The Legion

'Shoot at the officers!' Ajax shouted, stabbing his sword towards them. 'Shoot them down!'

In the frenzied excitement of the attack only those men nearest to him heard the order and had the presence of mind to pick out the two Roman officers. Ajax watched intently as more shafts whirled through the wavering light of the fire arrows still burning where they had landed. Macro picked up his pace, scrambling away as fast as he could, jinking from side to side to put off the archers' aim. An arrow glanced off the prefect's armour and another flew past Macro's helmet as he made a last dash towards a cluster of the screens that had been erected by the auxiliary archers. Macro unceremoniously dumped Cato down in their shelter and stumbled to his knees beside the prefect.

'Shit,' Ajax muttered furiously, clenching his spare fist. He continued to glare at the archers' screens as Macro dragged his friend in to make him as safe as possible from the Arab archers, whose arrows struck the screen or buried their iron heads into the dusty ground instead. Most of the men from the First Century had already reached the safety of the breach, or were also taking shelter behind the screens. As Ajax watched, the Romans continued to withdraw, the prefect protected by several archers holding their screens up as Macro and some of his men carried Cato to safety. As the last of the Romans fell back through the breach, Ajax ground his teeth.

'We should save our arrows, sir,' said Karim.

Ajax cleared his mind of rage and nodded. 'Give the order.'

'Cease shooting!' Karim called out to each side. 'Cease shooting!'

The Arabs stopped loosing their arrows and climbed down from the temple wall, leaving a handful to keep watch on the enemy. The last of the auxiliary archers pulled back to the other side of the breach and shortly afterwards the bolt throwers fell silent. The night air was disturbed only by a gentle breeze and the cries of the wounded, Roman and Arab blended in a chorus of agony. A handful of the fire arrows still burned, as did the braziers on the pylons and walls of the temple, casting a thin orange light across the scene of the Romans' first assault. They had lost over twenty men, Ajax estimated. But more than that, they had suffered a blow to their morale. The next time they came forward, they would know that they faced a storm of arrows and the same determined defence of the barricade. They would have to advance past the bodies of their comrades and ignore the pitiful cries for help from the wounded. The Roman commander would think twice before making a second frontal assault.

'What now?' Karim mused quietly. 'Do you think they'll make another attempt tonight?'

Ajax pondered for a moment. 'I would, if I was in their place. Every hour they are delayed here is an hour gained for Prince Talmis… They'll attack again.'

'Then what should we do, General?'

'Do?' Ajax smiled thinly. 'Nothing. I doubt that even our spy can help us now.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

'How is he?' Macro stood over his friend as the legion's surgeon carefully inspected Cato's shoulder by the light of an oil lamp held by his assistant.

The surgeon sucked in an impatient breath. Without looking up he spoke. 'I might be able to tell you, sir, if you would be kind enough not to stand between the light and my patient.'

Macro stood back a pace.

'Thank you.' The surgeon bent towards Cato and examined the prefect's shoulder. As soon as Macro had withdrawn from the temple compound, he had two of his men carry Cato back as far as the bolt throwers and then sent for the surgeon at once. Cato had struck his head on the ground as the impact of the spear knocked him off his feet. He had blacked out and came round as Macro and Hamedes had carried him away from the curtain wall. He was still dazed, but aware enough of the pain in his shoulder to curse and mumble incoherently. Macro had removed Cato's helmet, harness and scaled armour before the surgeon arrived and now Cato lay on a pile of straw in the corner of a small stable where the air was rich with the aroma of dung. Macro had ordered Hamedes to wait outside rather than crowd the space unnecessarily.

The surgeon eased the tunic off Cato's shoulder and looked closely at the discoloured flesh. 'No open wound. That's good. He was hit by a spear, you say?'

'Yes. Seemed to catch him square on.'

'Hmmm.' The surgeon touched the flesh as lightly as he could and traced his fingers along the collarbone. 'No breaks there. I'll have to probe the shoulder joint. It's going to hurt. I'll need you to hold him down.'

Macro knelt down and firmly grasped Cato's uninjured arm with one hand and pressed his chest back with the other. 'Ready.'

The surgeon leaned forward and gently took hold of Cato's shoulder in both hands. He felt softly for any sign of broken bones or the slackness of torn muscle tissue. Cato's eyes rolled up and he groaned in agony. Satisfied with his superficial examination the surgeon probed more deeply into the shoulder.

'Fuck!' Cato yelled, attempting to sit bolt upright. His eyes were wide open and he glared at the surgeon. 'Bastard!' He head-butted the other man on the cheek.

Macro thrust him back down. 'Easy, lad! He's just tending your injury.'

Cato turned his gaze to Macro with a dazed expression. He nodded and gritted his teeth. 'All right. Go on, then.'

The surgeon rubbed his cheek and then turned his attention back to Cato's shoulder. He pressed his fingers into the discoloured flesh and Macro felt his friend go as tense as a length of timber as he stared straight up, focusing on fighting the agony of his examination. The surgeon thoroughly examined the shoulder and then eased himself back with a satisfied nod.

'Some bad bruising but no broken bones. It'll hurt like hell for some days and you'll need to keep it strapped up, but there should be no lasting effects. I understand you took a blow to the head as well.'

Cato frowned, trying to remember.

'It's common not to recall the incident. How do you feel?'

'Not good.' Cato swallowed and winced. 'Head hurts. Still feel a bit dazed… I can recall the attack. Then a spear in the air. Then nothing.'

'Well, that's fine,' the surgeon concluded with a reassuring pat of Cato's hand. 'At least your brain's not been scrambled.'

Macro shrugged. 'Can't say that I'd notice much difference…'

The surgeon stood up. 'I want you to rest. Until the dizziness has passed. Then you can get back on your feet. The shoulder's going to be painful for several days, and stiff. Better keep it in a sling. Other than that, I'd say you have had a lucky escape, sir. Just try to stay out of the path of spears, javelins and arrows from now on, eh?'

Macro gave him a droll look and then turned his attention back to Cato as the surgeon left the stable. For a moment neither man spoke, then Macro cleared his throat self-consciously. 'I suppose I should thank you.'

'Thank me?'

Macro frowned. 'Of course. You saved me from that spear.'

'I did?'

'You don't remember it then?'

Cato closed his eyes briefly and then shook his head.

'All right,' said Macro eagerly. 'Forget about it. I'd better go. The legate will want to know what to do next. You stay here and rest, eh?'

He turned and strode across to the entrance to the stable.

'Macro…' Cato called weakly.

The centurion turned and looked back.

'Whatever I did, you'd have done the same for me,' Cato said. 'If you'd been standing in my place.'

'True, but I wouldn't have ended up here.' Macro chuckled. 'I'm not lanky like you. If I'd pushed you aside, the bloody spear would have missed me by a mile. Now do as the surgeon said and get some rest.' He left the stable and gestured to Hamedes to follow him.

The legate was sitting on a crude table outside the ruins of a peasant's hut when Macro found him. His staff officers and the centurions from Macro's cohort and the auxiliaries were gathered about him in the loom cast by an oil lamp, waiting. Another of the legion's surgeons had just finished suturing a small gash on the legate's forearm and began to apply a dressing as Aurelius addressed Macro over the surgeon's shoulder.