Simon Scarrow - The Eagle In the Sand

The air was still chilly and Macro shivered as he completed his inspection and headed back towards the fort. As he neared the gate he noticed a rider approaching from the north and reined in, straining his eyes to try to identify the man. No Roman, to be sure, with the swath of cloth covering his body and head. Macro's spare hand shifted to the handle of his sword as he twitched the reins and turned his mount towards the approaching rider. Evidently the sentries had at last seen the man as well, and boots thudded along the rampart as the duty century turned out. Macro frowned at the sloppy watch-keeping. The sentries should have spotted the rider long before Macro. Someone was going to be on a charge for that, Macro decided.

Suddenly the rider was waving his hand at Macro as if in greeting, and a moment later he pulled aside his veil and shouted. 'Centurion! It's me! Symeon!'

Macro relaxed his sword arm and let out his breath in a sigh of relief. He raised his hand and returned Symeon's greeting, and urged his horse forward towards the approaching guide, as Symeon carefully picked his way through the defences.

'You've chosen a poor time to visit us,' Macro said ruefully.

'Is there ever a good time?' Symeon laughed then gestured towards the men busy setting up the caltrops. 'Come, Centurion, tell me: why have you laid out all these trinkets around your fort?'

'Bannus is coming.We expect him to arrive before the walls by nightfall.'

Symeon sucked in his breath. 'How could he have grown so strong, so quickly?'

'He's found some new friends. The Parthians have sent him help.'

'Parthians?' Symeon's expression darkened. 'Bannus is a fool. What does he imagine Parthia will do if Rome is ever forced from this region? He is blinded by his hatred of the Kittim. Judaea, Syria and Nabataea would all fall to Parthia.' He grasped Macro's shoulder. 'We must stop Bannus! Right here!'

'Easier said than done,' Macro said wearily.'He's got us outnumbered. The Governor of Syria has abandoned us. I'm not sure we can hold Bannus off.' Macro paused as a thought occurred to him.A desperate thought, to be sure. 'Not unless we get help. How soon could you ride to Petra?'

'I could leave at once, Centurion. It's two days' hard ride. Why?'

Macro smiled. 'I need to call in a debt.'

07 The Eagle In the Sand

'Well, there they are.' Macro scratched his chin as he squinted into the distance. The sun was low in the sky and his eyes watered as he made out the enemy. Two miles away a large party of horsemen were riding over a fold in the land. They reined in and seemed to be observing the fort in turn. 'They won't be able to do anything tonight.They'll make camp, post pickets and get a good night's rest.'

'That sounds like wishful thinking, sir,' Cato responded quietly. 'If I'm any judge of the situation I'd say that Bannus will want to crush us as swiftly as possible.'

'And why's that?'

'As far as he's aware, we would have sent for help the moment we knew that he was making for the fort. If he's going to rouse the rest of the province then he'll need to offer them proof that Rome can be beaten. If he has to give up the attempt on Bushir, then I think his support will melt away quickly enough.'

'But the chances are that there won't be any help coming. Not from Longinus at least.'

'Yes, but Bannus doesn't know that, sir. As far as he's concerned, he's got six or seven days before a relief column turns up. That means he's going to have to move fast to take the fort.' Cato thought for a moment and continued. 'He'll be counting on the threat from Parthia to stop Longinus sending any overwhelming force in response to the situation here. Bannus will hope that with Bushir in his hands he can attract enough recruits to counter any troops that Longinus eventually sends his way.'

Macro looked at Cato. 'How can you know all that?'

'Just thinking it through from the enemy's point of view, sir.' Cato nodded to himself. 'Seems to make sense. In which case I think we shouldn't take any chances. Bannus may even make an attempt on the fort tonight.'

'Let him try.' Macro smiled as he thought of the ground that had been prepared around the fort. Any attempt by the enemy to reach the walls under cover of darkness was going to bring them right on to the obstacles that the cohort had prepared. He indulged himself for a moment, imagining the frustrating delays and injuries Bannus would have to endure. Then his expression hardened. 'All the same, you may be right. I'll have two centuries on the wall at a time.'

'I think that would be prudent, sir,' replied Cato. 'There's one other thing.'

'Yes?'

'That business about letting Postumus and Scrofa return to duty.'

'We need every man who can hold a sword.'

'Maybe, but I still don't trust either of them. Those bastards are bound to betray us the moment our backs are turned.'

'How can they betray us? They're in the same situation as the rest of us.They fight for their lives, or they get massacred by Bannus. They'll fight.'

Cato was silent for a while, then sighed. 'I only hope you're right, sir.'

Macro bit back on his frustration. Cato should not be worrying about Scrofa and Postumus at a time when his mind needed to be concentrating on more important issues. He cleared his throat and turned towards his friend. 'Would you like me to have them arrested again?'

'What?' Cato frowned. 'No, I think not, sir. How do you imagine that would look to the men? The prefect doesn't know whether he's coming or going.That's what they'd say. So we're stuck with Scrofa and Postumus on the strength. I don't suppose they can cause too much trouble in the reserve.'

The two officers had been posted to command a cavalry squadron each. These were being held back from the walls, ready to reinforce any weak points in the defences. That had been Macro's decision.

Macro rubbed his hands contentedly. 'Even if Bannus tries a direct assault on the walls, he shouldn't get very far without siege equipment. I think we'll get through this without too much trouble, Cato. It's not as if they're going to starve us out. We've provisions for two months for the men and a month for the horses.And if we eat the horses, then we can last for a while yet. The cisterns are full to the brim so we won't be short of water. It's those bastards out there I almost feel sorry for. I doubt Bannus will be able to keep 'em fed for long. And they'll be short of a drink.' Macro nodded towards the reservoir, some way off from the fort. The surface of the water was broken by the carcasses of dead sheep and goats that Macro had ordered to be dumped into the reservoir once the fort's cisterns had been filled.

'We just have to hold them off long enough to make his peasants feel hungry and homesick,' Macro concluded. 'Then, once his support has melted away, we'll get out there and hunt him down. Once Bannus is nailed up, these Judaeans will get the message that there's no point in defying Rome.'

'I hope you're right,' Cato replied. He gazed back towards the distant horsemen. Behind them the head of the enemy column crawled into view over the low ridge and slowly spread on to the barren plain in front of the fort.Thousands of men, and in amongst them, horses and pack animals.The dust that hung over the growing horde filtered the fading sunlight into a glowing red hue that pooled like blood against the paling sky, and Cato felt a cold thrill of fear grip his spine and make him shiver. Macro noticed the sudden tremor in his friend.

'You must be tired. Once the first watch is over, make sure you get some rest. That's an order. I'll need you in good shape over the coming days.'

'Yes, sir.'

Cato was grateful that his friend had misread the gesture, and bitterly reproached himself for letting his fear show in such an obvious manner. If Macro could see it, then so could the men of the cohort, and Cato mentally winced at the impression of weakness he imagined some of the men would see in the officer who had only recently joined the Second Illyrian. Cato glanced at the men spread out along the wall on either side of the gatehouse. A few of them were talking quietly as they watched the enemy approach, but most just stared across the sand and in most cases their expressions were unreadable. Some looked quite calm as they appraised the strength of the enemy they would be fighting. A few of the others fretted, giving away their inner anxiety through a variety of tics as their thoughts were wholly absorbed by the approach of danger: fingers rhythmically rapping the bronze trim of a shield, or the handle of a sword; the tapping of a booted foot, repetitive licking of lips and other gestures that Cato had seen before previous actions.