'Couldn't keep up with us,' Macro explained. 'They're hiding back there.We'll go back for them with men from the fort.'
The decurion shrugged. 'If they're still there.'
The auxiliary officer left Macro to continue along the track and rode back to round up his stragglers Half a mile behind the brigands came on in a haze of dust. Twice they forced their horses into a canter and the Romans followed suit, driving their mounts on harshly, until the brigands gave up and continued at a steady walking pace, at which point the Romans reined in as well, and both parties continued along the track in the grilling heat of the midday sun.
Then, ahead, where the heat shimmered off the ground like water, Macro saw a low wavering silhouette. He squinted and it took a moment before he realised what he was seeing, and his heart soared. Turning in his saddle he called out to the auxiliaries.
'It's the fort, lads! Straight ahead.'
The men instantly lifted themselves and stared along the track, some shielding their eyes to cut the glare and see Bushir more clearly, no more than two miles away. As they drew nearer and the heat haze dissipated Macro could make out more detail. The fort was constructed from stone, with four massive towers, one at each corner. In between stretched long curtain walls with a smaller tower either side of the main gate on the wall facing the track. A short distance from the fort was a reservoir, built into a dip in the ground where two shallow gullies converged. Macro could just make out the tiny dark shapes of a group of men watching their approach from one of the towers.
Behind them, a faint cry rose up from the brigands as they too caught sight of the fort, and forced their mounts to make one last effort to catch the Romans before they reached safety.
The decurion responded immediately. 'Squadron… forward!'
He kicked his heels in and his tired mount lurched into a canter, and his men followed suit, pounding along the track as their pursuers started to close the distance, desperate to make the kill. Macro did his best to keep up with the auxiliaries, but he was an infantryman and not used to getting the best out of his mount, and so he gradually slipped behind. As the auxiliaries approached the fort the gate opened and fully armed men piled out and quick-marched towards their comrades, ready to provide a defensive screen against the pursuers. Some officer in the fort had acted very quickly and Macro made a mental note to thank the man, if he got away from the brigands pursuing him.
The first of the auxiliaries passed through the gap in the infantry line and then reined in quickly and dismounted from their exhausted horses. Macro glanced back and saw that Bannus' men were much closer now, foam flicking back from the muzzles of their driven mounts.
'Come on, you bastard!' Macro growled at the two ears rising stiffly at the end of his horse's neck. 'Run! Or we're both food for the jackals.'
The horse sensed his urgency and struggled on, as fast as its trembling limbs could carry it, towards the line of infantry striding towards them. Then it seemed to miss a step, and staggered on for an instant before its front legs began to buckle. Macro released the reins and grabbed the saddle horns with all his might to stop himself being thrown forward. The beast slowed and then collapsed, thudding belly first on to the ground. At once Macro heaved himself off, and sprinted towards the oncoming infantry. Behind him he heard the exultant cry of the brigands as they scented his blood. He glanced back and saw them only a short distance behind, blades drawn, the leading man leaning out to one side, sword rising up ready to strike. Just beyond the line of infantrymen the decurion suddenly wheeled his horse round, drew his weapon and spurred his mount back down the track, knocking aside one of the infantry as he charged towards Macro. At the last moment, he cried out, 'Get down!'
Macro's ears were filled with the pounding rhythm of hooves as he threw himself to one side, off the track, and rolled heavily, the impact driving the breath from his lungs. A large shadow danced across the ground beside him and he heard the swish of a blade cutting through the air. Then the legs of horses were all about him and Macro curled into a ball, shielding his head in his burly arms as he was sprayed with gravel. Blades clashed with a shrill ring and the decurion shouted, 'No you don't, you bastard!' Each time Macro tried to glance up, he was blinded by grit and dust, and only heard the fight going on around him.Then something spattered down on him, hot and wet, and a voice grunted in triumph.
'Get 'em!' a voice shouted. 'Stick it to 'em, Second Illyrian!'
Then there were booted feet all round Macro, more shadows, and someone grabbed him under the arms and hauled him up.
'You all right, mate?' A man's face loomed in front of him. Then the soldier saw Macro's mail vest and the medallions on his harness. 'Sorry, sir.You all right?'
Macro was dazed. 'Yes, fine.'
Then he noticed the doubtful look on the man's face and glanced down and saw that a great streak of bood splashed across his shoulders and down his left arm. His fingers fumbled over the blood, but found no injury.'Not mine.'
The soldier puffed out his cheeks in relief, nodded and turned away, hurrying after his comrades as they drove the brigands back. Macro closed his eyes and wiped the grit from his face on the back of a hairy forearm, then looked around.The men from the fort were chasing after the surviving brigands, thrusting at them and their mounts with spears. On the ground close to Macro lay the bodies of three of the brigands, and the decurion.The latter lay sprawled on his back, eyes staring up at the sun, mouth hanging open. A sword blade had opened his throat to the spine and the ground about him was drenched with blood.
'Poor bastard…' Macro mumbled, before he realised that the decurion had sacrificed himself to save the man he had been charged with escorting safely to Bushir. 'Poor brave bastard,' Macro corrected himself.
'Who are you?' a voice demanded.
Macro turned and saw an officer approaching him. At the sight of the plumed feathers in the man's helmet crest, Macro instinctively stiffened to attention before what he assumed was a superior.
'Centurion Macro!' he snapped, and saluted.
The officer saluted back, then frowned. 'Mind explaining what's going on, sir?'
'Sir?' Then it dawned on Macro that the officer was a centurion like himself, and only a freshly minted one at that. He regarded the man anew. 'Who are you?'
'Centurion Gaius Larius Postumus, adjutant at the fort, sir.'
'Where's Scrofa?'
'Prefect Scrofa? He's in the fort, sir. Sent me out to cover your force.'
'Leads from the front, eh?' Macro couldn't help sneering for a moment. 'Never mind. I've been sent to take command of the Second Illyrian.These men are my escort. We were ambushed several miles back.'
Macro glanced round and saw that the fight was over. Most of the brigands had pulled back and were staring silently at the fort from a small rise some distance away. The officers of the Illyrian troops had recalled their men and were forming them up beside the survivors of the cavalry squadron.Two of their men lifted the decurion off the ground and gently placed his body across the saddle of his horse before leading it towards the gate. Macro shook his head. It had been a close thing. But even though he had escaped this time he didn't suppose that Bannus would abandon his design on Macro's life. And Cato's.At that thought Macro stared back along the track.
'Sir?' Postumus tilted his head and looked questioningly at Macro. 'Anything the matter?'
'Yes. My friend's out there. We need to go and find him as soon as possible. I want you to give orders for the cavalry contingent to mount up.'
'With respect, sir, that is a decision for Prefect Scrofa to make.'
Macro rounded on the man. 'I told you. I'm in command now.'
'Not until the appointment has been properly authenticated, sir.'
'Authenticated?' Macro shook his head. 'We can deal with that later. Right now, what matters is Centurion Cato.'