The Legion

by Simon Scarrow

  Macro nodded.

  The bucinas sounded again and the legate approached the edge of the platform and raised his arms up to draw the attention of the men below. There was a brief, expectant pause before he spoke, straining his voice to make sure that his words carried the length of the temple. ‘Men of the Twenty-Second! My fellow Jackals! Comrades! Today we have won the first of our battles against the Nubian Prince who dares to defile the Roman province of Egypt with his presence! His men lie dead at our feet and their arms are now our trophies.’ Aurelius made an extravagant gesture towards the arrangement rising up above the pylon. ‘This is but a poor token of the riches and glory that will be ours once we have crushed the main enemy army. As long as there are Roman soldiers in Egypt, the men of the Twenty-Second, and the name of their commander, will be remembered with pride and honour. Think on that, and keep it in your hearts as we march from this place to do battle with the invader!’ He punched the air and there was a silence before one of the tribunes on the platform drew his sword and thrust it into the air and chanted. ‘Aurelius! . . . Aurelius! . . . Aurelius!’

  The other officers joined in and then the cry was picked up by the men down in the courtyards of the temple.

  Macro turned to Cato. ‘Not the best orator I’ve heard, but he has the timeless gift of keeping it mercifully brief.’

  Cato smiled. ‘A pity the same can’t be said for most politicians I’ve seen in Rome.’ His smile faded. ‘We’ll have to make sure he doesn’t fall prey to putting posterity before common sense.’

  ‘I’ll leave that to you then, sir,’ Macro replied. ‘It would be better that such advice came from his acting senior tribune than from his acting first spear centurion.’

  Cato shot him a sour look. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Goes with the rank.’ Macro shrugged. ‘Besides, you’re a smooth talker. I’d lay good money that you could talk an Aventine whore into giving you a free shag and then handing you a tip for the fine service.’

  Cato frowned. ‘I’m not certain I have ambitions to be quite that rhetorically effective.’

  ‘It’s early days . . . However, we have work to do.’ Macro turned to a section of his men who had just finished cheering the legate. ‘You lot! Over here at the double!’

  They trotted over and Macro gave them as detailed a description of Ajax as he could before sending them to search for his body. He promised a jar of wine to the man who found the gladiator and then dismissed them. As the men hurried away, suitably motivated to work through the growing stench of the bodies scattered through the temple, one of the orderlies from the headquarters staff approached Cato and saluted.

  ‘The legate sends his respects, sir, and requests that you and Centurion Macro attend him in the priest’s quarters at the front of the temple.’

  Cato exchanged a brief look of surprise with Macro. ‘Did he say why?’

  ‘No, sir. Just that he wants all his senior officers summoned. As soon as possible,’ he added pointedly, then saluted and trotted off.

  Macro lowered his head and kicked a small stone away. ‘What now?’

  The accommodation built for the priests of the temple had once been a fairly elaborate affair but centuries of neglect had left only a faint reminder of its riches. The heavens painted on the ceiling still retained their lustre but the chambers built around the courtyard were bare and sand-blown. The shallow pool that stood in the centre had once reflected its surroundings but the water had long since drained away and a layer of silt almost covered the decorative tiles at the bottom. As Macro and Cato joined the other officers, the legate was standing at the far end of the pool, sketching a diagram in the silt with the point of his sword. His subordinates waited in silence until the legate had finished. Aurelius straightened up and sheathed his sword as he looked round at his officers with a broad smile.

  ‘There’s no time to waste on platitudes and niceties, gentlemen, so I will come straight to the point. The enemy is on the run. Today’s victory has given the legion heart, and will dismay our foes when they hear of it. Now is the time to press home our advantage, in a way that the enemy will least expect.’ He glanced at the nearest of his centurions and clicked his fingers. ‘Give me your vine cane.’

  The officer hurriedly passed it to his commander and Aurelius pointed the end at his diagram. The officers pressed forward for a better view.

  ‘This is the Nile, from Diospolis Magna to the first cataract. The Nubians’ plan is now obvious. They divided their force to allow them to send this column round and take my army from both front and rear. We have put a stop to that scheme, and now we have an opportunity to pay them back in kind.’ Aurelius pointed towards Diospolis Magna. ‘I will lead the main force up the Nile to confront Prince Talmis. Since he outnumbers me I am certain that he will stand his ground, especially if we can close on him before he becomes aware that we have crushed the column entrusted to the rebel gladiator. The enemy will think that we are walking into their trap.’ The legate paused, and then smiled cunningly as he sketched out the movements on his diagram. ‘However, it is we who will be springing a trap. As I lead the main advance down the eastern bank, Tribune Cato will take the auxiliary units and march swiftly down the western bank, cross over behind the Nubians and attack their rear. Caught between the two forces, they will be annihilated.’ He looked up, his eyes wide with excitement. ‘It is as elegant a plan as it is simple. I am sure you all grasp that.’

  He paused, as if that he was ready to entertain comments, or perhaps he was daring any of his officers to defy him, Cato mused. He eased himself forward, wincing as his bruised arm brushed past Junius. ‘Sir, permission to speak.’

  ‘Of course, Tribune.’

  Cato looked down at the sand map as he framed his thoughts. The legate’s enthusiasm for his plan was evident. He would need careful handling. Cato looked up and met the legate’s gaze directly. ‘Your plan has the virtue of turning the tables on the enemy, sir. That much is clear. Under different circumstances, it would undoubtedly produce the result you desire. However, the enemy outnumber us by more than three to one. I respectfully suggest that we keep the army concentrated in one column if we are to have the best chance of gaining a decisive victory. If you divide our forces, each column will be weaker than the subtraction of the parts, as it were.’ Cato stepped forward and pointed at the diagram of the Nile. ‘Besides, where would you have my column cross the river back to the eastern bank, sir? We have barely enough boats to get five hundred men across at a time. You saw how much trouble we faced landing against a far weaker force than I will have to overcome next time. We have too few men to risk dividing the army. Our best chance is a bold strike up the eastern bank of the Nile. Find the Nubian army and force a battle. The quality of our troops should give us the advantage. We can break the enemies’ spirit before they have a chance to make their superior numbers felt,’ Cato concluded. There was a tense silence and Cato swallowed. ‘That’s my advice, sir.’

  ‘Duly noted,’ the legate said flatly. He stared at Cato for a moment before he continued. ‘I am pleased that you share my confidence in our men. The Jackals and the auxiliaries have proved they are up to standard. Their mettle is beyond doubt. That is precisely why we can afford to divide the army. Each column will be more than able to look after itself. Moreover, the enemy will not think for a moment that we would dare to divide our army. They know they have the advantage in numbers, and they expect us to go on the defensive and hand the initiative to them.’ Aurelius paused as a thought struck him. He smiled faintly as he resumed. ‘Which is exactly what I have been encouraging them to think. Prince Talmis has fallen into my trap. That is why he foolishly sent his column down this bank of the river. He never expected us to respond so swiftly, or so effectively.’

  Cato coughed. ‘Then perhaps we should learn from his mistake, sir.’

  Aurelius shook his head. ‘I don’t think you grasp the . . . subtleties of the situation, Tribune.’

  Cato raised his eyebrows. ‘
Subtleties, sir?’

  ‘I am always ready to let my subordinates learn from my experience,’ Aurelius replied graciously. ‘Our enemy has been induced into thinking that we are too cautious to act decisively. He thinks that he can dictate when and where he will give battle. Therefore he has become complacent. It is that complacency which we will exploit. The very last thing he expects us to do now is for us to attack him from two directions. Surprise will be on our side, and it will enhance the advantage we already have in terms of the quality and morale of our men.’ Aurelius paused and smiled at Cato. ‘Now do you grasp my strategy, Tribune?’

  Cato stared back at him, his mind reeling with the myriad risks that the legate was prepared to take. The auxilary column would surely be detected long before it ever crossed back to the eastern bank. Prince Talmis would have all the time he needed to choose which Roman column he crushed first. The Nubians also had lighter forces and could march more swiftly than their opponents. Either column could be defeated long before they closed the trap. There was a further issue, Cato reflected. Less than a quarter of the army had taken part in the assault on the temple. The rest were still in camp on the far bank. They had missed out on the attack and therefore would still be as green as grass when it came to facing the enemy for the first time. Cato well knew that it was hard to predict the behaviour of men facing battle for the first time. Some would fight like heroes. Most would anxiously follow their training and obey orders but be disposed to follow the example of others. Other men would stand in line, hearts pounding in terror, and then their nerve would break and they would run. If enough of them did that, the contagion would spread through their comrades like wildfire and the army would be doomed. He took a deep breath.

  ‘Sir, it is my considered opinion that the risks outweigh the advantages. It might be different with a battle-hardened army. I strongly suggest that you reconsider your plan.’

  The legate regarded him curiously. ‘Tribune Cato, you have fought in a number of campaigns, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I will not ask you to bore us with the details, but you have faced Celts, Germans, pirates, Parthians and rebel gladiators. True?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then why be so timorous in the face of the Nubians? Surely they are the least of the many foes you have faced? Why fear them?’

  Cato felt his pulse quicken. The confrontation had taken a dangerous turn once again. His commander had all but accused him of cowardice. If they had been facing each other in private, Cato could have confronted the accusation directly, but he was aware of the tension that now gripped the officers surrounding him and the legate. If he rounded on the man now, then Aurelius would be forced to apologise to him or dismiss him. An apology would damage his authority irreparably, so the legate would have no choice but to get rid of Cato and send him back to Alexandria. That would remove any opportunity for Cato to change his superior’s mind with regard to his campaign plan. It would result in disaster, Cato was convinced of it. He knew that he must swallow his pride, for the sake of army, his friend Macro, and the fate of the province.

  ‘I do not fear the Nubians, sir,’ he responded evenly. ‘I am merely offering you my professional opinion. Based upon my years of service to Rome.’

  ‘And how many years is that, exactly?’

  Cato felt furious with himself. He had walked into a trap of his own making. Fool, he cursed himself. ‘Seven years, sir.’

  ‘Seven,’ Aurelius repeated with a half-smile. ‘I served ten years in the ranks before being promoted to centurion. Then another twelve years acquiring the seniority necessary to become first spear and finally camp prefect. I rather think that I have all the experience necessary to command the army as I see fit. Seven years.’ He shook his head and then swept his arm round, gesturing to all the other officers. ‘I wonder, is there another man here with less experience than you, Tribune? Well?’

  There was no response from the officers and the legate turned back to Cato with a triumphant expression. ‘I think that places your advice in the appropriate context . . . wouldn’t you agree?’

  Cato did not reply. Anything he said now would damn him either way. He was conscious of the other men watching him closely, waiting for his response. He cleared his throat. ‘I have given you my advice, sir. That is my professional duty. The command of the army is yours. It is up to you to give the orders for the campaign.’

  ‘That’s right. The decision is made and the time for consultation or dissent is over. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Perfectly.’

  ‘Then I expect you, and every one of my officers, to obey my orders without question from now on.’

  Cato nodded.

  The legate was still for a moment and then nodded. ‘Very well then. You will all receive your instructions once the headquarters staff at Karnak have them ready. In the meantime ensure that your men are ready to advance the moment I give the word.’

  The officers nodded and were waiting to be dismissed when a cavalry auxiliary entered the room and strode up to the prefect of the Alexandrian mounted cohort and quickly reported to him. The other officers looked on curiously as the prefect questioned the man and then dismissed him.

  ‘Something to tell us?’ asked Aurelius.

  ‘Yes, sir. It seems that some of the defenders managed to escape us, sir. One of my squadrons was surprised last night. They were part of the perimeter we established round the temple. They were killed where they slept. One of the sentries was still alive when they were discovered this morning. Before he died he said that one of the men who attacked them was in Roman uniform and used the night’s password to get close enough to surprise the sentries.’

  ‘How did he get hold of the password?’ asked Macro.

  Junius pursed his lips. ‘Perhaps he overheard some of our men use it around the temple.’

  The cavalry prefect nodded. ‘It’s possible. Anyway, the attackers must have been the mounted men we saw at first light. I sent two of my squadrons to pursue them. They made off towards the north, into the hills. I’ve just heard that they’ve been caught in a dead end. We have them.’

  Macro turned to Cato and muttered, ‘That could be Ajax, I suppose.’

  ‘More than likely.’ Cato nodded. ‘By the gods, that man is like a ghost. A bloody ghost.’

  ‘How far away are they?’ Aurelius asked the cavalry prefect.

  ‘No more than four miles, sir. My men are watching them. The leading squadron had the worst of the first encounter. The officer in charge has asked for reinforcements before he tries again.’

  Cato stepped forward to intervene. ‘Excuse me, sir, but it’s possible that Ajax is with them. He could have escaped with what’s left of his band of rebels.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Centurion Macro and I were tasked with tracking Ajax down. I request permission to take charge of his capture, sir.’

  Aurelius considered for a moment. ‘No. I will take command since I am here. Might as well complete the work I’ve started. I’ll take the auxiliary horse and the archers, since they will be remaining on this side of the Nile in any case. The rest of the men can return to Karnak. However, I shan’t deprive you of the pleasure of being in at the kill, Tribune. Nor you, Centurion Macro.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Cato responded with forced politeness.

  ‘Then let’s not waste a moment longer.’ The legate clapped his hands together. ‘It’s time to put an end to this rebel, Ajax. To arms!’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Cato and Macro were sitting in the shade of a rock. The horses of the auxiliary cavalry cohort were clustered together in whatever shelter they could find, while their riders sat on the ground, their cloaks propped up on sticks to provide some cover from the afternoon sun. They were waiting for the archers, together with Aurelius and his staff, to catch up before they attempted to attack Ajax and his men. Two squadrons had been sent to find another route to the top of the plateau that overlooked the g
orge to make certain that none of the enemy would escape.

  Even in the shade Cato felt the sapping burden of the sun’s glare. The air caught in the defile was stifling and made worse by the pale rocks which reflected the harsh light. So much so that Cato found himself having to squint when he looked round at the rocky slopes rising up on either side.

  ‘It’s a hellish place,’ Macro muttered sourly as he dabbed at his brow with his neck cloth. His mood was made worse by the failure of his men to locate the body of Ajax back in the temple. It was clear that the gladiator had escaped with the other horsemen trapped further up the gorge. ‘Never been so bloody hot in my life. It’s like the heat is sucking the bloody life out of me.’

  He turned towards Hamedes who was squatting close by, arms wrapped round his knees and his head bowed. ‘What did you say this place was again?’

  There was no reply from the priest so Macro picked up a small stone and tossed it at him. The stone struck Hamedes on the arm and dropped by his side. The priest stirred wearily and looked round. ‘Sorry, sir. What was that?’