The Legion

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Drop it!’

  The gladiator shuffled away until he reached the wall of the chamber and then he leaned back and held the dagger out, ready to strike again.

  ‘I said drop it.’

  ‘Fuck you, Roman!’ the rebel spat. ‘If you want it, come and get it!’

  He held the knife up, daring Macro. With an impatient sigh, Macro stepped forward, parried the dagger low on his shield and then thrust his blade into the man’s chest. He gasped under the impact, then slumped aside as Macro wrenched the blade free and turned away. ‘Any more of them here?’

  None of his men replied and Macro frowned as he sheathed his sword. ‘Where the hell are they all? Where is Ajax?’

  ‘Sir! Over here!’

  Macro found one of his men pointing to a small opening on the far side of the chamber. There was a short slope down into yet another chamber. Macro squatted and cocked his head for a better look. There was no sign of any movement. He tried to listen but the footsteps of his men and their muttering filled the chamber.

  ‘Stand still!’ Macro bellowed.

  As the last echo faded away, he listened again. There was no sound from the chamber. Nothing. Then he heard it, the faintest of sounds, like a dog panting in the distance.

  ‘Ajax! . . . Ajax, you are trapped. I’ll give you one chance to surrender, then we’re coming for you and your men . . . Ajax, you hear me?’

  There came no reply as he had expected and Macro listened again and then muttered, ‘Damn.’ He turned back to his men. ‘I’m going down there. I’ll call for you if I need help. If there’s any trouble then you pile in and take no prisoners. Got it?’

  Macro sheathed his sword and took one of the torches held by his men and inspected the passage more closely. It was steeper than the others they had descended, but no more than twenty feet in length. The floor of another chamber opened out beyond. Macro tested his boots at the top of the ramp but it was clear that he would not be able to keep his feet if he tried to walk down. Instead he crouched down, pushing his shield out at a shallow angle in front of him and held the torch aloft in his sword hand.

  ‘Be careful, sir,’ said Hamedes.

  Macro smiled at him. ‘Here I go.’

  Macro shifted his weight and began to slide down the tunnel, his nailed boots scraping over the stone. The rush of air made the torch burn brighter, filling the narrow passage with a fiery glow. Then he entered the chamber and took half a step forward to establish his balance as he reached flat ground. He quickly turned from side to side, waving the torch in front of him. The chamber was much smaller than the one above, with just four columns. There was a crudely fashioned ladder, some discarded cloaks and waterskins lying on the ground but no sign of anyone, nor any sign of another opening in its walls.

  Then he heard some scrabbling coming from the far corner of the chamber. Macro raised his torch towards it and saw a man sitting propped up against the wall. He wore only a loincloth and like his comrade in the chamber above he was wounded; he had a large dressing covering his stomach. He held a dagger in his hand but made no attempt to raise it towards Macro. The centurion cautiously approached him and the glow of the torch revealed the man’s glistening skin and the sweat that dripped from his brow. His chest rose and fell in short jerks as he struggled to breathe. He shut his eyes for an instant and then blinked them open, trying to focus on Macro.

  ‘Where are they?’ Macro asked him. ‘Where are Ajax and the others?’

  ‘Gone,’ the man rasped, and then licked his lips and smiled faintly as he repeated. ‘Gone . . .’

  ‘Where?’ Macro asked harshly. ‘They were in this cave. Where are they?’

  The other man shook his head. ‘Are you Centurion Macro?’ The man struggled to get the words out.

  ‘What if I am?’

  ‘He - Ajax - told me to give you a message.’ The man smiled weakly. ‘He said to tell you that he’s fucked you before, and now he’s fucked you again, and he’ll fuck you for as long as he lives.’

  Macro stared at the dying man for a moment, his mind and heart filling with blind rage. The torch dropped from his hand and he snatched out his sword before he even realised that he had done so. With a cry of hatred and anger that tore at his throat, Macro raised the blade and smashed it down on the other man’s head so brutally that skin, skull and brains exploded into one gory welter as the edge of his sword cleaved the man’s skull from the top of his cranium right down to his jaw. Macro yanked his sword free and raised it to strike again, his lips curled back in a savage snarl, but the man was quite dead.

  Macro’s sword hung, poised over the body, blood dripping from its edge. He breathed in and out through his nose, his nostrils flaring. Slowly reason returned to him and he backed away from the body. He took one look round the cave in the hope of seeing something, some clue, that would reveal the presence of Ajax, but there was nothing. Macro turned back to the entrance to the chamber and called up to Hamedes.

  ‘Lower me the rope. It’s all over. We’re done here.’

  ‘And Ajax?’

  ‘Ajax?’ Macro shook his head. ‘Not here. It’s like he just vanished . . .’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  ‘Will he live?’ asked Cato.

  The surgeon did not answer immediately but sat still on his stool beside the legate’s bed and considered his patient. Outside, dawn was breaking and the bucinas were rousing the men in the camp at Karnak. Macro and Cato stood to one side of the surgeon, sand and dust griming their faces. They had returned from the far bank, with the two Roman casualties, during the early hours. Aurelius had been carried down to the river on a stretcher fashioned from two cavalry lances and some cloaks. As soon as the boat crossed to the landing platform, the legate was rushed up to the infirmary while the archer went to have his wounded arm cleaned and dressed.

  It took an hour for the surgeon to set the legate’s broken limbs as well as he could and then splint them. The head wound was a more complicated affair and the blood had to be carefully washed away before the wound could be cleaned and examined. Aurelius lay on his side, his body tightly packed with bolsters so that he did not move. His breathing was ragged and Cato could see that the back of his head was badly misshapen beneath a thin linen dressing through which the blood was slowly seeping.

  ‘Live?’ The surgeon looked up from his patient. ‘I doubt it. He’s lost a lot of blood, and some brain matter. It came away when I was removing the skull fragments. I’ve put in a brass plate and sewn the scalp up. However, I don’t hold out much hope. Anyway, even if he does survive, his brain is damaged beyond repair. He would be condemned to spend the rest of his days as a simpleton. Death would be a mercy for him now.’

  Cato nodded. ‘I see. Then I’d be obliged if you would write up your conclusions and have them entered in the legion’s log book.’

  The surgeon stood up and faced Cato. ‘Sir, I have a hospital full of wounded men following the actions of the previous two days. I have to devote my attention to them before I can deal with any reports.’

  ‘I understand,’ Cato replied gently. ‘However, you must do as I say. The legate, though alive, is no longer capable of performing his duties. Therefore authority over the legion, and the rest of the army, passes to the next officer in the chain of command.’

  ‘Namely you, sir.’

  ‘Precisely. There must be no doubt that I have followed the correct protocols in assuming command. I cannot afford to have my authority challenged. For the sake of the men.’

  ‘And to cover your back, in the event that the campaign does not end well for Rome, no doubt.’

  ‘You can think what you like. But I need your statement entered into the records.’ Cato spoke firmly. ‘At once, if you don’t mind.’

  The surgeon hesitated. ‘And if I do mind?’

  ‘Then at once in any case. That is an order.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Cato turned to Macro. ‘Centurion, come. We need to talk.’

  He
turned and walked from the room set aside for the legate’s treatment. Macro followed him, falling into step with Cato as they emerged from the hospital. They made their way across the temple complex towards the southern entrance and the headquarters beyond.

  ‘That’s a pretty bold step,’ said Macro. ‘I’m not sure the governor is going to be happy that you’ve assumed command of the army. It’s all that stands between Prince Talmis and the lower Nile.’

  ‘The governor is far from the centre of operations,’ Cato responded. ‘He is in no position to judge what course of action should be taken. In any case, the latest reports we have are that the Nubians are no more than a day’s march from here. What would you have me do? Send a request to him asking for advice on how we should proceed, and then sit on my arse and wait for his response? By then we’ll have been overrun and Prince Talmis would be well on his way to Memphis and the delta region. It’d be a bloody disaster, and you know it.’

  ‘Of course I do.’ Macro smiled. ‘But then I’m not the one taking control of the army. If nothing else, it proves that you’ve got balls of solid iron, my friend.’

  ‘Oh?’ Cato turned to him. ‘Don’t think for a moment that I’m the only one who is sticking his neck out. I might be taking on the command of this army, but my first act is going to be to make you my camp prefect. So you’d better hope we come out of this covered in glory because the alternative won’t smell nearly so sweet.’

  ‘The thing that is puzzling me is how the hell Ajax could have got away from us,’ Macro fumed as he settled on one of the comfortable stools in the legate’s quarters. ‘We had the right tomb. His men had been in there and he had left two of his injured behind. We didn’t miss any side passages or openings. So he must have got out before we closed the trap.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘But then how did he get out of the valley? He couldn’t have climbed out, not without being seen, and he couldn’t have got by us.’

  Cato was silent for a moment. ‘He didn’t. We got past him.’

  Macro frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Think it through, Macro. As soon as we knew which tomb he was in we made straight for it. Marched right into the valley and turned up that side track towards the tomb you searched. So what do you think happened?’

  Macro thought a moment and took a sharp breath. ‘It couldn’t be that simple, surely?’

  Cato shrugged. ‘How else could he have escaped? He must have heard us march by. By the gods, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had been bold enough to watch us from one of those tombs at the entrance to the valley. As soon as we passed out of sight, he and his men emerged, crept back down the track towards the Nile and made their escape.’

  ‘He could be anywhere by now,’ Macro reflected.

  ‘That’s right.’

  Macro shook his head in wonder. ‘Ajax has to be the most cunning bastard we’ve ever had to deal with, aside from that little shit Narcissus back in Rome. He must have known we’d try to work out his hiding place, then he let us see just enough to convince our scouts before switching his men to another tomb. Clever.’

  ‘Yes, clever. Or perhaps there’s another reason he got away from us.’

  ‘You mean luck? He just happened to switch tombs at just the right moment? Unlikely.’

  ‘Extremely unlikely.’ Cato folded his hands together and leaned over the legate’s table to concentrate his full attention on Macro. ‘I’m talking about something else, Macro. I’m saying that I think Ajax was warned. He was told that we had sent scouts to find his hiding place. That’s why he changed it and was able to trick us.’

  ‘Warned? Who by?’

  Cato did not reply. He was quiet for a moment as his tired mind put his thoughts together. At length he leaned back and addressed his friend in an even tone. ‘Don’t you think that Ajax has had a rather extraordinary run of good fortune since we’ve been pursuing him across Egypt?’

  ‘Good fortune?’ Macro pursed his lips. ‘What do you mean, exactly?’

  ‘Let’s start with recent events. Ajax’s escape from the temple. You remember the cavalry prefect’s report about the massacre of one of his patrols. He said that the attackers had used a password to get close. So, how did they get the password?’

  ‘Might they not have overheard someone using it? Like Junius said.’

  ‘They might, but the men are pretty good at talking only as loudly as they must when making challenges. Even so, the man who gave the password was in Roman kit.’

  ‘I suppose they could have stripped one of the bodies of the men we lost in the first assault.’

  Cato nodded. ‘That’s what I thought. So I checked with one of your optios before we left the temple to head for the valley of the tombs. All the bodies were accounted for, and so was their kit.’

  Macro stared shrewdly at his comrade. ‘This isn’t something that’s only just occurred to you, is it?’

  ‘I had my suspicions. Then when we got to the valley, there was the business with the wrong tomb being identified, and then the legate falling from the ramp.’

  Macro shook his head. ‘That was an accident.’

  ‘You saw it happen?’

  Macro was exhausted and had to concentrate hard to remember the details of what had happened in the tomb. ‘We were on the ramp . . . An arrow was shot at us. I heard a cry . . . Turned and saw the legate falling. Yes, it was an accident.’

  ‘Tell me, who was standing closest to the legate when it occured?’

  ‘Hamedes was there,’ Macro replied, and then he stared intently at Cato.

  ‘Hamedes.’ Cato nodded. ‘Precisely.’

  Macro was silent for a moment as he took the accusation in. ‘Are you saying he’s a traitor?’

  ‘That implies that he has betrayed us. I think he never was on our side in the first place. Think about it, Macro. What is his story? He was the only survivor of Ajax’s raid on his temple.’

  ‘Yes, but he was spared by Ajax to let others know who was responsible. Just like he left other survivors.’

  ‘True,’ Cato responded. ‘Which is why we were predisposed to believe him.’

  Macro shook his head. ‘This is too far-fetched, Cato. If there is a traitor out there, it isn’t Hamedes. I know the lad well enough. He’s been straight with us. Why, he’s faced every danger we have. These other things you mention are just coincidences.’

  ‘Like the cobra in our tent? Ever wondered where that came from? Did you notice that Hamedes had a large kitbag when he boarded the barge in Cairo? It was a lot smaller when he disembarked. Then there were the fragments of a broken jar close to the tent. I wonder what the jar had contained, and where it came from? Just more coincidences? Tell me, have you never had any grounds to doubt him?’

  Macro thought back over the time he had known the young priest. He recalled the raid on Ajax’s base and the fire in the lookout tower that had given away their presence to the rebels. Hamedes could have lit the fire easily enough while the rest of them were preoccupied. The seeds of suspicion that Cato had planted were readily watered by Macro’s recollection of that event.

  There was a knock on the door frame and an optio stepped into the room.

  Cato looked up at him. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ve brought the priest to you, sir. As ordered.’

  Cato glanced at Macro. ‘Let’s see what Hamedes has to say for himself. Send him in, and stay with us.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The optio beckoned round the door frame. ‘All right, gypo, this way. Smartly now!’

  Hamedes entered the room, wearing a tunic. He looked dazed, as if he had just been woken. He smiled as he saw Macro and Cato. ‘How can I help you, sirs?’

  Cato stared at him without any expression and sat back in his chair. ‘You can tell me what your real name is, for a start.’

  Hamedes’ smile faded. ‘Sorry? What did you say, sir?’

  ‘You heard me. I want to know your real name.’

  Hamedes opened his
mouth, closed it and looked helplessly at Macro. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Cato puffed irritably. ‘Let’s try another tack. How long have you known Ajax? Did you join his rebellion in Crete, or did he recruit you from amongst the slaves of the ships he has raided since then?’

  Hamedes swallowed anxiously. ‘Sir, I am a humble priest. I have every reason to hate Ajax as much as you do. He butchered my brother priests and looted our sacred temple. I am Hamedes. You have to believe me, sir . . . please. I swear to you, on all that I hold holy, I am no spy. Believe me.’

  Cato smiled coldly at him. ‘By the gods, you would make a fine actor. No doubt that is why Ajax picked you for the task. Turns out to have been a good choice. After all, it was you who saved him from the temple, and later the tomb. And it was you who pushed the legate into the pit.’