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

'I think I've seen enough already,' Macro grumbled. 'Give me Campania or Umbria any day. Sod all this desert and rock.'

'It's not always like this, Centurion. In spring, it's cool and there's rain and the hills are covered with flowers. Even the desert across the Jordan blooms. And there's a kind of majesty in the desert. To the south there's a wadi where the sand is bright red and great cliffs of coloured rock rise up to the skies. At night the heavens are filled with stars and travellers gather round fires and tell tales that echo back off the cliffs.' He paused and smiled self-consciously. 'Perhaps one day you'll see for yourself, and understand.'

He clicked his tongue and urged his horse forward, until he was a short distance ahead of the column. Macro stared at him for a moment and spoke quietly to Cato. 'Well, what do you make of him?'

'I'm not sure. If he knows the area as well as he says, then I can see why Florianus uses him. But there's something about him that doesn't seem right.'

'What is it?'

Cato shook his head. 'I'm not quite sure. I just can't believe a man turns his back on his family and friends for such a long time so easily. He's interesting.'

'Interesting?' Macro shook his head. 'Mad more like. Maybe he's just had a little too much of the desert sun.'

The column of horsemen reached the small Essene community of Qumran as the sun dipped down behind them, casting long distorted shadows before the riders. Qumran was a small settlement made up of simple houses that lined dusty narrow streets. The people warily acknowledged the greetings offered to them by Symeon as he led the column through the village towards the small fort built on a slight rise a mile beyond Qumran. Beyond the fort lay the Dead Sea, stretching out towards the mountains that rose up, fiery coloured and forbidding, in the red glow of the sun settling in the west. The fort was little more than a fortified signal station and a thin trail of smoke wafted from the brazier in the main tower that was kept alight at all times. It was defended by a half-century of Thracian auxiliaries under an ageing optio who greeted them warmly as the column rode in through the gateway.

'Glad to see some new faces, sir.' He smiled as Macro dismounted and returned the optio's salute. 'Haven't seen any Romans for over a month now.'

Macro yawned and stretched his back before giving his buttocks a firm rub to restore some of the circulation lost after a day in the saddle. He ached, stank of sweat and was covered in dust.

'I need a bath. I don't suppose there's a bath-house here.'

'No, sir.'

'What about back there, in Qumran?'

'There is, sir. But we're not allowed to use their baths.'

'Why's that?' Macro said irritably. 'I'll pay 'em good money.'

'They're Essenes, sir. Friendly enough but they won't share any food or facilities with us, in case we contaminate them.'

'What is wrong with this fucking land?' Macro exploded.'Has the sun boiled everyone's brains? What are Essenes? Not another bloody sect, surely.'

'Sorry, sir.' The optio shrugged. 'That's how it is. My men are under strict orders not to cause the Essenes any offence.'

'Oh, very well then. Just find quarters for our men and then feed 'em. I'm going for a swim.'

'A swim, sir?'

'Yes. In the sea.'

Macro noticed the surprised look on the optio's face and continued irritably, 'Don't tell me our Essene friends are going to take exception to sharing a whole bloody sea with me?'

'No, sir. It's not that, it's just-'

Macro cut him off.'See to the men and their mounts.' He turned to Cato. 'Coming?'

'Oh yes.' Cato smiled. 'I wouldn't miss this experience.'

From the corner of his eye Macro saw Cato exchange a knowing look with Symeon and turned on them suddenly. 'What?'

Cato feigned innocence. 'It's nothing. Let's go and swim.'

The two officers stripped down to their tunics and boots and descended the stony slope to the shore. They picked their way a short distance along until they found a stretch of pebbled beach and undressed, leaving their clothes, belts and daggers on top of a rock. Macro trod warily down to the edge of the water and began to wade out, under the amused gaze of his young friend.When he was up to his waist Macro raised a hand and rubbed his fingers together.

'Odd… Feels kind of oily.' He raised his fingers and sniffed them for a moment before dabbing them with his tongue. At once his face tightened into a grimace. 'Ugh!'

'What is it?'

'The water. It tastes awful. Far too salty.'

'Then don't drink it,' said Cato. 'Just swim in it.'

'For someone who is such a poor swimmer, you're awfully keen to get stuck in.'

Cato laughed. 'You'll understand in a moment.'

Macro was too weary to continue playing Cato's games and turned away. Stretching his arms out he thrust himself forward into the gently lapping sea. Instead of plunging down beneath the surface he bobbed up like a cork. As soon as he tried the first stroke his legs seemed to come up out of the water behind him.

'What the hell is going on?'

Cato laughed as he waded out towards his friend, and was treading water even before the sea came close to his shoulders. It was a strange sensation and he smiled in delight. Macro was still floundering, trying to swim a few strokes further out from the shore.

'This is ridiculous.' He gave up and turned on to his back. Floating effortlessly, he looked at Cato. 'I suppose this is why it's some kind of natural bloody marvel.'

Cato settled into the water and raised his legs. 'Strange, isn't it?'

Now that he had got over his surprise Macro found that the experience was quite agreeable after all and for a while he experimented with propelling himself around, finding that the best way was to stay on his back and use his arms like oars. Cato followed his example, whooping like a small boy.

They were splashing about so much that they did not hear the warning shouted from the walls of the fort until it was far too late. Cato was aware of the sound of hooves first. He craned his neck round and saw a small party of horsemen, five of them, racing along the track that ran along the shore of the Dead Sea.

'Macro! Get out!'

'Eh?'

Cato pointed to the horsemen, now less than three hundred paces away. At once they stroked back towards the pebbly beach and as soon as their feet gained purchase on the stony bottom they surged ashore.Already the horsemen had closed the distance and Cato could see the glint of the swords they had drawn. There was no time to run back for their daggers.

'Forget the clothes! Make for the fort!'

They ran awkwardly across the rocks, wincing as the rough surface jabbed and cut into the soles of their feet. Then they reached the track and sprinted across it and started up the slope towards the gateway. The sentry on watch was shouting down into the courtyard and moments later two men emerged from the fort, stared at the approaching horsemen and then started down the slope towards the two officers. Cato risked a glance back along the track and was horrified to see the horsemen no more than a hundred paces behind, closing fast as they bent forward along the sides of their horses' necks, urging their mounts on as they prepared to strike with their swords. Cato knew that he and Macro would be run down before they could reach the fort, long before the first of the auxiliaries could reach them.

'Keep going!' Macro shouted, scrambling up the slope beside him. 'The bastards are almost on us.'

Cato ran on, head hunched down into his shoulders as if that would somehow make him a more difficult target for the horsemen's swords. He was barely aware of the pain from his torn feet as he focused on the gateway and ran towards it with all his might. The pounding of hooves from behind was deafening and at the last moment he risked a look back over his shoulder.