The Zealot Page 17

  Cato couldn’t help smiling at the way his thoughts had run away with him. Nevertheless, there was a great deal at stake, and not much time to try to do something about it. Until confirmation of Macro’s command of the Second Illyrian came through there was little action that the two officers could take except observing events as they unfolded. ‘All right then, I’ll keep my mind focused on the here and now.’

  ‘For the moment, that would be best.’

  Cato nodded, and then reached for a spare linen tunic and pulled it over his head. ‘What about you? How did your patrol go with Postumus?’

  ‘Aside from a bit of a punch-up with some desert raiders, I was let in on the little arrangement that Scrofa and most of his officers are operating with the caravans from Nabataea. It’s a protection racket, pure and simple. They blackmail the caravan owners into making a payment or let the desert raiders carve them up and make off with their goods. Seems that almost everyone out here is doing business with the enemy. Postumus was kind enough to offer to cut me into the deal. Needless to say I politely declined, tempting as it was.’

  ‘I bet.’

  ‘Anyway, I’ve had an idea about how we can put an end to their arrangement. But I have to take command here first, and I’ll need to get in touch with some people in Petra.’

  Cato looked at him curiously. ‘Hardly been here a few days and you’re already in with the locals. I’m impressed.’

  ‘So you should be.’ Macro looked pleased with himself. ‘Best idea I’ve had in ages, and I can’t wait to see the raiders’ faces when they try it on with the next caravan to pass through our turf.’

  Macro carried on smiling and Cato finally gave in. ‘All right. I’m intrigued. Now would you care to explain your brilliant plan?’

  There was a loud knock at the door, and Cato shook his head in frustration as he called out, ‘Come in!’

  The door swung open and one of Scrofa’s clerks stepped inside, stiffened his back and saluted. ‘The prefect sends his compliments, and requires you at headquarters immediately.’

  Cato and Macro exchanged a look before the latter responded. ‘All right. We’re coming. Soon as Centurion Cato has finished dressing.’

  ‘Sir?’ The clerk frowned. ‘I was only instructed to summon you.’

  ‘Well now you have. And I’ll deal with it from here. Now go.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The clerk saluted and turned to leave.

  Cato turned to Macro. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I imagine Scrofa wants to resolve a confrontation I had with Centurion Postumus while we were out on patrol.’

  Cato did not hide his exasperation. ‘Oh, fine. Another fight?’

  ‘Kind of. Postumus was pretty keen to even the score once we got back to the fort. Looks like he’s trying to do it through official channels. Anyway, I want you there as a witness.’

  Prefect Scrofa was not alone when Macro and Cato were shown into his office in the headquarters building. Postumus was standing behind and to one side of his commanding officer. They turned to look at the new arrivals.

  ‘Not before time,’ Scrofa said harshly. ‘And what is Centurion Cato doing here? I didn’t send for him.’

  ‘He’s here on my say-so,’ Macro responded. ‘And we came as soon as we got your message.’

  Scrofa stared at him for a moment. ‘While I am prefect of the Second Illyrian, I am the senior officer in this fort. Therefore you will defer to me, Centurion Macro.’

  ‘Fair enough, sir.’ Macro bowed his head. ‘While you are the prefect, that is.’

  Scrofa clamped his lips together for a moment to bite back on the flash of rage Macro’s reply had prompted. Then he drew a deep breath and continued. ‘Very well. I think we understand each other well enough. But I wouldn’t feel too smug about replacing me if I were you. Not for a while yet.’

  Centurion Postumus coughed. ‘Sir, I am sure Centurion Macro is perfectly aware of the correct protocol in this situation. If we might move on to more important issues?’

  ‘What?’ Scrofa turned irritably to look up at his subordinate. ‘Oh, very well then.’ He turned back to Macro and composed himself before continuing in a more formal tone. ‘Centurion Postumus has filed an official complaint about your conduct in relation to an event which occurred while you were on patrol.’

  Macro could not help smiling briefly at the prefect’s pompous manner and ponderous choice of words.

  ‘What’s so amusing, Centurion?’

  ‘Nothing, sir.’

  ‘Well, then, it seems that you struck Centurion Postumus in front of his men, and then seized control of his auxiliaries and ordered them to attack some Arabs who were obstructing the progress of a caravan.’

  ‘Obstructing the progress …’ Macro had to laugh. ‘That’s a fine use of words, Centurion Postumus. If you mean that I took command of your men to rescue the caravan from desert raiders, because you refused to, then yes I agree with your allegation.’

  Postumus tilted his chin up as he replied. ‘Whatever the words, the fact of the matter is that I was the lawful commander of those men, and therefore you illegally usurped my authority.’

  ‘Because you were failing in your lawful duty.’ Macro stabbed a finger at him. ‘You would have sat on your arse and let those raiders completely destroy the caravan.’

  ‘That is immaterial to the charge I’m bringing against you.’

  ‘Immaterial?’ Macro scoffed. ‘It is the reason why I was forced to take command.’

  ‘What about striking a fellow officer?’ Scrofa interrupted, learning forward across his desk. ‘What about that, eh? Do you deny it?’

  ‘No. And I’d do the same again,’ Macro snapped back. ‘And with good cause. Now, if you really want to try to make something of this, I will be happy to submit to a proper military tribunal, back in Rome. It’s my right to insist on that, as you well know. So then, Prefect, do you wish to continue with this foolishness?’

  Scrofa glared back at him for a moment and then eased himself back into his chair and forced a smile. ‘I don’t think it is really necessary, Centurion Macro. I merely wanted you to be aware of the disciplinary charges that could be brought against you. Rightly or wrongly, you have committed a serious breach of the military code and it is within my powers to bring you before a military tribunal. I could, if I wanted, carry that out in a summary manner, here in this fort.’

  ‘You could,’ Macro conceded. ‘But I could equally insist on my right to appeal to the Emperor for a hearing back in Rome. And I think we both know how that might turn out, given the way you are running things here.’

  It was an impasse, and all the men in the office knew it. For a while no one spoke, until Scrofa continued in the same placating manner.

  ‘There is no need for that, Centurion. Let’s just agree that you have acted unacceptably, and that you will give me your word not to commit any further such breaches of the military code. After all, we would not wish you to assume command of this cohort with such an unpleasant disagreement hanging in the air, would we?’ He smiled. ‘Now then, I can understand that you might see things a little differently from us. You and Centurion Cato have only just arrived in the province and haven’t yet acclimatised to the way things are done here. I think Centurion Postumus might accept that he was a trifle brusque in the manner in which he introduced you to the little arrangement we have concerning the caravans that pass through the territory policed by the Second Illyrian.’

  ‘That’s putting it mildly, sir.’

  Scrofa laughed lightly, and then licked his lips. ‘I can assure you that there is nothing unusual about the situation. It’s common practice amongst units stationed on this frontier.’

  ‘That’s not my understanding, sir,’ Cato intervened. ‘We were told that this, er, arrangement of yours has only been running since Centurion Postumus arrived at the fort.’

  ‘It must have lapsed,’ Postumus explained. ‘I merely resurrected it, for the benefit of the officers of the cohort.
’

  ‘Naturally.’ Macro smiled. ‘Very altruistic of you, Centurion Postumus.’

  ‘If I can serve our interests as well as the Emperor’s, then I can see no harm in the situation.’

  ‘I doubt the Nabataean caravan cartels see it like that.’

  Postumus shrugged. ‘They go along with it.’

  ‘They have no choice in the matter,’ Macro pointed out. ‘They pay up, or you leave them to the mercy of the desert raiders. Somehow, I doubt that is helping cement good relations between the Nabataean kingdom and Rome. If I were a suspicious man I might well think that you were deliberately undermining our relationship with Nabataea, as you are undermining the stability of the territory around this fort.’

  A look of alarm flitted across the prefect’s face and he glanced quickly to his subordinate for reassurance before he responded. ‘What are you implying, Centurion Macro?’

  ‘I’m simply saying that an outsider might think that you are deliberately trying to undermine the security of this region.’

  Cato, standing at Macro’s shoulder, winced. His friend was in danger of exposing the true nature of their mission to the area. He shuffled on his feet, and gently tapped Macro’s heel with the toe of his boot. Macro shot a withering glance at him, and then turned back to the prefect as Scrofa gave a false laugh.

  ‘And what possible reason could I have for doing that?’

  ‘We’ll see. Soon enough,’ Macro responded quietly. ‘Once I assume command here, I’ll make damn sure that I expose your games, and then maybe I’ll dispense a little summary justice of my own.’

  ‘Ah, that reminds me.’ Scrofa leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together and interlaced his fingers. ‘Perhaps I should have mentioned it earlier. A message from Caesarea arrived at the fort shortly before this meeting. That guide of yours, Symeon, brought it. Apparently the procurator decided that your request for confirmation of the appointment is outside his jurisdiction. So he’s referred the matter to the Governor of Syria. I’m afraid that this means that it’ll be a while yet before we receive any news. In the meantime, I’m obliged to remain in command of the cohort.’ He feigned an apologetic expression. ‘I assure you that I regret the delay as much as you do. But I am confident that Cassius Longinus will give the matter his immediate attention.’

  ‘I’m sure he will,’ Macro murmured. ‘Where is Symeon? I want to speak to him.’

  ‘I’m keeping him on the strength – we can use a good guide. But there’s no need for you to see him. Not for a while at least. Meanwhile, I’m confining you two to your quarters.’

  ‘Confining us to quarters? You mean you’re placing us under arrest?’

  ‘Not yet. But I will do if you give me any further trouble. Centurion Postumus will arrange for a guard to be set up outside your quarters.’

  Macro turned to Cato and smiled grimly. ‘I came here to become prefect of the cohort. Now it seems I’m to be a prisoner of the cohort instead.’

  ‘You’re dismissed,’ Scrofa concluded curtly. ‘Postumus, see to it that they are escorted to their quarters and kept there.’

  Postumus smirked. ‘With pleasure, sir.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Postumus had them moved into one room to make guarding the two centurions easier. Macro endured the first few days of confinement well enough, while Cato sat at the window and gazed out over the fort towards the battlements, fretting at their inactivity. Around them the men went about their duties in a routine and unhurried manner. The watches changed at regular intervals. The men rose at first light, drilled for an hour and then took their morning meal. Afterwards there was more training until the sun had risen high enough to beat down on the fort and the surrounding desert in a searing glare. Then the soldiers retreated to the shade and only the sentries remained, patrolling the walls in the sweltering heat that even the lizards avoided as they clung to the rough plaster in patches of shadow and waited for the stifling midday hours to pass.

  Their guards brought them food twice a day, and readily responded to any further requests for food and drink since the two centurions were technically not under arrest. Yet. The window of their shared room overlooked a narrow alley between the headquarters and the single storey hospital building. Cato had considered dropping down into the alley as a means of escaping their confinement, but then reflected that there was no point. What could it achieve? They couldn’t leave the fort, and any attempt at escaping from their room would simply give Scrofa the excuse to have them placed in a cell. So Cato sat at his window and reflected on the wider situation with a growing sense of frustration, and anxiety.

  The days passed, and every so often a patrol left the fort and marched off in a faint haze of dust that was visible for a while over the squat towers of the main gate.

  Then, after several days, as the men of the cohort took shelter from the midday sun, Cato was sitting at the window, hands propping up his chin as he stared towards the distant foothills that marked the entrance to the wadi leading down to Heshaba.

  ‘Centurion …’ A voice called out softly.

  Cato started, turned back to Macro. ‘Did you hear that?’ But his friend was sound asleep on his bed.

  ‘Centurion, down here.’

  Cato cautiously leaned out of the window, and saw Symeon pressed against the wall directly beneath him. The guide waved a hand and smiled a greeting.

  ‘Symeon! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Sh! Not so loud. I need to speak to you. Here, take this.’ The guide took aim and tossed a loop of rope up to Cato, who caught it awkwardly and then glanced inside the room to find something secure to tie the end to. He turned back to Symeon.

  ‘Wait.’ Cato crossed the room to Macro and shook his friend’s shoulder. Macro stirred, then sat up with a jerk, eyes blinking.

  ‘What? What’s going on?’

  ‘Quiet,’ Cato said softly and pressed the end of the rope into Macro’s hand. ‘Take that.’

  Macro frowned as he looked down at the rope. ‘What’s this for?’

  ‘Just take the strain and help me.’ Cato crossed back to the window and nodded down into the alley, before grasping the rope and bracing one foot against the window sill. Macro felt the line tighten and grasped it in his powerful hands as someone scrambled up the wall outside, grunting with the effort. A moment later fingers groped over the sill and Symeon heaved himself up and over, and rolled on to the floor.

  ‘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 Bannus. I only returned this morning.’

  ‘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 Bannus is growing in strength every day. They say he has promised to prove to them that the Romans can be beaten. There are even rumours that he is a prophet. Or maybe the mashiah. And that he has powerful allies who will help sweep the Romans from our lands and cast them into the sea.’

  Cato nodded bleakly. Then it was as he had feared and time was running out. The area around Bushir might break out in open revolt at any moment. He looked closely at the guide. ‘Why did you return to the fort?’

  ‘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 Bannus and crush him before he has sufficient strength to destroy us and spread his rebellion. So what if we lose the chance to prove Longinus is a traitor, if indeed he really is? What’s that against the prospect of letting Judaea flare up into open rebellion if we do nothing?’

  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.’