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

Cato climbed down from the turret and called out to Proculus. 'You and your men wait here. If I call for you, come at once.'

'Yes, sir.'

There was no sound of fighting, no shouts or cries of alarm from the cargo ship, and Cato left his sword in its scabbard as he strode across the gangway, briefly glancing down at the water washing between the two hulls. Despite being aboard for the best part of two months, he still feared and hated the sea; another good reason to pray that his current quest came to a successful conclusion as soon as possible. When he reached the far end of the gangway, Cato jumped down and looked round slowly. There were bodies strewn across the deck and dark patches of dried blood. The cargo hatches had been dragged aside and the freight below was a jumbled mess of goods: shattered amphorae, discarded bales of cloth and split sacks of rice and spices. Diodorus was squatting beside one of the bodies and Cato joined him.

'There's little sign of corruption.' The decurion sniffed and then touched his fingers to the blood on the deck beside the corpse. 'Still tacky. They were killed only a day or so ago. Certainly no more than two days.'

'If this is the work of Ajax, then we're closer to him than I thought,' Cato mused, rising up.

'Maybe, sir. But equally it could be the work of pirates.'

'Really? Then why take so little, if anything, from the hold? There's a fortune in spices down there. That doesn't make any sense if the ship was taken by pirates.'

'Sir!' a voice cried out. 'This one's alive!'

Cato and Diodorus hurried towards the marine standing beside the mast. He stood aside and revealed a thin, sunburned figure, naked save for a soiled loincloth. At first Cato thought the man had thrown his arms up, but then he saw the broad black head of the iron nail that had been driven through his palms into the wood, pinning him upright, high enough so that he could not fully stand on the deck and had to carry his weight on his toes and the balls of his feet. A faint groan issued from the man's mouth and his breathing was shallow and laboured.

'Get him down!' Cato ordered. He turned towards the Sobek and shouted, 'Send the surgeon over!'

While two marines supported the man's weight, a third grasped the head of the nail and began to work it free. The man gasped and cried out. His eyes, bloodshot and rolling up, flickered open. It seemed to take a long time to get the nail out of the mast and then the man collapsed into the arms of the marines.

'Lay him down.' Cato gestured to the nearest marine. 'Give me your canteen. You and the others, search the ship for any other survivors.'

He leaned over the man as he pulled the stopper from the canteen, wincing as he saw the cracked and bloody lips. Slipping one hand behind the man's head, Cato eased it up and poured a little water over the face. The lips smacked as they felt the water and there was a groan of relief as the liquid trickled inside his parched mouth. Cato fed him some more sips and stopped when he choked and coughed, spluttering as he turned his face aside.

'Thank… you,' he croaked weakly.

'What happened here?' asked Cato. 'Who attacked you?'

The man's swollen tongue licked his cracked lips and he winced painfully before he made his reply. 'Romans…'

Cato exchanged a glance with Diodorus. 'Romans? Are you certain?'

A shadow passed over the deck and Cato looked up to see the mast of the Ibis as Macro's ship drew alongside. An instant later there was a dull thud as the ships nudged against each other. Then the sound of boots landing on the deck. Cato looked up and saw his friend. 'Over here, Macro!'

Macro strode over, glancing round at the deck. 'Looks like they had quite a battle.'

'More of a massacre, I think. But we found this one alive.' Cato gestured towards the torn flesh of the man's hands. 'Nailed to the mast.'

Macro let out a low whistle. 'Nasty. Why would they do that?'

'I can guess. They wanted to leave a witness behind. Someone who might live long enough to report what happened.'

The surgeon from Cato's ship came trotting up with his haversack of dressings and salves. He knelt down beside the survivor and examined him quickly, feeling his pulse. 'He's in a bad way, sir. Doubt I can do much for him.'

'All right. Then I need to find out what I can before it's too late.' Cato leaned forward and spoke gently into the ear of the man. 'Tell me your name, sailor.'

'Mene… Menelaus,' the voice rasped softly.

'Listen to me, Menelaus. You are badly injured. You may not live. If you die, then you will want someone to avenge your death. So tell me, who did this? Romans you said. What did you mean? Roman pirates?'

'No…' The man whispered, and then muttered something more, a word Cato could not quite catch.

'What's that?'

'Sounded like he said worship,' Macro suggested. 'Doesn't make sense. Worship?'

Cato felt an icy thrill as he grasped what the sailor was trying to say. 'Warship, that's it, isn't it? You were attacked by a warship?'

The sailor nodded and moistened his lips. 'Ordered us to heave to… Said they were checking the cargo… Started killing us… No mercy.' The man's brow wrinkled at the memory. 'He spared me… Said I was to remember his name… Then they held me against the mast and forced my hands up.' A tear glistened in the corner of the man's eye and then rolled down his skin and dripped from his ear.

'His name?' Cato prompted gently. 'Tell me his name.'

The sailor was silent for a moment before his lips moved again. 'Cent… Centurion Macro.'

Cato sat up and looked at his friend. Macro shook his head in astonishment. 'What the fuck is he talking about?'

Cato could only shrug before he turned his attention back to the sailor. 'Are you certain? Are you sure he said his name was Macro?'

The sailor nodded. 'Macro… That was the bastard's name… Made me repeat it to be sure… Centurion Macro,' he murmured, then his face contorted in agony.

'Sir,' the surgeon intervened. 'I have to get him out of the sun. Below deck in the Sobek. I'll tend to his injuries there.'

'Very well. Do what you can for him.' Cato eased the sailor's head down and stood up. The surgeon called over four of the marines and ordered them to lift the sailor's body as gently as possible. Cato watched them make their way towards the gangway, and then turned to Macro. 'Odd, don't you think?'

'I have an alibi,' Macro responded with harsh humour. 'Been busy hunting fugitive slaves.' He jabbed his thumb at the sailor being carried across the gangway. 'What's that Centurion Macro business about?'

'It's Ajax. Has to be.'

'Why?'

'Who else would use your name?'

'No idea. But if it is Ajax, why do it?'

'His idea of a joke, perhaps. That, or something else.'

'What?'

Cato shook his head faintly. 'I'm not certain. But there's more to this than there seems.'

'Well, if it is Ajax and his men, then we're back on their trail.'

'Yes, we are.' Cato puffed out his cheeks. 'The timing isn't great, though.'

'What do you mean?'

'We've run out of supplies. Water's almost gone. We can't continue the pursuit until we've replenished our food and water. We'll take what we can find aboard this ship, and then make for Alexandria.'

Macro stared at him. 'You can't be serious… sir.'

'Think about it, Macro. If he has a day or more's head start then he could be over a hundred miles away by now. How long do you think it will take us to find him? How many days? If we attempt it then we run the risk of being in no condition to fight him, or being too weak to even make it back to port. I have no choice. We make for Alexandria. Then we take on supplies, and try to get enough reinforcements to search this area thoroughly.'

Macro was about to protest once more when Decurion Diodorus approached to make his report. 'Sir, my men have searched the ship. There are no other survivors.'