The Legion c-10

by Simon Scarrow

  The felucca rebounded from the impact and a fresh gust filled the sail, easing it round towards the shore as Cato centred the tiller. There was no chance to help the men of the other boat, nor spare them more than a moment's thought. No more than thirty feet from the riverbank the crewman released the mainsheet and the triangular sail billowed freely for a moment before it flapped in the light breeze. The momentum of the felucca carried it on and the craft had only lost a little speed when the boat lurched to an abrupt halt in the silt where a strip of reeds ran along the bank. Most of the legionaries had braced themselves but even so a number tumbled into their comrades and a chorus of grunts and curses broke out until Macro bellowed angrily at them.

  'Shut your mouths! Shields up, swords out and follow me!'

  He stepped up on to the foredeck, crouching slightly behind his shield, and took a running jump towards the riverbank. He landed with a splash and a brief rustle of trampled reeds. The water came up to his thighs and the silt on the river bed sucked at his boots. Gritting his teeth Macro pressed on, surging through the churned-up water, his shield brushing the reeds aside. He heard more men splashing down behind him, and a quick glance to either side revealed that the rest of the first wave of boats was edging into the reeds to disgorge their legionaries. The air was sweltering in amongst the reeds and Macro's ears filled with the rush of water and the grunts of his men as they struggled to gain firm ground. Over the rim of his shield he could see the nearest band of Arabs bearing down on them, giving vent to their battle cries as they raised their curved blades and charged down the short, grassy slope towards the Romans.

  Macro emerged from the silt and checked his pace. More men rustled free of the reeds on either side, and then a moment later Cato was at his side, breathing heavily and eyes wide beneath the rim of his helmet as he braced his boots and raised the tip of his sword towards the oncoming enemy. The Romans were strung out in a ragged battle line along the riverbank and a moment later the dark-robed Arabs plunged in amongst the legionaries and the air was filled with the clatter and thud of shields striking and the sharp clash of metal as blade met blade.

  Keeping his shield up, Macro took the first blows without striking back as he readied his sword, holding the handle tightly and drawing it back, ready to thrust. He heard the growl of an enemy on the other side of the shield and could smell the sour odour of camels that had impregnated the man's robes. He waited for the next blow, a cut down on to the metal trim of the shield, and then punched forwards, following up with a quick pace and another thrust which slammed into the body of the Arab. The man grunted as the breath was driven from his lungs. At once Macro swung his shield aside and stabbed with his sword. The Arab wore no armour and the point cut through the man's robes and lost none of its impetus before it struck his ribs. As Macro made to withdraw the blade, the Arab twisted to one side, snagging the sword and almost wresting it from Macro's hand.

  'No you don't!' Macro snarled, wrenching the handle. 'Bloody rags these people dress in. Ain't bloody fair.'

  With a ripping noise the blade came free and the Arab stumbled back, winded and bleeding. He glared at Macro, raised his shield and sword and fought to recover his breath. Then he attacked again. Macro deflected the blow with his shield, cut down on the man's wrist and then stabbed him in the throat. His foe collapsed on to his knees, dropping his sword as he clasped his neck, vainly trying to stem the blood pumping from the fatal wound. Macro stepped back a pace to quickly take stock of the situation.

  To his right Cato was duelling a large Arab in a gleaming scale cuirass. A heavy curved blade, wider at the tip, slashed away at Cato's shield, driving him back until one of the legionaries struck at the Arab's leg, cutting through muscles and tendons. The man's leg gave way under him, he fell back, and Cato stepped up and struck a savage blow to the man's helmet, knocking him cold.

  Along the bank of the Nile Macro could see that his men were steadily fighting their way up from the reeds. Above them, fifty paces to his left, Ajax sat on his horse, urging his men on as he punched his sword into the air. Macro turned towards a group of men who had landed from the same boat. 'On me! Form up on me!'

  The legionaries hurried into a wedge behind their centurion, and Cato, seeing them, joined the small formation.

  'Let's go!' Macro called out, pacing diagonally across the bank towards Ajax. Only a handful of the enemy stood before them, and some of these hurried away from the cluster of Romans to find easier opponents still floundering at the water's edge. Others, braver, threw themselves on Macro's small band and paid the price for their single-handed pursuit of glory. Then, as the wedge neared the top of the bank, the gladiator turned and saw the danger.

  He bellowed an order to the nearest group of camel archers who stood waiting, weapons poised, as they could not shoot for fear of hitting their comrades. Ajax thrust his sword towards Macro and the others and shouted his command in Greek. 'Shoot 'em down! Kill them!'

  His meaning was clear and needed no translation. The archers raised their bows, aimed down the bank, and loosed the arrows at close range. Cato winced as a barbed head burst through the inside of his shield, close to his face. To his right a man cried out as a shaft pierced his leg, chipping bone and cutting through muscle just below the knee. He staggered to a halt and crouched helplessly, unable to either continue the advance or shelter behind his shield and deal with the injury.

  'Cut it out, man!' Cato yelled at him. 'Cut it out and move on, or stay here and die.'

  The small formation closed up and continued forward into the storm of arrows, leaving their comrade behind. The shattering cracks and splitting of wood filled Cato's ears in a deafening cacophony as he paced forward at Macro's shoulder, hunched down behind his shield to protect his legs as best as he could. But being tall, his helmet and crest projected a little above the rim of the shield and an arrow tore through the crest, wrenching the helmet, and then another shot glanced off the top of it, knocking his head slightly to one side and making him briefly dizzy. Cato shook his head and staggered on, fearing that he might stumble and fall, and be at the mercy of the enemy archers. But the dizziness cleared and he clenched his jaw and followed Macro up and on to the bank.

  The enemy loosed their last arrows before dropping their bows across their saddle horns and drawing their swords. They snatched up their reins and urged their camels towards the Romans. The beasts let out raw, throaty grunts as they charged with a loping gait.

  'Hold!' Macro yelled, bracing his feet apart and pushing his shield out, ready to absorb the impact of the charge. Cato and the others followed suit and crouched, swords ready, sweating under the weight of their armour and the exertion of scrambling ashore and up the bank. The leading camel's neck stretched out above the rim of Macro's shield an instant before its heavy chest struck it a glancing blow. The rider reached out and forward, slashing down with his curved blade, which split the rim of the shield, leaving the tip a few inches from Macro's head. The Arab was at the limit of his reach and Macro rose up and hacked into the neck of the camel instead. The beast's jaw fell open and the tongue shot out as it gave a deep bleat of agony, then swerved aside, away from the small knot of Roman soldiers and straight across the path of the other riders. The camel staggered and collapsed on to its knees. Another animal stumbled into its flank, nearly unseating its rider. The rest stopped abruptly or tried to swerve aside. Their riders shouted angrily, struggling to regain control of their mounts, as dust swirled about the long spindly legs of the camels.

  Macro instantly sized up the situation. 'Jackals! At 'em!'

  He ran round the stricken camel as its rider tried to recover his balance and threw himself into the confusion of the riders and beasts beyond. Keeping his shield up, Macro hacked at the dark skin of a bare leg that appeared in front of him. Then, as the rider yelled and steered his mount away, Macro turned and saw another man above him, black against the glaring sun. Squinting, he could not see the blade he knew was slashing down towards him and could on
ly throw up his sword arm to try and block the blow. There was a resounding clang of metal on metal and then the shock of the impact driving down Macro's arm, wrenching his strong wrists and the powerful muscles bunched around his elbow and shoulder joints. The Arab's blade struck the transverse crest of his helmet, breaking through the bronze strip and finally striking the iron reinforcement ridge that crossed his helmet from side to side. The blow would have killed him outright had he failed to block it, but the impact dazed him, blinding his vision with white sparks. He staggered, weaving from side to side, still holding his shield up while his sword arm hung limply at his side. A wave of nausea seized him and Macro feared that he might pass out.

  'The fuck I will,' he growled to himself.

  He shook his head and his vision began to clear. A fresh blow glanced off his shield, and then he heard a shocked gasp. Glancing to his side, he saw that Cato was between himself and the camel and had punched his sword up into its rider's guts. The Arab wheeled his camel away and clasped a hand to his wound as he rode out of the small cluster of men locked in combat. One of the legionaries was down, a long slash in his sword arm that had opened up flesh and muscle to reveal the bone beneath. But the enemy had lost two men, lying still in the dust, and more were wounded, and now they fell back, away from the heavily armoured infantrymen. Two men started after the enemy but Macro called them back angrily and then turned his attention back to Ajax.

  The gladiator was trying to rally the camel archers but they were losing the fight along the riverbank. The legionaries were pushing their way up the slope and spilling out into the fields of wheat beyond. Ajax unleashed his rage at his men, bellowing at them to stand and fight. Though they shared no common tongue there was no mistaking his will, yet his men avoided his eye as they flowed back across the fields.

  'Let's go at him,' Cato breathed heavily. 'While we have the chance.'

  Macro turned to the other men. 'Come on!'

  The two officers led the small party of legionaries towards the gladiator and the handful of mounted men who remained with him. Ajax was staring bitterly after his fleeing allies and was only alerted to the danger when one of his men called out to him and pointed towards the Romans quickly closing in on them. Ajax turned in his saddle and glared for a moment before his expression changed to one of a man in a torment of frustration. He reached for his sword handle and his hand hovered there briefly before he took up his reins and urged his horse away from the riverbank.

  Cato felt a leaden pain in his heart at the prospect of Ajax evading them and he yelled out towards the horsemen, 'Stand and fight, cowards! Fight us!'

  Ajax's horse high-stepped as his master locked eyes with Cato, then Ajax kicked his heels in and he and his men galloped away across the field, amid the fleeing forms of their Arab allies. Cato ran as hard as he could after them, crunching over the trampled wheat, but they made good their escape and he drew up, gasping for breath as he watched them head for the pale walls of a distant temple.

  'Bastard,' Macro panted as he stopped beside Cato. 'Bastard didn't have the balls to stand… and face us.'

  Cato licked his dry lips and fought for breath. His armour felt like a vice around his body, crushing him under the burden of its weight and the heat which prickled like that from an open oven. He took a deep breath and swallowed. Closing his eyes, Cato spoke through clenched teeth. 'He tasks us… tasks us to the limit of our endurance.'

  Cato's eyes flickered open. He drew himself up, looked along the riverbank to see the legionaries wearily forming up around their standards. He let out an impatient breath. 'We'd better send word to the legate. Tell him we have secured the bank.'

  'I'll see to it,' said Macro.

  'And have the rest of your men and the artillery landed as quickly as possible.' Cato gestured towards the temple and continued harshly, 'If they think that they'll be safe in there, they're in for a surprise. They'll be caught. Trapped. This time there'll be no escape.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  There was a dull thud as another ballista bolt tore into the mud bricks of the outer wall and a small cloud of dust shivered into the air. Ajax squinted down from the top of the pylon and by the failing light he saw that the interior of the wall was cracked and crumbling from top to bottom. The sun had already set and the sky was a deep violet, pricked by the steely glitter of the early evening stars. The Romans were already building fires around the perimeter of the temple wall to ensure that there would be some light to detect any attempt by the defenders to escape. After they had forced a way across the Nile they had brought up three more cohorts of legionaries and some cavalry as well as the battery of bolt throwers from the island.

  Ajax had been surprised by the speed with which the Romans had moved to surround the temple complex, and the first of the bolt throwers had begun to shoot the moment it had been set up opposite the curtain wall. Then, as the rest of the weapons were hauled forward by cart, the bombardment had intensified late into the afternoon and early evening.

  Two more bolts slammed into the mud bricks.

  'They'll have a breach in the outer wall before the first hour of the night is over,' Karim muttered. 'Then all that stands before them will be the barricades we've put together across the entrances to the temple.'

  'Not quite the fortress I had hoped it might be,' said Ajax.

  The heavy tall timber doors of the main gate between the first pair of pylons had been reinforced with palm logs cut from the trees that grew a short distance away. The narrow side entrances had also been blocked up with makeshift palisades and parties of Arab warriors armed with swords and spears stood behind the defences, grimly determined to keep the Romans out for as long as possible. After all, Ajax reflected, that was the purpose of the raid down the western bank of the Nile. To delay the enemy advance and give Prince Talmis a free hand to devastate the Roman province along the upper Nile. Ajax and his column were supposed to tie the Romans down for several days but the enemy had reacted far more swiftly and resolutely than Ajax expected. As things stood, his position was looking decidedly perilous.

  There was another impact on the wall, near the breach, and this time the shaft burst through before clattering against the solid stone of the temple.

  'Perhaps we should try to break out before it's too late, General,' Karim suggested cautiously.

  Ajax smiled. 'You think it was a bad decision to make a stand here, my friend.'

  Karim pursed his lips. 'It is not for me to say. You command, I follow.'

  'That's right. I have my reasons for remaining here.' Ajax pointed towards a cluster of Roman officers standing on a small mound. 'They are there, the two men in this world that I most want to kill.'

  'You are certain it was them?'

  'I saw them with my own eyes. I heard them call for me.' Ajax gritted his teeth. 'I would have charged them down in an instant had there been a chance to face them individually.' He stared at the distant figures of the enemy officers, their helmet crests and polished breastplates gleaming in the light of a nearby fire as the flames fiercely consumed the dried palm leaves that served as kindling.

  'You can be sure that when the Romans attack, those two will be leading their men. And I shall be waiting for them.' He turned to Karim. 'Perhaps it is as well that we are trapped here in the temple. There is no retreat for us now. We hold out as long as we can, and the chance to face my enemies will come. They will die on my sword. Both of them.'

  'And we shall die with them,' Karim added quietly. 'You, me, those who have followed you since the first days of the revolt, and our Arab allies. Is that the best way to defy Rome, General?'

  Ajax slowly ran a hand through his thick curls. His hair had grown longer than he liked. He preferred a short crop, enough to absorb the sweat on his scalp so that it did not course down his brow when he was fighting. He sighed. 'I begin to grow weary of defying Rome. Of being forced to run and always looking back for sign of my pursuers. There comes a time when the prey must turn and face the hun
ter. Then there is a last chance to die with purpose, with dignity. Perhaps that time has come. If so, then I shall kill as many Romans as I can while I still breathe. If the gods are kind, then I shall kill Macro and Cato as well.' Ajax looked at his friend and clasped his arm. 'Is that such a bad end? To die on your feet, sword in your hand, with your comrades – your friends – at your side?'

  Karim nodded solemnly. 'Better than to live as a slave, my General.'

  'That is not living,' Ajax replied. 'Merely existing.'

  There was another series of thuds as the enemy bolt throwers continued to break down the mud-brick wall, then a rumble as a large section gave way and collapsed into the temple compound in a swirl of dust. There was a short pause before a brassy note sounded from the Roman lines. The bolt throwers ceased shooting and then the signal blew again and a column of legionaries quickly formed up just out of bowshot from the temple. Eight men abreast and twenty or so ranks deep. This would be the legion's First Cohort, Ajax knew. The most powerful unit at the disposal of the commander of the Roman army. A handful of officers broke away from the group who had been surveying the temple's defences and joined the column. Thanks to his spy in the Roman army, Ajax knew that Macro was the commander of the First Cohort, and he found himself praying fervently that Cato would be joining him in the attack on the temple.

  Ajax turned to Karim. 'Pass the word. The breach is made and the Romans are coming. Have the archers make ready to give our friends a warm welcome.'

  Karim nodded. 'Yes, my General.'

  As Karim hurried down the steps leading from the top of the pylon, Ajax beckoned the Arabs standing a deferential distance from their commander at the far end of the platform. They came over and he pointed out the Roman column. Their leader nodded his understanding, his lips parting to reveal gleaming teeth. A moment later Karim's voice carried up to Ajax, and then there were more shouts as his orders were conveyed to the Arabs by the Nubian officers versed in Greek and Arab tongues as well as their own. As the enemy's bucinas sounded again and the column tramped out of the gloom towards the breach, Ajax looked down to see his men scaling the makeshift ladders to bring them up on to the roof of the temple. On the other pylons he could see a small flicker of fire as they lit their bundles of brushwood and dried palm leaves. The flames quickly took hold and illuminated the archers standing by, the first of their arrows drawn from their quivers. Strips of cloth impregnated with oil and pitch had been wound around the shafts, just behind the arrow heads, ready to be ignited the moment the order was given. Karim came running back up the stairs, breathing heavily. He swallowed and made his report.