The Eagle In the Sand

'Because you were failing in your lawful duty.' Macro stabbed a finger at him. 'You would have sat on your arse and let those raiders completely destroy the caravan.'

'That is immaterial to the charge I'm bringing against you.'

'Immaterial?' Macro scoffed. 'It is the reason why I was forced to take command.'

'What about striking a fellow officer?' Scrofa interrupted, leaning forward across his desk. 'What about that, eh? Do you deny it?'

'No. And I'd do the same again,' Macro snapped back. 'And with good cause. Now, if you really want to try to make something of this, I will be happy to submit to a proper military tribunal, back in Rome. It's my right to insist on that, as you well know. So then, Prefect, do you wish to continue with this foolishness?'

Scrofa glared back at him for a moment and then eased himself back into his chair and forced a smile. 'I don't think it is really necessary, Centurion Macro. I merely wanted you to be aware of the disciplinary charges that could be brought against you. Rightly or wrongly, you have committed a serious breach of the military code and it is within my powers to bring you before a military tribunal. I could, if I wanted, carry that out in a summary manner, here in this fort.'

'You could,' Macro conceded. 'But I could equally insist on my right to appeal to the Emperor for a hearing back in Rome. And I think we both know how that might turn out, given the way you are running things here.'

It was an impasse, and all the men in the office knew it. For a while no one spoke, until Scrofa continued in the same placating manner.

'There is no need for that, Centurion. Let's just agree that you have acted unacceptably, and that you will give me your word not to commit any further such breaches of the military code. After all, we would not wish you to assume command of this cohort with such an unpleasant disagreement hanging in the air, would we?' He smiled. 'Now then, I can understand that you might see things a little differently from us. You and Centurion Cato have only just arrived in the province and haven't yet acclimatised to the way things are done here. I think Centurion Postumus might accept that he was a trifle brusque in the manner in which he introduced you to the little arrangement we have concerning the caravans that pass through the territory policed by the Second Illyrian.'

'That's putting it mildly, sir.'

Scrofa laughed lightly, and then licked his lips. 'I can assure you that there is nothing unusual about the situation. It's common practice amongst units stationed on this frontier.'

'That's not my understanding, sir,' Cato intervened. 'We were told that this, er, arrangement of yours has only been running since Centurion Postumus arrived at the fort.'

'It must have lapsed,' Postumus explained. 'I merely resurrected it, for the benefit of the officers of the cohort.'

'Naturally.' Macro smiled. 'Very altruistic of you, Centurion Postumus.'

'If I can serve our interests as well as the Emperor's, then I can see no harm in the situation.'

'I doubt the Nabataean caravan cartels see it like that.'

Postumus shrugged. 'They go along with it.'

'They have no choice in the matter,' Macro pointed out. 'They pay up, or you leave them to the mercy of the desert raiders. Somehow, I doubt that is helping cement good relations between the Nabataean kingdom and Rome. If I were a suspicious man I might well think that you were deliberately undermining our relationship with Nabataea, as you are undermining the stability of the territory around this fort.'

A look of alarm flitted across the prefect's face and he glanced quickly to his subordinate for reassurance before he responded. 'What are you implying, Centurion Macro?'

'I'm simply saying that an outsider might think that you are deliberately trying to undermine the security of this region.'

Cato, standing at Macro's shoulder, winced. His friend was in danger of exposing the true nature of their mission to the area. He shuffled on his feet, and gently tapped Macro's heel with the toe of his boot. Macro shot a withering glance at him, and then turned back to the prefect as Scrofa gave a false laugh.

'And what possible reason could I have for doing that?'

'We'll see. Soon enough,' Macro responded quietly. 'Once I assume command here, I'll make damn sure that I expose your games, and then maybe I'll dispense a little summary justice of my own.'

'Ah, that reminds me.' Scrofa leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together and interlaced his fingers. 'Perhaps I should have mentioned it earlier. A message from Caesarea arrived at the fort shortly before this meeting. That guide of yours, Symeon, brought it. Apparently the procurator decided that your request for confirmation of the appointment is outside his jurisdiction. So he's referred the matter to the Governor of Syria. I'm afraid that means it'll be a while yet before we receive any news. In the meantime, I'm obliged to remain in command of the cohort.' He feigned an apologetic expression. 'I assure you that I regret the delay as much as you do. But I am confident that Cassius Longinus will give the matter his immediate attention.'

'I'm sure he will,' Macro murmured. 'Where is Symeon? I want to speak to him.'

'I'm keeping him on the strength – we can use a good guide. But there's no need for you to see him. Not for a while at least. Meanwhile, I'm confining you two to your quarters.'

'Confining us to quarters?You mean you're placing us under arrest?'

'Not yet. But I will do if you give me any further trouble. Centurion Postumus will arrange for a guard to be set up outside your quarters.'

Macro turned to Cato and smiled grimly.'I came here to become prefect of the cohort. Now it seems I'm to be a prisoner of the cohort instead.'

'You're dismissed,' Scrofa concluded curtly. 'Postumus, see to it that they are escorted to their quarters and kept there.'

Postumus smirked. 'With pleasure, sir.'

07 The Eagle In the Sand

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Postumus had them moved into one room to make guarding the two centurions easier. Macro endured the first few days of confinement well enough, while Cato sat at the window and gazed out over the fort towards the battlements, fretting at their inactivity. Around them the men went about their duties in a routine and unhurried manner. The watches changed at regular intervals. The men rose at first light, drilled for an hour and then took their morning meal. Afterwards there was more training until the sun had risen high enough to beat down on the fort and the surrounding desert in a searing glare.Then the soldiers retreated to the shade and only the sentries remained, patrolling the walls in the sweltering heat that even the lizards avoided as they clung to the rough plaster in patches of shadow and waited for the stifling midday hours to pass.

Their guards brought them food twice a day, and readily responded to any further requests for food and drink since the two centurions were technically not under arrest. Yet. The window of their shared room overlooked a narrow alley between the headquarters and the single storey hospital building. Cato had considered dropping down into the alley as a means of escaping their confinement, but then reflected that there was no point. What could it achieve? They couldn't leave the fort, and any attempt at escaping from their room would simply give Scrofa the excuse to have them placed in a cell. So Cato sat at his window and reflected on the wider situation with a growing sense of frustration, and anxiety.

The days passed, and every so often a patrol left the fort and marched off in a faint haze of dust that was visible for a while over the squat towers of the main gate.

Then, after several days, as the men of the cohort took shelter from the midday sun, Cato was sitting at the window, hands propping up his chin as he stared towards the distant foothills that marked the entrance to the wadi leading down to Heshaba.

'Centurion…' A voice called out softly.

Cato started, turned back to Macro. 'Did you hear that?' But his friend was sound asleep on his bed.