Abruptly, Macro's lips froze as his mind flashed back to the morning ride up towards the plateau, the sudden appearance of Bannus and his brigands, and then the dumping of all the baggage as the cavalry squadron desperately prepared to fight its way through to the fort.
Macro's lips moved again. 'Oh, shit.'
07 The Eagle In the Sand
CHAPTER EIGHT
Once again Cato faced the druid, but this time his foe was far taller than Cato, dwarfing him so that he felt like a child.The druid's eyes were jet black and his teeth were needle sharp, as if they had been filed. In his hand he held the scythe, and as Cato's eyes fixed on the glinting edge the druid raised it high. For an instant the blade glittered as it caught the moon's silvery rays. Then it slashed down, slicing towards Cato's throat.
He woke with a cry, and jerked up on to his elbows. His eyes were wide open, darting from side to side as he took in his surroundings. A small, darkened room, unfurnished apart from the bedroll he was lying on. He made to move, but there was a sudden pounding in his skull as if a heavy mallet was rhythmically beating the side of his head. Nausea welled up from the pit of his stomach and he quickly turned on one side and retched.The door opened, and light flowed into the small room.
'Lie down, Roman.' A woman spoke softly in Greek. She crouched beside the bedroll and gently pressed Cato back so that his head was resting on the bolster again. 'You're still suffering from the effects of that blow to your head. It will pass, but you must lie still and rest.'
As his eyes grew used to the light Cato glanced up at the woman. Her face and voice were familiar, and memories flashed into his mind of the ambush, the flight from the brigands and his arrival in a village where he had glimpsed this woman between blackouts.
'Where am I?'
'Safe.' She smiled. 'For the moment.'
'This place. What was it called?'
'Heshaba.You are in my house, Roman.'
Cato remembered another detail. 'Symeon… where is he?'
'He's taken the horses further into the wadi to hide them. He'll be back soon.'
She shuffled round behind the bolster and Cato heard the swill of water. A moment later she placed a damp cloth over his head and squeezed gently so that a dribble of water trickled down over his temples.
'That feels good. Smells good too. What is that? Lemon?'
'I squeezed some into the water. It'll refresh you and ease the sick feeling.'
Cato made his body relax, working the tension out of his muscles until his limbs felt loose, and the pounding in his head subsided. Then he rolled his head to the side to better see the woman.
'I can't remember your name.'
'Miriam.'
'Yes.' He nodded faintly. 'You and Symeon know each other.'
'He's a friend. Not as good a friend as he used to be.'
'Miriam, why are you helping me? I'm a Roman. I thought everyone in Judaea hated us.'
She smiled. 'Most people do. But this community is different. We try not to let our lives be ruled by hate. Now lie still.'
She reached a hand up to his head and he felt her fingers stroke lightly through his hair, until they grazed the point on his skull that seemed to be the centre of the pain. He winced, gritting his teeth.
'It's a bit swollen there. But you seem coherent enough. I don't think the injury is too serious.You should be back on your feet in a few days, Roman.'
Cato waited until the pain had passed before he unclenched his eyelids and looked at her again. Despite her obvious age, Miriam had striking features. Not conventionally beautiful, but she looked wise and had an air of calm authority. He reached his hand up, took hers and gave it a light squeeze.
'Thank you, Miriam. I owe you my life.'
'You owe me nothing. All are welcome here, Roman.'
'My name is Cato.'
'Cato…Well then, Cato, if you want to repay me, please be quiet and rest.'
'Miriam,' a voice called from somewhere else in the house.
She turned to the door and spoke in Aramaic. 'In here.'
A moment later a boy stood on the threshold. He was perhaps thirteen or fourteen, with a shock of dark hair. He wore a tunic of coarse material and was barefoot. He stared at Cato for a moment before he turned his gaze back towards Miriam. 'Is he a soldier? One of the Romans?'
'Yes.'
'Must he stay here?'
'Yes,Yusef. He is injured. He needs our help.'
'But he is an enemy. An enemy of our people.'
'We have no enemies. Remember? That is not our way.'
The boy did not look convinced and Miriam sighed wearily as she stood up and took his hand. 'I know this is not easy for you,Yusef, but we must care for him, until he is well enough to leave. Now be a good boy, and finish the threshing. There's bread to be made for this evening, and I haven't even done the grinding yet.'
'Yes, Miriam.' He nodded, cast a last glance at Cato and turned away. As the bare feet pattered off Cato smiled.
'I take it that's one of the Judaeans who still hates Rome.'
'He has his reasons,' Miriam replied, watching the boy from the doorway. 'His father was crucified by the Romans.'
Cato's smile faded. He felt awkward.'I'm sorry. It must be terrible for him.'
'He takes it too hard.' Miriam shook her head. 'He never knew his father. He wasn't born until after his death. Still, he feels a sense of loss, or lack, and he has filled the void with anger. For a long time his life centred round hatred of Rome and Romans. Until his mother abandoned him and he came to live with me.' She turned towards Cato and he saw the look of sadness in her eyes. 'I was all that he had left in the world. And he was all that I had left.' Cato did not understand and she smiled at his confused expression. 'Yusef is my grand-son.'
'Oh, I see.' Then Cato felt the sudden chill of realisation as his eyes met Miriam's.
'His father was my son. My son was executed by Rome.' Miriam nodded sadly, then slowly turned away. She left the room and gently closed the door behind her.
For what seemed like a long time Cato lay still in the dark room. When he tried to move the pain in his head returned with a vengeance and pounded away so that he felt sick. With what Miriam had told him he knew he must get away from this house, these people, before they turned on him. Despite Miriam's claims about the forbearance of the villagers, Cato knew human nature well enough to know that old wounds never heal. As long as he stayed in Miriam's house, he was in mortal danger. But he could not move without being racked with agony. As he lay still, straining his ears to pick up the sounds of the people in the house and the village beyond, he cursed Symeon for leaving him here. Leaving him alone. If he was just concealing the horses, then why in Hades had he not returned long ago? Cato had no idea how long he had been lying there in the dark. He knew that it was light outside, but was it the day of the ambush? Or the next day? How long had he been unconscious? He should have asked Miriam whilst she was there. As his anxiety swelled he rolled his head to the side and glanced round the room.
A short distance away, bundled against the wall, lay his armour, his harness, his boots and his sword belt. He gritted his teeth and shifted himself over, reaching out with his fingers. They groped for the sword belt, grasped it; tugged until the pommel came free of the scale armour. His fingers closed round the hilt, and as quietly as he could he drew the sword. It rasped faintly in the scabbard and he winced. Then the blade was free and he lifted the weapon across his body and wedged it between the bedroll and the wall, out of sight, but to hand if he needed it. The effort had made his arm muscles tremble and Cato had just enough energy to reach over and push the empty scabbard back under his mail vest before he collapsed back on to the bolster, fighting the waves of pain that pounded against the inside of his skull. He shut his eyes, breathing deeply, and slowly the pain subsided, his body relaxed and he fell asleep.
When he woke again the door was open and from the wan glow of the light shining through the opening he could tell that it must be late in the afternoon. He heard voices outside the room. Miriam and Symeon. They spoke in Greek, in low familiar tones, and Cato strained his ears to catch their words.