'It's all right, sir. I know what needs to be done. Just make sure you don't take any unnecessary risks.'

'Me?' Macro touched his chest with a hurt expression. 'Take risks? I wouldn't know where to begin.'

Dawn was breaking across the desert as the gates of the fort creaked open and Macro led two squadrons of mounted men through the gatehouse. Despite the heat of the day, the nights were cold, and Cato was wrapped in a thick cloak as he stood in the tower above the gate and watched his friend ride out on to the stony track that led away from Fort Bushir, south and east towards the great trade route along which the caravans brought precious goods into the Empire from lands no Roman had ever seen. The first rays of the sun burnished the sand a fiery red and the dust kicked up by the horses' hooves rose up in swirling puffs of orange. Long shadows flickered across the plateau like ripples of dark water and Cato could not help feeling a sense of foreboding as he watched the small column head out to do battle with the desert raiders. When he could no longer distinguish Macro from the rest of the men, Cato turned away and gazed down at the long barrack blocks stretching away from the wall. The fort was his to command, and to his surprise he found that beneath all his concern about his aptitude for his new role, he was secretly delighted to be the acting commander of the Second Illyrian cohort.

07 The Eagle In the Sand

CHAPTER NINETEEN

'They're here, sir,' the decurion said softly.

Macro blinked his eyes open. It was already daylight and the man was silhouetted against a pale blue sky. They had ridden hard for two days after leaving the fort and last night they had eaten and slept well. Macro had insisted on it, firmly believing the old military adage that men fight well on a full stomach. Around him there were the faint sounds of the first of his men waking. Macro threw back his cover and rose stiffly, stretching his shoulders until he felt the joints crack.

'Ahhh! That's better!' He rolled his head and turned to the decurion. 'Right then, show me.'

The two officers strode across the courtyard of the Nabataean way station and climbed the ladder to the lookout tower built over the gateway. As Macro stood beside the decurion, the latter scanned the dimly lit land to the south of the fort and then pointed.'Over there, sir.'

Macro squinted, and saw a faint flicker of movement, no more than a thin scattering of dots on the desert horizon; the head of the caravan he was waiting for, emerging from a depression in the plateau. 'I see them.'

As the two officers watched, the first riders led out a long train of pack animals as the caravan crawled along the trade route towards the way station. When it drew closer Macro saw a small party of horsemen detach from the vanguard and start trotting towards them. He turned to the decurion.

'Get our men on their feet. I want them ready the moment the caravan reaches us.'

'Yes, sir.'The decurion saluted, climbed down into the courtyard and began shouting out his orders, rousing the last of the grumbling sleepers from their blankets. Macro stared down into the gloomy courtyard and nodded his approval as the decurion kicked some of the slower men into life. No laggard was going to show up the Roman army when those horsemen arrived. The auxiliaries hurriedly pulled on their boots and took up their weapons as the horsemen drew near. Due to the nature of the task ahead they had left their helmets, shields and spears at the fort, but they still wore chain mail over their padded linen tunics and had cavalry swords strapped to their sides. Finally, from each man's shoulders hung a bow case, from which protruded the curved end of an unstrung compound bow and the feathered flights of the arrows. When Macro climbed down from the tower to inspect them he saw that they had all brushed off the fog of sleep and were alert and ready for action.

The sound of hooves drumming across the parched ground drew their gaze towards the arched entrance and a moment later the dark silhouettes of mounted men filled the gate as they swiftly reined in and walked their horses inside. There were four of them, swathed in dark robes and turbans with veils that covered all but their dark eyes. For an instant all was still, and just the heavy bellows breath of the horses and the stamping of their hooves echoed round the station. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, the leader of the horsemen plucked his veil aside and smiled at Macro.

'Symeon!' Macro grinned back. 'Good to see you. Is everything ready?'

'Yes, Prefect.' Symeon slid down from his saddle and gestured to his followers to do the same. 'All is ready.The caravan is just behind us. It did not take me very long to find a cartel willing to have their revenge on these desert raiders.'

'Good.' Macro was relieved. His plan had hinged on Symeon's persuading some Nabataeans to turn on their tormentors of the last few months. Now all the elements had fallen into place and the trap was ready to be sprung.

Symeon stood aside and gestured to the men with him. They had also lifted their veils and Macro saw two older men, perhaps the same age as Symeon, but darker-skinned. Symeon gestured to them. 'Tabor and Adul, my former business partners. Tabor also represents the cartel that owns this caravan. He and Adul still provide escorts for caravans from Arabia up to Petra. They're travelling with the caravan because they want to extend their escort business towards Syria. Frankly, I suspect they've just come for the fight.' Symeon grinned, and then placed his hand on the shoulder of the last man, who was younger. He was shorter than Symeon, though powerfully built with fierce black eyes and a neatly trimmed moustache. Symeon gazed at him proudly. 'This is Murad, my adopted son. He took over my share of the business when I returned to Judaea. Tough as they come.'

He spoke to the young man in Aramaic and Murad grinned, revealing fine white teeth. He drew his finger across his throat and made a guttural hiss to emphasise the gesture.

'I think I might just get on well with you, young Murad.' Macro smiled back, then bowed his head in greeting to Symeon's companions.'Did you bring spare robes?'

'Of course, Centurion. They're on the lead camels.'

Macro clapped him on the shoulder. 'Fine work! Now, all that remains is to give those raiders the surprise of their lives.'

The sun was directly overhead and the glare shimmered off the sand and rock of the landscape so that Macro had to squint to avoid hurting his eyes. He rode at the head of the caravan with Symeon and his companions. Behind them came the long column of camels and horses, laden with goods. Macro's men, dressed in the robes of caravan herders, walked along the route, leading small strings of their charges. Their weapons were concealed under the fake baggage on their animals' saddles, the bows strung and ready to use. The real herders had remained in the way station, resting in the shadows of the walls as they waited for word from Symeon. It would have looked suspicious if the caravan had been attended by more men than usual. Macro stared back over his shoulder for a moment. To his eyes the caravan looked just as it did when it approached the way station at first light. With luck, then, it might fool the desert raiders as well. Only a handful of escorts rode out on the flanks and Macro hoped that such easy-looking prey would prove too tempting for the raiders to resist.

After a brief halt, while the auxiliaries had dressed in the robes that Symeon and his men had provided, the caravan had continued past the way station, heading towards Philadelphia. The hours had passed slowly as the laden pack animals and camels trudged on with their endless hypnotic sway. Fearing that an enemy scout might overhear Roman voices, Macro had forbidden any conversation, and the caravan edged forward with only the soft shuffling of camels' feet and the crunch of hooves and boots on the ancient trade route to break the silence of the desert.