Simon Scarrow - The Eagle In the Sand

'Easy there, sunshine.' Macro backed away. The rest of the auxiliaries were only a short distance behind – the sound of their hooves echoed up the street. The brigand glanced over his shoulder and then turned back to Macro. His grin had vanished and now he scrambled forward with a cold glint in his eyes. Macro felt his back thud up against a wall and turned his head and saw that he would be trapped in a corner if he went to his left. Tensing his legs, he sprang to the right and ran for the edge of the building, just as the brigand thrust the sword. It struck the wall in an explosion of loose plaster, then with a cry of frustration the man ran after Macro. Macro sprinted past a door, which swung open an instant later, straight into the face of the brigand. Cato emerged into the street blinking and jumped as the door rebounded towards him.Then he turned and saw Macro, and smiled.

'I wondered when-' Cato's smile froze as his friend slithered to a stop, reversed direction with a menacing grimace and dived back past the door. The brigand was flat on his back, winded. Macro stamped down on the wrist of his sword arm and the fingers instinctively flinched, releasing the blade.

'I'll have that back, thank you.' Macro dipped down to retrieve his sword, then delivered a savage kick to the side of the man's head, knocking him senseless. There was a confused din of shouts and whinnying and Macro turned to where the street fed into the centre of the village.The horses that had collided were still thrashing around and the cavalry had been forced to stop, piling up into a dense mass just beyond the flailing hooves. Then Macro's horse rolled over, clambered up and lurched nervously to one side. The auxiliaries squeezed past and Macro waved them on.

'Don't stop! Get after the bastards! Go! Go!'

They stumbled by in a rush of horseflesh, kicking boots, and shields as Macro turned back to Cato. Behind them Symeon emerged from the house and watched the riders go past with a relieved grin. He nodded a greeting at Macro.

'Nice timing, Cato.' Macro nodded to the unconscious brigand, then focused on the pallor of his friend's face, which was streaked with blood. 'How's the head?'

'Sore. I feel a bit sick. But I'll live.You got here just in time.They'd have surely found us if you'd been a moment longer.'

'I nearly didn't get here at all. Had a hard time persuading that bloody prefect at the fort to send these auxiliary boys out.'

'Why persuade him?' Cato frowned. 'You've replaced him.You're the new prefect.'

Macro laughed bitterly. 'Not until I present him with the right document. You know how the Roman army loves its procedures. Unfortunately, my letter of appointment was lost with the rest of the baggage.'

Cato shook his head. 'Damn. That's messed things up for us.'

A thought struck Macro. 'What about that warrant from Narcissus?'

Cato instinctively clutched a hand to his chest, and felt the slim leather case that hung from a strap round his neck. 'It's still safe.'

'Good.Then we can use that. Show it Scrofa and take command of the cohort.'

'No.'

'What do you mean, no?'

'Think about it. If we use the warrant now, then our cover is blown. It won't take long for word to get back to Longinus that two of Narcissus' spies are in the region. He'd immediately be on his guard, and you can bet that the first thing he'd do is see to it that we were disposed of.' Cato paused for a moment, then shook his head. 'We daren't use the Emperor's authority unless we really need to.'

Macro laughed bitterly. 'Shit! So what the hell do we do now?'

'We have to send a message back to the procurator in Caesarea, asking for confirmation of your appointment. He'll have it on record.'

'And until then Scrofa will continue to be the prefect of the Second Illyrian.'

'So it seems.'

'That's great, just great.' Macro turned away, trying to contain his frustration, and saw Symeon sitting on a bench in the sun shelter, talking intently to one of the local women. He leaned closer to Cato and spoke softly. 'Who's that?'

'Miriam. She's the one who hid us from Bannus and his men.'

'Really?' Macro looked at her more closely. 'Must be a brave old stick.'

'Brave?' Cato recalled the manner in which she had confronted Bannus. 'That she is. But there's more to her than meets the eye.'

'Oh?'

'She seems to be the leader of this settlement. Or at least one of the leaders.' Cato chewed his lip for a moment. 'She also seemed to know Bannus quite well.'

'Not to mention our guide there.'

Cato looked at Symeon, and saw that he was holding one of Miriam's hands as he spoke earnestly to her. 'Yes. We need to find out more about her. More about what precisely is going on around here.'

'Think we should take her to the fort for questioning?'

Cato shook his head. 'I'm not sure that would be helpful. She could be of some use to us, if we can win her trust. Though, in the circumstances, that might be difficult.'

'What circumstances?'

'It seems that her son was crucified.'

'Ah, that is a little unfortunate,' Macro conceded.'Still, if we can work on her, maybe we can win her round.'

'It's not a question of winning her round. I'd think she'd see through that in an instant. We're going to have to play this one very carefully, Macro, if we want her on our side. Anyway, quiet! Symeon is coming.'

Symeon had risen from the bench and was making his way to the two Romans. He tipped his head on one side with an apologetic expression. 'Miriam has a favour to ask, Centurion Cato.'

'Oh, yes?'

'She would like us to remove that brigand you skewered. She needs to patch her mattress and wash the bloodstains out before she prepares his body for burial.'

By the time Cato and Macro had heaved the dead brigand out of the house and found a cool spot in the shade for the body, the prefect and the other two squadrons were approaching the settlement. Scrofa rode into the village and halted his column outside Miriam's house, before dismounting in the same ungainly manner in which he had been hoisted into the saddle. He looked at Cato and Symeon.

'The missing centurion and his guide, I presume?'

'Centurion Quintus Licinius Cato, sir.' Cato bowed his head.

'I'm glad that our little expedition managed to find you before Bannus and his scum did.'

Cato smiled faintly. 'They were here not long ago, sir. Macro's men drove them out.'

Scrofa stared back frostily. 'They are not Centurion Macro's men. They are my men until he can provide proper proof that he has been sent to replace me. My men, do you understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good.' Scrofa nodded.Then his eyes swept round the village, before fixing on Miriam who was watching them from the bench under her sun shelter. 'You say that the enemy was in the village when Centurion Macro arrived?'

'That's right, sir.'

'So what were they doing here, exactly?'

'Having their wounded seen to,' Cato replied uneasily.

'So the villagers were helping them?'

'No. They forced the villagers to help. They threatened them.'

'We'll see about that.' Scrofa gestured towards Miriam. 'Bring that one over here.'

Miriam had overheard the exchange. She rose to her feet and strode towards the two Roman officers, staring defiantly at the prefect. 'What do you want of me, Roman?'

Scrofa was momentarily taken aback by her forceful manner, but quickly recovered his composure and cleared his throat. 'It seems you gave shelter to the brigands.'

'Yes, but as your centurion said, I had no choice.'

'There is always a choice,' Scrofa replied haughtily. 'Whatever the consequences. You could have resisted them. Indeed, it was your duty to resist them.'

'Resist them with what?' Miriam swept her arm out, indicating the surrounding houses. 'We have no weapons – they are not permitted here. My people believe only in peace. We will not take sides in your conflict with Bannus.'