Simon Scarrow - The Eagle In the Sand

Ahead of them the first of the infantry centuries had reached the breach and was scrambling up the bloodstained rubble. Parmenion leaned over the wall to the side, desperately waving the men on. As more of the infantry arrived, the units struggling up the rubble merged into a single mob of frantic men, while their comrades jostled forward at the base of the mound, anxiously looking over their shoulders.When Macro and Cato reached them they looked back and saw that Scrofa and his men were locked in a terribly unequal fight with the Parthians and would surely be cut to pieces as the price they paid for saving their comrades. Cato glanced away to the north and saw that Postumus and his friends were already little more than dark blots amid a haze of kicked-up dust. Already, a large number of Parthians were racing after them, determined not to let them escape, and Cato found himself hoping that Postumus was saved for as horrible a death as the Parthians could conceive.

He turned back and saw that the auxiliaries were still struggling to climb up the rubble slope. 'If this carries on much longer none of the cavalry will survive.'

'Come on you men!' Macro bellowed in frustration. 'Move yourselves!'

'Prefect!'

Macro turned towards the voice and saw Centurion Parmenion waving at him from the wall, an excited expression on his face.

'What is it?'

'There, sir! Look over there!' Parmenion thrust his arm out and stabbed his finger to the south.

Macro thrust his way through the men and clambered a short distance up the slope so that he could see. An instant later Cato was at his side and both officers scanned the desert in the direction Parmenion had indicated. At first the swirling dust stirred up by Bannus' army made it hard to discern what was causing Parmenion to be so animated. Then a fluke of breeze shifted the dust and Cato saw beyond the enemy. There was another body of men, hundreds of them, mounted on horses and camels, riding out of the desert directly towards the Judaeans. Now Macro could see them and he punched his fist into the air. 'It's Symeon! Symeon!'

The men around him paused and turned to look and then took up Macro's cry. Cato, true to his cautious nature, looked hard at the approaching riders and did not join in the cheering.There was no possible way of telling who they were at this distance. But now the enemy had seen the men riding down on them and at once they turned away from the fort.The blind pursuit of the hated Romans dissolved in an instant and they were fleeing for their lives once again. There was light enough to see clearly, and their leaders began to rally some of their men, forming them up to face the oncoming threat. But most just ran, across the camp, instinctively heading in the direction of the villages they had left to join Bannus in his struggle against the Romans. Only when he saw them break and run did Cato allow himself to believe that it was Symeon, or at least allies of some kind. The men around him were cheering wildly and now the auxiliaries began to flow in the other direction, out of the fort and back towards the enemy camp. Macro and Cato slithered down the rubble after them.

Ahead, the survivors of Scrofa's cavalry slumped wearily in their saddles and stared in confusion as the Parthians suddenly turned and fled from the scene, galloping away as fast as their mounts would carry them, heedless of their former allies as they rode through and over them. When Macro reached the scene he looked round.

'Where's Scrofa?' He turned. 'Scrofa!'

'There, sir.' Cato pointed. A short distance away, beneath a riderless horse, lay a crumpled body in a rich red cape, the helmet bearing the crescent of an officer. Near him lay the bodies of two Parthians. Macro and Cato hurried over and knelt down beside Scrofa, shifting him gently on to his back. Scrofa's eyes flickered open. He stared round with a dazed expression when he saw the two officers looming over him.

'Macro…' he said quietly. 'I'd hoped they'd got you too.'

Macro smiled. 'No such luck.'

Cato caught his eye and nodded towards Scrofa's side. The broken stump of an arrow shaft protruded from the former prefect's chest, just below his heart. Frothy blood oozed out of the wound. Macro turned his gaze back to Scrofa's face. 'That was quite a charge you led there.You saved us.'

'So it seems.' He smiled weakly and then his face screwed up in agony for a moment, before the pain receded. 'Who would have thought I'd ever save your lives? There's no justice.'

'Enough of the hard man act, Scrofa. It doesn't suit you.'

Scrofa's lips flickered into a smile. 'But I was a good soldier in the end, wasn't I?'

'You were. I'll make sure that everyone knows it.'

'You do that… One other thing.'

'What is it?'

'Postumus…' Scrofa raised his head with a struggle and suddenly gripped Macro's hand tightly. 'Swear to me you'll make that bastard pay. For running out on us. For his treachery…'

'Don't worry about Postumus. Last I saw of him he was being run down by scores of Parthians. He'll not get away. And if he does, and we take him alive, I'll make sure he knows what you thought of him before you-' Macro broke off in embarrassment. 'Well, you can tell him yourself. Once you've recovered.'

Scrofa slumped back and whispered, 'No such luck…'

'Wait!' Cato leaned over him. 'Scrofa! You said treachery. What treachery?'

Scrofa's eyes fluttered and he spasmed, his body arching as the muscles tensed. Then abruptly he relaxed and sank back on to the sand, head lolling to one side. Cato snatched his wrist and felt for a pulse, but there was nothing and he let the arm drop down to Scrofa's side. 'He's gone.'

Macro stared at him for a moment and shook his head. 'You know, I never thought he had it in him to go out like a hero. It took guts to do what he did. I was wrong about him.'

'No, you were right about him, up until the end.' Cato rose to his feet. 'This was his redemption. He knew that. I saw it when he saluted you. He was lucky to get his chance to do some good before he died.'

'Lucky?' Macro stood up. 'You have a funny idea of luck, Cato.'

'Maybe.' Cato looked round. The auxiliaries were spread out across the camp, chasing after the Judaeans. This time it was no ploy to gain time. The enemy was routed and the Romans' wild triumph and bloodlust was unrestrained. Ahead of them rode the new arrivals, mercilessly running down the Judaean rebels and those Parthian allies who had been unhorsed.

Macro noticed a small group of horsemen riding across towards them. At their head was Symeon, and as they approached and reined in Macro recognized Murad amongst his companions and they exchanged a smile. Symeon slid down from his mount and grasped Macro's arms and planted a kiss on each of his cheeks.

'Prefect. Thanks be to Yahweh that you are safe! You too, Centurion Cato.' Symeon gestured towards the riders sweeping across the desert after the enemy. 'Apologies for not arriving sooner, but we made the best time we could.'

'Who are all these men?' Macro asked. 'I was expecting some help, not a bloody army.'

'Those men work for the caravan cartels. Caravan escorts. Mostly mercenaries, but good men.'

'They certainly seem to be taking satisfaction in their work. How did you get hold of so many of them?'

'My friends gave their word to repay you for saving that caravan.'

'Well, they've certainly returned the favour,' Macro responded. 'Now we have to find Bannus, make sure that he's taken alive if he isn't dead already. He needs to be made an example of.'

'Bannus?' Symeon turned and pointed down the road towards Heshaba. 'I saw a party of horsemen ride that way as we attacked. Perhaps twenty or thirty. Most were Parthians. He could have been with them.'

'More than likely,' Macro replied. 'I'll have to go after him.'