The Eagle In the Sand - Scarrow Simon (читать книги онлайн без сокращений txt) 📗

'Who the hell are you?'

'Centurion Macro. Sent from Rome to assume command of the Second Illyrian.You are hereby relieved, Prefect Scrofa. Please send for your senior officers at once, so they can be told of my appointment.'

Scrofa's mouth sagged open. The slave continued fanning without any change in his expression.

'What did you say?'

'You're relieved.' Macro leaned back and popped his head round the door frame. The clerk was heading back to the top of the stairs. 'Hey!'

The clerk turned round and stared at Macro for a moment, then glanced past him towards Scrofa with a questioning expression. 'Sir?

'Centurion Scrofa is no longer in command.' Macro stepped between them and continued, 'I want to see all the centurions and decurions in here straight away.'

'Even the duty officers, sir?'

Macro paused. With Bannus and his men still in the area, that would not be wise. 'No. Not them. I'll meet them later. Now go!'

When he turned back into the office Scrofa had recovered some composure and was sitting back in his chair. He looked at Macro with an angry frown. 'Explain yourself. What in Hades is going on here?'

Macro, conscious of his pressing need to collect a strong force of men and go in search of Cato and Symeon, strode across the room and stood in front of the table.'It's simple.Your appointment was temporary. I have been given orders by the imperial staff to take command of the Second Illyrian. There's no time for any changeover ceremony, Scrofa. I need the mounted contingent ready for action immediately.'

Scrofa shook his head. 'Impossible! Cassius Longinus assured me that he would send to Rome to have my appointment made permanent.'

'Look,' Macro said in a gentler tone, desperate to take command as soon as possible, 'I don't know anything about that. All I know is that I was sent to Bushir with orders to take command.'

The sound of footsteps came from the landing and a moment later Centurion Postumus strode into the room. Scrofa raised an arm and pointed at Macro.'This man says he has been sent from Rome to take command of the cohort.'

Postumus shrugged.'He was with the auxiliary cavalry being pursued to the fort, sir.'

'There is another officer, and a guide, still out there, hiding,' Macro said urgently. 'I must take some men out to find them.'

'I'll deal with that in a moment,' said Scrofa. 'Once we've sorted the situation out.'

'There's nothing to sort out!' Macro shouted, his temper finally snapping. 'I'm in command! You have been replaced. Now stand aside. I'm meeting the cohort's officers in here. Take your slave and return to your quarters.'

'I'll do no such thing! How dare you come in here and treat me like this? Who sent you from Rome?'

'I told you. I'm acting on the orders of the imperial office.'

Centurion Postumus coughed loudly and stepped up to the table to confront Macro. 'Excuse me, sir. If you're acting on orders, might we see them?'

'What?' Macro stared at him.

'Your orders, sir. The confirmation of your appointment. '

'Bloody hell! All right then. I'll get them. They're in my saddlebag…'

Abruptly, Macro's lips froze as his mind flashed back to the morning ride up towards the plateau, the sudden appearance of Bannus and his brigands, and then the dumping of all the baggage as the cavalry squadron desperately prepared to fight its way through to the fort.

Macro's lips moved again. 'Oh, shit.'

07 The Eagle In the Sand

CHAPTER EIGHT

Once again Cato faced the druid, but this time his foe was far taller than Cato, dwarfing him so that he felt like a child.The druid's eyes were jet black and his teeth were needle sharp, as if they had been filed. In his hand he held the scythe, and as Cato's eyes fixed on the glinting edge the druid raised it high. For an instant the blade glittered as it caught the moon's silvery rays. Then it slashed down, slicing towards Cato's throat.

He woke with a cry, and jerked up on to his elbows. His eyes were wide open, darting from side to side as he took in his surroundings. A small, darkened room, unfurnished apart from the bedroll he was lying on. He made to move, but there was a sudden pounding in his skull as if a heavy mallet was rhythmically beating the side of his head. Nausea welled up from the pit of his stomach and he quickly turned on one side and retched.The door opened, and light flowed into the small room.

'Lie down, Roman.' A woman spoke softly in Greek. She crouched beside the bedroll and gently pressed Cato back so that his head was resting on the bolster again. 'You're still suffering from the effects of that blow to your head. It will pass, but you must lie still and rest.'

As his eyes grew used to the light Cato glanced up at the woman. Her face and voice were familiar, and memories flashed into his mind of the ambush, the flight from the brigands and his arrival in a village where he had glimpsed this woman between blackouts.

'Where am I?'

'Safe.' She smiled. 'For the moment.'

'This place. What was it called?'

'Heshaba.You are in my house, Roman.'

Cato remembered another detail. 'Symeon… where is he?'

'He's taken the horses further into the wadi to hide them. He'll be back soon.'

She shuffled round behind the bolster and Cato heard the swill of water. A moment later she placed a damp cloth over his head and squeezed gently so that a dribble of water trickled down over his temples.

'That feels good. Smells good too. What is that? Lemon?'

'I squeezed some into the water. It'll refresh you and ease the sick feeling.'

Cato made his body relax, working the tension out of his muscles until his limbs felt loose, and the pounding in his head subsided. Then he rolled his head to the side to better see the woman.

'I can't remember your name.'

'Miriam.'

'Yes.' He nodded faintly. 'You and Symeon know each other.'

'He's a friend. Not as good a friend as he used to be.'

'Miriam, why are you helping me? I'm a Roman. I thought everyone in Judaea hated us.'

She smiled. 'Most people do. But this community is different. We try not to let our lives be ruled by hate. Now lie still.'

She reached a hand up to his head and he felt her fingers stroke lightly through his hair, until they grazed the point on his skull that seemed to be the centre of the pain. He winced, gritting his teeth.

'It's a bit swollen there. But you seem coherent enough. I don't think the injury is too serious.You should be back on your feet in a few days, Roman.'

Cato waited until the pain had passed before he unclenched his eyelids and looked at her again. Despite her obvious age, Miriam had striking features. Not conventionally beautiful, but she looked wise and had an air of calm authority. He reached his hand up, took hers and gave it a light squeeze.

'Thank you, Miriam. I owe you my life.'

'You owe me nothing. All are welcome here, Roman.'

'My name is Cato.'

'Cato…Well then, Cato, if you want to repay me, please be quiet and rest.'

'Miriam,' a voice called from somewhere else in the house.

She turned to the door and spoke in Aramaic. 'In here.'

A moment later a boy stood on the threshold. He was perhaps thirteen or fourteen, with a shock of dark hair. He wore a tunic of coarse material and was barefoot. He stared at Cato for a moment before he turned his gaze back towards Miriam. 'Is he a soldier? One of the Romans?'

'Yes.'

'Must he stay here?'

'Yes,Yusef. He is injured. He needs our help.'

'But he is an enemy. An enemy of our people.'

'We have no enemies. Remember? That is not our way.'

The boy did not look convinced and Miriam sighed wearily as she stood up and took his hand. 'I know this is not easy for you,Yusef, but we must care for him, until he is well enough to leave. Now be a good boy, and finish the threshing. There's bread to be made for this evening, and I haven't even done the grinding yet.'