The Eagle In the Sand

'What the hell are you doing here?' Macro asked in surprise.

Symeon looked past Macro towards the door with an alarmed expression, and pressed a finger to his lips.'Speak softly, Centurion.'

'Sorry,' Macro whispered. He clasped the guide's arm. 'Good to see you! A welcome change from the ugly mugs who bring our food. What's going on?'

'I tried to speak to you when I brought the procurator's message back to the fort, but the prefect sent me out the next day to visit the local villages, to try to get news of Ba

'Well?' Cato raised his eyebrows. 'What's the mood in the villages?'

'Not good. I travelled on foot, claiming I was on my way back from the festival in Jerusalem, but they were still suspicious of me.The ones who did talk were reluctant to tell me too much, but it seems that Ba

Cato nodded bleakly.Then it was as he had feared and time was ru

'Centurion Florianus sent me. He told me to watch out for you. Make sure you were safe.'

'Safe?' Macro chuckled and gestured round the room. 'We're as safe as it gets cooped up in here. No chance of us coming to any grief. Unless this revolt actually happens. Then we're all for the chop, of course. Symeon, excuse us a moment.' He turned to Cato and continued in Latin. 'It's time we brought that scroll into play.'

Cato's hand instinctively went to the leather thong round his neck, as Symeon watched them curiously. 'I'm not sure. Once we use it then our true role out here is exposed. Longinus will know the score, and rush to hide his tracks.'

'If he is plotting something,' Macro reminded him. 'Look here, Cato. If he is plotting against the Emperor, then what's the worst that can happen? He plays clean and drops any plots he might be hatching against Claudius. He spends the rest of his days looking over his shoulder and acting the model citizen. The longer we wait to use that document, the less chance we have of keeping a lid on all the trouble that is brewing around here. We need to take command of the Second Illyrian now.We have to find Ba

Cato looked at his friend for a moment while he weighed up Macro's argument. It made sense, even if they failed to carry out Narcissus' original design to expose a conspiracy at the heart of the eastern empire. He nodded. 'All right then. How should we proceed? We can't just show Scrofa the scroll and tell him to move over.'

'Why not?'

'Supposing he decides to ignore it. Hush it up by having us thrown into a cell, and destroying the document?'

'Then we have to make sure there are witnesses at the time.'

'How? If we're in here, or in his office, he will have us on our own.'

'True.' Macro frowned, then clicked his fingers. 'All right, so we tell the other officers to join us for the meeting.'

'How?' Cato waved towards the door. 'We're being guarded.'

Macro nodded towards Symeon.'He can do it. He can get a message to the others. The ones that Scrofa hasn't bought out. Starting with Parmenion.'

'It might work,' Cato conceded. 'But how would Parmenion know when to act?'

'Symeon can keep watch. We tell the guards that we want to speak with Scrofa. The moment we are escorted from here, or Scrofa leaves his quarters and heads this way, Symeon fetches Parmenion and the others to join us. As soon as the witnesses turn up we produce the imperial authority and kick Scrofa out on his arse.'

'Very well.' Cato stroked his chin. 'But once you have control of the cohort, what happens next?'

'We have to deal with Ba

'Then we're going to need more men.'

'Maybe. We can ask Longinus for reinforcements.'

'Why should he give us any help?'

Macro smiled. 'Trust me. He'll be more than willing. If Longinus knows that Narcissus is watching him closely he'll need to prove his loyalty to the Emperor any way he can.'

'True. But what we need are light troops, cavalry, that sort of thing. Not heavy infantry. Longinus should be able to spare some auxiliary forces. In any case, I think we might be able to call on help from other quarters.' Cato turned back to Symeon, who had been sitting impatiently, watching the two centurions talking in their tongue. Cato switched back to Greek. 'Symeon, you told us you that you have family in Nabataea? At Petra?'

'That's right.'

'And they run mercenary caravan escorts down into Arabia?'

Symeon nodded.

'Is there any chance that we might persuade them to help us against Ba

Symeon sucked at his teeth.'Difficult to say.Thanks to Prefect Scrofa the Second Illyrian has earned itself quite a lot of bad feeling down in Petra. I'd imagine there're plenty of merchants down there who'd be quite happy to see the garrison at Bushir destroyed.'

'Then we have to win back their friendship.'

'Easier said than done.' Symeon smiled. 'Words will not be enough, Centurion. They will need to be persuaded by deeds.'

'Ah!' Macro rubbed his hands together. 'Then they can have their deeds. I've had an idea about those caravans, and how we can persuade the desert raiders to give them a wide berth from now on.'

Cato and Symeon turned to him expectantly.

'Not so fast.' Macro gri

Postumus rapped on the door and from inside the prefect called out, 'Enter!'

The latch lifted and the door swung open to admit Postumus, and behind him Centurions Macro and Cato. The three men approached the prefect's desk and Postumus halted some distance before it, the others following his lead. Postumus patted his sword meaningfully as he met his superior's gaze.

'Macro and Cato, as requested, sir.'

'Thank you, Postumus.'

'There are four men just outside the door, sir.'

'I'm confident they will not be needed, but, er, there's no need to send them away now they're here. Very well then, gentlemen.' Scrofa drew himself up in his chair. 'What is the meaning of this? What is this information that is so important for me to hear?'

Macro glanced at Cato and the latter gave the slightest nod towards the window that overlooked the courtyard. But outside the fort continued to bask quietly in the heat. Macro coughed to clear his throat. 'We need to talk about the situation.'

'What situation?'

'The, uh, situation pertaining to the command of this cohort.' Macro spoke with slow deliberation, as if weighing each word that he uttered as he played for time. 'That is to say, the correct protocol for the, uh, transmission of authority from the present command to the assumption of command by, er, me. As it were… sir.'

'Get to the point, Centurion,' Scrofa snapped irritably, and jabbed his finger towards Macro. 'You'd better not be wasting my time. So spit it out. Tell me what's so bloody important that I must interrupt my afternoon rest to hear it, or I'll send you back to your quarters at once.'