07 The Eagle In the Sand

by Scarrow, Simon

  ‘You sent for me.’

  ‘Yes, I thought you should see this. Look out there.’ Macro extended his arm towards the enemy camp and pointed to an area, perhaps three hundred paces away, where several torches burned, casting a wavering patch of light. In front of the torches was a wicker barricade that concealed the activity beyond. But the sounds of hammering and the shouts of men carried clearly to the two centurions on the gatehouse.

  ‘Any idea what’s going on?’ asked Cato.

  ‘Could be knocking up some assault ladders, or a battering ram. Not that that worries me, unduly. They still have to cross the dead ground before they can get close enough to use that sort of equipment.’

  ‘Of course, they might be constructing something else,’ Cato mused.

  ‘That’s what I thought. Perhaps the Parthians have provided Bannus with a company of engineers.’

  ‘As well as arms and those horse-archers? That’s uncommonly generous of them. But then again, we’re all playing for high stakes.’

  ‘True. Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now.’ Macro turned away from the enemy camp and glanced at the opposite horizon. ‘It’ll be light soon. Then we’ll see what they’re up to.’

  It was not long before the darkness began to dissipate and detail by detail the landscape around the fort became visible. Soon the enemy extinguished the torches and Cato, whose young eyes were better than Macro’s, strained to make out the details of two thick wooden frames beyond the wicker screen. Then, he felt a sick feeling in his guts as he realised what he was seeing. He waited a moment longer to be sure before he turned to Macro.

  ‘Onagers. Two of them.’

  ‘Onagers?’ Macro looked astonished. ‘Where the hell would Bannus have got onagers?’ Even as he spoke, a memory flashed through his mind. Weeks earlier, when the caravan had rejected Postumus’s offer of protection. In amongst the camels had been two covered ox-carts, carrying heavy timbers. No doubt the iron ratchets and other mechanisms had been hidden beneath the load. Very clever of the Parthians, Macro conceded. Rather than send the siege weapons across the desert, they had shipped them round Arabia and then smuggled them to Bannus under the guise of caravan goods. Macro bunched his hands into fists and thumped them down on the rampart.’I saw those a while back, broken down for transport. On that first patrol with Postumus. Of course, I was too foolish to recognise the components for what they were. Shit.’

  Cato shook his head. ‘Well, it’s too late to do anything about it now.’

  Macro was about to reply when they both heard a sharp shout from the enemy camp. They turned just in time to see the throwing arms of the onagers slash up and forwards until they struck the padded cross pieces. The dull thud of that impact sounded an instant later. Cato saw the first two boulders hurled up through the cold morning air. They rose to the top of the arc that defined their trajectory, seemed to hang there for a moment, and then came down at an alarming speed, rapidly gaining in size as they plunged towards the gatehouse.

  Cato grabbed Macro and hauled him away from the rampart. ‘Get down!’

  07 The Eagle In the Sand

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  They hunched down and waited for the impact with gritted teeth. The first rock overshot the gatehouse and smashed through the roof of the barracks block beyond with a shattering crash. Fragments of tiles exploded from the impact and pattered down on to the street around the building. The second missile struck the ground a short distance before the fort sending a shower of stones and grit against the wall, and raising a small cloud of dust above the spot where it had landed. Cato and Macro felt the impact and Macro looked at his friend with a nervous grin.

  ‘That’s quite some piece of kit they have there. Good range, and it can throw a decent weight. That’s going to be a nuisance.’

  Cato stood up and stared towards the onagers. Already the crews were working at preparing them for the next blow. He heard a thin series of clanks as the throwing arm was ratcheted back. Macro had hurried to the other side of the gatehouse and was staring down at the barracks block that had taken the first strike. There was a gaping hole in the roof and a haze of dust hanging over the building.

  ‘Hey, you!’ Macro yelled down to one of the soldiers in the street.The man looked round and up and stood to attention.

  ‘Yes, sir!’

  ‘Check inside that building. Make sure everyone’s all right. Get any casualties seen to by the medical orderlies. Move!’

  As soon as he had given the order, Macro re-joined Cato. The first of the onagers was almost ready to load and in the growing light they could see two men struggling to lift a rock into the cup at the end of the throwing arm. An order was shouted and an instant later the beam of wood shot up again, cracked against the cross bar and another missile arced towards the fort. As before, it seemed to be coming straight for them and Cato glanced at Macro. Macro was tracking the rapid progress of the rock, so Cato forced himself to remain composed and resist the impulse to dive to one side.The rock struck the base of the gatehouse and Cato felt the shock of the impact right through his body. A chunk of masonry fell off the rampart close by and dust and grit tumbled down from the dry thatch roof overhead.

  Macro looked at him. ‘You all right?’

  Cato nodded.

  ‘Better check the damage.’

  They leaned over the rampart and gazed down. The rock was still in one piece where it had bounced back from the wall and there was a small crater on the face of the masonry, near the arch, and a skein of small cracks radiating from it.

  Macro winced. ‘I really hope that was a lucky shot.’

  The second onager swung into action and another stone flew through the air towards the fort. Again it fell short and bounced off the stony ground before harmlessly hitting the base of the wall beside the gatehouse. As dawn broke over the desert the bombardment continued in a steady rhythm of the clanking ratchet, the crack of the throwing arm striking the cross beam and the crash of the impact. But nearly half the shots fell short, or went wide and hit the walls, or overshot the defences and smashed into the buildings beyond. Every hit on the gatehouse dislodged more masonry and the fine cracks gradually widened. One lucky shot landed right on the bottom of the gate itself, making the hinges rattle. Macro gave the order for most of the men to shelter behind the wall, leaving those manning the corner towers to keep an eye on the enemy. After a little while Macro and Cato climbed down from the gatehouse and sat down in the watchroom beside the timbers of the gate.

  ‘Have you ever been on the receiving end before?’ Cato asked.

  ‘No. Can’t say I’m enjoying the experience.’ Macro smiled faintly.’Have to hand it to Bannus and his Parthian friends - they’ve managed to spring a very nasty surprise on us. And I let those bloody onagers slip by, right under my nose.’

  ‘Don’t be hard on yourself, sir. No one could have seen that one coming.’

  ‘Maybe, but that’s not going to be much of a consolation if they manage to batter the gatehouse down and swarm all over us.’

  ‘Couldn’t we try to destroy the onagers?’

  ‘How do you propose we do that?’

  ‘Send out our cavalry, charge over there before they can react and try to fire the onagers, or at least cut the torsion mechanism.’

  Macro shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t work.There’s only one route for horses through the ground we’ve prepared with caltrops and pits, and that’s to the east. We’d have to take that until we were clear of the traps before we could turn towards the onagers.They’d have enough time to get plenty of men between us and their precious siege weapons. It’d just be a waste of men.’

  ‘What if we tried it tonight on foot?’

  ‘Much the same problem. There is a narrow passage through the obstacles to the west, and another to the north. If we lost touch with the paths we’d be caught between the enemy and our own defences. It’s almost impossible to find your way in the dark.’

  However badly Cato w
anted to destroy the onagers he knew that his friend was right. It would be a dangerous operation, by day or night. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘If we can’t stop these onagers then I suppose we’d better get the counter-measures in place.’

  Macro nodded. ‘Let’s go.’

  They strode away from the wall and Macro took a javelin from one of the auxiliaries. He stood to one side of the gatehouse, adjusted his position, and then began to mark out a line in the sand and gravel with the point of the javelin. He continued until he had described an arc round the rear of the gatehouse, and then he returned the javelin to the auxiliary.

  ‘That should do, Cato. I want a breastwork along that line. Build it up as high as you can. Rig a few sheltered platforms on either side. If the enemy comes through the breach then we’ll meet them with arrows and javelins from three sides. Got all that?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then let’s get to it.’

  Cato assembled a work party and gave orders for the destruction of the barracks blocks closest to the gatehouse.That would provide a ready supply of materials for the second line of defence as well as clearing a space behind the breastwork to mass a force of defenders to meet any attack through the breach. The auxiliaries used iron hooks and lengths of rope to pull down the rafters and then the walls of each block. Other men took up picks and began to dig post holes for the roof beams. Timbers were nailed across the beams before the largest pieces of rubble were used to build up the foundations of the makeshift wall. The work continued through the morning and into the afternoon, under the glare of the sun, and all the time the onagers continued their assault on the gatehouse. Some rocks still overshot the wall and smashed into a building with a loud crash that made the defenders start and duck for cover, until the officers bawled at them to continue working. They were fortunate enough to escape any serious casualties until noon when one of the rocks pitched down into the middle of a work party, pulverising one man into a barely recognisable tangle of bloody limbs and wounding most of his comrades as splinters of stone exploded from where the rock hit the ground. Cato immediately shouted a string of orders to have the body taken away and the injured removed to the hospital, and sent the other men back to constructing the inner wall.

  Then, in the late afternoon, as yet another shot smashed into the gatehouse, there was an ominous rumble of masonry as a crack opened up diagonally from the rampart almost down to the ground.The men paused for a moment to look and then returned to their labours with renewed determination. Cato quietly made his way over to Macro.

  ‘Won’t be long now, sir.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Macro responded.’But it’s still holding up for the moment. I just hope it lasts until nightfall. I doubt they’ll make any direct assaults until they can clearly see what they’re doing. Meanwhile, we’ll just have to make the best job we can of the inner wall.’

  A few shots later, the corner of the gatehouse collapsed on to the ground outside the fort and once the sound of crumbling masonry had died away the defenders could hear the triumphant cries of the enemy. Cato glanced up at the gatehouse and saw the wide gap in the top of the wall next to the collapsed section, as if some great Titan had torn a chunk of the defences away with his teeth. And still the bombardment continued without let-up. Indeed, once the corner had given way, Cato steadily counted between impacts, and calculated that the enemy had increased the frequency of the rocks they were lobbing at the fort. Each blow on the loosened stonework caused more of the structure to collapse on to the existing rubble with a rumble of heavy masonry and the slither and rattle of smaller stones.As the sun sank towards the horizon behind the enemy camp the ruin of the gatehouse became a jagged silhouette, until at last the arch above the gate fell in and all that remained was a tangled heap of rubble and shattered beams of wood.

  As dusk fell across the surrounding desert Macro and Cato climbed into one of the corner towers to survey the situation. Some of the enemy, emboldened by the destruction of the gatehouse, had ventured close enough to the fort to attract the attention of the archers stationed at intervals along the wall and every so often an arrow whirred out from the fort towards the nearest men, causing them to scatter and dive for cover. Macro was cheered by the sight of one man, slower to react than his companions, who happened to look up just as the heavy barbed tip of a shaft smashed into his face and burst out the back of his skull.

  ‘Fine shot!’ Macro bellowed along the wall and one of the archers quickly turned to bow his head in acknowledgement before quickly notching another arrow and looking for his next target.

  As the last of the light began to fade the enemy pounded what was left of the gatehouse and then ceased the bombardment. They would resume in the morning and after a few more hours the breach would be practicable for Bannus and his army to assault. Fires appeared in the enemy encampment and the sounds of singing and laughter could be clearly heard by the defenders as they continued to build up the inner wall. Macro and Cato inspected the work of their men by torchlight. The new wall rose to a height of nearly eight feet and was thick enough to withstand the pressure of a wave of men pressing up against it. On the inside stood a narrow fighting platform from which the defenders could strike down on the enemy as they clambered over the rubble strewn across the ground in front of the wall.

  Macro patted the rough surface. ‘It’ll do.’

  ‘It will have to,’ Cato replied softly. ‘When they finish off what’s left of the gatehouse, that’s all there is to keep them out.’

  By the wavering glow of the torch he held in his hand Macro turned to stare at his friend. ‘You’re right, of course. They will finish the job in the morning.’

  ‘Unless something is done about those onagers tonight.’

  ‘I told you,’ Macro responded wearily. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘We’re in danger either way,’ said Cato. ‘At least if we try something we might be able to set them back a day or so and buy ourselves some time. It has to be worth trying, sir.’

  Macro wasn’t convinced. ‘I told you, whoever goes out there under cover of darkness is bound to lose their way through the defences.’

  Cato was looking at Macro’s torch and Macro noticed the excited glint in his friend’s eyes that always accompanied the sudden rush of thought when Cato came up with one of his hare-brained schemes. He felt his heart sink.

  ‘Let me lead a raid, sir.’

  ‘Are you so tired of living already, Cato?’

  ‘No, I’m just not terribly keen on sitting here, waiting to be killed. Besides, I think there’s a way of safely passing through our defence lines . . .’

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Macro said softly as he looked at Cato.The young centurion had blackened his face and the rest of the flesh that was not covered by the dark brown tunic that he wore. His sword belt was buckled round his waist and a haversack hung from his shoulder containing a tinderbox and several small pots of oil. Behind him stood a party of twenty men, similarly equipped for the night’s work.

  ‘I’ll be fine, sir. Just make sure those lamps are kept alight.’ Cato nodded up to the rampart where the wan glow of an oil lamp flickered in the darkness. Back at headquarters a second lamp had been lit and placed in the highest window in line with the lamp on the wall and the narrow path through the screen of traps and obstacles that stretched out beyond the north wall of the fort.

  Macro clasped his friend’s arm. ‘Do what you have to do and come straight back. Don’t get carried away. I know what you’re like.’

  Cato grinned. ‘Trust me, sir. I don’t want to be out there any longer than I have to.’

  Macro gave Cato’s arm a brief squeeze. ‘Good luck then.’

  He stepped back and nodded to the sentry. As quietly as he could, the sentry slid back the bolts of the sally port and eased the door open.There was a faint grating squeal from the hinges and Macro sucked in his breath at the sound that seemed so loud in the stillness behind the wall. The sentry paused for a moment and then
opened the door more slowly, until there was a sufficient gap for Cato and his men to file through.

  ‘Come on,’ Cato whispered, and with a last reassuring glance towards the dark shape of Macro he crept out of the fort. The sky was moonless and dim grey strands of cloud covered most of the stars so the landscape was wrapped in darkness - perfect cover for Cato and his party. Of course, the same lack of illumination was the main danger facing the Romans. It would be easy enough to stumble into an enemy sentry or a patrol in such conditions. That was why Cato was determined to proceed as cautiously as possible. As the last man exited the fort the sally port was gently closed behind them. Cato waited a moment for any sign or sound that their presence had been detected, and then he beckoned to the man behind him and began to creep along the foot of the wall. In the distance they could hear the sounds of the men at the main gate, hurriedly trying to repair some of the damage done to the gatehouse during the day. The night’s labour would be undone in the first few hours if the bombardment continued in the morning, but it would gain the garrison a little more time. Cato headed towards the narrow path that led from the north face of the fort.

  As they reached the point where the lamp glowed faintly on the wall Cato halted, and let his men catch up. Already he was shivering, partly from the penetrating cold of the air and partly from the state of nervous excitation as he led his men on this dangerous raid into the enemy camp. He took a deep breath to try to calm his anxiety, and then headed down into the ditch that surrounded the fort, and climbed up the far side. Picking the black mass of a distant rocky outcrop as a landmark he began to feel his way towards it on hands and knees. His left hand recoiled from contact with the sharp point of a caltrop and he felt ahead and soon found another to give him some sense of that side of the passage.They had crept over a hundred paces from the wall, by Cato’s reckoning, before he glanced back and saw the lamp at headquarters as well, almost perfectly aligned with the other one on the wall. He adjusted his position until the two lamps were in line, and then continued forward slowly.