Free The Legion by Simon Scarrow Page A

mouth of the Nile. The rest of the flotilla lay in a shallow cove by the sea. Cato and the others had landed out of sight of the fishermen and removed their armour before approaching them.

    Due to the predations of Ajax, it had been difficult to gather any intelligence from the smaller Egyptian settlements along the coast. At the first sight of a Roman sail, or men in Roman uniform, the villagers had simply fled. The only news that Cato had gleaned from the locals had come from chance interceptions of the few vessels that had dared to put to sea, and the handful of times when they had been able to approach people without causing them to run and hide, as now.

    ‘They’ve seen us,’ Macro muttered as one of the fishermen looked up when they had closed to within a hundred paces. At once the man called out to his friends and they dropped their nets and snatched up their clubs and gutting knives. They were torn between abandoning their catch and running, or staying to confront the three men approaching them. There were twelve of them, Macro counted, odds of four to one, if there was any trouble. The fishermen were thin and sinewy and were not professional fighters. Even so, the overwhelming advantage in numbers lent them sufficient courage to stand their ground as they warily watched the three men making their way towards them.

    ‘Tell them we mean no harm,’ Cato said to Hamedes. ‘We want to buy their catch, and talk.’

    Hamedes nodded and called out a light-hearted greeting. The nearest of the fishermen replied sharply, holding out his hand, clearly commanding them to stop. There followed a brief exchange before Hamedes spoke softly to Cato. ‘I’ve told them who we are. The one speaking for them is the headman of their village. He asks if we are alone. I said we are.’

    Cato nodded uneasily and hoped that the marines he had left back at the skiff did as they were told and kept out of sight. ‘Ask him if he has seen any other Romans recently.’

    There was a lengthy exchange in which the headman jabbed his hand downriver. A moment later the priest turned back to Cato. ‘A warship entered the mouth of the river several days ago. It stayed for the night and left the next morning.’

    ‘Which direction did it take?’

    ‘West.’

    ‘Towards us?’ Macro frowned. ‘We never saw it.’

    ‘It must have slipped past us in the dark,’ said Cato. ‘Or they sighted us first and turned back, or went and hid along the coast. Assuming it was Ajax, that is.’ He reflected briefly. ‘It has to be him. We’re supposed to be the only naval forces operating along the delta.’

    Cato gestured towards the fishing boats, small craft made from bundles of reeds, tied together with ropes. ‘Ask him if we can buy some of their catch.’

    Hamedes translated and the other man cautiously beckoned them closer. Cato kept his hands out, where they could be seen clearly, and walked towards them. The dark eyes of the fishermen watched him closely and they drew back into a loose semi-circle as Cato and his companions approached the baskets. Scores of fish flipped about inside, and others opened and closed their bony mouths, as if gasping. More fish struggled in the nets. Cato gestured to them.

    ‘Tell him we didn’t intend to interrupt their work. They can continue, while we talk.’

    With suspicious glances at their visitors, the fishermen went back to expertly plucking the catch from the folds of their nets while the headman conversed with Hamedes.

    ‘He asks how much we wish to buy.’

    ‘One basket will do.’ Cato took the purse off his belt and took out some of the silver coins that Petronius had issued to the flotilla to pay for supplies. ‘Here, ten obols.’

    The headman’s eyes momentarily lit up and then his face formed a dismissive expression.

    ‘He says twenty. He has many mouths to feed in his village. If he sells his catch, some will go hungry tonight.’

    ‘Bloody haggling,’ Macro