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

'Shame you missed it.' Macro looked at his friend closely. Cato had been too dazed to join the attack and Macro had found Hamedes and told him to take care of the prefect in his absence. The priest helped Cato prop himself up against the trunk of a palm tree to watch the assault. Once the nausea passed and a surgeon's assistant strapped up his arm, Cato had dismissed Hamedes and made his way inside the temple to find Macro. The latter continued in as sensitive a tone as he could manage. 'I know you wanted to be there when we finished off that mad dog, Ajax.' He paused. 'It's funny, I always imagined that it would end in a straight fight between him and either you or me. I didn't think he would be cut down in some bloody skirmish like this. Just one of the faceless dead.'

'We haven't found his body yet,' Cato replied quietly. 'Until we do, it's tempting fate to assume it's all over.'

Macro snorted. 'You always have to see the dour side of events.' They were interrupted by a blast of notes echoing down into the courtyard and both officers turned and craned their necks to squint up towards the top of the main pair of pylons. Three bucinas were sounding off. Behind them the standard of the Twenty-Second Legion, with its gold-embroidered head of a jackal, was fluttering over the temple. To one side four men were struggling to erect a trophy made up from the weapons and equipment taken from the enemy dead. Aurelius stood, proudly looking on.

'Well,' Macro scratched his bristling cheek, 'at least he's happy. Now he has a great victory to go along with his battle wound. Nothing can stop him. The man thinks he's a modern Alexander the Great.'

Cato stared silently at the legate for a moment. 'Let's hope the mood passes quickly, then. Taking the temple is one thing. Defeating Prince Talmis is quite another. The last thing we need is a commander who underestimates his enemy.'

Macro nodded.

The bucinas sounded again and the legate approached the edge of the platform and raised his arms up to draw the attention of the men below. There was a brief, expectant pause before he spoke, straining his voice to make sure that his words carried the length of the temple. 'Men of the Twenty-Second! My fellow Jackals! Comrades! Today we have won the first of our battles against the Nubian Prince who dares to defile the Roman province of Egypt with his presence! His men lie dead at our feet and their arms are now our trophies.' Aurelius made an extravagant gesture towards the arrangement rising up above the pylon. 'This is but a poor token of the riches and glory that will be ours once we have crushed the main enemy army. As long as there are Roman soldiers in Egypt, the men of the Twenty-Second, and the name of their commander, will be remembered with pride and honour. Think on that, and keep it in your hearts as we march from this place to do battle with the invader!' He punched the air and there was a silence before one of the tribunes on the platform drew his sword and thrust it into the air and chanted. 'Aurelius!… Aurelius!… Aurelius!'

The other officers joined in and then the cry was picked up by the men down in the courtyards of the temple.

Macro turned to Cato. 'Not the best orator I've heard, but he has the timeless gift of keeping it mercifully brief.'

Cato smiled. 'A pity the same can't be said for most politicians I've seen in Rome.' His smile faded. 'We'll have to make sure he doesn't fall prey to putting posterity before common sense.'

'I'll leave that to you then, sir,' Macro replied. 'It would be better that such advice came from his acting senior tribune than from his acting first spear centurion.'

Cato shot him a sour look. 'Thanks.'

'Goes with the rank.' Macro shrugged. 'Besides, you're a smooth talker. I'd lay good money that you could talk an Aventine whore into giving you a free shag and then handing you a tip for the fine service.'

Cato frowned. 'I'm not certain I have ambitions to be quite that rhetorically effective.'

'It's early days… However, we have work to do.' Macro turned to a section of his men who had just finished cheering the legate. 'You lot! Over here at the double!'

They trotted over and Macro gave them as detailed a description of Ajax as he could before sending them to search for his body. He promised a jar of wine to the man who found the gladiator and then dismissed them. As the men hurried away, suitably motivated to work through the growing stench of the bodies scattered through the temple, one of the orderlies from the headquarters staff approached Cato and saluted.

'The legate sends his respects, sir, and requests that you and Centurion Macro attend him in the priest's quarters at the front of the temple.'

Cato exchanged a brief look of surprise with Macro. 'Did he say why?'

'No, sir. Just that he wants all his senior officers summoned. As soon as possible,' he added pointedly, then saluted and trotted off.

Macro lowered his head and kicked a small stone away. 'What now?'

The accommodation built for the priests of the temple had once been a fairly elaborate affair but centuries of neglect had left only a faint reminder of its riches. The heavens painted on the ceiling still retained their lustre but the chambers built around the courtyard were bare and sand-blown. The shallow pool that stood in the centre had once reflected its surroundings but the water had long since drained away and a layer of silt almost covered the decorative tiles at the bottom. As Macro and Cato joined the other officers, the legate was standing at the far end of the pool, sketching a diagram in the silt with the point of his sword. His subordinates waited in silence until the legate had finished. Aurelius straightened up and sheathed his sword as he looked round at his officers with a broad smile.

'There's no time to waste on platitudes and niceties, gentlemen, so I will come straight to the point. The enemy is on the run. Today's victory has given the legion heart, and will dismay our foes when they hear of it. Now is the time to press home our advantage, in a way that the enemy will least expect.' He glanced at the nearest of his centurions and clicked his fingers. 'Give me your vine cane.'

The officer hurriedly passed it to his commander and Aurelius pointed the end at his diagram. The officers pressed forward for a better view.

'This is the Nile, from Diospolis Magna to the first cataract. The Nubians' plan is now obvious. They divided their force to allow them to send this column round and take my army from both front and rear. We have put a stop to that scheme, and now we have an opportunity to pay them back in kind.' Aurelius pointed towards Diospolis Magna. 'I will lead the main force up the Nile to confront Prince Talmis. Since he outnumbers me I am certain that he will stand his ground, especially if we can close on him before he becomes aware that we have crushed the column entrusted to the rebel gladiator. The enemy will think that we are walking into their trap.' The legate paused, and then smiled cunningly as he sketched out the movements on his diagram. 'However, it is we who will be springing a trap. As I lead the main advance down the eastern bank, Tribune Cato will take the auxiliary units and march swiftly down the western bank, cross over behind the Nubians and attack their rear. Caught between the two forces, they will be annihilated.' He looked up, his eyes wide with excitement. 'It is as elegant a plan as it is simple. I am sure you all grasp that.'

He paused, as if that he was ready to entertain comments, or perhaps he was daring any of his officers to defy him, Cato mused. He eased himself forward, wincing as his bruised arm brushed past Junius. 'Sir, permission to speak.'

'Of course, Tribune.'

Cato looked down at the sand map as he framed his thoughts. The legate's enthusiasm for his plan was evident. He would need careful handling. Cato looked up and met the legate's gaze directly. 'Your plan has the virtue of turning the tables on the enemy, sir. That much is clear. Under different circumstances, it would undoubtedly produce the result you desire. However, the enemy outnumber us by more than three to one. I respectfully suggest that we keep the army concentrated in one column if we are to have the best chance of gaining a decisive victory. If you divide our forces, each column will be weaker than the subtraction of the parts, as it were.' Cato stepped forward and pointed at the diagram of the Nile. 'Besides, where would you have my column cross the river back to the eastern bank, sir? We have barely enough boats to get five hundred men across at a time. You saw how much trouble we faced landing against a far weaker force than I will have to overcome next time. We have too few men to risk dividing the army. Our best chance is a bold strike up the eastern bank of the Nile. Find the Nubian army and force a battle. The quality of our troops should give us the advantage. We can break the enemies' spirit before they have a chance to make their superior numbers felt,' Cato concluded. There was a tense silence and Cato swallowed. 'That's my advice, sir.'