The Legion

'You're right,' Aurelius agreed quietly. 'They must be made ready for the campaign. They must join their men in the training. I will not allow them to be excused from now on. Is that clear, Tribune? All officers will take part.'

Cato nodded.

'Was there anything else?'

'No, sir. That's all.'

Aurelius regarded him for a moment before he continued. 'Thank you, Tribune Cato. You are a most useful sounding board. It seems there's something more to you than meets the eye.'

It was clear that he had concluded their interview and Cato bowed his head and turned to leave the legate's presence. Only once he had passed through the entrance and entered the colonnade where some of the clerks still laboured at their desks did he permit himself a small smile of satisfaction.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The pale light of dawn bled out across the hazy sky as the dim figures of the legionaries and their officers made their way out of the temple complex and fell in. A small column of carts stood at the rear to pick up those who failed to complete the march. Macro and Cato had drawn full legionary kit from the legion's stores and retained only their crested helmets to signify their rank. It had been a while since either man had last taken part in a formal route march. Cato recalled the tips given to him when he had been a fresh recruit and placed pads of wool beneath his feet inside his boots. He also folded his cloak across his shoulder to provide a rest for the shaft of the marching yoke. His shield, mess tins and kitbag hung from the fork at the end of the yoke and a javelin rested on the other shoulder. A full canteen and a waterskin completed his load and he shuffled slightly to adjust it to a more comfortable position as he stood beside Macro at the head of the column.

A number of the officers were already in place. The more rotund or elderly men regarded Macro sourly, while their more professional comrades tried not to reveal their amusement over their discomfort.

'Happy-looking bunch, aren't they?' Macro grinned. 'Let's see how they look after the first five miles.'

'Forget them,' Cato muttered. 'Worry about me. If I don't get through it then the whole point of the exercise is lost.'

'You'll do. Tough as old boots, that's what you are, thanks to everything I've taught you.'

'I'd hate to disappoint you.'

'And I'd hate to have to use my vine cane on your back if you begin to falter.' Macro looked down at the short, knotted staff he carried instead of a javelin, the same as the rest of the drill instructors who would be marching with the column. 'Those were your orders, sir. No special treatment for officers.'

Cato nodded. 'Though you might consider taking the sting out of the blow if you can, in my case.'

'Ah, if I did it for you then I'd feel obliged to do it for some of those fat fucks standing over there as well.' Macro gestured to the officers taking up their positions. 'And speaking of slackers, where's Hamedes got to?'

Cato turned and looked towards the temple. 'There he is.'

The priest walked quickly towards them and stopped close by with a nervous grin. 'Do you Romans always march loaded down like mules, sir?'

'You'll be silent, unless spoken to,' Macro replied harshly. 'You're in the army now, lad. Until this is over you can forget being a priest.'

Hamedes had also been issued with full kit and Macro looked him over to ensure that everything was in place and correctly fastened. 'Not bad,' he mused. 'The armour fits well. Did you get some help putting it on?'

Hamedes hesitated before he nodded. 'One of the supply clerks showed me, sir.'

'Very well. Fall in with the officers, where I can keep an eye on you.'

'Yes, sir.' Hamedes smiled, then thought better of it, and turned and strode off, taking up position a respectful distance behind the rest of the officers.

Cato nodded at him. 'For a priest he has a pleasing disposition towards soldiering.'

'That he does,' Macro agreed. 'And he'll be tested to the full in the days to come.'

The last of the legionaries came trotting across to join their centuries and when they were in place Macro hefted his yoke on to his shoulder and strode down the column. He breathed in deeply and began to address the column.

'Today's jaunt will take us eight miles down the Nile and back. Nothing that should present a challenge to real soldiers. I am delighted to see my brother officers joining us today.'

A few men laughed in the ranks and there was a brief catcall before one of the optios standing beside the column turned to try and spot the perpetrator. Failing, he roared out, 'Keep your fucking mouths shut, or I'll 'ave you on a charge.'

Macro waited until there was complete silence again. 'Officers and men of the legions are all expected to complete route marches. It is a minimum standard and applies to all, regardless of rank. There is no excuse for any man here failing to finish the march.' He paused and then strode back to the front of the column, a short distance ahead of Cato and the other officers. 'Column! Prepare to march… March!'

Macro paced forward, followed by the rest, four ranks abreast. He led them across the training ground and down the rough track that joined the Nile road. Even this early in the morning the farmers and merchants who were making their way into Diospolis Magna to sell their wares were on the road and they hurriedly pulled aside as the legionaries turned right and began to head north, along the road that followed the course of the Nile.

A few boats were already out, the skiffs of fishermen rowing across the current to inspect their nets, and the larger broad-beamed vessels that carried goods up and down the great river. On the far bank was a thin strip of green vegetation and then the rocky mass of the lifeless mountains rising above the desert.

An hour after the column had set off, the sun had risen over the horizon and the pale yellow disc hung in the haze like an eye surveying the ribbon of water and crops that threaded its way across the great desert of northern Africa. Cato had settled into an easy rhythm; and an early ache that had started at the bottom of his back had faded away and he was starting to feel confident about completing the march. Sweat pricked out from his scalp, saturating his felt helmet liner, and every so often a trickle escaped, coursing down his brow, and he blinked it away rather than transferring the javelin to his shield hand so that he could mop his brow.

Glancing round he saw that some of the officers were already struggling to keep up with the pace. The nearest, a centurion from the First Cohort, was puffing out his full cheeks as he laboured under his kit. One of Macro's training optios fell into step beside him.

'Come on, sir. Put some bloody effort in! I've seen old men march better than that.'

The centurion clamped his lips together and struggled on. Cato turned back, feeling slightly guilty over his plan to break men like that centurion. However, if the man made it through the day then there was obviously more to him than met the eye – though given his girth, Cato thought wryly, that would be something of a challenge. Up ahead, Macro led the way, striding steadily down the road without the slightest sign of tiring.

The heat from the rising sun began to burn the haze and light mist away from the banks of the Nile and the marching men were exposed to its direct rays. The temperature began to rise swiftly and added to the discomfort of the dust kicked up by the passage of thousands of iron-nailed army boots. Every so often the road passed through small villages and little gangs of children would work their way along the column, begging for money in their chirping voices, hurriedly moving on from those soldiers who spat curses or swung a boot at them. Cato just ignored them, concentrating on placing one boot in front of the other as he followed in Macro's tracks. As the sun rose higher, the heat became intense, searing the landscape in its harsh glare. Cato felt the sweat on his back soak through his tunic and plaster it to his skin. Occasionally a cold trickle dribbled down from his armpits and traced its way over his ribs until it caught in a fold of his tunic. His mouth was dry and it was hard to resist the impulse to call ahead to Macro and suggest that he permit the men a short rest to take some water.