Simon Scarrow - The Eagle In the Sand

'I think so. One other thing. If we are ordered to report to Longinus I think we should have a little talk with Scrofa as soon as possible and find out how far he is implicated in any plot, and see what he can tell us about Longinus.'

'All right then, we'll speak to Scrofa,' Macro agreed. 'But after I've bathed and rested. I'm too tired to think straight at the moment.'

Cato frowned for a moment in disappointment, before he realised that his friend was truly exhausted. 'Very well, sir. I'll see to it that you're not disturbed.'

Macro smiled and patted Cato on the arm. 'Thanks.'

He turned away and started walking stiffly towards his quarters, then paused and looked back at Cato. 'Any developments on the Bannus front?'

'Nothing, whilst you've been gone, sir. In fact there's been no sighting of the brigands at all. I've got mounted patrols out looking for them. They're due back tomorrow. If there's any news of Bannus, we'll find out then.'

Macro nodded wearily, and headed off towards the comforts of the prefect's quarters.

That night, Macro and Cato descended the narrow stairs to the cells that lay under one corner of the headquarters building. Cato carried a torch to light their path and it glimmered on the rough stonework as the two officers made their way along the line of cells. Only one was occupied, at the far end, guarded by two auxiliaries.They were sitting on stools, playing dice, and looking up as Macro and Cato approached they jumped up and stood to attention.

'At ease,' Cato said and nodded to the door. 'How's the prisoner?'

'Quiet enough, sir. He's given up demanding better food and quarters.'

'Good.' Cato nodded. 'Because he's not getting them. Open the door. We need to speak to him.'

'Yes, sir.' The guard eased the heavy iron bolt back, lifted the latch and pulled the door open. Cato ducked his head under the lintel and entered the cell, with Macro close behind him. Inside was a small but neat chamber with a bed on either side, and a slop bucket by the door. High up was a grated window which let in light during the day. Now that it was dark a single oil lamp gleamed from a bracket above the bed on which Scrofa lay, reading a scroll by the meagre illumination of the wavering flame. He sat up as they entered, eyeing them warily.

'What do you want?'

Macro smiled. 'Just a little chat, Scrofa. That's all.' He sat down on the bed opposite Scrofa. Cato placed his torch in a wall bracket and sat down next to Macro. Scrofa's gaze flickered nervously from one to the other.

'No need for alarm, Scrofa,' said Macro. 'We just need to talk.'

'For now,' Cato added darkly.

'That'll do,' Macro said with a look of irritation. 'There's no need to frighten the man.'

'I'm not frightened.' Scrofa tried to sound brave as he glared at Cato. 'I'm not scared of you, boy.'

Cato leaned forward and grasped the handle of his dagger, causing Scrofa to flinch back with a gasp of panic.

Macro clamped a hand on his friend's arm.'Easy there!'

For a moment the three men were still: Cato leaning forward with a look of intense, cruel anger, Scrofa staring back anxiously and Macro struggling to keep a straight face at the act his friend was putting on. Or at least, he assumed that Cato was putting it on. He cleared his throat.

'It's time you were honest with us, Scrofa.'

'Honest?'

'Yes. I'm sure that it doesn't come easily to you, but you will need to tell us the truth. Now then, in view of the rather unusual manner in which I replaced you as prefect of the Second Illyrian, and given that the Emperor's personal authority was attached to the document you saw, I assume that you have realised who Cato and I are working for.'

'Narcissus.'

'The very man. As you know full well, it is his job to look after the security of the Emperor. So you'll understand why he is a little perturbed by the turn of events out here in the east. Particularly concerning the unwholesome ambitions of your friend, Cassius Longinus – the Governor of Syria.'

Scrofa's brow furrowed in confusion. 'What do you mean?'

'Come now, don't play us for fools, Scrofa. Longinus is deliberately stirring things up here in the east so that he can call on the reinforcements to strengthen his army. That's why he chose you to command the Second Illyrian. It was your job to stir up the local villagers, turn them into rebels. I have to admit, you've done a fine job. Not only that, but you've managed to earn yourself a tidy fortune in the process, thanks to that protection racket you and Postumus set up. Of course, pissing the Nabataeans off must have been something of a bonus for Longinus.' Macro hardened his tone. 'The way things are looking, there's going to be quite a bit of blood spilt over the next few days, months even. Thanks to you and Postumus.You might think about that.'

Scrofa shook his head. 'I've no idea what you are talking about.'

'Liar!' Cato spat at him. 'You're in on the conspiracy! Right up to your stinking neck.'

'No! I have nothing to do with any plot.'

'Bollocks!' said Macro. 'You were appointed to command the Second Illyrian by Longinus. He instructed you to provoke a revolt, and you've done all that he asked, and more. Don't even try to deny it.'

'But it's not true!' Scrofa whined. 'He never gave me such orders. I swear it. It was just supposed to be a temporary appointment. He said it would look good on my record. He said it would help me to find a command of a good cohort in a better posting.'

'I don't believe you,' Macro responded. 'You told me you were waiting for the appointment to be made permanent.'

'I lied! I was only supposed to be the prefect until the man he really wanted for the job could be approved.'

'And who was that?' Cato interrupted. 'Who did he really want for the post?'

Scrofa looked surprised. 'Postumus. Who else?'

Macro and Cato looked at each other, and Macro frowned. 'Postumus? That doesn't make sense. The Governor could have appointed an acting prefect on his own initiative. If he wanted Postumus why didn't he just appoint him from the outset? You're lying, Scrofa.'

'No. Why should I?'

'To protect your scrawny neck. Postumus was just a junior centurion. He'd never have made the cut for promotion to take command of an auxiliary cohort.Why are you lying to us?'

'I'm not,' Scrofa said deliberately.

'Yes.You. Are. And it's time you realised that we're no longer playing games here. The stakes are too high for that. Now, you will tell us everything we want to know and you will tell us the truth. I need to make sure you understand how serious we are. Cato, pass me your dagger.'

Cato pulled the blade from its scabbard with a tinny rasp and offered it to his friend.

'Thanks.' Macro smiled, then launched himself across the gap between the beds and with his spare hand grabbed Scrofa by the neck and slammed his head against the rough stone wall of the cell. 'Take his hand, Cato!'

Cato took an instant to recover from his friend's sudden assault on the prisoner. Then he leaned across, grabbed Scrofa's left hand in both of his and held it tightly as Scrofa tried to wrench it back. Macro punched the pommel of the dagger into Scrofa's kidneys and the man gasped in agony.

'No more struggling, understand?' Macro snarled, and waited until the other nodded quickly. Then Macro turned back to Cato. 'Hold his hand flat on the wall there, where he can see it. Good. Now then, Scrofa. This is your last chance. You'll give me the answers I'm looking for, or I'll cut your thumbs off. To start with…'

Macro held the man's neck in a tight grip with one hand while he took a firm hold of the dagger handle with the other, and lowered the edge of the broad blade towards the joint between Scrofa's thumb and the rest of his hand. Scrofa's eyes widened in terror and there was a thin keening noise in his throat before he managed to speak.