Simon Scarrow - The Eagle In the Sand

'Symeon!' Macro grinned back. 'Good to see you. Is everything ready?'

'Yes, Prefect.' Symeon slid down from his saddle and gestured to his followers to do the same. 'All is ready.The caravan is just behind us. It did not take me very long to find a cartel willing to have their revenge on these desert raiders.'

'Good.' Macro was relieved. His plan had hinged on Symeon's persuading some Nabataeans to turn on their tormentors of the last few months. Now all the elements had fallen into place and the trap was ready to be sprung.

Symeon stood aside and gestured to the men with him. They had also lifted their veils and Macro saw two older men, perhaps the same age as Symeon, but darker-skinned. Symeon gestured to them. 'Tabor and Adul, my former business partners. Tabor also represents the cartel that owns this caravan. He and Adul still provide escorts for caravans from Arabia up to Petra. They're travelling with the caravan because they want to extend their escort business towards Syria. Frankly, I suspect they've just come for the fight.' Symeon grinned, and then placed his hand on the shoulder of the last man, who was younger. He was shorter than Symeon, though powerfully built with fierce black eyes and a neatly trimmed moustache. Symeon gazed at him proudly. 'This is Murad, my adopted son. He took over my share of the business when I returned to Judaea. Tough as they come.'

He spoke to the young man in Aramaic and Murad grinned, revealing fine white teeth. He drew his finger across his throat and made a guttural hiss to emphasise the gesture.

'I think I might just get on well with you, young Murad.' Macro smiled back, then bowed his head in greeting to Symeon's companions.'Did you bring spare robes?'

'Of course, Centurion. They're on the lead camels.'

Macro clapped him on the shoulder. 'Fine work! Now, all that remains is to give those raiders the surprise of their lives.'

The sun was directly overhead and the glare shimmered off the sand and rock of the landscape so that Macro had to squint to avoid hurting his eyes. He rode at the head of the caravan with Symeon and his companions. Behind them came the long column of camels and horses, laden with goods. Macro's men, dressed in the robes of caravan herders, walked along the route, leading small strings of their charges. Their weapons were concealed under the fake baggage on their animals' saddles, the bows strung and ready to use. The real herders had remained in the way station, resting in the shadows of the walls as they waited for word from Symeon. It would have looked suspicious if the caravan had been attended by more men than usual. Macro stared back over his shoulder for a moment. To his eyes the caravan looked just as it did when it approached the way station at first light. With luck, then, it might fool the desert raiders as well. Only a handful of escorts rode out on the flanks and Macro hoped that such easy-looking prey would prove too tempting for the raiders to resist.

After a brief halt, while the auxiliaries had dressed in the robes that Symeon and his men had provided, the caravan had continued past the way station, heading towards Philadelphia. The hours had passed slowly as the laden pack animals and camels trudged on with their endless hypnotic sway. Fearing that an enemy scout might overhear Roman voices, Macro had forbidden any conversation, and the caravan edged forward with only the soft shuffling of camels' feet and the crunch of hooves and boots on the ancient trade route to break the silence of the desert.

Then Murad muttered something and there was a brief exchange of muted conversation between him and Symeon before the latter turned to Macro.

'Centurion, we are being watched, but don't look round. Murad saw a man in the dunes a moment ago. Just for an instant, then he disappeared.'

'One of our raider friends?' Macro responded softly.

'Almost certainly. They will attack us soon, I think.'

Macro glanced ahead and saw that the route would shortly take them through a shallow depression, with a stony rise of ground on each side. A good place for an ambush, he realised. Symeon was right.

'I'll pass the word to my men to make ready.'

Symeon nodded gently as Macro reined in his horse and dismounted unhurriedly. He bent over and made to examine the front leg of his mount. The first of his men came alongside.

'Prepare yourself,' Macro said in a low voice. 'They're close by.'

He repeated the warning as more men passed, then straightened up, as if satisfied by his inspection of the horse's leg, and walked the beast back down the line of the caravan, alerting the rest of his men, until he reached the last string of animals.Then he remounted and trotted back to the front of the caravan, just as it began to enter the depression.The sun's glare reflected off the slopes and made the air even more hot and oppressive as the loose column of men and beasts passed between the two low ridges. Macro kept glancing from side to side as discreetly as he could, the anticipation creating the familiar dryness in his mouth as he waited for the raiders to launch their attack. But nothing broke the quiet as the caravan slowly made its way along the depression. As the sun crept down from its zenith the ground began to rise up gently to rejoin the plateau beyond. Macro felt the tension in his muscles ease and he turned to Symeon, intending to comment sourly on the failure of the desert raiders to snap up this easy prize. Instead he froze, staring over Symeon's head towards the ridge on their right. All along it, figures of men, swathed in black, leaped into view as they urged their camels down on the caravan. At first there was no sound, but as soon as they started down the slope, in a scattered wave, they broke the silence with a shrill ululating cry. Macro's men responded in the manner he had told them to. They took to their heels, drawing their disguised mounts after them.Those at the front and rear of the column seemed to react more slowly, apparently struggling with their beasts as they tried to lead them away from the raiders.

Symeon shouted an order and the thin screen of escorts galloped towards him as Macro drew his sword and held it low, so that the raiders would not see that it was not the curved blade favoured by the other riders. Around him Tabor, Adul and Murad cast aside their outer robes and snatched out their swords, polished blades glittering in the bright sunlight.They raised them overhead and shook them in a brazen challenge at the raiders charging down the slope towards the caravan. As the other escorts reined in and formed up in a mass behind their leaders Symeon turned to Macro with a wild grin of excitement.

'Now we shall see the character of these raiders! Hah!' He snatched out his sword and, like the others, shouted his war cry and challenge to the enemy.

True to their orders, the auxiliaries at the centre of the caravan melted away, leading their horses up the opposite slope as they scrambled over the loose sand and stones. At the sight of the men fleeing from the scene without a fight the raiders urged their mounts on and their shrill cries intensified. The men at each end of the caravan held firm, still jerking the reins of their mounts as if they were having great trouble controlling them. The desert raiders ignored them, as Macro had hoped, concentrating their attentions on the easy pickings at the centre of the caravan. As soon as they reached the first camels they leaped from their saddles and ran to the sides of the loaded animals to search for the richest pickings. Macro waited until most of the raiders had dismounted to seize their spoils and only a handful remained on the backs of their camels, swords drawn as they kept watch on the mounted escort around him. This was the moment that he had been waiting for and he filled his lungs and bellowed the order out to his men.