The Eagle In the Sand

'The missing centurion and his guide, I presume?'

'Centurion Quintus Licinius Cato, sir.' Cato bowed his head.

'I'm glad that our little expedition managed to find you before Ba

Cato smiled faintly. 'They were here not long ago, sir. Macro's men drove them out.'

Scrofa stared back frostily. 'They are not Centurion Macro's men. They are my men until he can provide proper proof that he has been sent to replace me. My men, do you understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good.' Scrofa nodded.Then his eyes swept round the village, before fixing on Miriam who was watching them from the bench under her sun shelter. 'You say that the enemy was in the village when Centurion Macro arrived?'

'That's right, sir.'

'So what were they doing here, exactly?'

'Having their wounded seen to,' Cato replied uneasily.

'So the villagers were helping them?'

'No. They forced the villagers to help. They threatened them.'

'We'll see about that.' Scrofa gestured towards Miriam. 'Bring that one over here.'

Miriam had overheard the exchange. She rose to her feet and strode towards the two Roman officers, staring defiantly at the prefect. 'What do you want of me, Roman?'

Scrofa was momentarily taken aback by her forceful ma

'Yes, but as your centurion said, I had no choice.'

'There is always a choice,' Scrofa replied haughtily. 'Whatever the consequences. You could have resisted them. Indeed, it was your duty to resist them.'

'Resist them with what?' Miriam swept her arm out, indicating the surrounding houses. 'We have no weapons – they are not permitted here. My people believe only in peace. We will not take sides in your conflict with Ba

Scrofa gave a derisive snort. 'Won't take sides! How dare you, woman? Ba

Now Miriam laughed and shook her head. 'No. We are not for him. Just as we are not for Rome.'

'Then what are you for?' Scrofa sneered.

'One faith, for all the people, under one true God.'

As Cato watched the confrontation he saw the contempt in Scrofa's expression, and could understand it. Like most Romans Scrofa believed in many gods, and accepted that the peoples of the world were entitled to worship their own.The Judaean insistence that there was only one god, their god, and that all others were merely worthless idols, seemed like simple arrogance to Scrofa. Besides, if the god of these people reigned supreme, then how was it that they were a province of Rome, and not the other way round?

A deep groan broke the tension and they all turned towards the brigand who was stirring on the ground beside the entrance to Miriam's house. His eyes flickered open and he started at the sight of the Roman officers and auxiliaries standing about him. He sat up quickly and shuffled back against the wall as Macro took a pace towards him and gestured at him with his sword. 'What do you want done with this one?'

Scrofa regarded the man for a moment, then folded his arms. 'Crucify him. Here in the centre of the village.'

'What?' Cato could not believe his ears. 'He's a prisoner. He must be interrogated – he might have useful knowledge.'

'Crucify him,' Scrofa repeated. 'And then burn this woman's house.'

'No!' Cato stepped up to the prefect. 'She saved our lives. And risked her own to do it. You can't destroy her home.'

Scrofa's brow furrowed and he took a sharp intake of breath before he continued in a low, furious voice. 'The woman admits to helping the enemy, and she denies the authority of the Emperor. That I will not tolerate. These people must be taught a lesson. Either they are with us, or they are against us.' Scrofa turned back towards Miriam. 'She just might consider that while she watches her house burn.'

Miriam returned his stare with a thin-lipped look of contempt.

Cato's heart was pounding. He was horrified by the rank injustice of the prefect's decision. It was pointless. Worse than pointless – it was wilfully wrong. If this was how Rome rewarded those who risked all to help her soldiers, then the people of Judaea would never be at peace with the Empire. But there was more to it than that, Cato thought. Such punishment was morally wrong and he could not tolerate it. He shook his head and stood stiffly in front of the prefect while he forced himself to speak as calmly as possible.

'You can't burn her house, sir.'

'Can't I?' Scrofa looked amused. 'We'll soon see about that.'

'You can't do it!' Cato blurted out. 'I won't let you.'

The amused expression faded from Scrofa's eyes.'How dare you challenge my authority, Centurion? I could have you broken to the ranks for that. I could have you condemned. In fact-'

Before he could continue, Macro moved in, took Cato's arm and drew his friend away, towards the sun shelter. 'The lad's had a bad knock on the head, sir. He doesn't know what he's saying. Come on, Cato, sit down in the shade.You need rest.'

'Rest?' Cato glared at him. 'No. I have to stop this folly.'

Macro shook his head. He thrust Cato away from the prefect, whispering, 'Shut your mouth, you fool. Before I have to shut it for you.'

'What?' Cato looked at him in shock as he was propelled towards the shaded bench.

'Just sit still and say nothing.' Cato shook his head, but Macro clamped his hand on his arm and hissed, 'Sit down!'

Cato's head was reeling with confusion. Scrofa was about to perpetrate a monstrous injustice, one that Cato knew he must resist. And yet Macro was siding with Scrofa. He was clearly determined to prevent Cato's making any further protest, and Cato slumped helplessly as he glanced back towards Miriam. She was grim-faced, but there was no hiding the tears that gleamed in the corner of her eyes. After a moment's hesitation, Symeon put his arm round her and led her back inside the house.

'Miriam, let's save what we can. While there's still time.'

She nodded as they disappeared into the shadows.

Dusk was closing in as the column rode out of the village. Riding between Macro and Symeon, Cato took a last glance back over his shoulder. Flames roared and crackled as the fire consumed Miriam's house. She stood some distance away, embracing her grandson. A handful of the villagers stood still and gazed at the inferno.To one side, silhouetted by the flames, the brigand hung from the makeshift frame that the auxiliaries had erected after ripping the timbers out of Miriam's house. A hastily scribbled message on a wooden plaque had been nailed beneath the brigand's feet, warning the villagers not to render the man any comfort, and not to remove his body once he had died. Otherwise, his corpse would be replaced by one of their own.

As he turned away, Cato felt sick with despair and self-loathing. Rome had taken away her son, and now it had destroyed her home. If this was how they treated those who bore so little malice towards them, then there would never be peace in this land.

07 The Eagle In the Sand