Centurion

Cato's eye was drawn to a man just ahead of him, swaying slightly as he stood in line. He quickened his step and drew up suddenly in front of the auxiliary.

'Name?'

The auxiliary, an older man whom Cato recognised as one of the new recruits Macro had brought in, stiffened and tried to stand as erect and still as he could, but the raw reek of cheap wine gave him away.

'Publius Galenus, sir.'

'Well, Galenus, it appears that you are not quite sober.'

'No, sir.'

'You are aware that being drunk on duty is an offence.'

'Yes, sir.'

'In which case, you're pulling extra fatigues for a week and will be docked ten days' pay.'

'That ain't fair, sir,' Galenus grumbled. 'I wasn't on duty an hour ago. None of us were. We was all looking forward to a night on the town and I decided to get some drink in early – you know what crooks them local wine merchants are – then we get the call to arms, and, well…' he glanced at Cato, 'here we are, sir.'

'Indeed.'

For a moment Cato was about to cancel the man's punishment. Galenus had a point. He could hardly be blamed for the vagaries of military timing. But then, Cato had already spoken and to change his mind would be an admission of indecision. He wondered briefly what Macro would do and the answer was clear.

'Parmenion. Mark this man down for fatigues and the fine. Drunk on duty is the offence, whatever the circumstances.'

Galenus frowned blearily. 'But that ain't fair, sir.'

Cato continued to address Centurion Parmenion. 'Add ten nights on double watch for insubordination.'

Galenus' jaw dropped open, then some reserve of self-control came to the rescue and he clamped it shut as Parmenion made notes on his wax tablet with swift strokes of his stylus. Cato strode on. He completed the inspection and was satisfied that every man was carrying only the necessary equipment and supplies, according to their orders. Then he mounted the horse that was being held for him by an orderly and trotted it up to the head of the column.

'Second Illyrian!' he called out, and paused for an instant to relish the fact that he was now Prefect Cato, about to lead his men to war. 'Advance!'

The auxiliary cohort tramped out of the camp gates and marched towards the road leading to Palmyra. It was not yet noon but the sun beat down on the parched earth without mercy and the familiar clinging dust was scraped up by the nailed boots of the soldiers and the hooves of the horses and hung in the air like a faint mist.

As they turned the corner of the fortress Cato saw that Macro's cohort was already formed up on the track, waiting. As the Second Illyrian marched up to join the end of the column Macro rode towards Cato and raised a hand in greeting.

'What kept you?'

Cato raised his eyebrows and replied good-humouredly. 'We came as fast as we could, sir.'

Macro frowned at his tone, and Cato realised that his friend was once again the consummate professional at the prospect of action.

'I'm sorry, sir. We won't delay you again.'

'Make sure you don't.' Macro turned and nodded down the track stretching out ahead of them. 'We're going to have the hardest of marches, and then a fight at the end of it, Cato. Make no mistake about it, this is going to be the toughest campaign we've ever known.'

08 Centurion

CHAPTER SEVEN

Macro led his two cohorts at an unflagging pace into the parched hills east of Antioch. By day the sun blazed down mercilessly on the small column, and at night the temperature dropped sharply so that the men shivered as they gathered round their campfires and chewed on dried meat and hard bread. The first evening the men grumbled bitterly about having to sleep in the open and then after an uncomfortable night they were back on the road while the stars still glittered in the velvet darkness. For the first two days he permitted them only the briefest of rests at midday and by the time the column stopped, when there was no longer light to see the way ahead the men were too tired to complain about the lack of tents.They simply stumbled into rough sleeping lines, dropped their kit and curled up on the ground, falling asleep almost at once. There they lay, until stirred to take their turn on watch duty.

The orders from Longinus were explicit on the need for speed. Macro was to march for as many hours as he could, and was not to construct a marching camp at the end of each day. As a soldier who had many years of campaign experience Macro was wretchedly disturbed by the need to sacrifice security for celerity. In order to compensate for the lack of a ditch and rampart he doubled the watches every night and posted cavalry vedettes for good measure. The burden of extra watch-keeping duties compounded the exhaustion of the day's march and by the third day a small number of men had begun to straggle, and did not catch up with the main body until late in the evening.

'This can only get worse,' Cato muttered as he watched the dark figures of the last men to arrive fumble through the dark lines stretching out across the rock-strewn ground, searching for their units.'In a day or two they will no longer be able to catch up with us. They'll be strung out along the route. Easy pickings for any bandits, or the enemy.'

'Can't be helped,' Macro replied, and then yawned as he eased himself back against his saddle bag and arranged his heavy military cloak across his body. 'There's bound to be a few slackers in any cohort. A few days of marching always finds them out.'

'Slackers?' Cato shook his head. 'I saw some good men fall out of the column this afternoon. If we keep this pace up then those who actually make it as far as Palmyra will be in no shape to fight.'

'Oh, they'll fight,' Macro replied confidently. 'Or they'll die.'

'I wish I shared your optimism.'

Macro turned towards Cato and in the faint loom of the stars Cato could see his friend's amused expression.

'What? What's so bloody fu

'Who said I was an optimist? I'm just telling you how it is. How it has always been for a soldier on campaign. You think we had it hard in Britain? That was a walk in the forum compared to the desert.This land is as much a danger to us as the enemy. Once we reach Chalcis we'll have over a hundred miles to go before we arrive at Palmyra.' Macro rolled on to his back and tucked an arm beneath his head. 'This is the easy part, Cato.You wait until we reach the open desert.Then you, and the men, will really have something to complain about. Almost no chance of finding any water on the way, according to the governor's instructions. The men will have to carry enough water to last five, maybe six, days when we leave Chalcis. I have no idea what condition they'll be in when we reach Palmyra. But I do know that they will have the fight of their lives.'

'Then it might be advisable to give them some opportunity to rest before they fight,' Cato persisted. 'These double watches are not helping things.We're still a long way from Palmyra.'

'Cato, you saw how easily that Parthian prince and his men slipped through our outposts and turned up on the governor's doorstep.' Macro jerked a thumb towards the horizon. 'Who's to say they're not out there watching us right now? Waiting for the chance to attack. I'll not take that risk. In fact,' he reflected, 'we'd better not have any more campfires from now on. Just in case the enemy are out there. I'd sooner the men were cold and tired than dead. Besides-' He broke off and yawned. 'We've got more immediate difficulties.'

'Oh?'

'Yes. The officers and lads of my cohort are not best pleased to have me appointed as their new commander. As if the execution of Crispus wasn't bad enough, they've had the former commander of Crispus' victim foisted on them. Bit of a slap in the face. Makes you wonder if the governor wanted to cause us even more trouble on the road to Palmyra.'