‘Of course, sir.’ Hamedes squatted down beside the track where a small mound of gritty sand had collected in a hollow. Smoothing it out, he drew a basic map of the terrain with his finger as he explained. ‘Here is the final bend in the track. Beyond that is the valley. There are many tombs dotted about the cliffs, but I saw no one enter or leave any of them. Just here are several large boulders. The track mentioned by the tribune branches off from the main valley and climbs up into the cliffs. About a quarter of a mile along it there is a steep path leading up to the base of the cliff. There is an opening cut into the rock there and steps leading down to a tomb entrance. It is easily missed, sir. I am not surprised the tribune passed by it without seeing anything. It was only because I saw Ajax and two of his men emerge from the steps that I discovered its location.’
‘And you are certain you can find it again?’ asked Cato.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How many of his men did you see?’
Hamedes thought for a moment. ‘Six Arabs, all told, and four big men, like Ajax, gladiators probably. There may have been more that I missed.’
The legate snorted with derision. ‘Ten men, or thereabouts. It seems I have brought a mallet to crack a walnut. Very well, now that we know where they are we can move up and take them.’ He glanced up at the sky. The valley was already in shadow. ‘We have an hour or so before nightfall. I’ll lead the attack. We’ll take torches into the tomb and hunt them down. Two cavalry squadrons should suffice, and a half century of archers to pick off their lookouts. Tribune Junius will lead the rest of the men back to camp.’
Junius bowed his head. ‘Yes, sir.’
Aurelius clapped his hands together. ‘Let’s be about our business then, gentlemen!’
It was dark by the time the contingent reached the entrance to the tomb that Hamedes had identified. The Arabs had only briefly delayed their entrance into the valley, hitting two of the auxiliary archers before they were pinned down by a steady rain of arrows while a second party of archers worked up to higher ground from where the Arabs could be easily targeted and swiftly disposed of. Aurelius led the column past the empty tombs in the main part of the valley where the horses were left in the charge of one of the cavalry squadrons. Then the priest guided them along the winding track, past a handful of other openings and then up the short climb to the steps cut down into the rock. As they approached, the Romans saw a figure just inside the entrance to the tomb. He shouted a warning to his comrades before scurrying down the tunnel that led deep beneath the cliff. The leading section of auxiliaries made a rush down the steps before Macro bellowed at them to come back.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? It’s pitch black down there. You go flying into the tunnel and the first man that falls will break his bloody neck, and the rest of you will trip over him and go the same way. Get a fire going and make up some torches.’ He turned to Cato with a disgusted look. ‘Idiots.’
‘Quite right.’ The legate nodded as he peered into the dark tunnel. ‘We’ll need illumination. Plenty of it.’
The last of the daylight faded in the heavens as the soldiers gathered some dry branches of vegetation that clung to cracks in the rock. One of the archers produced a tinderbox and struck his flints until he managed to coax a tiny flame on to the thin slivers of charred linen in the box. The fire quickly took once the flame was presented to the kindling and soon the cliff above the entrance was aglow with the light from the flames that crackled up from the fire burning a short distance from the mouth of the tomb.
‘Twenty men should suffice,’ Aurelius decided. ‘And I’ll take a section of archers. If the tunnels are straight, they should be able to get a few shots off if they get the chance. Make sure we have plenty of torches, Macro.’
‘Yes, sir.’ He gestured to the tightly bound bundles of dry twigs and brush piled to one side. ‘I’ve already seen to that.’
‘Good man.’ Aurelius nodded approvingly, his gaze fixed on the entrance to the tomb. Macro realised that the legate was rapidly losing his enthusiasm to lead the party now that he found himself staring into the dark hole, wherein lurked a small group of desperate and deadly fugitives.
‘I’ll lead the men, if you like, sir,’ Macro suggested quietly. ‘No need for you to come.’
The legate tore his gaze away from the tomb and frowned at Macro. ‘Certainly not. A legate should share the same dangers as his men. Otherwise he is not fit to command them.’
‘Yes, sir. Shall we begin then?’
‘Yes . . . Yes, of course.’ Aurelius strode across to the bundle of torches and picked one up. He lowered it into the fire and let it catch light, then stood by the steps leading down to the tomb entrance. Macro lit another torch and detailed two of the archers to go first, one with an arrow notched, the other holding a torch. Macro was about to follow them when Cato paced over to pick up a torch.
‘You’d better stay here, sir,’ Macro said firmly.
Cato shook his head. ‘I’m coming.’
‘Not with that arm in a sling. The first stretch of the tunnel looks steep. We’ll need to keep a hand spare to stop stumbling. You’ll only get in the way, sir. Be more of a hindrance than a help.’ Macro meant it in a kindly fashion but Cato shot him a sour look.
‘Thanks. But if you think I’m prepared to sit by while you go up against Ajax, then you’re mad.’
‘The centurion’s right,’ Aurelius interrupted. ‘You’ll stay here with the rest of the men until it’s over. That’s an order.’
Cato’s lips pressed together in a thin line for a moment before he responded through clenched teeth. ‘Yes, sir.’
He backed away and sat on a rock that overlooked the cut steps. He watched sullenly as the archers entered the tomb, then Macro descended the stairs, followed by Hamedes. Cato cleared his throat and called down.
‘Take care, Macro . . . Watch your back.’
Macro looked up at him briefly and grinned, then he passed out of sight. The legate followed Hamedes into the tomb, then came the rest of the auxiliaries and archers, several of them carrying lit torches. The last man, bearing a coil of rope over his shoulder, entered the tunnel and the bright glow of his torch wavered and faded and then there was only the faint scrape of iron-nailed boots on the floor of the tunnel and echoed comments which gradually faded away. Cato sat still for a moment, uneasy with the burden of his fears and suspicions. Then he glanced irritably down at his arm in the sling and slowly eased it free and attempted to flex it. At once there was a red-hot shooting pain through his shoulder joint and he groaned and stilled his arm. When the pain had receded, he eased the sling back on and looked down at the pitch-black entrance to the tunnel. Whatever happened in the tomb, there was nothing he could do about it now. Without Cato being aware of it, his left foot began to twitch in an agitated rhythm as he settled back on his rock and waited for Macro and the others to return.
The passage was wide enough for two men to walk abreast, but the incline was steep and Macro found that he had to step cautiously down the pitted rock surface to avoid slipping. By the wavering and flaring light of his torch and the one ahead of him held by the archer, he could see that the walls of the tunnel were painted with detailed depictions of the native gods and kings. Sometimes the kings, wearing the combined crowns of the upper and lower Nile realms, were making offerings to the gods. In other images they were leading their armies to war. The images were interspersed with the incomprehensible but strangely beautiful script of the ancients that Macro had grown used to seeing on the religious buildings that dotted the province. The air in the tunnel was warm and damp-smelling and the further they went down into the rock, the more the walls and roof seemed to close in about him. It was an illusion, he told himself. He had never liked enclosed spaces and the fact that Ajax and his men lay in wait ahead only added to the burden of apprehension that settled on Macro.
They had gone at least a hundred paces when the floor of the tunnel evened out slightly and made the go
ing easier. Macro glanced back to make sure that the others were not too bunched up, and then gave the order for the party to halt. The echoing footsteps slowly died away and the tunnel fell silent.
‘What is it?’ Aurelius whispered. ‘Why have you stopped?’
‘To listen, sir.’ Macro touched his finger to his lips and then cocked his head to one side and stood still, straining his ears to detect any sound of movement from ahead above the rasp of his own breathing. At first there was nothing, then a faint rustling and soft whispers that made the hair rise up at the back of Macro’s neck. He eased himself forward, past the archer holding his bow ready. The lead man held his torch out in front of him and was staring intently down the tunnel. The gently wavering hue cast by the still torch lit up the way ahead for a good twenty paces. Then, just as it faded into the darkness, there was a black outline as the tunnel gave out on to a wider space.
‘Seen anything moving down there?’ Macro whispered.
‘I thought so, sir.’
‘Thought so?’ Macro growled. ‘You did, or you didn’t. Which?’
The archer swallowed. ‘I-I did, sir. Sure of it.’
Macro nodded, and shuffled back past the second archer. ‘Be ready to shoot the moment you see any of ’em.’
As he returned to his original place in the line, Macro passed on the order to draw swords and make ready, then he hissed at the leading archer to continue down the tunnel. The line of men moved cautiously towards the opening. The glimmer of the torch revealed that their path continued downwards but there was darkness where the chamber opened out with a pit on either side. As Macro emerged into the space, he raised his torch and looked round. The builders of the tomb had cut out a cube, roughly forty feet in each dimension, through which a ramp-like walkway passed at an angle. The precision of the angles and dimensions appeared eerily perfect. On either side of the ramp there was a drop of about twenty feet, and by the light of the torch Macro could make out the spoil and rubbish that had been abandoned in the tomb by successive robbers and the curious who had dared to explore the darkened tunnel over the centuries.
‘Watch it!’ the leading man cried out as he ducked. An arrow whirred over his head and struck the next man in the right arm. He cried out and let go of the arrow string and his shaft skittered across the ramp. He staggered back, and the men behind him instinctively ducked down or moved aside as they anticipated another arrow.
‘Watch it, you fool!’ Aurelius’s voice cried out behind Macro. As he turned, there was a scrabbling of boots and a desperate shout of panic.
He glimpsed the legate teetering on the edge of the ramp, arms flailing, his torch flaring madly, then he fell into the pit, the flames of the tumbling torch illuminating his swift descent, broken by a heavy thud that cut off his cry.
‘Shit!’ Macro snarled, as he braced his feet and looked over the edge of the ramp. By the light of the torch guttering close to the legate, Macro saw Aurelius lying spreadeagled on his back. His mouth was open in a soundless scream and his eyes blinked rapidly as blood, dark as pitch, spread out behind his head.
Another arrow shot up the tunnel, narrowly missing the two archers before it bounced off Macro’s shield at an upward angle and clattered off the wall of the chamber. Macro quickly stepped past the wounded archer and lowered his shield to provide cover from the next arrow. A moment later there was a loud crack, amplified by the surrounding rock, as a second arrow struck Macro’s shield squarely and punched through the layers of leather and wood as it lodged. He grabbed the torch from the leading archer. ‘Get behind my shield and start shooting back!’
The man nodded and hurriedly plucked an arrow from his quiver, strung it, drew back and then bobbed up just long enough to release the shaft down the tunnel.
‘Keep that up!’ Macro ordered, and then turned to look up the ramp. The wounded archer was shuffling back along the line of men who had pressed themselves to the ground, and where the ramp entered the tunnel, they hugged the walls. Hamedes was crouched down a short distance behind Macro.
‘What happened to the legate?’ asked Macro.
‘I don’t know, sir. He was just ahead of me, then stumbled and must have lost his footing.’
‘Right, well, we have to get him out.’ Macro raised his voice and called back up the line. ‘Pass the rope forward!’
There was a brief delay, during which another three arrows came flying up from the depths of the tomb, two striking Macro’s shield while the third whipped past and splintered against the rock just beside the tunnel leading up to the tomb’s entrance. Then the coil of rope appeared, passed from man to man until Hamedes took hold of it. Macro had already seen that there was nothing to tie the end to and he pointed back up the tunnel. ‘Find an anchor man to tie it round his waist and then have four more on the rope to take the strain.’
‘Yes, sir. Let me go down and get the legate.’
‘No. You take my shield. I’ll do it,’ Macro decided.
Hamedes came forward, squeezing between the archer and Macro, and took hold of the handle. Macro grasped his shoulder as he gave him his orders. ‘Move forward, nice and slow, like. No more than ten paces into the next section of tunnel. The archer goes with you. Keep harassing whoever it is that’s down there taking pot shots. Clear?’
Hamedes and the archer nodded.
‘Then get on with it.’
As soon as the rope was ready Macro tied a loop in the end and put his boot in. He eased himself over the edge, clinging to the rope with both hands as his men took the strain and began to lower him into the pit. As soon as his boot touched the ground, Macro let go and scrambled across the rubble to the legate. Aurelius’s eyes had closed and his breathing was swift and shallow. Macro carefully examined his body and felt a swelling around the legate’s leg and the misshapen bend to his left arm. The back of his head was drenched in blood and felt pulpy. Aurelius let out a long deep groan and Macro withdrew his hands.
‘You’re in a bad way, old son.’ Macro shook his head sadly. ‘Best get you out of here quickly.’ He pulled the rope over, called for some slack and then fastened it around the legate’s chest, under his arms.
‘Pull him up, nice and gently!’
The rope creaked under the burden as Macro guided the legate’s body into the air. Halfway up he began to tremble wildly and let out a series of breathless grunts. Then he reached the ramp and the auxiliaries pulled him up the tunnel and returned the end of the rope to Macro. When he had climbed back up, Macro took a deep breath and gave his orders. ‘Get the legate and the wounded man out of the tomb. Tribune Cato can have them taken straight back to the main camp. Meanwhile, we’ll settle our business here.’
Macro made his way into the tunnel and rejoined Hamedes. The archer was squatting down beside the priest, making no attempt to shoot down the tunnel.
‘What the hell have you stopped for?’ Macro demanded.
‘There’s been nothing coming the other way for a while now, sir,’ the archer explained.
‘Fair enough,’ Macro relented. ‘Let’s push on. Hamedes, you take charge of the torch, keep it as high as you can.’
With Macro holding the shield to the front, and the torch held up and to the side, while the archer fitted another arrow, the three men continued slowly down the tunnel, followed by the rest of the small force. Soon, Macro could discern another chamber ahead of them. This time, the space was illuminated as the defenders had lit some torches of their own. Another arrow whipped up the tunnel towards them, going to the side where it ricocheted off the wall. Macro kept moving. Now he could clearly hear voices ahead of them. He continued forward, to the threshold of the new chamber, and by the light of a torch left burning on the ground he could see that it was larger than the one they had passed through earlier but had a solid floor with square columns running down its length, also cut from the rock.
There was no sign of the defenders. Macro waited for the rest of his men to join him and prepare to charge into the chamber as soo
n as he gave the order. A movement by one of the columns to his left drew Macro’s eye just as the man loosed an arrow. It struck the wall close to Macro’s head and he felt a chip of stone cut into his chin.
He snarled, turning towards the man.
Macro roared as he rushed down the length of the chamber towards the enemy who hurriedly prepared his next arrow. He just had time to raise the bow, draw the string and release the arrow before Macro reached him. The arrow zipped past Macro’s ear, and then he smashed his shield into his opponent, sending him flying back. He hit the floor with a solid thud. Macro looked quickly from side to side, but there was no movement except for the auxiliary soldiers spilling out into the chamber. By the light of the torches Macro saw that the man he had downed had a large stained dressing on his thigh. Near him, on the floor of the chamber, was a makeshift walking stick fashioned from a cavalry lance. He had recovered from the blow and was already reaching for his bow. Macro stepped forward and kicked it away. The man reached for the dagger in his belt instead, drawing it and making a wild slash at Macro’s leg. Macro parried the blow and stepped outside the range of the dagger.
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