The Eagle In the Sand

'Crucify him,' Scrofa repeated. 'And then burn this woman's house.'

'No!' Cato stepped up to the prefect. 'She saved our lives. And risked her own to do it. You can't destroy her home.'

Scrofa's brow furrowed and he took a sharp intake of breath before he continued in a low, furious voice. 'The woman admits to helping the enemy, and she denies the authority of the Emperor. That I will not tolerate. These people must be taught a lesson. Either they are with us, or they are against us.' Scrofa turned back towards Miriam. 'She just might consider that while she watches her house burn.'

Miriam returned his stare with a thin-lipped look of contempt.

Cato's heart was pounding. He was horrified by the rank injustice of the prefect's decision. It was pointless. Worse than pointless – it was wilfully wrong. If this was how Rome rewarded those who risked all to help her soldiers, then the people of Judaea would never be at peace with the Empire. But there was more to it than that, Cato thought. Such punishment was morally wrong and he could not tolerate it. He shook his head and stood stiffly in front of the prefect while he forced himself to speak as calmly as possible.

'You can't burn her house, sir.'

'Can't I?' Scrofa looked amused. 'We'll soon see about that.'

'You can't do it!' Cato blurted out. 'I won't let you.'

The amused expression faded from Scrofa's eyes.'How dare you challenge my authority, Centurion? I could have you broken to the ranks for that. I could have you condemned. In fact-'

Before he could continue, Macro moved in, took Cato's arm and drew his friend away, towards the sun shelter. 'The lad's had a bad knock on the head, sir. He doesn't know what he's saying. Come on, Cato, sit down in the shade.You need rest.'

'Rest?' Cato glared at him. 'No. I have to stop this folly.'

Macro shook his head. He thrust Cato away from the prefect, whispering, 'Shut your mouth, you fool. Before I have to shut it for you.'

'What?' Cato looked at him in shock as he was propelled towards the shaded bench.

'Just sit still and say nothing.' Cato shook his head, but Macro clamped his hand on his arm and hissed, 'Sit down!'

Cato's head was reeling with confusion. Scrofa was about to perpetrate a monstrous injustice, one that Cato knew he must resist. And yet Macro was siding with Scrofa. He was clearly determined to prevent Cato's making any further protest, and Cato slumped helplessly as he glanced back towards Miriam. She was grim-faced, but there was no hiding the tears that gleamed in the corner of her eyes. After a moment's hesitation, Symeon put his arm round her and led her back inside the house.

'Miriam, let's save what we can. While there's still time.'

She nodded as they disappeared into the shadows.

Dusk was closing in as the column rode out of the village. Riding between Macro and Symeon, Cato took a last glance back over his shoulder. Flames roared and crackled as the fire consumed Miriam's house. She stood some distance away, embracing her grandson. A handful of the villagers stood still and gazed at the inferno.To one side, silhouetted by the flames, the brigand hung from the makeshift frame that the auxiliaries had erected after ripping the timbers out of Miriam's house. A hastily scribbled message on a wooden plaque had been nailed beneath the brigand's feet, warning the villagers not to render the man any comfort, and not to remove his body once he had died. Otherwise, his corpse would be replaced by one of their own.

As he turned away, Cato felt sick with despair and self-loathing. Rome had taken away her son, and now it had destroyed her home. If this was how they treated those who bore so little malice towards them, then there would never be peace in this land.

07 The Eagle In the Sand

CHAPTER TEN

What the hell were you doing back there?' Cato ' snapped. 'Why didn't you back me up?'

They were sitting in the room allocated to Macro. Cato had been given a room nearby. Scrofa had explained that until the issue of Macro's appointment had been sorted out there was no question of providing them with quarters appropriate to their alleged status. So the cohort's quartermaster and his assistant had been required to temporarily give up their offices and the clerks had laboured into the evening to clear the rooms and introduce the bare minimum of furniture needed by the newly arrived centurions. The column had returned to the fort some time after dusk, in the silvery light of a crescent moon, and it was not until the fourth hour of the night that the preparation of their hastily arranged quarters was complete. Symeon had been allocated a bunk in the cavalry barracks and had immediately gone off to sleep, leaving the two officers to sit in an atmosphere of muted tension until at last their rooms were ready.

'What was I doing?' Macro looked astonished. 'I was behaving like a bloody officer, that's what I was doing. Not buggering about like some indignant bloody child.'

'Excuse me?'

'Cato, when a senior officer gives an order, you obey it without hesitation.'

'Macro, I know that. But he's not the senior officer. You are.'

'Not until I can prove it. Until then Scrofa is in command, and what he says goes.'

'No matter how wrong-headed the order?'

'That's right.'

Cato shook his head. 'That is ridiculous, Macro. The woman did nothing wrong. Nothing to deserve having her house burned down.'

'I agree with you,' Macro responded with forced calmness. 'It's a bloody great shame. An injustice. Call it what you will.'

Cato was exasperated.'So why didn't you say anything at the time?'

'You know the score. When an order is given there is no discussion, whatever I might think.'

'But that's madness.'

'No – it's discipline. It's what makes the army work. There's no room for debate. No place for weighing up the pros and cons. The order is given and you obey.' Macro paused and continued in a harsh tone. 'What you don't do – in any circumstances – is question the order of a senior officer, and never in front of the bloody men. Do I make myself clear?'

Cato, surprised at Macro's hostility, nodded.

Macro went on. 'You start down that road, my friend, and discipline crumbles. If men start thinking about orders and not acting on them, then the army falls apart and we become easy pickings for our enemies.There's no shortage of them. Then who's going to protect the Empire, eh? So go ahead and weigh that up against some woman's house going up in smoke. Next time, you think about that before you go and question the orders of a superior.'

Cato was silent as he considered Macro's argument, then he looked up and shrugged. 'I suppose you may be right.'

'Of course I'm bloody right.' Macro sighed with exasperation. 'Look here, Cato. The army's your life now. It's a hard life sometimes I grant you, but I love it. And I will not let anybody fuck it up, however well meaning they be, even if they are my best friend. Make sure you understand that.'

Cato pursed his lips. 'All right. But it was still wrong to punish that woman.'

Macro groaned and cuffed his young friend on the shoulder. 'That's enough. We've got bigger problems to think about. We're not here for the good of our health, Cato.'

'Hardly.'

Macro smiled for a moment, and then looked thoughtful. 'You know, there might be more to this than meets the eye.'

'What do you mean?'

'Burning that house. Crucifying that brigand.' Macro raised his eyebrows. 'It's just that, now I think about it, there's little more he could have done to deliberately provoke the people of that village, and at the same time lose the chance to get some good intelligence from the prisoner.'

'I see.' Cato nodded.'In that light it certainly seems to back up Narcissus' suspicions about what's going on here.'

'And if he's right about Scrofa, and that adjutant of his, Postumus, then we're going to have to tread carefully, and watch our backs all the time. I don't fancy going the way of Scrofa's predecessor.'