Cato and Symeon turned to him expectantly.
‘Not so fast.’ Macro grinned. ‘Before that we have to deal with Prefect Scrofa. It’s time we had a word with him. I’ll have one of the guards send our message. But first, I need you to do something for us, Symeon. Listen here.’ Macro lowered his voice and began to outline his plan.
Postumus rapped on the door and from inside the prefect called out, ‘Enter!’
The latch lifted and the door swung open to admit Postumus, and behind him Centurions Macro and Cato. The three men approached the prefect’s desk and Postumus halted some distance before it, the others following his lead. Postumus patted his sword meaningfully as he met his superior’s gaze.
‘Macro and Cato, as requested, sir.’
‘Thank you, Postumus.’
‘There are four men just outside the door, sir.’
‘I’m confident they will not be needed, but, er, there’s no need to send them away now they’re here. Very well then, gentlemen.’ Scrofa drew himself up in his chair. ‘What is the meaning of this? What is this information that is so important for me to hear?’
Macro glanced at Cato and the latter gave the slightest nod towards the window that overlooked the courtyard. But outside the fort continued to bask quietly in the heat. Macro coughed to clear his throat. ‘We need to talk about the situation.’
‘What situation?’
‘The, uh, situation pertaining to the command of this cohort.’ Macro spoke with slow deliberation, as if weighing each word that he uttered as he played for time. ‘That is to say, the correct protocol for the, uh, transmission of authority from the present command to the assumption of command by, er, me. As it were . . . sir.’
‘Get to the point, Centurion,’ Scrofa snapped irritably, and jabbed his finger towards Macro. ‘You’d better not be wasting my time. So spit it out. Tell me what’s so bloody important that I must interrupt my afternoon rest to hear it, or I’ll send you back to your quarters at once.’
‘Very well.’ Macro nodded. ‘I’ll tell you. Your command of this cohort is forfeit. Your confinement of me and my fellow officer is illegal. The protection racket you operate on the caravan route passing through your territory is a corruption of your duty, responsibility and rank, for which I will bring charges against you and Centurion Postumus in due course, once I have assumed command of the Second Illyrian.’ Macro paused to draw breath and glanced out of the window and down into the courtyard. His heart sank a little as he saw that it was still empty. He took a breath and continued. ‘Moreover, I will add to the charges against you that through deliberate provocation you endangered the security of the Roman province of Judaea and-’
‘Be quiet!’ Scrofa interrupted. ‘This is pointless!’
‘I haven’t finished saying my piece.’
‘Oh yes you have. Centurion Postumus!’
‘Sir?’
‘Take these two back to their quarters. And don’t let them waste my time again.’
‘Yes sir.’
Cato had been listening to the exchange with growing concern. He felt his pulse quicken as he knew it was time to act. His hand was being forced, but there was no alternative.
‘Wait a moment!’
He reached for the leather thong round his neck and pulled the scroll case from under his tunic.
‘What’s that?’ asked Scrofa.
Cato pulled the cap off the case and pulled out the roll of parchment inside. He approached the desk, unrolling the document, and spread it out across the flat surface, the right way up for the prefect to read it. Scrofa’s gaze went straight to the imperial seal and he glanced up at Cato with a surprised expression. Cato tapped the document.
‘Read it, sir.’
As the prefect glanced over the authority that Narcissus had penned for Macro and Cato, Centurion Postumus edged closer and moved round to read over his superior’s shoulder.
Cato waited until Scrofa had finished examining the document before he broke the silence.
‘As you can see, we have been empowered to act in the Emperor’s name in all areas of Roman jurisdiction within the provinces of Judaea and Syria.We now invoke our powers under the terms of this authority.’ Cato took a breath and continued. ‘You are hereby stripped of your command of the Second Illyrian cohort.’
Scrofa looked up from the document with a shocked expression. ‘You can’t speak to me like that!’
Macro grinned as he leaned forward over the table and tapped the parchment. ‘Read it again, sunshine. We can do what we like. Anything we like. Now, citizen, I’d be grateful if you got out of my chair. I’ve got work to do. A lot of work, thanks to you.’
Scrofa wasn’t listening. His eyes scanned the document again, as if he could somehow change its meaning. Centurion Postumus straightened up and laughed. ‘This document is obviously a forgery. Something you two have cooked up while you’ve been stewing in your quarters.’
‘Forgery?’ Macro shook his head and smiled. ‘Look at the seal, Postumus.You should recognise it well enough.’
‘I still say it’s a fake. If you two think this is going to change things here, then you are bigger fools than I thought.’
The sound of voices drifted up from the courtyard. Cato hurried over to the window and glanced down. Behind Symeon, Centurion Parmenion and a handful of other officers were walking through the archway. Symeon looked up and waved. More men were emerging from the alley between the barracks opposite, heading towards the prefect’s quarters. Cato felt the knotted tension in the pit of his stomach begin to ease. He turned back, crossed to the desk and picked up the document. Before Scrofa or Postumus could react he returned to the window and held it out so all below could see it.
‘Gentlemen! By order of Emperor Claudius and the Senate of Rome, Prefect Scrofa has been removed from command of the Second Illyrian Cohort. As of this instant he has been replaced by Centurion Macro. Now, I’d be greatly obliged if you joined us in Prefect Macro’s quarters immediately.’
After the briefest of hesitation, and to Cato’s great relief, the officers shuffled towards the main entrance to the building, just below the window. As he turned back into the room Scrofa stared at him, thunderstruck. Postumus instantly grasped the implications of what was happening and a look of fear flitted across his handsome features, making Macro laugh. He could not contain the light-hearted thrill at having turned the tables on Scrofa and his subordinate. He leaned towards Postumus and tapped him on the chest.’Now who’s the bigger fool, eh?’
07 The Eagle In the Sand
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The main hall in the headquarters building was filled with all the officers who could be spared from their duties. Every other centurion, decurion, optio and standard bearer of the Second Illyrian cohort was present. The senior officers occupied the chairs and benches in the centre of the floor, while the rest crowded along the sides of the room. The men spoke in muted tones and from the doorway Cato noted their anxious expressions. Barely an hour had passed since he and Macro had presented the imperial authority to Scrofa and removed him from command. Since then all sorts of rumours had swept round the fort as the officers were summoned to headquarters. Cato smiled. They would find out exactly what had happened soon enough. The question was, would they accept it? Scrofa and Postumus had been conducted to a cell in the basement of the building and placed under a reliable section of men selected by Centurion Parmenion. They were not going to be allowed to make any case against the new commander, and they were not going to be given access to any of the officers or men of the cohort. Macro had been quite firm about that when he had given Parmenion his orders.
‘What’s the mood like?’ Macro asked quietly from behind him. Cato turned and saw his friend a few paces down the corridor, out of sight of any of the men in the hall. Macro held the imperial authority in his hand, rolled up, and was tapping it against his thigh.
Cato raised his hand to cover his mouth and muttered back, ‘Curious rather than dis
gruntled. I doubt there will be any effective opposition to the takeover.’
‘Right.’ Macro shrugged his shoulders and drew a deep breath. ‘Better get it over with. You can announce me.’
Cato stepped inside the room and stood to attention as he called out, ‘Commanding officer present!’
At once every tongue was stilled and nail-soled boots scraped over the flagstones as the officers rose to their feet and stood with their backs as straight as javelin shafts. When all was still and silent Macro strode into the hall and marched to the raised dais at the end of the hall from where the cohort’s commander habitually addressed his men. He noted the surprised expressions in some of the faces looking towards him and fought the urge to smile, and thus betray the nervousness which had seized him. The dryness in his mouth and the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach were new sensations to him, and Macro was shocked to realise that he was afraid. This was worse than facing a horde of barbarians armed to the teeth and screaming for his blood. He had grown used to commanding a century of legionaries, or a scratch force of native levies, but these men, these officers, were hardened professionals like himself and Cato, and they would know the standard to judge him by.
He swallowed, cleared his throat and began. ‘At ease!’
The sound echoed through the hall, as loud as if it had been bellowed across a parade-ground. But the men instantly relaxed their posture and the senior officers resumed their seats. Then all of them looked to him expectantly.
‘Right then, I know there’s been some wild speculation so I’ll make the situation clear at the outset. Gaius Scrofa has been removed from command of the cohort. Lucius Postumus is no longer centurion and adjutant. That post has been filled by Centurion Cato, while I am now the prefect. This action has been taken according to the power conferred on me by Emperor Claudius.’ Macro raised the document, and unrolled it, holding it up so that all the men gathered in the hall could clearly see the imperial seal fixed to the bottom of the parchment. ‘This authority is without limit. Any doubters are welcome to have a look at it once the briefing is over.’
Macro lowered the scroll to the table and stared at his officers for a moment before continuing. ‘As your new commander, I’d like to begin by saying that this cohort is one of the most piss-poor excuses for a unit that I have ever come across.’
Cato winced. Macro had only just taken command of the Second Illyrian and already he was going all out to offend the very men he needed to win over.
‘That’s right.’ Macro glared at them.’Piss-poor is what I said. And the reason for it has very little to do with all the men out there. They’re as good as I could expect a cohort to be, posted out here at the arse-end of the Empire. But you lot?’ Macro shook his head. ‘You’re supposed to lead by example. And what a fine bloody example you’ve been setting. Half of you have been busy toadying up to Scrofa, so you could take your cut of the racket he was running. The rest of you are little better. Take Centurion Parmenion there. He knew what was going on. What did he do about it? Nothing. Just sat on his arse and pretended to ignore it.’
Cato’s gaze flickered towards the old officer and he saw Parmenion lower his head and stare at the ground between his boots.
‘Well then, gentlemen,’ Macro continued, crossing his arms as he glared at them like a disappointed school-teacher. ‘Things are going to change here at Bushir. I’ll tell you why. It has nothing to do with the corrupt little scams you were so happy to take part in, though we’ll be dealing with that soon enough, as you’ll see. No, the reason why things must change is that we are on the verge of witnessing our very own native uprising. All thanks to the former prefect’s winning ways with the local villagers, and your willingness to go along with him. As we sit here, Bannus is busy building up a formidable band of followers. What you may not know is that, in all likelihood, he has cut a deal with our Parthian friends who have promised to arm his men.’
This information caused a ripple of anxious murmurs to flow through the officers.
‘Quiet!’ Macro shouted. ‘I did not give you permission to talk.’
The men instantly stilled their tongues and Macro nodded with satisfaction. He was beginning to enjoy this feeling of command. ‘That’s more like it. So, now I think you can see the scale of the challenge that faces us. It’s up to the Second Illyrian to find and destroy Bannus and his brigands, before they grow strong enough to come and destroy us. At the same time, I’ll brook no more harsh treatment of the local people.We’ve already done enough to drive them into Bannus’ arms. It’s probably too late to win them back on to our side, so we’re not going to try. What we will not do is provoke them any further. From now on any man, or officer, who wades into the locals will share the fate of trooper Canthus.You all know what happened to him. Now you know what will happen to any others who follow his example. Make sure your men are aware of that. I’ll accept no excuses.We cannot afford to act as recruiting officers for Bannus.’
There were some brief disapproving murmurs and some officers exchanged disgruntled looks, until they realised that the new prefect was glaring at them and fell silent again.
‘I am aware that none of what I have said so far is likely to have gone down well with you, gentlemen. That’s just tough on all of us.The question is, what are we going to do about it? For my part, I’m going to let you start with a clean slate. There will be no further mention of your corruption or dereliction of duty. So you all have a chance to prove yourselves worthy. You didn’t win promotion to the rank you hold today by taking bribes, so all of you must have been good soldiers at one time. That time has come again. In the next few days you’re all going to do some hard soldiering.Your men will need the best from you and I will not hesitate to break any slackers back to the ranks.You will all lead by example.You will all lead from the front.’ He paused to make sure that they had got the point. ‘Right, well, that’s it.You know what I require from you.There’s plenty of work to do, and you’ll receive your orders as soon as possible. One last thing. I noticed that the standard of the Second Illyrian carries no awards. That’s going to change. I have never left a unit without adding at least one medallion to its standard.The same applies to this cohort. So let’s all do something we can be proud of, eh? Dismiss!’
The officers rose smartly to their feet and stiffened to attention, saluted, and then began to shuffle towards the doors leading from the hall. Macro watched them carefully as they dispersed, pleased with his performance and feeling that he had put some iron back into his new subordinates. As the last of them left the hall Cato came over.
‘How did you think that went?’ Macro asked.
‘Blunt, but to the point.’
Macro frowned. ‘I’m trying to kick them into shape, Cato, not win first fucking prize in a rhetoric competition.’
‘Oh, in that case, it went rather well.’ Cato smiled. ‘No, seriously, I think that was just what they needed to hear. I like the touch about the standard. Is that true?’
‘No. Load of bollocks. But it’s the kind of thing that goes down well with the glory-hunters. And that’s just what we’ll need if Bannus decides to take the cohort on.’
‘I suppose so.’ Cato conceded. ‘And what exactly are your first orders, sir?’
Macro was a little taken aback by Cato’s last word, but realised immediately that it was right that his friend should defer to his new rank of prefect. It reminded him of the days when they had served in the Second Legion in Germany and Britain, when Cato had been his optio, and then a junior centurion in the same cohort. Much had happened since then, and Macro had grown used to treating the younger officer as an equal in most respects, but now the situation had changed and the professional in him accepted it as a necessity.
‘Has Symeon left for Petra yet?’
‘Just before the briefing.’
‘Did you make quite sure he understood exactly what I wanted him to do?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good.’ Macro nodded.�
��Right then, it’s time we made preparations for dealing with Bannus, and those desert raiders.’
The new prefect of the Second Illyrian made his presence felt at once. Barracks inspections were made at dawn and dusk and every infringement of rules punished. The men were drilled for twice as long as they had been before, and after each century had completed the regulation manoeuvres it was quick-marched round the fort until noon, when at last the men were permitted to fall out, panting and thirsty in the merciless glare of the sun. The officers quickly recovered their professional edge and worked themselves as hard as their men. There were no further patrols into the surrounding villages. Instead the mounted scouts observed the locals from a discreet distance and concentrated their efforts on searching for signs of Bannus and his men.The geography of the region was such that a large force could hide in the caves of the numerous wadis that cut through the landscape. Their only weakness was a dependence on food and water which they needed to draw from the settlements. Whenever the scouts saw a suspicious-looking party of men arrive at a village they attempted to follow them as they left, but always their prey managed to vanish into the clefts of the mountains that rose up on the east shore of the Dead Sea.
Prefect Macro concentrated his efforts on selecting a detachment for a special task. He needed the pick of the cohort’s mounted men, and he needed their riding ability to be matched by their skill with a bow.As in many of the cohorts in the region, there was already a small number of men able to use the powerful compound bow favoured by eastern warriors. These Macro kept practising at the hastily erected target range outside the fort, until they were proficient at a variety of distances.
At the same time the cohort’s carpenter had been tasked with designing a saddle frame equipped to carry lightweight burdens which could be jettisoned in an instant. Other men worked hard to create dummy bundles of fabrics to be loaded on to the saddle frames. All was ready by the end of the tenth day after Macro had taken control of the cohort.The same evening a message arrived from Petra. Symeon had done as he had been asked and contacted the merchants whose caravan Macro had saved. They had agreed to meet Macro and his men at the same place as before - the Nabataean way station - at dusk in three days’ time.
07 The Eagle In the Sand Page 18
