The Legion (44 page)

Cato glanced round to make sure that the other officers were out of earshot of this rather frank appraisal of his early days in the service of Rome, and then turned back to Macro.

‘It is true I might not have been ideal material for the Second Legion . . . but I learned quickly enough. Of course, I was lucky to have a fine mentor.’

‘True,’ Macro agreed, dispensing with false modesty.

Cato jerked his head back towards the others. ‘Given time Junius will work out as well as I did. Better, in fact, given his senatorial background. Perhaps we should be careful how we speak to him,’ Cato mused. ‘One day he is sure to outrank us and then he might not be forgiving for past slights.’

‘If today’s little exchange still weighs on his mind years from now then, frankly, he doesn’t deserve to rise to senior rank. I’ve seen generals come and go, Cato, and the small-minded ones never lasted long in post. That’s one of the advantages of having an Emperor, I guess.’ Macro scratched his ear. ‘Claudius can dismiss any man who’s not up to the job. He can afford to choose the best. The Emperor doesn’t have to worry about appeasing political factions and dancing to their tune all the time.’

‘Now who’s being green?’ Cato laughed. ‘You really think emperors are above politics? Why do you think the biggest armies are always entrusted to close relatives of the imperial family? And why do emperors watch their other generals like hawks? That’s why we were sent out to the eastern Empire in the first place, to keep an eye on Governor Longinus in Syria. Politics doesn’t stop at the camp gate. Emperor Claudius knows that better than most of his predecessors. The army handed him the throne and he’s rewarded them with handsome donatives ever since to make sure they know he hasn’t forgotten it. Politics . . .’ Cato sighed. ‘It’s what we must wade through all our lives.’

‘Like a sewer, then,’ Macro concluded with a grin, and Cato responded in kind. They rode on in silence for a moment before Cato spoke again.

‘Junius will turn out all right, I think.’

‘I hope so.’

‘You doubt him?’

Macro pursed his lips briefly. ‘I don’t know. He’s just a little too keen to please. He’s trying too hard to prove himself. That can be dangerous – to him, and the men he may command one day.’

‘Assuming he lives long enough,’ Cato replied quietly. ‘Surviving the next few days may well prove something of a challenge.’

The army halted an hour before noon and the men fell out and set down their packs before seeking whatever shade they could find. Those without had to make do with shelters made from their cloaks propped up on the end of their javelins. The men rested through the hottest part of the day while the ground around them baked.

Cato and his officers were resting in the shade of a plantation of date palms when a lone cavalryman came galloping down the road into the column, leaving a fine haze of dust in his wake. The few soldiers still on the road backed away and then watched him briefly, wondering what his hurry could signify. The rider reined in and slipped off the back of his horse and ran up to the optio in command of the headquarters guard to make his report. The optio waved him through and a moment later he stood stiffly in front of Cato, chest heaving from his exertions.

‘Beg to report, sir, the Nubian army has been sighted.’

The other officers stirred and rose to their feet as Cato asked, ‘Where?’

The cavalryman quickly estimated. ‘Just over eight miles from here, sir.’

‘Are they on the march?’

‘Yes, sir. The Nubians are advancing towards us.’

‘Eight miles?’ Macro muttered. ‘Close enough if you intend to give battle today, sir.’

‘Not today.’ Cato looked round at the landscape. A short distance beyond the date palms stretched an expanse of arable land, less than a mile in width from the river to a line of barren hills stretching off into the desert. He pointed it out to Macro and the others. ‘That is where we’ll make our stand. The ground is pliable enough to make a marching camp. Macro, give the orders at once. I want our men behind field defences before the Nubians arrive.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Macro saluted and trotted off to find the senior surveyor and his assistants. Shortly after, they galloped off, trailing a string of mules laden with marking posts and surveying kit.

Cato watched them briefly and then turned to his staff officers. ‘Get the men back on their feet. I want them ready to make camp the moment Macro’s men have marked the perimeter.’

The haze smearing the horizon between the river and the desert marked the approach of the Nubian host long before the first of its men came in sight of the Roman camp. The legionaries were still constructing the palisade and the watchtowers as the first Nubian patrols appeared, small groups of men mounted on camels who stopped short of the Roman picquets and waited for the rest of the army to catch up. As the sun dipped towards the western horizon, it bathed the landscape in a lurid red, and picked out the armour, weapons and banners of the enemy glinting at the base of the dust cloud that slowly advanced towards the Roman position. The soldiers doubled their efforts to complete the defences in time. In addition to the ditch and rampart, they had dug lines of small pits with angled wooden stakes at the bottom in front of the camp. At each corner of the wall a platform of palm logs packed down with earth had been raised to serve as mounts for the bolt throwers.

When the main defences were completed, Cato gave the order for the patrols to pull back and the auxiliary cavalrymen turned away from the enemy and rode back into the camp, and then the gates were sealed. The army was formed up, in case Prince Talmis decided to attack as soon as he reached the Roman defences. The men and their officers stood and waited as the enemy host came on. The main Nubian column began to divide into three and soon the breadth of land between the Nile and the hills presented an unbroken line of enemy infantry, interspersed with columns of mounted warriors, on horses and camels.

As he stood in one of the watchtowers, Cato sensed the anxiety in his soldiers watching from the palisade. The men of the Twenty-Second and the auxiliaries had never faced such a threat before and few of them had ever fought in a battle. He just hoped that their training and discipline would be enough to ensure that they stood their ground when the time came to face the Nubians in battle.

‘An impressive sight,’ said Macro, at his side. ‘But numbers aren’t everything, eh?’

Cato did not reply as he scrutinised the dense ranks of the enemy. For the most part they appeared to be lightly armed, but there were several formations of soldiers who marched well and carried large oval shields and were equipped with an assortment of helmets and armour. There were also large formations of men carrying bundles of javelins. Few of the Nubians seemed to be armed with bows and Cato took some small comfort from that. There was a distant blare of horns and the Nubian army halted. Above them the haze slowly wafted to one side on the evening breeze blowing across the Nile.

‘What do you think they’ll do now, sir?’ asked Junius. ‘Will they attack?’

‘I doubt it, Tribune,’ Cato replied. ‘We’re in a strong position and any attack would cost Prince Talmis dearly. Despite their number, few of his men are trained soldiers. If his first assault fails, and he suffers heavy casualties, it will hit the spirits of his men hard.’

Macro pointed. ‘There. We’ll know what the Nubians intend soon enough.’

Cato and Junius turned to see a party of horsemen riding out from the Nubian army, straight down the dusty road that ran along the bank of the Nile. They came on unhurriedly, crossing the open ground between the two waiting armies.

‘I don’t want them getting too good a view of our defences,’ Cato decided. ‘Macro, have a cavalry squadron brought forward. We’ll ride out and meet them.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Macro strode across to the ladder and clambered down from the tower. Cato continued watching the approaching riders for a moment and then descended to join his friend who was holding a spare horse ready. Cato swung himself up and settled into the saddle between the two sets of saddle horns and took up the reins, biting back on the pain in his shoulder.

‘Let’s see what they want.’

The legionaries on the gate facing the enemy scrambled to open it as Cato and his escort trotted forward and a moment later they passed out of the camp and rode down the track that had been trampled through a crop of wheat that led to the road. There they reined in and the escort formed a line behind the two officers, ready to charge forward if Cato gave them the order. The Nubians were only a few hundred paces away and came on at the same measured pace. There were eight of them, beneath a standard depicting a lion, its mouth agape in a silent roar. The leader, swathed in shimmering black silk and a headpiece wrapped round a conical helmet and covering all but his eyes, rode slightly ahead of the rest of his men. He slowed his pace to a gentle walk as he approached Cato and then tugged his reins when he was no more than ten paces away. His dark eyes regarded the Romans for a moment and then he reached up a hand and pulled the cloth away from his face.

‘I wish to speak to the Roman general,’ he said in Greek. ‘Legate Aurelius.’

‘Aurelius is dead. I am the commander of the army,’ Cato responded.

‘You?’ For a moment the Nubian hesitated, then shrugged. ‘Whether or not that is true, it makes no difference to what I have to say. So hear me, Roman. I am Talmis, Prince of Nubia, lion of the desert and commander of the army you see before you.’ He swept his arm out to indicate the massed ranks stretching across the landscape. ‘I have brooked Roman interference in our lands for too long. The time for retribution is at hand. I will not sheath my sword until my honour is satisfied, or it has tasted the blood of many Romans.’

Macro coughed and gestured casually towards the Prince’s scabbard and the jewelled handle of his weapon. ‘If that is the, uh, sword in question, then it’s only fair to point out that it is already sheathed.’

‘Macro,’ Cato muttered through clenched teeth. ‘Be quiet!’

The Prince eased his mount forward, its legs high-stepping as he edged it close to Macro and glared into the centurion’s face. Macro raised his eyebrows quizzically.

‘Is this your pet comedian, Legate? I shall look forward to seeing how he laughs when I have my men disembowel him.’

‘Centurion Macro is inclined to speak his mind more than is good for him,’ Cato responded evenly. ‘However, he does not speak for Rome. I do. What is it that you wish to say to me, Prince?’

Talmis stared at Macro a moment longer then sniffed with contempt and turned to Cato.

‘I come to offer my terms for peace. Rome will cede all of the land south of Ombos to Nubia. In addition, I want half of this year’s harvest from the province. And ten talents of gold.’ His eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘The Roman measure of talents. Not Egyptian. These terms are not negotiable. If you refuse, then I will continue my advance along the Nile, sacking your cities and burning your crops as I go. Even as far as Alexandria.’

Macro laughed. ‘I doubt that Rome would permit that. You come within a hundred miles of Alexandria and the Emperor will send enough legions to the region to obliterate you and your army.’

Prince Talmis shrugged. ‘Nubia is a big land, Roman. Big enough for me to continue retreating until your legions die of exhaustion, or thirst. Rome does not frighten me. Well?’

‘Your terms are unacceptable,’ Cato said simply. ‘The negotiations are over.’

He pulled on his reins and turned his horse away and began to walk it back towards the camp. His escort followed suit, with wary looks over their shoulders. At first Prince Talmis was silent, fists clenched in rage. Then he stabbed a finger towards the backs of the Roman horsemen.

‘So be it! Within days the vultures will be picking your bones clean!’ He snatched at his reins, forcing his horse round sharply, then he spurred it back towards his army, his robes flapping like the wings of a crow while his followers struggled to keep up.

Macro watched him briefly and then edged his mount closer to Cato. ‘That was pretty blunt. What are you thinking?’

Cato spoke with a resigned air. ‘What else could I say? I have no authority to accept his terms. Even if I did, the Emperor could never afford to. So we will have our battle.’

‘When?’

‘Tomorrow. At dawn.’

Prince Talmis and his senior officers had completed their plans for the disposition of the Nubian army and were feasting on heavily spiced mutton when their meal was interrupted. The captain of the Prince’s bodyguard, a large scarred warrior, eased aside the tent flap and entered. Four of his men followed, either side of a tall figure in a ragged tunic and scale armour vest. His skin and hair were matted with sweat and dust and it took the Prince a moment to recognise him.

‘Ajax . . .’

The other officers stopped eating as they turned to look at the gladiator. Their conversation faltered and an uneasy silence filled the tent. Prince Talmis wiped the grease from his fingers on the hem of his robe and leaned back from the polished silver tray from which he had been dining. He stroked his jaw in contemplation as he stared at Ajax.

‘Is this the man who claimed that he would be a valuable ally in the war against Rome, I wonder?’ he asked with cold sarcasm. ‘From the look of you it would appear that you have seen some hard fighting. Is that so?’

‘Yes, Highness.’ Ajax bowed his head.

‘I take it you had the worst of it.’

‘Yes.’

‘I see. Then tell me, have you achieved what I asked of you?’

Ajax, weary as he was, stood stiffly at full height, dominating the bodyguards who stood around him. ‘My men have killed and wounded many of the Romans, as you wished, Highness. We took one of their forts, slaughtered its garrison and burned it to the ground.’

‘And what of our casualties?’

Ajax hesitated briefly before replying. ‘I regret to say that I and a few of my followers are all that survive. The rest are lost.’

Prince Talmis’s eyes widened, and his officers exchanged anxious glances, waiting for him to give vent to his anger. The Prince’s lips twitched. ‘Lost? Explain.’