Karim was quiet for a moment before he asked, ‘Do you trust him?’
‘Prince Talmis? About as far as I could spit him. However, it serves our purpose to aid him for now.’
‘And his purpose to sacrifice us, perhaps?’
Ajax turned and smiled at his companion. ‘Do you have so little faith in me? Do you think that I am blind to the possible dangers of serving the Nubians?’
Karim bowed his head. ‘My apologies, General. I did not doubt you. Only the word of the Prince.’
‘What is there to doubt? He has promised us nothing but the chance to wage war on Rome, and what spoils of war we may choose to take. I care little for the latter, though I am sure most of the men will be pleased to help themselves to gold and any trinkets they take a fancy to. No doubt Talmis considers that we were cheaply bought, but the chance to strike a heavy blow against Rome is all the treasure I seek. Before, we were twenty fugitives. Now the Prince has given me these five hundred men.’ Ajax gestured down into the outer court of the temple where the black-robed warriors were tethering their camels in the twilight. The nasal groans of the beasts carried up to the top of the pylon, almost drowning out the shouts of a couple of men fighting over the ornate robes of a priest looted from the temple.
Karim stared at them for a moment. ‘Let us hope they show more discipline when the time comes to face the enemy.’
‘That test comes tonight,’ said Ajax. He turned and stared towards the Nile. The distant outline of a small fort and signal tower was visible on a mound a little over two miles away. There had been no sign that the garrison had spotted Ajax and his column as they had approached from the west, out of the desert. On the far bank, a short distance downriver, the Roman army would still be ignorant of their presence, and even when the alarm was sounded, it would be some hours before they could land a strong force on this side of the Nile. Ajax smiled. His spy inside the Roman camp had already proved his worth. Ajax had details of the strength of the Roman army and, even better, information about its senior officers. It was good to know that the two Roman officers he hated with all his heart were close at hand. He had only made one demand of his Nubian ally, that if Macro and Cato were taken alive, they would be delivered into his hands. Ajax resolved to have them crucified - just as they had crucified his father. The prospect filled his heart with satisfaction. He indulged the feeling for a moment before pushing the thought from his mind. Thoughts of revenge must give way to the need for swift action, Ajax reminded himself.
‘Karim, I will leave you with three hundred men. I want you to complete the fortification of the temple, and post some patrols out towards the river.’ He pointed to a small village that was within long arrow shot of the temple. ‘Destroy that, once you have searched it for any food.’
The Parthian nodded.
‘You have your orders. I should be back with the other men some time after the third or fourth hour of the night. Be sure that your sentries and the patrols know that. I would not be killed by an arrow shot by my own men.’
‘That would be regrettable,’ Karim replied, deadpan.
Ajax laughed and slapped him on the arm. ‘Until later, my friend.’
Night had fallen and the warm air was filled with the shrill cry of cicadas, rising and falling as the whim took them. The last of the evening breeze stirred the leaves of the palm trees, making a constant rustle that served to disguise the sound of footsteps as Ajax and his men cautiously approached the fort. The walls rose above them, black against the velvet indigo of the starry night. He had decided to lead the attack with the men of his bodyguard. They would enter the fort and then open the gates for the rest of the assault force, hidden amid small fields of wheat and irrigation ditches that stretched out around the mound. The inhabitants of the houses closest to the fort had already been silenced so that none lived to raise the alarm.
Ajax felt the familiar swift flow of blood in his veins as he braced himself for action. He quietly drew his sword and turned to his men to whisper, ‘Let’s go.’
He rose into a crouch and began to make his way up the gentle slope towards the fort. Near the crest he could see the small outcrop of rock that supported a section of the wall. Here the wall was no more than ten feet high, just as Ajax had been promised by his spy. Staying low, he and his men moved closer. Then Ajax saw a movement on the wall as a sentry, with a faint sheen of starlight on the curve of his helmet and the blade of his spear, paced slowly by on his round. The gladiator went to ground, waving his men down. Staring up intently, he waited until the sentry had disappeared beyond the corner of the fort, and then he continued forward. When he reached the wall, Ajax waited for his men to catch up and then crept along until he came to the edge of the rocks. Feeling his way carefully, he climbed over them until he reached the point where a large flat boulder stood below the wall. One by one the rest of his men climbed up and spread out on either side. When they were all present, Ajax indicated to the tallest and broadest of his men, a Celt named Ortorix who had once fought as a heavily armoured Mirmillion in the arenas of the eastern Empire. Ortorix stood with his back to the wall and his knees bent, and then cupped his hands together. Ajax placed his boot in the Celt’s hands, stretched his arms up the wall and whispered, ‘Ready.’
With a light grunt, Ortorix heaved him up and as Ajax’s boot came level with his shoulder, he gritted his teeth to edge him up still further. Keeping his weight as close to the rough surface of the mud-brick wall, Ajax groped towards the parapet. Then, as his fingers found it and curled over the edge, he let Ortorix raise him a bit further before locking an arm over the wall. He felt some of it crumble away and prayed that it would hold long enough for him to get a decent purchase on it. Then he swung his leg up, scrambling over the rim and rolled on to the walkway.
At once he rose to a crouch and looked around the interior of the fort. It was constructed in a rough square. A signal tower stood opposite the gatehouse. There were several small accommodation blocks built against the walls. Like the houses of the peasants, they had simple roofs of palm fronds to provide shade while allowing the air to circulate. A cooking fire burned in one hut and the smell of roasting meat wafted on the night air as a handful of soldiers talked in the easy way that men do when danger is furthest from their minds. There were voices coming from the other blocks, and the deep regular drone of snoring close by. The sentry patrolling along the wall had just passed through the gatehouse and was moving away from Ajax. The outline of another sentry stood at the top of the tower gazing out towards the Nile.
Satisfied that he had not been detected, Ajax leaned over the wall and gestured to the men below. Ortorix heaved the first one up and Ajax caught his hands and pulled him over the wall.
‘Get over to the gatehouse. Stay out of sight.’
The man nodded and hunched down as he made his way along the walkway. Ajax turned to help the other men up and he had ten over the parapet by the time the sentry approached the corner to turn on to the same length of wall.
‘Wait,’ Ajax whispered. ‘Stay down until I come back.’
He glanced down below the parapet and saw that there was a pile of straw and a mule tethered to a post. Resting in the straw was a fat auxiliary soldier, hands folded together across his bulging tunic. The dark shape of a wine jar lay next to him. Glancing up, Ajax saw the soldier reach the corner. There was no time to look for another place of concealment and he eased himself over the side of the walkway and dropped down into the straw. It rustled briefly and the mule started with a low bray.
‘Hrrrmmm . . .’ The auxiliary stirred and smacked his lips. ‘Whatsmatter?’
He began to struggle up on his elbow and Ajax drew his sword and threw himself on top of the man, clamping his left hand over the auxiliary’s mouth. He rammed his sword into the man’s stomach, point angled up under the ribs. There was a muffled cry and the man arched his back, nearly throwing Ajax off. As he worked the blade ferociously from side to side, Ajax smashed his forehead down on t
o the crown of the auxiliary. The man abruptly went limp and slumped back into the straw. Ajax thrust up towards the heart once more to make certain and then wrenched his blade free. He could hear the footsteps of the sentry approaching. Ajax hurriedly eased the body back into a reposed position and threw some straw over the bloodstain on the tunic. Then he buried himself beside the man and lay still. The sentry came closer and then the sound of his steady pace stopped.
‘What, Minimus, no longer sleeping?’
Ajax, heart beating wildly against his chest, drew a breath and grumbled, before making a guttural snore as near to the sound of the fat man as possible. The sentry laughed and continued on his way and Ajax carried on snoring until he could no longer hear the footsteps. Then, easing himself up from the straw, he climbed back on to the wall and resumed hauling his men over the rampart. Ortorix came last, heaved up by Ajax and two more of his men, gritting their teeth as they tried not to groan with the effort. With the Celt and the others, Ajax hurried along the walkway towards the gatehouse. The sentry had not emerged from his last circuit and they discovered his body slumped to one side as soon as they entered the low tower.
‘Once we get the gate open, get stuck in and make as much noise as you can,’ Ajax ordered. ‘Understood?’
They nodded to him in the gloom and then he made his way over to the narrow stairs leading down into the fort. Emerging from the tower gatehouse, Ajax gestured to Ortorix to help him and they tried to ease the locking bar into its receiver without making any noise. The sentry in the tower straightened up from the rail and turned away from the Nile to gaze down into the fort. He seemed to be staring directly towards the gatehouse and Ajax realised that he was looking for the other man on duty. He cursed himself for not ordering one of his men to take the sentry’s place and continue his beat. Too late for that now, he thought bitterly.
‘They’ll be on to us any moment,’ he said softly to the Celt. ‘Let’s get this bastard opened up.’
They heaved the bar back and grasped the heavy iron rings and pulled the doors inwards. There was a deep groan from the hinges and the sentry in the tower leaned towards them briefly before cupping a hand to his mouth.
‘To arms! To arms!’ His voice echoed down inside the fort. ‘We’re under attack!’
Ajax thrust his sword up, angled towards the barrack blocks. ‘Get in there! Kill them! Kill them all!’
With a deafening shout the gladiator and his bodyguards charged forward. Behind them in the darkness another cry went up and hundreds of shadows leaped from cover and ran up the slope towards the open gates.
Ajax raced ahead of his men, making for the line of small buildings to the right. Already the defenders were stumbling out into the night, clutching the first weapon that came to hand, a mixture of swords and spears. None wore any armour or helmets, he noted, giving them no edge over their attackers. A shape rushed out of a door directly in front of Ajax so that he cannoned into him. Instinctively he stabbed his blade high into the man’s chest as they collided and the soldier fell away with a pained cry as Ajax stumbled over him. He regained his balance just in time to parry the spear thrust aimed at his throat by another auxiliary who had turned at the sound of his comrade’s cry. The auxiliary swung the butt of his spear round and punched it towards Ajax, glancing off the side of his head and grazing his scalp. The pain enraged the gladiator and he charged forward, inside the reach of the spear, and caught him by the throat with his left hand, crushing his fingers into the soldier’s windpipe. The auxiliary dropped his spear and clawed at Ajax’s hand and then he spasmed as the sword blade punched into his guts repeatedly. Thrusting him aside, Ajax glanced round and saw that his bodyguards were cutting down the defenders across the interior of the fort. Caught by surprise, and assaulted by men who were the best trained killers in the Empire, they stood little chance. Then there was a rush of sandalled feet as the Arabs burst into the fort and joined the unequal struggle.
‘We yield!’ a figure cried out a short distance ahead of Ajax. ‘We surrender! Drop your weapons, men!’
Those outside the fight, and just emerging from their quarters, began to throw down their weapons. There was a last ring of blades and a groan and then a pause in the fighting.
‘No quarter!’ Ajax bellowed. He lurched forward, cutting down a stick-thin veteran. As the mortally wounded auxiliary tumbled to the ground, Ajax lunged at the fort’s commander, a squarely built man with thinning hair. The centurion ducked to avoid the strike and snatched up his blade, twisting to strike Ajax as he rushed past. The blow missed and Ajax spun round, braced his feet apart and faced the Roman.
‘Die!’ he bellowed, and then launched a savage sequence of blows. The centurion parried desperately and then threw up his sword as Ajax made a cut towards his head. At the last moment Ajax switched his angle and the edge of his well-honed blade cut right through the centurion’s wrist and on down into his shoulder. The sword clattered to the ground, still in the grip of the hand, and the centurion fell back with a howl of agony. Ajax stood over him, grinning in triumph, then leaned down and slashed open his throat, leaving the man to shake as his blood pumped out of the severed arteries and pattered across the ground beside him.
Ajax looked up and saw that the fort was in their hands. Not one of the Romans was still on his feet and his men stood over the bodies, breathing heavily as the battle rage began to ebb away. Ortorix laughed nervously. ‘We did it, lads.’ He punched his sword into the night sky and bellowed the war cry of his Gallic forefathers. The others followed suit and then one of them called out Ajax’s name and his companions took up the chant. Around them the Arabs bent over the corpses of the Romans, and hurried inside the barrack blocks, searching for loot.
Ajax nodded at his men with satisfaction. ‘Good work! Now let’s finish the job. Torch the place!’
As the column headed away from the fort, back towards the temple, Ajax paused to view his handiwork. Bright flames licked up from inside the walls, illuminating the small knoll upon which the fort stood, and casting a wavering glow over the fields and palms for a short distance around. The timbers of the signal tower were consumed by a tracery of flames and then there was a soft burst of crackles as the thatched roof caught fire and went up in a fierce but short-lived explosion of light. Moments later one of the tower legs gave way and the structure lurched to one side, then slowly toppled into the heart of the fort with a burst of sparks. The sound of its crash reached Ajax’s ears an instant later.
‘A fine sight,’ Ortorix muttered happily at his side. ‘Warms the heart, so it does.’
Ajax could not help smiling at the comment and patted the giant on his shoulder.
‘That’ll be hard to miss from the other side of the Nile,’ said Ortorix.
‘Yes. I think we can safely say that we have announced our arrival. Now let’s see what the Romans do about it.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The legate and his senior officers made their way through the camp to the landing stage in front of the temple complex by the light of the torches held by the legate’s escort. All around them the men of the Twenty-Second and the cohorts attached to the legion were emerging from their tents, armour and weapons in hand. Those who were the first to dress and fasten their straps hurried to their stations as each unit formed up and waited for orders.
As they made their way up the ramp between the line of Sphinxes, Cato could clearly see the flames leaping up from a distant site, hovering a small distance above the rippling sparkles of the reflection in the Nile.
‘Is that the outpost?’ he asked Tribune Junius.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Tell me what you know about it,’ Cato snapped.
Junius looked at him in surprise.
‘Look, I’ve only been here a few days,’ Cato explained. ‘I haven’t had a chance to familiarise myself with the area.’
‘Sorry, sir. I don’t know much. It’s little more than a fort. Garrisoned by a half century of auxiliary troops.
It’s there to keep an eye on the trade route running along the far bank. Or it was, before the Nubians got here.’
Macro stood on the landing stage and strained his eyes towards the distant fire. ‘And how do you know that’s the work of the enemy, eh? Could be desert raiders, or perhaps some fool’s set the granary alight. Has there been any word from the garrison commander?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Hmmm.’ Macro stroked his lip. ‘Still, we can’t be sure. If you’re wrong, Tribune, then you’ve sounded the alarm and called the entire army out for nothing. You’re not going to be a popular man. Oh, and by the way, you don’t call me “sir”, even if I am the first spear centurion.’
‘Sorry.’ Junius looked abashed and Cato decided to come to his rescue.
‘You did the right thing. It’s possible that it’s an accident. However, we’re on a war footing and it could be the result of enemy action. It’s hard to say now that we’re not sending patrols out any further than ten miles.’
The Legion Page 24
