The Eagle In The Sand (18 page)

‘Really? Then let them try.’

‘In any case, aren’t you forgetting something?’

‘What?’

‘You struck me. In full view of the men.As soon as we get back to Bushir, I’ll bring charges against you. Make no mistake, you’ll pay for this.’

‘So you say. We’ll see. But for now, I’m relieving you of command for the rest of this patrol.’

‘On whose authority?’ Postumus smirked. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something? Until your appointment is confirmed you have no-‘

‘I know all that,’ Macro cut in. ‘But in this situation it doesn’t matter. First, you have failed to carry out your duty. I could have you charged with cowardice when we return to Bushir. Second, I am the senior officer present. Unless you have written authority that supersedes my seniority there’s nothing you can do about it. I don’t suppose you have such a document on you, Centurion Postumus? No? How unfortunate.’ Macro smiled. ‘I can only imagine how frustrated you must feel.’

Postumus glared at him, opened his mouth to protest, and then shut it again. Macro had him.The same rigorous adherence to rules that had cost Macro his appointment had now robbed Postumus of command over the two cavalry squadrons. It took all of Macro’s self-control not to laugh now that the tables had been turned on the smug younger officer. He let Postumus stew for a moment before he continued.

‘I will remain in command until we return to Bushir. Until then, you are to assume the duties of an orderly. Is that clear?’

‘You can’t do this,’ Postumus said quietly. The decurions of the two cavalry squadrons had called off the pursuit and were rallying to Macro and Postumus.

‘I already have. You can sort it out with the prefect when we return to Bushir.’

‘Trust me, I will.’

As the decurions trotted up Macro turned to them and announced the change of command. They turned questioningly to Postumus, but before the latter could speak Macro snapped at them, ‘Ignore him! I am the ranking officer here! You will obey my orders from now on. Centurion Postumus will be facing a charge of gross neglect of duty when we return to Bushir. If you don’t want to join him then I suggest you accept the change of command right away. Do either of you question my authority? Well?’

The decurions shook their heads.

‘That’s better! Now get your men to help the merchants restore some order to the caravan. Once that’s done, we’ll escort them to the Decapolis. If there’s another attack I don’t expect to see your men responding like a bunch of virgins at the Lupercal. I’d better see them go in hard and fast, or I’ll personally make sure that both of you are broken back to the ranks.’ Macro subjected them to a withering glare, and then concluded, ‘Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, sir!’ the decurions chorused.

‘Fine, then carry out your orders.’ Macro returned their salute and they wheeled their mounts round and trotted back to their units. Macro turned to Postumus and gestured after them. ‘What are you waiting for? I want you out there helping to clear up this mess as well.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes you. And you will call me sir from now on. Get moving before I add insubordination to the charges I aim to bring against you.’

Postumus stabbed his heels in, wheeled his horse and galloped past Macro, back towards the caravan.

Macro watched him go, and breathed a sigh of relief. Corruption had made the officers go soft. If they had had the guts to stand up to him a moment earlier then Macro feared he might have gone the way of Scrofa’s predecessor. As it was, Macro had the whip hand and they had cringed like curs in front of him. In some small way that saddened him. If they buckled before the wrath of a superior officer so easily they would be little good against Bannus and his men when the time came to fight the brigands on the battlefield. As soon as his appointment as prefect of the Second Illyrian was confirmed he was going to have to crack down on the officers even more harshly than on the men. They had to be hardened up, and quickly, if they were to be a match for the Judaean rebels, and any Parthian allies.

For the next four days the caravan ambled along the track towards Gerasa.With a squadron of auxiliary cavalry on each flank there were no more attacks, and when the walls of the hill town that overlooked the sea of Galilee came into sight the merchants approached Macro to make their farewells.

‘We’ll leave you here,’ Macro announced. ‘You’re safe now.’

‘Only thanks to you, Centurion.’ The merchant bowed his head, and then looked up awkwardly. ‘The other merchants and I wish to offer you a gift, in thanks for saving our property and, perhaps, our lives.’

‘No,’ Macro replied firmly. He was not going down that route. He’d not end up like Postumus and most of the officers of the Second Illyrian. ‘We were just doing our duty. No gift is necessary.There’ll be no more bribes paid to the Roman soldiers protecting travellers along this route. That’s finished with. I give you my word on that.’

The merchant looked pained. ‘You do not understand, Centurion. It is our custom to offer a gift. If you do not accept, we are shamed.’

Macro looked at them and scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘Shamed, eh?’

The merchant nodded his head vigorously.

Macro felt irritated by the situation. He was not one to tolerate the customs of other cultures easily and did not know how to get out of this predicament. Then an idea that he had been brooding over for the past few days came back to him and provided a very neat and useful solution.

‘I will not accept a gift,’ he repeated.’But I will require a favour of you in the near future.When the time comes, where may I find you gentlemen?’

‘When we have concluded our business here we will be returning to Petra, to make arrangements for the next caravan. We should be there for a month, maybe two.’

‘I’ll send word to you in Petra, then.’

Macro watched as the merchants returned to the long stream of camels swaying up the slope towards the gate of Gerasa. He smiled. If his plan was workable at all, then the merchants were going to prove vital to its success.

The day after Centurion Parmenion’s force left Bushir they marched through the hilly landscape around Herodion, keeping close watch on the terraced olive groves that climbed the slopes on either side.This was the kind of country that favoured the light troops that Bannus had at his disposal, and Cato could well imagine the damage that a small force armed with slings and javelins might inflict on the Roman column. Fortunately there was no sign of the brigands and at midday they reached the large village of Beth Mashon, surrounded by dusty clumps of palm trees. Their approach was spotted by a handful of children tending their goats, and as they drove their bleating charges out of the path of the soldiers one of them raced ahead to warn the villagers.

Cato glanced at Parmenion. ‘Do you think we should deploy the men?’

‘For what?’

‘In case they’re preparing a surprise.’

‘Who do you think we’re up against, Cato?’ Parmenion asked wearily.’Some crack Parthian cavalry, or something?’

‘Who knows?’

Parmenion laughed bitterly. ‘There’s nothing in there apart from the usual peasants. Believe me. And right now they’ll be scared as hell and hoping that we don’t add to their difficulties. Fat chance of that, of course. About the only time outsiders ever visit places like this is when they’ve come to collect the taxes or make some other trouble.’

Cato looked closely at the veteran. ‘Sounds to me like you’re on their side.’

‘Their side?’ Parmenion raised his eyebrows. ‘They don’t have a side.They’re too bloody poor to have a side. They have nothing. Look around you, Cato. This is about as close to desolation as you can get. These people are scraping a living off the dust. For what? So that they can pay their taxes, their tithes, their debts. And in the end when the tax-farmers, temple priests and bankers have had their cut, and there’s nothing left, they have to sell their children. They’re desperate, and desperate people having nothing left to lose but their hope. When that’s gone, who do they go for?’ He smacked himself on the chest.’Us.Then we have to go round butchering the poor bastards until they’re sufficiently cowed again to let the same old parasites resume squeezing the survivors for every last shekel they can get.’

He took a deep breath and made to continue, but shook his head in frustration and clamped his mouth shut.

‘Got that off your chest, then?’ Cato said quietly.

Parmenion glared back at him and then smiled.’Sorry. It’s just that I’ve served here too long.And it’s always been the same.’ He gestured towards the village. ‘It’s a wonder they stick it. Anywhere else the people would be in open rebellion by now.’

‘They are,’ Cato replied.’I thought that was why we’re out here. To deal with Bannus.’

Parmenion pursed his lips.’Bannus? He’s just the latest in a long line of bandits. Soon as they get a large enough following they claim to be the mashiah, here to deliver the people of Judaea from our clutches.’ He laughed. ‘I’ve yet to see one who wasn’t the mashiah. And still they come . . . I tell you, I’m sick of it all. I hate this place. I hate these people and their poverty and I hate what it does to them. I’m counting the days to my discharge.Then I can leave this hole for good.’

‘Where will you go?’

‘As far from here as I can. Somewhere with good soil, and water, where a man can grow crops without breaking his back. I hear Britain’s the place to take up a land grant these days.’

Cato laughed. ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

‘You’ve been there?’

‘Yes. Two years in the Second Legion, with Macro.’

‘What’s it like?’

Cato thought for a moment. ‘In most ways it’s as different from Judaea as you can get. A good spot for that farm of yours, Parmenion, but the people are just as unwelcoming. They’ll not bend to our ways very soon, I imagine. It’s funny, here I am at the other end of the empire and it seems we’re making the same old mistakes.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘These Judaeans. They have a religion that will not bend, will not compromise. And one Roman procurator after another is doomed to resort to force to make sure the Judaeans accept Roman rule on our terms. It’s the same story in Britain, with the druids. As long as they hold to the old ways and we insist on the new, then there’s little chance of long-term peace in either province. Not a rosy outlook on both fronts, I’m afraid.’

‘You may be right.’ Parmenion shrugged his shoulders wearily. ‘Seems that the people who run the Empire are never going to learn. Anyway,’ he glanced up at the nearest houses, ‘here we are. Better get on with it.’

The column entered the edge of the village and Cato felt the familiar chill of tension tighten round his spine as he glanced down each side of the narrow street that wound through the blocks of sun-bleached houses. It followed the same pattern as all the other villages he had seen since arriving in Judaea. It was comprised of several households clustered around courtyards, where the inhabitants shared a cistern, an oven, a grain mill, an olive press and the other facilities which made them self-sufficient. Most of the houses were single-storey, but some had internal stairs that led up to the roofs where sun shelters were erected. Where the plaster was cracked and chunks had fallen away Cato could see the basalt blocks beneath, with mud and pebble mortar to make them weatherproof. From its size Cato guessed that as many as a thousand people lived in the village, but when he mentioned this to Parmenion the veteran scoffed.

‘More than that. Much more. The families at the bottom of the pile live pretty much cheek by jowl. Land is in short supply.When a father passes it on, it is divided equally amongst his sons, so each generation had less and less land to work, and cannot afford to build their own homes.’

The column emerged from the winding street into a broad paved square in front of a large building with a domed roof. Parmenion summoned one of his men and handed over the reins.

‘That’s the synagogue,’ Parmenion muttered as he dismounted.’That’s where I’ll find the priest. He’ll be the headman, or at least someone who knows him. Optio!’ he bellowed back towards his men and a junior officer came trotting over and saluted.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You can pass the word for the men to stand down. But have detachments posted on each street leading out of the square. A section on each should do. Got that?’

The optio nodded and turned away to carry out his orders. Cato slid off the back of his horse and handed his reins to Parmenion’s groom.

‘Mind if I come with you?’

Parmenion stared at him. ‘If you really want.’Then he took a deep breath and strolled over to the door of the synagogue, with Cato following at his shoulder.The door opened inwards as he approached and a tall man in a long black tunic cautiously emerged. He wore a red skullcap and long, dark locks hung down over his shoulders.

‘Who are you?’ Parmenion asked, in Greek.

‘Sir, I am the priest.’ The man stiffened and tried not to show any fear of the soldier. ‘What do you want of us, Roman?’

‘Water for my men and horses. Then I need to speak to the village elders. Have them summoned immediately.’

The priest’s expression darkened as he endured the centurion’s peremptory tone. ‘The water is there in our public cistern.’ He pointed across the square to a low stone trough that rose knee high from the ground. ‘Your men and beasts can help themselves. As for the village elders – that will not be easy. Some of them are still at the festival in Jerusalem. Others are out tending to their land.’

Parmenion raised his hand to cut the priest off. ‘Just find as many as possible. We’ll wait in the square. But be quick about it.’

‘I’ll do what I can.’ The man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘But tell me, for what purpose do you want them?’

‘You’ll see,’ Parmenion replied curtly. ‘Now fetch them.’

The priest stared at him for a moment before he nodded, closed the door of the synagogue behind him, and made his way into one of the alleys leading off the square. Once he was out of sight Parmenion relaxed. He sat down on the edge of a stone trough and took a drink from his canteen. After a moment Cato followed suit and they sat and watched as the soldiers slumped down in whatever shade they could find and talked quietly. A few of the more curious were having a look round the square but when one of them reached for the synagogue door Parmenion snapped at him, ‘Not in there, Canthus! Keep away from the building.’