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

Cato nudged Macro. 'Look there.'

Macro glanced to the side as they passed the bars of the last cell but one. Inside, sitting against the stone walls, were several Parthians, still wearing the scaled armour that they had fought in outside Fort Bushir. The eyes of the Parthians followed the new arrivals as they passed by and were ushered into the next cell. The leader of the guards closed the barred door and slid the bolts into place, and then marched off with his men, leaving the two Romans to themselves.

Macro went over to the window and stepped up on to the bench below it so that he could see through the bars. Outside, people passed by, not bothering to cast a glance at the face of the prisoner staring at them from the dim recess at the base of the palace.

'Not the best of results,' he said grimly.

'Symeon will sort the situation out. He'll have us released as soon as possible.'

'You seem to place great confidence in that man.'

Cato had slumped down against the wall and felt the urge to sleep closing in on him like a shroud. His eyes felt heavy and he closed them for a moment.Yet he was piqued by Macro's comment.'Confidence? Yes, I suppose so. He seems to know what he's doing. And it's thanks to him that Bannus was defeated at Bushir, remember?'

'Fair point,' Macro replied flatly, continuing to stare out between the bars.'I just hope he can get us out of this shithole.'

'Colourful,' Cato muttered, and then finally succumbed to his exhaustion as his chin dropped on to his breast and he fell asleep.

A hand grasped his shoulder and shook him roughly. Cato stirred. 'Leave me alone,' he mumbled. 'Go away, Macro.'

The hand shook him again, more forcefully this time, and Cato raised his head, opened his eyes and made to protest again. Only it wasn't Macro. Murad grinned at him and said something in his own tongue while he waved a finger mockingly at the young Roman officer. Macro was standing behind him.

'What's going on?' Cato asked.

'Seems that Symeon has sent us a few necessaries.' Macro gestured to the floor of the cell and Cato saw a bundle of clothes and a small basket of bread and meat. Murad smiled, pointed to the food and then to his mouth.

'Good! Eat. Eat.'

Cato nodded. 'I get the point, thanks.'

He rose up stiffly and rubbed his lower back and buttocks, still aching from two days in the saddle. Outside in the street it was dark and the cell was illuminated by three flames of an oil lamp on the ground beside the door. Macro squatted down and tore off a hunk of bread and popped it into his mouth. As he chewed he gestured towards a wax tablet resting on top of the bundle of clothes. 'He sent us a message as well.'

'What does it say?'

Macro started to explain, but he had too much bread in his mouth to talk properly and he began to chew furiously for a moment before he gave up and tossed the tablet over to Cato. 'See for yourself,' he managed to say.

Cato picked it up and began to read. Symeon had been to see the royal chamberlain to explain the situation and request that the Romans be released.The trouble was that Bannus had beaten him to it, and had already informed the chamberlain that these were Roman spies sent to investigate Petra's defences. Symeon had protested their innocence on this charge. Accordingly, the chamberlain had decided to see all parties first thing in the morning. Symeon had sent them a change of clothes and some of the local scented oil, and had paid the palace guards to bring them some water for washing so that they might present themselves in a decent state to the chamberlain. He concluded by saying that he was still trying to discover where Bannus was staying, that Yusef was safe and the casket was still in Bannus' possession.

Cato lowered the tablet and glanced down at himself. His skin was still streaked with dark smudges of the ash he had blackened himself with for the attack on the enemy camp.The sweat he had shed over the course of two days' riding under the glare of the sun had caused dust to stick to his skin and work its way into every pore and crease. Glancing up at Macro he could see that his friend looked equally dishevelled. Murad pointed towards a tub in the corner of the cell and mimed washing his face.

Cato nodded and bent down to untie his bootlaces. 'What hour is it?'

'No idea,' Macro admitted. 'I fell asleep a short time after you. Only woke up when they let Murad into the cell.'

Once his boots were off, Cato reached for the hem of his tunic. Murad muttered something and quickly backed away and knocked on the door. A moment later the bolt slid back and a guard pulled it open. Murad turned and waved to them both and was gone. The guard shut and bolted the door behind him.

Macro chuckled. 'Seems that they're not too keen on exposing bare flesh around here. I noticed that in the street. No idea how they can bear so much clothing in this heat.'

Cato continued to strip. When he was naked he reached into the tub and discovered that there was a brush resting in the bottom. After he had scrubbed his skin down and dabbed himself dry he examined the clothes that Murad had brought them. There was a light linen tunic for each of them, as well as a flowing robe of some fine material he had never encountered before, and two pairs of lightweight sandals.

'Nice,' he muttered and began to dress.

Macro took his turn at the tub, and then looked at the clothes suspiciously. 'I'd rather wear my army tunic.'

'It's filthy, it's torn and it stinks of horse-sweat.'

'So?'

'So it's hardly going to impress this royal chamberlain that Symeon mentioned. Besides,' Cato raised his arms so that the folds of the fine material hung from his thin frame, 'these clothes feel very comfortable. Very comfortable indeed.You'll see.'

'Huh!' Macro snorted. 'You look like a high class whore.'

'Really?' Cato smiled mischievously. 'Then just wait until I try on that scented oil.'

Shortly after the sun had appeared above the hills that surrounded the city, the guards came for Macro and Cato. Macro had made a poor show of wearing the clean garments provided for him and the robe hung untidily from his broad shoulders, folds of it overflowing the army belt that he wore loosely about his waist. Earlier, he had refused point blank to wear one drop of the scented oil from the ornate vial that Murad had placed carefully beside the clothes.

'I will not stink like some two-sestertian tart!' he fumed.

Cato tried to reason with him. 'When in Rome-'

'That's precisely the fucking point! We're not in Rome. If we were then I wouldn't have to take part in this fancy dress nonsense.'

'Macro, there's a lot riding on this. Not least the question of our getting out of this cell. We can't do anything from here. We have to make a good impression on the local powers. So please, arrange those clothes properly at least. And, if you're not going to wear the oil, you'd better make sure you stand downwind of the chamberlain.'

'Ha bloody ha,' Macro grumbled, but he began to pluck the folds of the unfamiliar garb into place.When it came to the sandals, Macro was surprised to discover how comfortable they felt after the sturdy army boots he had grown so accustomed to. Not, of course, that he would admit as much to Cato.

'All right then. I'm ready. Let's go.'

They were taken up the tunnel from the cells. As they passed the Parthians, still held in the next cell, Macro winked at them. 'Enjoy the hospitality, lads.'

'What's the point?' asked Cato.'They can't understand you.'

'I'm out here in clean clothes, while they're stuck in a nasty dark cell.What's not to understand?' Macro grinned.

The chamberlain saw them in the court he held adjacent to that of the King. It was a grand hall, lined with columns that soared up to a ceiling covered with geometric patterns picked out in gold. A low dais with an ornate chair and side table stood at the end of the room and light flooded in through shuttered windows high up on the walls. In one corner a caged bird was singing a beautiful but mournful song over and over again. A guard indicated that they were to stand in front of the dais and then turned away and left them, closing the doors behind him.