'I need some rest,' Macro announced suddenly. He removed the armour from his kitbag and punched spare tunics, cloak and boots that remained into a rough pillow and laid his head down, turning his back to his friend. Cato smiled at his touchiness, and then eased himself down on to an elbow as the barge entered the canal that linked the lake to the Nile. On either side the banks were lined with reeds and clumps of palm trees, interspersed with small settlements of the ubiquitous mud-brick houses. Women were busy taking advantage of the cooler morning temperature to wash clothes in the placid waters while children played slightly further out, splashing each other, their shrill cries of joy carrying clearly across the canal. As the barges sailed past, they stopped their games to wave, and Cato smiled as he waved back.
He had grown so used to the demands and the strains of commanding soldiers that he had forgotten some of the simple pleasures of life, he realised sadly. His childhood seemed all too brief to him at that moment. He brushed the sentiment aside, cross with himself for allowing a moment's idleness to sour his mood. He realised that there would be plenty of time for reflection in the next few days, and resolved that he would focus his thoughts on more useful, and pleasing, matters, such as the future he planned to have with Julia when he returned to Rome. And so he spent the rest of the morning watching the landscape of Egypt drift by as the convoy made its way upriver towards Diospolis Magna. Occasionally Macro and Hamedes stirred and exchanged a few words, before closing their eyes again. In the afternoon the convoy left the canal behind and entered the river. The sun beat down on the barges, and a steady hot breeze blew over the deck like the heat from a nearby furnace.
At dusk the barges put into the shore and grounded gently on a grassy stretch of the riverbank. Fires were lit and rations issued and the insects began to swarm round in whining clouds of dark specks against the light of the flames. Hamedes said he would bed down amongst the sailors, once he had drunk his fill of wine.
'Suit yourself,' Macro responded. 'But I'm not going to lie out here and get bitten to death.'
Macro called over several of the legionaries and ordered them to erect the tent he and Cato would be sharing.
'Quick as you can now, lads!' Macro barked as he swatted the mosquitoes away. 'Before these little bastards drain the blood out of me.'
As soon as the tent was up, Macro ducked inside and laid his bedroll out on the ground. Cato joined him a little later, after a last look up at the brilliant display of stars in the heavens. The glow of the fires lit up the linen walls of the tent and occasionally the wavering shadows of men passed along the cloth, like the profiles of the paintings he had seen on the province's temples, Cato decided. No air moved through the tent and it was hot inside. Cato slipped his tunic off and lay sweating in his loincloth. On the other side of the tent, Macro had quickly fallen asleep, even though he had rested most of the day, and his rumbling snores vied with the sounds of chatter and laughter of the men by the fires. Cato smiled and closed his eyes. He might as well make the most of this short, restful interval, he decided.
He woke suddenly, not moving, his eyes wide open, staring up at the roof of the tent. Cato was not sure what had broken his sleep and he was about to stir when he heard the faint sound of movement outside the tent. Then the sound was gone and with a sigh he turned on to his side and closed his eyes again. At once there was a low rush of sound like a long sharp escape of breath. Cato's eyes snapped open as he realised that he and Macro were not alone in the tent. He slowly turned himself back and raised his head to look round. The campfires were still burning and provided a faint rosy light inside the tent. A short distance away, close to the foot of Macro's bedroll, a slender shape rose up from the ground, swaying slightly.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cato felt his blood freeze in his veins. He sat up, and the noise came again as the shape lurched sideways, moving between the two bedrolls.
'Oh shit,' Cato whispered. He kept as still as he could, eyes fixed on the snake. Behind it he could see the tent pole with his sword and that of Macro's hanging on the peg. His heartbeat increased to a pounding rhythm as he thought frantically. If he moved again he was sure that the serpent would attack. Instead, he licked his lips nervously and whispered as loudly as he dared.
'Macro… Macro… Wake up.'
The snoring broke up and there was an incoherent muttered grumble from the other side of the tent.
'Macro.'
'Whurgh… What the hell is it?' Macro groaned, stirring as he turned to face Cato.
'Keep still!' Cato warned him.
'What?' Macro's head rose. 'What's going on then?'
The snake hissed again, louder, and near the top of its body it began to swell out. The sinewy coils beneath writhed momentarily as it edged forward.
'Shit,' Macro whispered. 'We're in trouble, lad. What do we do?'
Cato stared at the snake. It was close enough now to make out the individual bumps of its scales, and the beady gleam in one of its eyes. A sudden flicker indicated where its mouth was as the cobra's head towered over the two men.
'Just… keep… still,' Cato whispered.
'Right.'
Cato had seen some snake charmers in the market at Alexandria and knew how fast the serpents could strike. There was no chance of jumping up and dashing past it towards the swords. If either of them tried, they were dead. He reached his left hand slowly towards his tunic, lying rumpled beside the bedroll. His fingers stole across the earth towards the cloth and closed round a fold.
'Macro, I'm going to try and distract it. When I make a move you go for the swords. All right?'
'What kind of distraction?'
'Doesn't matter, just be ready. On three.'
The snake was unsettled by the noises and hissed again, still louder, and the head leaned back, ready to strike.
Cato moistened his lips and spoke softly. 'One… two… three!'
He whipped up the tunic and jumped to his feet, swinging the tunic waist high through the air towards the snake. The cobra lunged at once, whacking into the cloth before it reversed direction and hissed again. Macro had clambered up and taken a step towards the tent post when the snake slithered round and lunged at him. He jumped back on to his bedroll.
'Fuck, that was close.'
'I'll try again,' said Cato. He wrapped some of the tunic about his fist and tentatively held the rest out towards the snake. At once it turned its head back towards him, its eyes burning like rubies. Cato moved the tunic to the right and shook it. The snake struck again and at the same time Cato jerked the cloth back. The fangs, caught in the thick strands of wool, came with it and Cato gave a terrified cry as the body of the snake came towards him. He threw the tunic over the cobra's head and with his spare hand he grabbed at the neck, just below the hood. The snake's skin was dry and rough and the coils writhed wildly as Cato struggled to keep his grip and at the same time wrap the tunic about its head with his other hand.
Macro leaped forward, reached the tent post and snatched out his blade. He turned and hacked at the wriggling body and struck the ground instead.
'Macro!' Cato shouted as the head thrashed about inside the tunic. 'Just kill the bastard!'
Macro hacked again, cutting into the middle of the cobra's body. He cut again, this time severing it. Half the coils fell back and flopped about on the ground and Macro hurriedly kicked them to one side. The other half seemed to grow even more wild and Cato hurled it as hard as he could towards the back of the tent where it hit the goatskin with a soft thud and dropped to the ground, writhing frantically, but unable to move from the spot as it bled out.
Cato's heart was beating wildly, his chest felt cold and clammy and he trembled. He turned to Macro and saw that his friend was just as shaken. Macro licked his lips and stared at the dying snake as he spoke in a low, earnest tone. 'I am really beginning to hate this province…'