Centurion Parmenion had not wasted any time since they had left in pursuit of Bannus. The enemy camp had been completely razed and only two mounds were left, marking the mass graves of the peasants that Bannus had led to their deaths. The gatehouse was almost rebuilt and the sentry in the tower challenged them correctly as they approached, even though he could hardly contain his surprise that the two officers had returned from their quest alive. Beyond the gate some of the barrack blocks had been rebuilt, and the prefect’s house had been made habitable, if no longer luxurious. The other fire-damaged buildings had been demolished and swaths of the fort stood bare and blackened.
In the headquarters building they found Centurion Parmenion in the commander’s office, surrounded by clerks and dictating orders. As soon as he had got over the surprise of seeing his commanding officer and Cato, Parmenion offered to give up his office with a rueful smile.
‘Can’t say I’d be sorry to be shot of all this paperwork, sir.’
‘You seem to be doing a fine job. You can carry on with it until tomorrow.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Is there anything I should know before I get some sleep?’
Parmenion nodded. ‘The hostages have been returned to the villages, as you ordered, and there’s a dispatch from Governor Longinus. It arrived yesterday, addressed to the prefect, in confidence. I didn’t think I should open it.’
‘You’re the acting commanding officer, Parmenion.’
‘I know that, sir. I just thought that I should wait. Until we heard something.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Just a moment, sir.’ Parmenion crossed to the desk and opened a cabinet under the table. He took out a sealed package and handed it to Macro.
‘I’ll read this in my quarters. You’d better come with me, Cato.’
As they were leaving the office a thought struck Cato and he turned back to Parmenion. ‘Centurion Postumus – what happened to him?’
‘No one knows. After the battle I sent a patrol to look for him. We found his men, all dead, shot down with arrows. But no sign of him. Strange that.’
‘Yes,’ Cato said uneasily. ‘Very strange.’
‘I’m sure he’ll turn up.’
‘I imagine he will,’ Cato replied as he left the office and strode off to catch up with Macro.
Macro opened the package as soon as they reached his quarters. The message was brief enough and he handed the document to Cato. It was an order from the staff of the Governor. The Second Illyrian Cohort was ordered to prepare to quit the fort at Bushir. They were instructed to proceed to Syria to join the army concentrating to counter the latest threat from Parthia.
Cato smiled. ‘Seems that Longinus wants to keep a close eye on us.’
‘I bet. Now that he knows that we’re on to his game you can be sure he won’t miss a chance to get rid of us. We’re going to have to be careful out there, Cato.’
‘Very careful. In the meantime there’s work to be done. The cohort fought well enough, but they’re not ready for a campaign season just yet.’
‘No rest for us, then,’ Macro grumbled as he poured two cups of wine and passed one to Cato. ‘And we’ve got to write a report for Narcissus at some point.’
‘I can handle that, if you like.’
‘What should we tell him? That threat to the Empire. Was it Longinus, or Bannus? Either way, we’ve put a stop to it. Now we’ve just got Parthia to deal with. Shit, I could do with a nice long rest.’
‘Look on the bright side, sir.’
‘Bright side? What bright side?’
‘At last you’re going to see Syria. That’s what you’ve always wanted, as long as I’ve known you.’
‘Syria …’ Macro mused contentedly and drained his cup. ‘There is that.’
AUTHOR’S NOTE
It has been a great pleasure to research and write this book, The Zealot. From the beginning of the series I have wanted to take Macro and Cato east. It is long overdue for poor Centurion Macro, who has been fantasising, in various guises, about the lure of the east. On this occasion the reality has been rather grittier than he had hoped. Maybe next time. Some readers might feel that I have taken a few liberties with the story of the most famous of the Judaean rabble-rousers executed by Rome. To them I would recommend Neil Faulkner’s Apocalypse, a quite superb account of the background and history of the great revolt of AD 66. The various crosscurrents of political, religious and social class divisions are clearly analysed in great detail, and Faulkner is adept at making telling comparisons with the more recent history of the region. I cannot recommend this book highly enough to anyone keen to discover more about Judaea in the first century.
Most of the landscape depicted in this novel remains unchanged and I have tried to convey the starkness and the spectacle of the eastern frontier as tangibly as possible. Bathing in the Dead Sea was as much a novelty for me as it was for Macro, and it is hard to describe the awesome experience of Petra. Even though I had read extensively about the city (and watched Indiana Jones gallop through the siq!) nothing can prepare a visitor for the moment when they emerge from the narrow chasm to be confronted by the towering edifice of the ‘Treasury’. And that was only the start of an unforgettable day’s exploration of the site. Petra’s man-made magnificence is matched by the natural spectacle of Wadi Rum (as it is known these days), a sprawling area of blood-red sand divided up by great walls of rock. The epic scale of the place is made yet more impressive by the silence, and it provides a fitting arena for the final conflict of the novel.
Jordan has some of the most impressive classical ruins in the world. The theatre at Amman is virtually intact, and the remains of some of the other cities of the Decapolis have been extensively excavated. Of particular note are Jerash, and Umm Qais where the visitor can sit high up in a theatre made of black stone and gaze out across Jawlan to Lake Tiberias, and then turn to see Nazareth. And yet the site that impressed me more than anything else was the most desolate and hard to reach, namely the desert fort of Q’sar Bashir. Even the Jordanian Ministry of Tourism was not quite sure where it was. Fortunately King Abdullah put me in touch with a friend of his, Samer Mouasher, who was able to guide us to the site. The walls and towers of Bashir still rise up from the rock and sand, and the masonry dislodged by an earthquake over two centuries ago still lies where it fell. A visitor can scale some of the towers, and from the top the vista of sand stretches out to the horizon on all sides. I was struck by the hubris of an empire that could build a formidable fort in such an isolated position. ‘Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ Shelley had nailed the sensation precisely.
After we left the fort and drove on to Petra, every detail of it stayed in my mind, and I knew that I had found the perfect inspiration for the setting of Macro and Cato’s latest adventure.
Simon Scarrow
SIMON SCARROW is the bestselling author of the Roman Legion series. He was educated at the University of East Anglia and lectured in history before becoming a fulltime writer. He is the author of Centurion and The Gladiator.
visit readswordsandsandals.com and catoandmacro.com
to learn more about the roman Legion series
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