The Zealot Page 10

  ‘Easy there, sunshine.’ Macro backed away. The rest of the auxiliaries were only a short distance behind – the sound of their hooves echoed up the street. The brigand glanced over his shoulder and then turned back to Macro. His grin had vanished and now he scrambled forward with a cold glint in his eyes. Macro felt his back thud up against a wall and turned his head and saw that he would be trapped in a corner if he went to his left. Tensing his legs, he sprang to the right and ran for the edge of the building, just as the brigand thrust the sword. It struck the wall in an explosion of loose plaster, then with a cry of frustration the man ran after Macro. Macro sprinted past a door, which swung open an instant later, straight into the face of the brigand. Cato emerged into the street blinking and jumped as the door rebounded towards him. Then he turned and saw Macro, and smiled.

  ‘I wondered when—’ Cato’s smile froze as his friend slithered to a stop, reversed direction with a menacing grimace and dived back past the door. The brigand was flat on his back, winded. Macro stamped down on the wrist of his sword arm and the fingers instinctively flinched, releasing the blade.

  ‘I’ll have that back, thank you.’ Macro dipped down to retrieve his sword, then delivered a savage kick to the side of the man’s head, knocking him senseless. There was a confused din of shouts and whinnying and Macro turned to where the street fed into the centre of the village. The horses that had collided were still thrashing around and the cavalry had been forced to stop, piling up into a dense mass just beyond the flailing hooves. Then Macro’s horse rolled over, clambered up and lurched nervously to one side. The auxiliaries squeezed past and Macro waved them on.

  ‘Don’t stop! Get after the bastards! Go! Go!’

  They stumbled by in a rush of horseflesh, kicking boots, and shields as Macro turned back to Cato. Behind them Symeon emerged from the house and watched the riders go past with a relieved grin. He nodded a greeting at Macro.

  ‘Nice timing, Cato.’ Macro nodded to the unconscious brigand, then focused on the pallor of his friend’s face, which was streaked with blood. ‘How’s the head?’

  ‘Sore. I feel a bit sick. But I’ll live. You got here just in time. They’d have surely found us if you’d been a moment longer.’

  ‘I nearly didn’t get here at all. Had a hard time persuading that bloody prefect at the fort to send these auxiliary boys out.’

  ‘Why persuade him?’ Cato frowned. ‘You’ve replaced him. You’re the new prefect.’

  Macro laughed bitterly. ‘Not until I present him with the right document. You know how the Roman army loves its procedures. Unfortunately, my letter of appointment was lost with the rest of the baggage.’

  Cato shook his head. ‘Damn. That’s messed things up for us.’

  A thought struck Macro. ‘What about that warrant from Narcissus?’

  Cato instinctively clutched a hand to his chest, and felt the slim leather case that hung from a strap round his neck. ‘It’s still safe.’

  ‘Good. Then we can use that. Show it Scrofa and take command of the cohort.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do you mean, no?’

  ‘Think about it. If we use the warrant now, then our cover is blown. It won’t take long for word to get back to Longinus that two of Narcissus’ spies are in the region. He’d immediately be on his guard, and you can bet that the first thing he’d do is see to it that we were disposed of.’ Cato paused for a moment, then shook his head. ‘We daren’t use the Emperor’s authority unless we really need to.’

  Macro laughed bitterly. ‘Shit! So what the hell do we do now?’

  ‘We have to send a message back to the procurator in Caesarea, asking for confirmation of your appointment. He’ll have it on record.’

  ‘And until then Scrofa will continue to be the prefect of the Second Illyrian.’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘That’s great, just great.’ Macro turned away, trying to contain his frustration, and saw Symeon sitting on a bench in the sun shelter, talking intently to one of the local women. He leaned closer to Cato and spoke softly. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Miriam. She’s the one who hid us from Bannus and his men.’

  ‘Really?’ Macro looked at her more closely. ‘Must be a brave old stick.’

  ‘Brave?’ Cato recalled the manner in which she had confronted Bannus. ‘That she is. But there’s more to her than meets the eye.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘She seems to be the leader of this settlement. Or at least one of the leaders.’ Cato chewed his lip for a moment. ‘She also seemed to know Bannus quite well.’

  ‘Not to mention our guide there.’

  Cato looked at Symeon, and saw that he was holding one of Miriam’s hands as he spoke earnestly to her. ‘Yes. We need to find out more about her. More about what precisely is going on around here.’

  ‘Think we should take her to the fort for questioning?’

  Cato shook his head. ‘I’m not sure that would be helpful. She could be of some use to us, if we can win her trust. Though, in the circumstances, that might be difficult.’

  ‘What circumstances?’

  ‘It seems that her son was crucified.’

  ‘Ah, that is a little unfortunate,’ Macro conceded. ‘Still, if we can work on her, maybe we can win her round.’

  ‘It’s not a question of winning her round. I’d think she’d see through that in an instant. We’re going to have to play this one very carefully, Macro, if we want her on our side. Anyway, quiet! Symeon is coming.’

  Symeon had risen from the table and was making his way to the two Romans. He tipped his head on one side with an apologetic expression. ‘Miriam has a favour to ask, Centurion Cato.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘She would like us to remove that brigand you skewered. She needs to patch her mattress and wash the bloodstains out before she prepares his body for burial.’

  By the time Cato and Macro had heaved the dead brigand out of the house and found a cool spot in the shade for the body, the prefect and the other two squadrons were approaching the settlement. Scrofa rode into the village and halted his column outside Miriam’s house, before dismounting in the same ungainly manner in which he had been hoisted into the saddle. He looked at Cato and Symeon.

  ‘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 Bannus and his scum did.’

  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 manner, but quickly recovered his composure and cleared his throat. ‘It seems you gave shelter to the brigands.’

  ‘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 Bannus.’

  Scrofa gave a derisive snort. ‘Won’t take sides! How dare you, woman? Bannus is a common criminal. A bandit. He is outside the law. If you are not against him, then, by default, you are for him.’

  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.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘What the hell were you doing back there?’ Cato snapped. ‘Why didn’t you back me up?’

  They were sitting in the room allocated to Macro. Cato had been given a room nearby. Scrofa had explained that until the issue of Macro’s appointment had been sorted out there was no question of providing them with quarters appropriate to their alleged status. So the cohort’s quartermaster and his assistant had been required to temporarily give up their offices and the clerks had laboured into the evening to clear the rooms and introduce the bare minimum of furniture needed by the newly arrived centurions. The column had returned to the fort some time after dusk, in the silvery light of a crescent moon, and it was not until the fourth hour of the night that the preparation of their hastily arranged quarters was complete. Symeon had been allocated a bunk in the cavalry barracks and had immediately gone off to sleep, leaving the two officers to sit in an atmosphere of muted tension until at last their rooms were ready.

  ‘What was I doing?’ Macro looked astonished. ‘I was behaving like a bloody officer, that’s what I was doing. Not buggering about like some indignant bloody child.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Cato, when a senior officer gives an order, you obey it without hesitation.’

  ‘Macro, I know that. But he’s not the senior officer. You are.’

  ‘Not until I can prove it. Until then Scrofa is in command, and what he says goes.’

  ‘No matter how wrong-headed the order?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Cato shook his head. ‘That is ridiculous, Macro. The woman did nothing wrong. Nothing to deserve having her house burned down.’

  ‘I agree with you,’ Macro responded with forced calmness. ‘It’s a bloody great shame. An injustice. Call it what you will.’

  Cato was exasperated. ‘So why didn’t you say anything at the time?’

  ‘You know the score. When an order is given there is no discussion, whatever I might think.’

  ‘But that’s madness.’

  ‘No – it’s discipline. It’s what makes the army work. There’s no room for debate. No place for weighing up the pros and cons. The order is given and you obey.’ Macro paused and continued in a harsh tone. ‘What you don’t do – in any circumstances – is question the order of a senior officer, and never in front of the bloody men. Do I make myself clear?’

  Cato, surprised at Macro’s hostility, nodded.

  Macro went on.
‘You start down that road, my friend, and discipline crumbles. If men start thinking about orders and not acting on them, then the army falls apart and we become easy pickings for our enemies. There’s no shortage of them. Then who’s going to protect the Empire, eh? So go ahead and weigh that up against some woman’s house going up in smoke. Next time, you think about that before you go and question the orders of a superior.’

  Cato was silent as he considered Macro’s argument, then he looked up and shrugged. ‘I suppose you may be right.’

  ‘Of course I’m bloody right.’ Macro sighed with exasperation. ‘Look here, Cato. The army’s your life now. It’s a hard life sometimes I grant you, but I love it. And I will not let anybody fuck it up, however well meaning they be, even if they are my best friend. Make sure you understand that.’

  Cato pursed his lips. ‘All right. But it was still wrong to punish that woman.’

  Macro groaned and cuffed his young friend on the shoulder. ‘That’s enough. We’ve got bigger problems to think about. We’re not here for the good of our health, Cato.’

  ‘Hardly.’

  Macro smiled for a moment, and then looked thoughtful. ‘You know, there might be more to this than meets the eye.’