The Legion - Scarrow Simon (книги читать бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

Cato looked round, saw a stool, and drew it across to the side of the cot. He sat down and leaned closer to the optio. The man's breathing was light and ragged and his brow was creased. Perspiration pricked out in the hairline and his dark hair was plastered to his scalp in thick dark ringlets.

'He has a fever,' Cato observed.

'Yes, sir. His wounds were not cleaned until he reached the hospital. I fear they are poisoned. However, he may recover.'

'Is that likely?' asked Macro.

The surgeon shrugged. 'We have done what we can. His life is in the hands of the gods now. I have made a brief offering to Serapis on his behalf. If it is accepted then he may recover. But even if he does, he will be a cripple for the rest of his life.' Archaelus indicated the bandaged thighs. 'The attackers severed his hamstrings so that he could not leave the site of the ambush. It would seem that they intended him to survive and remain to be found.'

Cato glanced at Macro. 'Something we've encountered before.'

Macro frowned. Then his expression altered and he stared at Cato. 'Are you saying it's him, Ajax? He did this?'

'It could be. We pursued him upriver as far as Memphis before the trail went cold. He could have continued along the Nile as far as here. And he's certainly bold enough to attack the legate and his party, and good enough to come off best. He's even left someone to tell the tale.'

'Only this time, he won't be able to pin it on us,' Macro sneered. 'But why take the heads? He's a mad, cruel bastard, I know, but he's not done that before.'

'Perhaps the decurion was on the right track with regard to the Arabs. It's possible that Ajax took the heads as proof of the dead, to offer them to the Nubians.'

Cato turned back to the optio and leaned closer to him. He spoke softly. 'Carausius… Can you hear me?'

The soldier did not stir, so Cato gently laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke again. 'Carausius… You must tell me who attacked you.'

With a faint groan the man turned his head away from Cato and mumbled.

'What's that?' Macro moved round to the other side of the cot and leaned over. 'What did you say? Speak again.'

Archaelus intervened. 'Centurion, go easy on him.'

Cato ignored the surgeon and shook the optio's shoulder gently. 'Tell us. Who attacked you?'

The optio's eyes flickered open, clenched shut and then opened again, darting around as he tried to speak through cracked lips.

'We didn't have a… chance,' he whispered. 'They… fought like… demons. Came at us out of the dusk.' His voice fell away into an incoherent mumble.

Cato waited briefly and then tried again. 'Who?'

The legionary slowly rolled his head towards Cato and licked his lips. 'No name. Just said he was a gladiator.' He paused, wincing at a sudden wave of pain. Then, as it passed, his eyes focused again. 'A gladiator…'

'What else?' asked Cato. 'Come on, tell us.'

'Told me to be sure that… Cato and Macro knew it was… him.'

'Thank you, Carausius. Rest now.' Cato leaned back and looked across at Macro. 'Now we know.'

Macro nodded. 'And he sends us a direct challenge. Whatever we may think of Ajax, you have to admit that he has balls of steel.'

Archaelus cleared his throat. 'It seems you have what you need. Would you mind continuing your discussion elsewhere now?'

Cato stood up and beckoned to Macro and the two left the banqueting hall and stepped out of the pavilion into the bright glare of the sun. The harsh light forced them to squint until their eyes began to adjust.

'On the upside, at least we know Ajax is nearby,' said Macro.

'True, but not very comforting. And if he does join the Nubians then I fear our situation has taken a turn for the worse.'

The prefects of the four auxiliary cohorts, together with the centurions of the Twenty-Second Legion and the remaining tribunes, sat on benches at one end of the colonnaded pool at the army's headquarters. Word of Candidus's death had got round the camp and the men were conversing in low, anxious tones. Cato and Macro sat slightly apart, and the latter regarded the other officers with a critical eye.

'Too many old men and too many who look unfit.'

Cato said nothing, but he knew that his friend was right. The long years of untroubled garrison duty had made the men of the Twenty-Second soft. A large number of the officers were running to fat – there were clear gaps between the front and back plates of their cuirasses, which could not accommodate their heavy torsos. Their fleshy jowls and veined noses betrayed their fondness for drink. There were others who looked more like the centurions Cato was familiar with from the other legions he had served with since he had joined the army. Powerfully built men who shared the steady, unflappable demeanour of the centurionate. They at least looked as if they would serve well enough when the campaign got under way. However, Macro was right that rather too many of them looked as if they were nearing the end of their careers. It was sad to see how a legion's combat readiness could be so badly eroded by the benefits of a prolonged peace.

There was a loud stamp of boots as the sentries at the entrance to the colonnade stood to attention and an optio barked out. 'Commanding officer present!'

The officers rose and stood stiffly as Aurelius strode down the length of the pool, his reflection wavering in its surface as a light gust of hot air wafted over the water. He took up his position behind a campaign table and stared round at his officers in a theatrical manner, as if seeing them for the first time.

'Be seated, gentlemen.'

The officers eased themselves back down and sat quietly, waiting for his address to begin. Aurelius carried a slate tablet in his hand and he laid it down on the table before him and glanced at the notes he had made in the wax surface. Macro watched with a twinge of unease. He preferred commanders who addressed their men without notes, as if their words came from their hearts. Aurelius had revealed himself as one of those officers who lacked belief in their own authority and needed prompts to carry them through such occasions. It was not a good sign, Macro decided.

Aurelius looked up and cleared his throat. 'As all of you no doubt have heard, the legate is dead. He and his escort were wiped out a few days ago as they were on the road to Ombos. Whether this was at the hands of Arab brigands or a Nubian patrol we do not yet know.' He paused and swallowed. 'As camp prefect of the Twenty-Second Legion, and therefore the senior officer present, command of the army falls to me. It is my duty to lead our forces against the Nubians and complete the task started by Legate Candidus, namely to drive the enemy out of our province as swiftly and decisively as possible.'

Cato noticed that while some of the officers nodded approvingly at their new commander's intentions, most did not. Some looked apprehensive and a few muttered quietly with their neighbours.

'To that end,' Aurelius continued, 'I will be finalising our campaign plans with my staff officers after this meeting. Orders will be sent to my senior officers at first light tomorrow. And speaking of officers, I am pleased to introduce the two latest to join the legion. Firstly, my new senior tribune.' He gestured to Cato to rise. 'Cato is newly arrived from Alexandria where the governor has appointed him to the Twenty-Second Legion for the duration of hostilities. Despite his young years, the governor assures me that the new tribune has a fine military record. As does my new first spear centurion. Stand up, Macro.'

'I'm not a bloody performing monkey,' Macro growled as he stood up and stared round at the other officers, straight-lipped.

'You may sit,' Aurelius said graciously. Once Macro and Cato were back in place, the new commander looked over his officers once again and then nodded. 'We have been set a great challenge, gentlemen. It has been a long time since the legion and the auxiliary cohorts of the province have been called upon to prove their mettle. There are some who doubtless say that we have grown soft, that the soldiers of this province compare poorly with those of the rest of the Empire.' He paused to consult his waxed tablet briefly. 'To them I say you are wrong. Our day has come and we will show the rest of the Empire what the soldiers of the province of Egypt can do. I have heard that the enemy outnumber us. So much the better. We shall win even greater glory.' He had a quick glance at the wax tablet again and smiled. 'The eyes of the Emperor are upon us, my friends. The Roman Empire looks to us with bated breath. When we have won our great victory, the Empire will never forget us and every man here will walk in honour until his dying day!'