The scout nodded and lowered himself to the ground. A moment later Macro lay beside him and squinted into the darkness. The trees were clear enough, as were the horses tethered beneath them. Around them, huddled on the ground, were the rebels. As the scout had reported, most were lying down, but a handful sat together and Macro could just hear snatches of their conversation.They sounded good-humoured enough and it was clear that they weren't expecting any trouble. Two men squatted in the desert on either side of the camp, keeping watch.
Macro eased himself into a more comfortable position and whispered softly to the scout, 'Get back to Centurion Horatius and tell him that all's well.The enemy are still here and Balthus should take them by surprise. Tell him that I want his men ready to come forward the moment the attack begins.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Off you go.'
The scout nodded his head and then crept off through the rocks, leaving Macro to watch the enemy alone. The delay was frustrating but it should not set them back too long, he hoped. Otherwise Cato might light his beacon and have the garrison launch a costly and pointless diversionary attack. Assuming Cato had actually got through to the garrison, Macro reminded himself. He settled down to watch the rebel patrol, occasionally glancing out into the night for any sign of Balthus and his men. But there was nothing. After a while Macro grew fretful and hissed impatiently through his clenched teeth.
'Come on…come on. Haven't got all bloody night… Where the hell are you?'
As he heaped curses on to the head of the Palmyran prince, one of the rebels who was still awake, talking with his companions, eased himself off the ground and started walking slowly in Macro's direction.
'Oh, great,' Macro muttered. 'Fine time to have a crap.'
His irritation turned to anxiety as the figure continued towards Macro's position. If he continued on his course he would walk right up to Macro and trip over him. Macro flattened himself to the ground and reached a hand down to his sword handle. He could hear the man's footsteps now: a soft scraping shuffle over the stony ground. Someone called out to him from the camp and the man shouted back an angry response and his comrades laughed. Macro was lying between a large boulder and a stunted shrub and he peered through the skein of small spidery branches as the man approached. He cast about a moment before settling on a rock no more than ten feet from Macro, where he could squat out of sight of his comrades. Pulling up his robes he crouched down and stuck his backside out in Macro's direction.With a grunt he began his movements and Macro instantly wished that the man's diet had not left him with such loose bowels. A foul odour filled the air and Macro's nose wrinkled with disgust. At length the man finished and looked around for something to wipe his backside. He turned towards Macro and froze.
There was a pause as neither man moved, then the rebel rose up to his full height, still staring in Macro's direction. Hardly daring to breathe, Macro released his grip on his sword handle and groped for the nearest sizeable rock. His fingers grazed over one that would fit in his hand comfortably and closed round it as the rebel took a hesitant step towards him, and muttered an exclamation.
Macro burst from cover, throwing the rock as hard as he could, and then snatched out his sword as he hurled himself towards the rebel. The rock struck the man on the side of his jaw and glanced off, but the impact stunned him for the instant that it took Macro to cannon into his body, ramming home his sword into the man's stomach as they slammed on to the ground. Macro landed heavily on the rebel, driving the breath from him in a harsh gasp. The blade drove up under the man's ribs, into vital organs. He squirmed, gasping for breath so that Macro feared he might cry out a warning before he died.
'Oh no you don't,' Macro hissed, clamping his hand over the man's mouth and pressing down. With a last reserve of his failing strength the rebel writhed and bucked, trying to dislodge the Roman, but Macro fought back, working his blade furiously inside the man's chest. Then the rebel slumped, inert, his eyes staring blindly at the stars. Macro continued to hold him down a moment longer until he was quite certain that the man was dead, and then relaxed his grip, removing his hand from the slack jaw. He rolled away from the body, wrenching his blade free as he lay and caught his breath. It was a moment before he was aware of the smell and realised he was on the spot where the man had been squatting a moment earlier.
'Shit,' he grumbled. 'How fucking lovely.'
He leaned towards the body, cut a strip off the man's tunic and did his best to clean off the filth as he continued to keep watch for any sign of Balthus and his men.This was getting beyond a joke, he thought bitterly. If Balthus didn't make his move now it would be too late to arrive before the gate under the cover of darkness. A voice called out from the camp. Macro kept still, until the man called out again. This was not good, he realised. If there was no reply from the rocks the rebels were bound to send someone over to look. Macro hurriedly untied his helmet and lowered it to the ground. Then he rose up cautiously, looking over the rock towards the camp. When the rebel called out a third time, the anxiety clear in his tone, Macro stood up a little further and waved his hand.To his relief the men waiting for their companion to return laughed and settled back down to their conversation.
Barely had Macro resumed his position behind the rock when there was a sudden thrumming of hooves and dark shapes rushed out of the night towards the rebel patrol's camp. The dull whack of arrows striking home sounded above the thud of hooves, and the snorts and whinnying of frightened horses. Then the cries of the wounded and the shouts of alarm split the night as the first blades clashed with a series of sharp ringing blows. There was no need to conceal himself any longer and Macro emerged from the rocks and watched from a safe distance as Balthus and his men swirled through the palm trees and cut down any man they found on the ground.
'Sir?' Centurion Horatius called out as he led his men through the rocks towards Macro. 'Sir, are you there?'
'Over here!' Macro raised his arm and the centurion and his legionaries came jogging towards him. 'Form two lines here.We're not taking part in this.We're just here to prevent any rebels running for it in this direction.'
'Yes, sir.' Horatius sniffed, then grimaced before he saluted and strode off to pass on the orders to his century. Macro turned to watch the attack on the rebels. It was all but over. The riders were no longer charging across the campsite, but picking their way over the bodies, pausing to finish off the wounded and any who were cowering on the ground trying to surrender. There could be no prisoners taken tonight. They would only hold the column up and provide the added inconvenience of having to be guarded, not to mention the danger that they might give the column away as it approached the city and lay in wait for the chance to assault the eastern gate.
'Right, it's all over,' Macro announced. 'Send a runner back for the rest of the column. It's time we got moving again.'
A rider approached from the sparse spread of palm trees and Macro guessed it was Balthus.
'The way is clear, Centurion. None of the rebels escaped my men. They're all dead.'
'Good job,' Macro conceded. 'I suggest we continue the advance immediately, Prince.'
It was the first time that Macro had shown any sign of deference to Balthus and the latter paused a moment to take in the implied praise and respect. He nodded to Macro. 'I agree. Now that we have reached the plain, my men will spread out and screen our approach to the gate. There shouldn't be any more delays.'
'That's good,' said Macro. 'We can't stop for anything until we are in position to wait for Cato's signal.'
'Very well, Centurion. I shall let my men know.' He paused. 'By the way, where is that stink coming from?'
'Stink?' Macro responded testily. 'What stink?'