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

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.

He forced himself to look upon the approaching enemy again. He tried to imagine how those men would be feeling. Most of them were simple peasants, provoked into this fight by the ceaseless hardship and injustice of their lives. That would embolden them for a while yet, but they lacked training, experience and the confidence of professional soldiers, like the auxiliaries of the Second Illyrian cohort.What were they thinking as they tramped across the dusty plain, and saw the thick walls of Fort Bushir, with its squat towers at each corner and over the gates? Wouldn't they feel a twinge of fear, for all their superiority in numbers? Cato certainly hoped so, for their sake as well as his own.There was no satisfaction, let alone any glory, to be had from killing peasants. It was a dirty, thankless and profitless task that would only add to the misery of the people of Judaea. If they were defeated, yet more fuel would be added to the simmering anger and hatred towards Rome that dwelt in their hearts.That was all that Rome would win if Cato, Macro and the other men managed to hold the enemy at bay. But if Bannus won, Cato reflected, the example of Bushir would sweep through the province. A multitude would swell his ranks and no Roman garrison would be safe between Egypt and Syria. And what then? From what Cato understood of these people, there would be no peace. No unified independent nation of Judaea. The inhabitants were simply too divided by class and religious faction to work as one. In that case, it would be only a matter of time before Judaea was broken apart by civil war and then consumed by another empire whether that be Rome, again, or Parthia. As Judaea had always been consumed by empires throughout history.

Cato smiled as he discovered that he felt sorry for the downtrodden peasants marching towards him.

Bannus marched his army up to within half a mile of the fort before he halted and set up camp as darkness closed in.The sky was clear, and as the orange hue of the setting sun's afterglow faded the stars pricked out brilliantly in the heavens above. The sounds of the enemy carried across the sand to the fort and if he strained his ears Cato could hear snatches of laughter and singing between the shouted orders. One by one, fires were kindled and lit and bright pools of light sprang up across the desert, each illuminating a dense ring of humanity clustering about it as night gripped them in its cold embrace.

Macro waited a while, to make quite sure that the enemy was settling for the night, before he ordered the units that were not on watch-keeping duty to stand down. The men tramped down from the wall and sombrely made their way back to their barracks. Some would find sleep easy enough. Others would continue in the agitated state of anticipation that Cato had observed as they stood and watched the approach of the enemy. At length Macro beckoned to Cato and they returned to the prefect's quarters for a meal with the other officers. Scrofa and Postumus sat as far from the cohort's commander as rank permitted and kept their eyes lowered, refusing to meet the gaze of either Macro or Cato. The mood was subdued, even though Macro had ordered his housekeeper to bring out the best jars of Scrofa's remaining stock of wine. Conscious that his men were looking to him, Macro made himself appear calm and unflustered by the presence of the enemy. He even attempted a few ribald jokes with some of the officers, and ended the evening with a toast to their inevitable victory. The officers responded with forced enthusiasm and then the dinner party broke up as they returned to their rooms at the end of each barrack block.