The Legion - Scarrow Simon (электронная книга .txt) 📗

Hamedes hesitated before he nodded. 'One of the supply clerks showed me, sir.'

'Very well. Fall in with the officers, where I can keep an eye on you.'

'Yes, sir.' Hamedes smiled, then thought better of it, and turned and strode off, taking up position a respectful distance behind the rest of the officers.

Cato nodded at him. 'For a priest he has a pleasing disposition towards soldiering.'

'That he does,' Macro agreed. 'And he'll be tested to the full in the days to come.'

The last of the legionaries came trotting across to join their centuries and when they were in place Macro hefted his yoke on to his shoulder and strode down the column. He breathed in deeply and began to address the column.

'Today's jaunt will take us eight miles down the Nile and back. Nothing that should present a challenge to real soldiers. I am delighted to see my brother officers joining us today.'

A few men laughed in the ranks and there was a brief catcall before one of the optios standing beside the column turned to try and spot the perpetrator. Failing, he roared out, 'Keep your fucking mouths shut, or I'll 'ave you on a charge.'

Macro waited until there was complete silence again. 'Officers and men of the legions are all expected to complete route marches. It is a minimum standard and applies to all, regardless of rank. There is no excuse for any man here failing to finish the march.' He paused and then strode back to the front of the column, a short distance ahead of Cato and the other officers. 'Column! Prepare to march… March!'

Macro paced forward, followed by the rest, four ranks abreast. He led them across the training ground and down the rough track that joined the Nile road. Even this early in the morning the farmers and merchants who were making their way into Diospolis Magna to sell their wares were on the road and they hurriedly pulled aside as the legionaries turned right and began to head north, along the road that followed the course of the Nile.

A few boats were already out, the skiffs of fishermen rowing across the current to inspect their nets, and the larger broad-beamed vessels that carried goods up and down the great river. On the far bank was a thin strip of green vegetation and then the rocky mass of the lifeless mountains rising above the desert.

An hour after the column had set off, the sun had risen over the horizon and the pale yellow disc hung in the haze like an eye surveying the ribbon of water and crops that threaded its way across the great desert of northern Africa. Cato had settled into an easy rhythm; and an early ache that had started at the bottom of his back had faded away and he was starting to feel confident about completing the march. Sweat pricked out from his scalp, saturating his felt helmet liner, and every so often a trickle escaped, coursing down his brow, and he blinked it away rather than transferring the javelin to his shield hand so that he could mop his brow.

Glancing round he saw that some of the officers were already struggling to keep up with the pace. The nearest, a centurion from the First Cohort, was puffing out his full cheeks as he laboured under his kit. One of Macro's training optios fell into step beside him.

'Come on, sir. Put some bloody effort in! I've seen old men march better than that.'

The centurion clamped his lips together and struggled on. Cato turned back, feeling slightly guilty over his plan to break men like that centurion. However, if the man made it through the day then there was obviously more to him than met the eye – though given his girth, Cato thought wryly, that would be something of a challenge. Up ahead, Macro led the way, striding steadily down the road without the slightest sign of tiring.

The heat from the rising sun began to burn the haze and light mist away from the banks of the Nile and the marching men were exposed to its direct rays. The temperature began to rise swiftly and added to the discomfort of the dust kicked up by the passage of thousands of iron-nailed army boots. Every so often the road passed through small villages and little gangs of children would work their way along the column, begging for money in their chirping voices, hurriedly moving on from those soldiers who spat curses or swung a boot at them. Cato just ignored them, concentrating on placing one boot in front of the other as he followed in Macro's tracks. As the sun rose higher, the heat became intense, searing the landscape in its harsh glare. Cato felt the sweat on his back soak through his tunic and plaster it to his skin. Occasionally a cold trickle dribbled down from his armpits and traced its way over his ribs until it caught in a fold of his tunic. His mouth was dry and it was hard to resist the impulse to call ahead to Macro and suggest that he permit the men a short rest to take some water.

After the second hour there was a groan and a clatter and Cato looked back to see that one of the officers had collapsed on the road. A companion stopped and leaned down to help his friend, before an optio pounced, cracking his staff down on the officer's shield.

'What the fuck are you doing? Don't stop, sir! Keep moving!'

'You can't leave him there,' the centurion protested.

'Move!' the optio bellowed into his face, and raised his staff.

The centurion hurriedly straightened up and moved on. The optio remained by the fallen officer and gestured for the legionaries to march round the fallen man. 'Keep moving! Don't stop and gawp! What, you've never seen an officer fall on his face before? Move!'

The column rippled round the prone man and continued its advance without breaking its step. Macro had slowed so that he was just ahead of Cato and muttered with satisfaction. 'There goes the first one. Won't be long before we lose others. Wonder how many more will fall out.'

Cato licked his lips. 'Just as long as I don't.'

'Don't worry. Like I said, I won't let you.'

'Thanks, friend.'

'No need to get sarky, sir. This was your idea, remember?'

'Next time I have a good idea, tell me to mind my own business, eh?'

Macro smiled, but growled, 'Shut up and save your breath.'

Late in the morning, the column passed through a long grove of tall date palms and Macro called a halt and ordered the men to down packs. Cato stepped to the side of the road and let the yoke drop into the grass. He leaned forward, hands resting on his knees, and panted for breath. Macro, sweating and breathing heavily but otherwise himself, shook his head pityingly. 'You're going soft. That's what promotion does to a man.'

'Bollocks.' Cato reached for his canteen, pulled out the stopper and raised it to his lips.

'Two mouthfuls.' Macro pointed a finger at him as he strode past to have a word with his instructors. 'Not a drop more.'

Cato nodded, and drank what he was allowed, letting the second mouthful swill round his parched mouth before he swallowed. He looked back along the column. Scores of men lay stretched on their backs, gasping. Amongst the officers he noticed a few absences, the faces of men he had hoped would fail to complete the march. The rest looked grim and determined.

As Macro returned to the front of the column, he stopped beside Cato and took a sip from his canteen. 'Four officers and eighteen of the men have dropped out so far. Not at all bad considering the heat. But then these men are used to it. Eight miles done, I make it. Time for a short rest and then we'll turn back towards the camp.' Macro was silent for a moment before he raised a hand to shield his eyes and squinted briefly up at the sun before he took his second sip and capped his canteen. 'That will be the real test of the men. The heat in the afternoon will be crushing. Can't say I'm relishing the prospect. How are you holding up, sir?'

'I'm managing.' In truth Cato's feet were throbbing with pain from the prolonged march on a hard surface and he felt slightly dizzy from his exertions and the heat. But he forced himself to stand upright and look Macro squarely in the eye.