The Eagle In the Sand

'What's going on with Canthus?' a voice cried out.

Cato swung round and shouted, 'Silence! Optio, take the name of the next man to utter a word. He'll be flogged the moment we return to the fort!'

The men trudged on, casting wary glances at the villagers massing on either side of them. But the crowd just stared back, glowering with hatred, and made no threatening moves as the Romans passed. Once he was out of the square Cato tried not to look up at the figures looming above him on either side of the narrow street. Parmenion had been right. If there had been a confrontation then the Romans would have been caught like rats in a trap, showered with missiles and unable to strike back. Cato shuddered at the thought and then stiffened his back and stared straight ahead, refusing to appear intimidated.

When the column had cleared the village Cato eased his mount to the side of the track and called over the centurion in command of the infantry. 'Get 'em up that track there. I'll wait for Parmenion.'

'Yes, sir.'

As the men marched away Cato sat in the saddle and gazed back at the village.The crowd was no longer silent; an angry chorus of shouts sounded from its heart and Cato willed the veteran to hurry up and quit the place. Just when Cato had gripped his reins and was about to ride back to find him there was the dull thrumming of hooves and Parmenion came trotting out of the alley. A vest of mail armour hung over his saddle horn and a shield hung from straps tied to his belt. His face was set in a grim expression and he barely acknowledged Cato as he rode by and continued towards the column, a short distance off. Cato turned his horse and followed. When they reached the brow of the small hill that Cato had indicated to the centurion the two officers halted and turned to stare down into the centre of the village.

At first all that Cato could see was a dense mass of dark heads and skullcaps, all facing the synagogue expectantly. 'What did they do to Canthus?' he asked quietly.

'I didn't wait to find out. The priest and some of his men took him as I rode off.' Parmenion glanced down. 'He begged me not to leave him.'

Cato did not know what to say.

A fresh roar rose from the village. A small group of men had emerged on the roof of the synagogue, all but one of them clad in the flowing shirts of the local people. Writhing in their midst was a man in the red tunic of a Roman soldier.

'That's Canthus!' someone called out, and the nearest soldiers glanced back over their shoulders.

'Silence there!' Parmenion bellowed. 'Mouths shut, eyes front and keep marching!'

There was a thin scream in the distance and a fresh roar from the crowd. Cato looked back and saw that Canthus had his arms pinioned tightly behind him. Someone had wrenched the tunic over his head and he stood naked above the crowd. Another man bent down to pick something up, and as he rose to his feet the sun glinted brilliantly off a curved blade. A reaping tool, Cato realised. As he and Parmenion watched, the man swung the blade into the Roman soldier's side, and then wrenched it across his stomach in a sweeping movement. Blood and intestines burst out from Canthus's body and spilled down the front of the synagogue, leaving a bright red smear on the white plaster wall. The crowd let out a shrill cry of delight that echoed up the slope and Cato felt the bile rise in the back of his throat.

'Come on,' Parmenion said huskily. 'We've seen enough. Let's go.We need to reach the next village before nightfall.'

'The next village?' Cato shook his head. 'After that? Surely we'd better get back to the fort and report to Scrofa.'

'Why? Because of Canthus? The fool should have known better.We still have our orders to carry out, Cato.' Parmenion pulled his reins harshly, turning his horse away from the scene below. 'Maybe next time, our men will have learned a lesson.'

07 The Eagle In the Sand

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

We've got ourselves into a right nasty situation here,' Macro mused, when Cato had finished telling him about the patrol through the local villages. Parmenion had taken hostages from every one of them, including Heshaba, and now forty men were languishing in a store shed, fed and watered, but forced to stay inside. In the days that followed the incident at Beth Mashon Parmenion had made no mention of the fate of Canthus and curtly rebuffed any attempt by Cato to raise the matter.The death of their comrade had soured the rest of the men and their grim mood was reflected in their treatment of the other villagers they encountered, with the result that, far from subduing the locals, Scrofa's measures had made them hate Rome even more. Cato had little doubt that the ranks of Bannus' band of brigands would be swelled in coming days by young men from the villages visited by Parmenion.

Cato had stripped down to his loincloth and was busy washing the dust and grime from his skin. He was as sombre as Macro had ever seen him. Macro leaned back on his bed and gazed at the ceiling. 'I don't see how we can do any good here, Cato. Scrofa's got most of the officers involved in his protection scam; the rest of 'em are trying not to notice and losing heart. The men are pissed off that they aren't getting a share of the spoils, and now it seems that Scrofa is pushing the locals towards open revolt. If that happens then the Second Illyrian is going to land right in the shit, at least while Scrofa is in command, which won't be for much longer, I hope. We should hear from the procurator any day now, confirming my appointment.'

'Assuming the message got through to Caesarea,' Cato said quietly.

'What do you mean?'

'If the officer tasked with carrying the message was one of those on the take, I suspect he would be in no hurry to see Scrofa replaced. It would be an easy thing to do to lose the message.'

'He wouldn't dare.'

'We'll see. And what if the message was lost in an ambush? Or what if the message got through to the procurator, but the orders were lost on the return journey?'

Macro propped himself up on one elbow and stared at Cato. 'Cheery little devil, aren't you?'

'Just pointing out the possibilities.' Cato shrugged, and dabbed at his skin with a woollen cloth. 'Besides, you've hardly mentioned half our problems.'

'Do, please, enlighten me. I could do with some light relief.'

'All right.' Cato sat down on the couch opposite Macro's and sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. 'As you say – the cohort's in poor shape. The locals are after our blood. If Longinus really is trying to provoke a revolt then he's almost got what he's after. And if it happens then we'll be facing Bannus with an enlarged force, armed to the teeth, with little prospect of receiving any reinforcements, or even the despatch of a relief column to help us reach safety. My main worry is Bannus. At the moment he is a brigand chief, but if he manages to raise a force large enough to take us on, then there's every chance that he will try to present himself to the Judaeans as the mashiah. Only the latest in a long line of claimants to the title, of course. But if he has an army of thousands, equipped with Parthian armour and weapons, then he's going to look very credible to his people. If the rising spreads beyond this area, the whole of Judaea could join in the revolt.'

'Oh, sure!' Macro laughed. 'Come now, Cato, that's just not going to happen.'

'Why not?'

'They wouldn't stand a chance. A bunch of farmers and sheep herders up against professional soldiers? Auxiliary troops admittedly, but still good enough to scare a bunch of peasants back into line. Even if they were thinking of rebelling, they'd know that the Syrian legions were on their doorstep. No amount of rebels would be a match for the legions. As far as the local people are concerned, the moment they get stroppy the legions are going to jump on them and kick them into the dust.'