The Legion

'But you're not going to actually give us what we need to do the job, are you, sir?' said Macro.

'No. I can't. I told you, our forces are stretched thinly as it is. I can't afford to send them on some damned wild goose chase.'

'It wouldn't be a wild goose chase if we had more men and more ships,' Macro persisted. 'We could cover the ground more quickly, and be there in overwhelming strength when we eventually find Ajax.'

'If you find him.'

'We'll find him,' Cato said firmly. 'You have my word on it.'

'What if he quits the delta?' Petronius asked. 'What if he sails north, or west? What then? You'll be wasting time chasing shadows.'

'He won't leave the area. Why should he? He's doing a great job of stirring up local feeling against Rome. He'll stay here as long as he thinks he is undermining our interests in Egypt. Give us the fleet and we can find him and trap him in short order.'

'Give you the fleet?' Petronius smiled mockingly. 'I'm already having to use the marines to supplement the city watch. Besides, every available man is needed to counter the Nubians.'

'I need the fleet,' Cato insisted.

Petronius breathed in sharply and briefly considered the demand. 'I'll give you six more ships. But only for one month. That's as long as I can spare them.'

Cato considered the offer. Eight ships in all should be enough to deal with Ajax and his men, but the limited time was a problem. 'One month might not be enough.'

'That's all you have. After that I want you and your men to join the command of the legate of the Twenty-Second at Diospolis Magna. I suggest you get moving, Prefect.'

CHAPTER SIX

'It's like hunting for a grain of sand in a sack of salt,' Macro complained as he followed Cato and Hamedes along the strip of shingle towards a handful of beached fishing boats. 'Bloody Ajax is all but invisible.'

'We will find him,' Cato replied evenly. 'Whatever it takes.'

'It's not whatever that matters, but whenever. The month is almost up, Cato. If we don't find him in the next five days we will have to give up the search.'

'I am well aware of that, Centurion.'

Macro pressed his lips together in a thin line. The failure to find Ajax had tested his friend sorely, and Cato had recently developed a strategy of referring to Macro's rank when he grew weary of discussion or did not want to be contradicted. So they continued in silence walking steadily down the beach towards the fishermen, who were absorbed in the task of plucking the writhing silver fish from their nets and tossing them into baskets. Hamedes went first, ready to speak to the natives in their own tongue and reassure them that the three of them posed no threat. The priest had willingly volunteered to join the hunt when Cato had asked him to act as their guide and translator. The temple at Keirkut had been his life. Recruited to the priesthood when barely a child, it was the only family he had ever known and the desire for revenge burned in his veins.

Cato and Macro wore only their tunics and belts, with the dagger scabbards tucked out of sight behind their backs. Hamedes wore the simple flowing robe of the fellahin. The fishing boats had been sighted by one of the skiffs that Cato had sent in to patrol the Mendesian mouth of the Nile. The rest of the flotilla lay in a shallow cove by the sea. Cato and the others had landed out of sight of the fishermen and removed their armour before approaching them.

Due to the predations of Ajax, it had been difficult to gather any intelligence from the smaller Egyptian settlements along the coast. At the first sight of a Roman sail, or men in Roman uniform, the villagers had simply fled. The only news that Cato had gleaned from the locals had come from chance interceptions of the few vessels that had dared to put to sea, and the handful of times when they had been able to approach people without causing them to run and hide, as now.

'They've seen us,' Macro muttered as one of the fishermen looked up when they had closed to within a hundred paces. At once the man called out to his friends and they dropped their nets and snatched up their clubs and gutting knives. They were torn between abandoning their catch and running, or staying to confront the three men approaching them. There were twelve of them, Macro counted, odds of four to one, if there was any trouble. The fishermen were thin and sinewy and were not professional fighters. Even so, the overwhelming advantage in numbers lent them sufficient courage to stand their ground as they warily watched the three men making their way towards them.

'Tell them we mean no harm,' Cato said to Hamedes. 'We want to buy their catch, and talk.'

Hamedes nodded and called out a light-hearted greeting. The nearest of the fishermen replied sharply, holding out his hand, clearly commanding them to stop. There followed a brief exchange before Hamedes spoke softly to Cato. 'I've told them who we are. The one speaking for them is the headman of their village. He asks if we are alone. I said we are.'

Cato nodded uneasily and hoped that the marines he had left back at the skiff did as they were told and kept out of sight. 'Ask him if he has seen any other Romans recently.'

There was a lengthy exchange in which the headman jabbed his hand downriver. A moment later the priest turned back to Cato. 'A warship entered the mouth of the river several days ago. It stayed for the night and left the next morning.'

'Which direction did it take?'

'West.'

'Towards us?' Macro frowned. 'We never saw it.'

'It must have slipped past us in the dark,' said Cato. 'Or they sighted us first and turned back, or went and hid along the coast. Assuming it was Ajax, that is.' He reflected briefly. 'It has to be him. We're supposed to be the only naval forces operating along the delta.'

Cato gestured towards the fishing boats, small craft made from bundles of reeds, tied together with ropes. 'Ask him if we can buy some of their catch.'

Hamedes translated and the other man cautiously beckoned them closer. Cato kept his hands out, where they could be seen clearly, and walked towards them. The dark eyes of the fishermen watched him closely and they drew back into a loose semi-circle as Cato and his companions approached the baskets. Scores of fish flipped about inside, and others opened and closed their bony mouths, as if gasping. More fish struggled in the nets. Cato gestured to them.

'Tell him we didn't intend to interrupt their work. They can continue, while we talk.'

With suspicious glances at their visitors, the fishermen went back to expertly plucking the catch from the folds of their nets while the headman conversed with Hamedes.

'He asks how much we wish to buy.'

'One basket will do.' Cato took the purse off his belt and took out some of the silver coins that Petronius had issued to the flotilla to pay for supplies. 'Here, ten obols.'

The headman's eyes momentarily lit up and then his face formed a dismissive expression.

'He says twenty. He has many mouths to feed in his village. If he sells his catch, some will go hungry tonight.'

'Bloody haggling,' Macro growled.

'Twelve,' Cato responded to Hamedes. 'It's a fair price. Tell him.'

The headman shook his head.

'Fifteen. He says he's robbing himself. But he can see that you are a good man, so he makes this price just for you.'

'Fifteen obols,' Macro puffed irritably. 'Does he think we're complete fools?'

'Shhh,' Cato hissed. 'Fifteen it is.'

He counted out the coins and handed them over. The headman palmed them quickly and shoved them into a dirty linen haversack on the nearest of the boats.

'Tell him there's another five obols for him if he can tell us if he has heard anything about the location of the men who have been raiding the coast. Ask him if he has any idea where they might be hiding.'

The headman thought for a moment before responding.