Simon Scarrow - The Eagle In the Sand

'I don't think there's any point to that, sir. He'll batter our repairs down quickly enough.'

'The point is that it keeps our men busy, and stops them thinking too much.That includes you. It also shows Bannus and his friends that the Second Illyrian's not going to give up, roll over and wait for our enemies to stick the boot in.We're better than that. Understand what I'm saying?'

'Of course,' Cato replied testily. 'I'm not a fool.'

'Far from it. But even the most brilliant minds can still learn something from those of us with experience, eh?' Macro smiled. 'Now see to it that you do a decent job of that breastwork.'

'Yes sir.' Cato nodded. 'I'll do my best.'

'Of course you will. I'd expect nothing less. Don't just stand there, Centurion. Get moving!'

All morning the men toiled at raising the breastwork over the remains of the gatehouse, and strengthening the inner wall. Mindful of Macro's words, Cato drove them hard and permitted them few rest breaks as they thickened the makeshift defences and added to the height of the inner wall. If the enemy managed to force their way through this last obstacle then the Second Illyrian Cohort would be wiped out. As the men toiled within the fort, the enemy continued to clear away more of the traps laid outside, their workers screened by a thin line of archers ready to take a shot at any target that revealed itself up on the wall. Behind them the engineers sweated under the bright sun to make the surviving onager serviceable once again. Shortly after noon the enemy at last drew away from the siege engine as the throwing arm was carefully ratcheted back, engineers checking the weapon for any further sign of damage as it prepared to bombard the fort again. At length they were satisfied that it was safe to proceed. A curt order was shouted, the locking lever snapped back and the throwing arm swept up and hit the cross beam with a loud thwack as the missile was released, soaring up into the air and then arcing down towards the gatehouse. At once Cato and the work party dropped their tools and scrambled down behind the wall into cover.

The Parthian siege engineers were first rate, or at least very lucky, thought Cato, as the first shot smashed into the breastwork and knocked a gaping hole in the top of the rebuilt defences. The bombardment continued with an endless cycle of clanks, a crack and the crash and rumble of masonry. After the first missile had landed, Cato pulled his men back behind the inner wall and climbed a corner tower to watch proceedings as the hot afternoon wore on. The gradual destruction of the remains of the gatehouse was carried out in a methodical and complete manner, beginning with the wall and then simply pounding the rest into a pile of loose rubble that would make a practical breach for Bannus and his army to assault. As the light began to fade and the desert sand shimmered hot and bright red in the wash of the setting sun, the onager at last fell still and the men inside the fort no longer had to press themselves into the shelter of a wall and cringe as the rocks crashed down.When he was sure that the bombardment had ceased, Cato sent for Macro. The prefect joined him behind the destroyed gatehouse and took a few tentative steps on the rubble.

'They'll be able to climb over this easily enough.'

'When do you think they'll come?' asked Cato.

'Hard to say.' Macro looked up at the sky, already darkening to a velvet blue pierced by the first of the evening's stars. 'I reckon they'll wait until first light when they'll be able to see how the attack is progressing.' Macro shrugged. 'At least that's what I would do in their boots.'

Then they heard the sounds of drums being beaten and the harsh blare of a trumpet.

'What's that?' Cato asked. 'What are they up to now?'

'How should I know?' Macro grumbled. 'Come on, let's have a look.'

He beckoned to Cato to follow him and started to climb over the piles of stone, slabs of rock and splintered wooden beams. As they reached the top of the mound of rubble Cato stared towards the enemy camp. A large number of men were forming up opposite the gatehouse, comfortably outside arrow range.The sun, low in the sky, bathed them in an orange hue that glinted off their weapons like molten bronze.

'Nice!' Macro nodded towards the wash of colour along the distant skyline. 'Although I think the view is wasted on our friends out there.They've got other things on their minds.' He turned to Cato with an apologetic expression. 'Seems I was wrong. They're not prepared to wait until tomorrow morning. They're going to attack the fort at once.'

07 The Eagle In the Sand

While the enemy massed their forces outside, Macro hurriedly gave orders for the defence of the fort. The cornicen sounded the alarm and the men came running from their barracks blocks, equipment in hand, and went to their stations on the parade square in the lengthening shadows of the headquarters building. In addition to the duty century still on the walls, there were nine other centuries of infantry and four cavalry squadrons who would fight dismounted. There was no time for the customary pre-battle speech to whip up the unit's fighting spirit. Instead, Macro quickly commanded that the cavalrymen stand firm as a reserve. One century was sent to each of the other walls while the six remaining centuries were sent to the wall facing the enemy.

Macro turned to Cato. 'I want you in charge of the inner wall. I'm going to need to stand back from this fight and take overall command. So I want my best officer in the most critical position.'

'Thank you, sir. I swear I won't let you down.'

'If you do, then neither of us is going to live to regret it.' Macro forced himself to laugh. 'So don't let those bastards get past you.'

'I won't,' Cato replied. 'We'll hold them back until Symeon and his friends arrive.'

'Oh, he'll be here,' Macro said confidently. 'If I'm any judge of character, he's the kind of man who'd never miss a fight. So let's make sure we leave him a few of those Parthians to take care of.'

Cato smiled. 'I'll see what I can arrange.'

Macro stuck his hand out. 'Good luck, lad. We're going to need it tonight.'

Cato grasped his friend's hand firmly. 'Good luck to you too, sir.'

Macro nodded and there was awkward stillness between the two of them and Macro wondered if they would still be alive to greet each other in the morning. Cato seemed to guess what he was thinking and said quietly, 'We've faced tougher enemies in our time, sir.'

'Ah, but that was in the Second Legion.' Macro glanced round at the men filing off the parade ground to take up their positions.'These auxiliaries aren't even close to being a match for legionaries. But they look competent,' he conceded grudgingly. 'We'll know their quality soon enough. Now, off you go.'

As Cato caught up with his men and led the main force to its position on the wall facing the enemy, he thought once more of Symeon and hoped that Macro's assessment of the man was right. But even if it was, would the men that Symeon knew at Petra be prepared to honour their pledge to the Romans? Cato was not sure. He had too little knowledge of the peoples of the eastern frontier to judge their character. All he, and every other man in the cohort, could do was hope. They would be saved by Symeon and the Nabataeans or die.The Roman forces in Syria would not come to their aid. That was almost certain. Longinus was counting on Bannus to destroy Bushir, and with it the men who knew of his disloyalty to the Emperor. Cato smiled to himself. It would be good to live through this just to see the appalled expression on the Governor's face.

When he reached the inner wall, Cato placed two centuries on the fighting platform behind the breastwork. Those who were armed with bows were sent on to the walls on either side of the ruined gatehouse, and on to the roofs of the buildings behind the inner wall. Every arrow and javelin that could be spared by the other centuries in the fort was piled up in front of the remaining four centuries, which had been placed under the command of Centurion Parmenion to act as an immediate reserve.The first wave of Judaean rebels to enter the breach was going to be met by a hail of missiles from three sides. Cato could well imagine the devastating effect and hoped that it would be enough to break their spirit. If they could only be persuaded to give up the siege and return to their villages, now, before enough blood was spilt to give Rome and Judaea an insatiable taste for it. If Bushir fell, then the whole province was doomed to years of fire, sword and death on a terrible scale.Therefore, hard as it seemed, Cato must make sure that he and his men slaughtered the first wave of attackers with as much savage, ruthless brutality as they could manage.