picking their way forward more cautiously. That suited Macro well enough. All that mattered was to buy enough time to allow Cato's ships to enter the bay. Three of Ajax's men were creeping forward by the rocks where Macro's party had hidden and he swivelled the weapon round and released the catch. There was another crack and the bolt whirred through the air. This time it struck one of the men cleanly in the chest, hurling him back against a boulder where he crumpled in an untidy heap, the end of the shaft projecting from his tunic.
As soon as Macro began to reload, there was a shout and the men sprinted forward in the interval before the next round was loaded. Macro just had time to lower the elevation and fire one last bolt, which
flew over their heads.
'That's it.' He stood back from the bolt thrower. 'It's hand-to-hand now.'
The first of the attackers reached the door and pounded on it. To little effect, as the door was secured with a wooden bar and some meal bags had been piled behind it. By the time Macro had climbed down and joined his men, as they snatched up the shields of the renegades they had killed, the first axe blows were thudding into the aged timber. A moment later a long splinter of wood shot back from the inside of the door. More splinters exploded as axes crashed home. Then a long sliver of wood bent down and the dull edge of the axe head protruded, a finger's width, through the door. When the axe was wrenched free, it left a narrow gap through which Macro could see the men outside in the pale dawn light. More blows smashed through the weakened timber and hands wrenched at the shattered lengths of wood.
'Don't worry, lads,' Macro said evenly. 'There's only one way in. All we have to do is keep 'em out until the prefect gets here.'
He glanced round at the men standing poised in the gloom and noted their expressions. Some looked grim but determined, while a handful of others, younger, had an anxious, fearful look in their eyes. It was a centurion's duty to lead from the front, to inspire his men, and Macro eased himself forward towards the door, sword clenched in his right hand. He drew out his dagger and held it in the other hand. With a splintering crack a length of the door was pulled away, then more pieces, until only a shattered fringe remained. Outside, the renegades closed round. The first man stepped up, then kicked the makeshift barrier of meal sacks over. He carried a spear and he lowered the tip and thrust at Macro with a grunt. The leaf-shaped head stabbed towards his midriff and Macro parried it away as he swung to his left. At once he recovered his balance and lunged at the spearman, forcing him back, out of the door.
'Form up around the door!' Macro shouted. 'Take 'em from the side as they come in.'
As the men hurried into place, the spearman thrust again, hands gripping the shaft tightly and legs braced apart. This time he fully concentrated his attention on the centurion, as if they were paired in a duel. He weighed Macro up with an expert eye, and feinted. Macro flinched for an instant and then he grinned.
'I don't fool that easy. Try harder.'
This time the thrust was in earnest and the point shot forward like a ram. Macro slashed down, just above the man's hand, and the point went down towards the floor. Macro's dagger hand darted forward and stabbed into the renegade's forearm. With a gasp, he released the shaft and Macro stamped down on it, forcing the man off balance. He stumbled forward, inside the doorway, as he strove to regain his balance. One of the legionaries stepped up and punched his sword high into the man's back, driving him to one side. He fell on to his knees and slumped down with a groan as the legionary ripped his blade free.
'First blood to us, boys!' Macro cried out, then beckoned to the faces watching him from outside. 'Come on! Who's next?'
There was only the briefest hesitation before a burly swordsman swallowed nervously and made to approach the door. Before he could reach it, a voice called out.
'Stand aside! Let me through!'
Macro felt a cold shiver ripple down his spine as he recognised the voice at once. The men in front of him drew aside, creating a small open space before the door. Into it stepped a tall, powerful man in his early twenties, dark hair falling to his shoulders. He carried a short sword in one hand and a small round shield in the other. His body was protected by a black leather cuirass, decorated with silver whorls. His lips twisted into a cold smile.
'Centurion Macro. Well, what a surprise. I should have guessed you would try to find me.'
'And now that I have, I'm going to kill you,' Macro replied through gritted teeth.
'Really?' Ajax stepped closer, his eyes fixed on Macro. 'Then why not come out here? Let's settle this, man to man.'
Macro felt a burning compulsion to confront the gladiator. The urge coursed through his veins and threatened to cloud his judgement. He clamped his jaw shut and stared back at the man who had tormented him so cruelly barely three months before.
'What's the matter?' Ajax smirked. 'Are you not man enough to face me?'
Macro took half a step forward, almost to the threshold of the tower's entrance, and checked himself.
'Tell you what, Ajax,' he spoke in a flat tone. 'Why don't you come in here to settle things.'
Ajax chuckled coldly. 'A stand-off between us, then. A shame, since I would have liked the chance to humiliate you in front of your men.' Ajax lowered his sword. 'It seems that we'll have to do this the hard way.' He stepped back and turned to his men. 'Shields to the front!'
A half-dozen renegades stepped up. Three stood together and overlapped their shields. The others stepped up to guard the flanks and then Ajax beckoned to some more of his men and they approached the door.
The time for fancy footwork and swordplay was over, Macro realised. This was about to become a contest of brute strength, and Ajax and his men were as powerful and tough as they came.
'Legionaries, on me!' Macro called out, grabbing a shield. 'Quickly, damn it!'
His men scrambled to his side, forming up, shield to shield and swords held level, as they were trained to do for close combat.
'Ready!' Macro barked the order and then called the time as he stepped towards the door. 'One… two…'
The two sides crunched together just inside the door frame and Macro threw his weight behind his shield as he braced his boots against the grain sacks that had collapsed on the floor. His men pressed in close behind him and Macro could hear the strained breath and grunts of effort all around him as the Romans and the renegades heaved against each other. Those in the front were trapped between the shields and those pushing them from behind. Macro knew that it was a contest between the raw strength of the renegades and the technique of the legions. For a moment both sides pushed with all their strength, and then Macro felt the sacking beneath his right boot begin to give. He tried to adjust his foot, but the sack had split and the loose grain gave little traction. Slowly he was eased back from the door and a gap opened between his shield and that of the man to his left. At once the tip of a sword blade thrust through the gap, mercifully striking nothing but air before it was snatched back.
'Watch it!' Macro warned the others. 'Close up.'
The legionaries heaved forward and pressed the enemy back.
'Come on!' Ajax yelled. 'Push! Sweep them aside, lads. Then kill 'em all.'
Once again the bodies were tightly wedged against each other in the narrow doorway. Macro turned towards one of the men still standing to one side.
'You! Go for their legs, man! Hack 'em!'
The legionary nodded and edged his way round the side of the struggle, then, taking careful aim, he waited until there was a gap and stabbed the point of his sword home, into a calf. The renegade bellowed in pain and instinctively edged back, creating a gap in the shield wall presented to the Romans. Macro pushed forward, driving between two of his enemies and thrusting his own blade out, at an angle, into the side of the man to his right. It was not a lethal blow, just breaking through the skin and catching in the ribs, but the man fell away with a grunt.
Just as the Romans drove the last of their enemies away from the door, there was a shout from down the track.
'General! General Ajax!'
Ajax, in the third rank of his men, glanced back and saw the figure running down the track towards the skirmish. 'Here!'
He pushed his way out and stood, chest heaving from his exertions. 'What is it?'
'There are warships coming, sir. Several of them. Making straight for the harbour entrance.'
'How far away?'
'A mile, maybe less.'
Ajax turned back, seeking out Macro as he frowned in frustration. 'Damn it! There's no time for this,' he snarled. He stared towards Macro in blind hatred before he recovered his poise. 'Fall back, boys. Fall back. Return to the ships. Fast as you can! We have to get out of here!
'
Ajax's men scrambled back and Macro felt the pressure lift from his shield and he had to scramble forward a little in order to retain his balance. He crouched, shield up and sword drawn, breathing heavily. His eyes met those of Ajax, some ten feet away. The gladiator thrust his arm out, pointing directly at Macro. 'It isn't over yet! As Zeus is my witness, I'll cut your head from your body with my own sword.'
Then he turned and joined his men as they warily backed away a short distance from the tower and then turned to run down the track. Macro watched him go with a heavy heart. If Cato and his ships managed to reach the mouth of the harbour in time to prevent Ajax's escape then that reckoning might come soon enough, Macro reflected. He waited until the last of the renegades was a safe distance down the track before he stretched up into a standing position and lowered his shield. Turning towards the sea, he could easily make out the ships from the Alexandrian fleet rowing swiftly towards the shore.
CHAPTER NINE
The sun had crested the horizon as the Sobek approached the point of the headland. The coast was bathed in a warm yellow glow which caught the red sails of the warships, intensifying the colour. The trierarch was leaning over the bow and staring down into the water as he tried to pick out any shoals that might threaten his ship. The sea was calm and the lightest of swells brushed up against the rocks on the shore. Cato had dressed in armour and wore his red cloak and plumed helmet in preparation for the coming battle. He climbed up into the turret on the foredeck and surveyed the coastline. For the last half mile of its length the headland was on lower ground and from the turret Cato could see the tops of the palm trees on the far side of the bay. Earlier he had seen the enemy withdraw from the watchtower and had feared that Macro and his men had been overwhelmed. But then his keen eyes had detected the transverse crest of a helmet atop the tower and he knew that his friend still lived.
'Sir!' the lookout cried from his position astride the spar. He pointed across the headland. 'They're on the move!'
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