Read The Eagle In The Sand for Free Online

is there anything else I need to know? Anything I can do for you?’
    ‘I don’t think so.’ Cato stared out over the ancient city. ‘Given what you said about the sicarians, I think we should leave Jerusalem as soon as possible. Tomorrow morning, if possible.’
    ‘Tomorrow?’ Macro repeated in surprise.
    ‘We should leave at first light. Try to put as much distance between us and Jerusalem as we can before nightfall.’
    ‘Very well,’ Florianus nodded.’I’ll get hold of Symeon and organise a mounted escort for you. A squadron of horse from the garrison should be enough to guarantee you reach Bushir safely.’
    ‘Is that really necessary?’ Macro asked. ‘We can move faster on our own.’
    ‘Believe me, if you left here without an escort, the bandits would track you down and kill you before the day was out. This is a Roman province in name only. Outside the city walls there is no law, no order, just a wasteland ruled by the local thieves, murderers and the odd religious cult. It’s no place for Romans.’
    ‘Don’t worry. The lad and I can look after ourselves. We’ve been in worse places.’
    ‘Really?’ Florianus looked doubtful. ‘Anyway, keep me informed of the situation at Bushir, and I’ll pass the reports on to Narcissus.’
    Cato nodded. ‘Then it’s all settled. We leave in the morning.’
    ‘Yes. One last thing,’ Florianus said quietly. ‘A word of advice. When you reach Bushir watch your backs. Seriously. The commander before Scrofa was killed by a single sword blow, from behind.’

CHAPTER FOUR
    The small column prepared to leave the city just after the sun had risen, bathing the walls of the Antonia fortress in a warm rosy glow.The air was cool and after the heat of the previous night Macro relished its refreshing embrace as he ensured that his bags were securely tied to his saddle horns. Like every man in the legions he had been taught to ride after a fashion, but still distrusted and disliked horses. He had been trained as an infantryman, and from long experience he preferred the company of ‘Marius’ Mules’, as the footsloggers were known the length and breadth of the empire. Still, he was respectful enough of the fierce heat that blasted the rocky landscape of Judaea to know that it would be far more exhausting to reach Bushir on foot. So by horse it would be.
    He glanced round at the cavalry squadron detailed to accompany the two centurions to the fort. These men were Greek auxiliaries, recruited from the population in Caesarea.There were no native units in the province now that Rome had taken Judaea under direct control. The army of Herod Agrippa, largely composed of Gentile mercenaries, had been disarmed and dispersed after his death two years ago. With all the inter-faction fighting that had plagued the kingdom of Judaea the authorities in Rome had decided that it would be foolhardy in the extreme to make any attempt to raise local forces and provide them with weapons. Besides, the peculiar requirements of the local religion, with all the fasting and days of abstaining from any labour, did not sit well with the routines of the Roman military system.
    Macro cast an experienced eye over the cavalrymen. They seemed competent enough, and their kit was well maintained and their mounts well groomed and healthy-looking. If there was any trouble on the road then he and Cato could count on these men to put up a good enough fight to beat off an ambush.A quick charge and any band of robbers would bolt like rabbits, Macro decided. He turned to look for Cato.
    His young friend was talking earnestly to the guide, and Macro’s eyes narrowed slightly. Centurion Florianus had brought the man to them as Cato and Macro were packing their saddlebags by the wan light of oil lamps in the last hour before dawn. Symeon was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his forties. He wore a clean but plain tunic, sandals and a simple keffiyeh held in place by an ornate headband that was the only outward