The Eagle In the Sand - Scarrow Simon (читать книги без .txt) 📗

'Yes, sir. Of course. When it turns up. Meanwhile, I think you'll quickly come to appreciate how well we deal with the people passing through our territory.'

'I'm sure.'

'Just as Centurion Cato will come to understand that the only authority the Judaeans will respect is one backed up by the harsh application of force.' Postumus bowed his head towards Macro.'An excellent suggestion, if I may say so, sir.'

Macro nodded. 'Then we'll draw some kit from the quartermaster and prepare for the patrols.'

'Where you're going, you'll find this far more suitable than a helmet,' Centurion Parmenion explained as he picked up a folded cloth from one of the shelves in the quartermaster's stores. 'Here, let me show you.'

He flicked the cloth out and then folded one corner diagonally across so that the light material formed a triangle. He raised it over his head so that the long side faced forward, and then he secured the material over the crown of his head with a double loop of braid. 'There, you see?'

'I can see you look like a native,' Macro grunted. 'Is that really necessary?'

Parmenion shrugged. 'Only if you don't want the sun to boil your brains. You can cross the ends in front and throw them over your shoulders to keep the dust from your face as well, if needed. Useful piece of gear all round. And in this place, yes, necessary.'

Parmenion removed the keffiyeh and handed it to Macro who regarded it with little enthusiasm. Cato took his more willingly and tried it on.

'Like this?'

'Not bad,' Parmenion conceded. 'And you'll need a linen cuirass. There's a few sets we keep for officers. That scale armour of yours might be fine for Germania or Britannia, but it'll kill you out here if you have to wear it for too long.'

He searched along the shelves until he found what he was looking for and returned with a set of the lightweight armour. It was made from sheets of linen, glued together to make stiff, hard breast and back plates that were joined by a tie at each side.

'Here, Cato. Try it on.'

Once Parmenion had fastened the ties Macro could not help laughing.

'What's so funny?'

'Those bits that stick up at the back look like wings.'

Parmenion pulled each of the plates over Cato's shoulders and fastened them to the front of the breastplate. 'There you are.You'll find that it lacks the flexibility of scale or mail armour, but it's much lighter and almost as tough.'

Cato flexed to each side and performed a slow twist from his midriff.'See what you mean.'Then he rapped the breastplate and was pleased that it seemed resilient enough. Fine for most sword cuts, although a determined thrust with a spear, or an arrow strike, would be a different matter. He looked up at Parmenion and nodded. 'It'll do.'

Parmenion turned to Macro. 'Now you, sir.'

While Parmenion went to fetch some more armour Macro muttered to Cato, 'All this cloak and dagger stuff is bad enough already, without having to muck about with all this fancy dress crap.'

The patrols left the fort the following morning, just after sunrise. The air was cool and Cato relished it, knowing full well how hot the day would become. A squadron of horse and a century of infantry had been allocated to Centurion Parmenion, since he would be marching from village to village and would not need to move swiftly.The infantry were equipped with the light headgear and armour, but retained their heavy oval shields and sturdy spears, together with their marching yokes from which hung their bedding, rations and mess kits. The column tramped out through the gate, horsemen at the front in a cavalcade of clattering accoutrements. From the gatehouse Macro watched them march off down the track for a while, and then turned away to join the two mounted squadrons that Centurion Postumus was about to lead in the opposite direction, out into the desert.

07 The Eagle In the Sand

CHAPTER TWELVE

The patrol had stopped for a rest at an abandoned Nabataean way station, and while the men tended to their horses in the shaded courtyard Macro and Postumus climbed into the small signal tower and gazed down the trade route leading into the heart of Nabataean territory. To their left stretched a vast flat plain, covered in small black rocks, that wavered in the heat of the midday sun. Despite his earlier reservations about the headpiece Macro had come to realise its practicality in this searing, dusty climate. He had never experienced temperatures like this before. Heat, like the blast from a suddenly opened oven, during the day, and cold nights that reminded him of the winter in Britannia. The previous night the patrol had camped out in the open, sheltering in a gully as they huddled inside their cloaks, shivering. Now, Macro wiped the sweat from his forehead as he stood alongside Centurion Postumus and gazed down the trade route.

'What are we looking for? I can hardly make anything out in all the shimmering. Looks like water.' Macro sighed. 'I'd kill for a swim right now.'

Postumus smiled. 'Me too. Anywhere far from this place.'

Macro grunted his agreement, and then glanced at the young officer. Postumus was a few years older than Cato, in his mid-twenties, slim, darkly featured, with the kind of looks that Macro guessed would make him popular with the ladies. 'So, then, what's your story?'

Postumus turned towards him and cocked an eyebrow. 'My story?'

'Where are you from, Postumus?'

'Brindisium. My father owns a few ships. He carries cargoes to and from Piraeus.'

'Rich?'

'He has done well enough to have bought himself into the equestrian class. So yes, he's rich, I suppose.'

'So why are you here?'

'Couldn't stand the sea. I thought I had a taste for adventure, so I joined up as a legionary.'

'Which legion?'

'I chose the Tenth.' He gave a self-deprecating smile. 'I wanted to come east and fight the Parthian hordes.'

'And did you?'

Postumus laughed. 'No chance! The imperial palace has been stitching up one deal after another with Parthia in recent years. And with Palmyra sitting pretty between the two empires that's how it will remain.'

Macro shrugged and made no comment. According to the intelligence that he and Cato had been made aware of, Parthia had designs on Rome's eastern provinces. If there was any truth in the rumours about Cassius Longinus then there was every prospect that the Parthians would storm across the eastern frontier the moment the legions garrisoned there pulled out to support Longinus' bid for the imperial throne.

Postumus went on.'So with Parthia out of the picture I had to find something else to do. I applied to train as a scout.'

Macro looked hard at him. On campaign scouts acted in a traditional role. But in garrison postings their skills were directed more towards the black arts of espionage and torture. Macro had never liked the scouts in the legions he had served with. Soldiering was supposed to be a straightforward business as far as he was concerned, and he regarded with distaste the kinds of duties that the scouts were required to undertake.

'I had some fun,' Postumus continued, 'before I came to the attention of Cassius Longinus. He took me under his wing, gave me a promotion into the auxiliaries and sent me to Bushir.That was over a year ago. Can't tell you how much I've missed Antioch.'

'I can imagine,' Macro responded with feeling. 'I've heard a lot about it. Is it all true?'

Postumus nodded.'Every word.There's not a vice you can't buy. The place is an Epicurean's heaven.'

Macro licked his lips. 'When I've finished my duty here,Antioch is going to be my first stop on the way back to Rome.'

The other man looked at him closely. 'How long are you expecting to stay here then?'