Chapter 3

‘And what animal came after the tiger?’ prodded Marcellus, though he knew the answer.

‘The Roman eagle,’ replied Manius. ‘Flocks and swarms of Roman eagles, thinking to pick the bones; but there were plenty of survivors not ready to have their bones picked. That,’ he interrupted himself to remark, ‘was how we lost three-and-twenty thousand Romans—to get possession of the old salt lick.’

‘A most interesting story,’ mused Marcellus, who had never heard it told just that way.

‘Yes,’ nodded Manius, ‘an interesting story; but the most curious part of it is the effect that these long battles had upon the old city of Gaza. After every invasion, a remnant of these foreign armies would remain; deserters and men too badly crippled to travel home. They stayed in Gaza—a score of different breeds—to continue their feuds.’ The Captain shook his head and made a wry face. ‘Many will tell you of the constant quarrelling and fighting in port cities such as Rhodes and Alexandria where there is a mixed population composed of every known tint and tongue. Some say the worst inferno on any coast of our sea is Joppa. But I’ll vote for Gaza as the last place in the world where a sane man would want to live.’

‘Perhaps Rome should clean up Gaza again,’ remarked Marcellus.

‘Quite impossible! And what is true of old Gaza is equally true of all that country, up as far as Damascus. The Emperor could send in all the legions that Rome has under arms, and put on such a campaign of slaughter as the world has never seen; but it wouldn’t be a permanent victory. You can’t defeat a Syrian. And as for the Jews!—you can kill a Jew, and bury him, but he’ll climb out alive!’ Noting Marcellus’s amusement, Manius grinningly elaborated, ‘Yes, sir—he will climb right up the spade-handle and sell you the rug he’d died in!’

‘But,’ queried Marcellus, anxious to know more about his own job, ‘doesn’t our fort at Minoa—or Gaza, rather—keep order in the city?’

‘Not at all! Hasn’t anything to do with the city. Isn’t located in the city, but away to the east in a most desolate strip of desert sand, rocks, and scratchy vegetation. You will find only about five hundred officers and men—though the garrison is called a legion. They are there to make the marauding Bedouins a bit cautious. Armed detachments from the fort go along with the caravans, so that the brigands will not molest them. Oh, occasionally’—Manius yawned widely—’not very often, a caravan starts across and never comes back.’

‘How often?’ asked Marcellus, hoping the question would sound as if he were just making conversation.

‘Well, let’s see,’ mumbled Manius, squinting one eye shut and counting on his battered fingers. ‘I’ve heard of only four, this past year.’

‘Only four,’ repeated Marcellus, thoughtfully. ‘I suppose that on these occasions the detachment from the fort is captured too.’

‘Of course.’

‘And put into slavery, maybe?’

‘No, not likely. The Bedouins don’t need slaves; wouldn’t be bothered with them. Your Bedouin, sir, is a wild man; wild as a fox and sneaking as a jackal. When he strikes, he slips up on you from the rear and lets you have it between your shoulder blades.’

‘But—doesn’t the garrison avenge these murders?’ exclaimed Marcellus.

Manius shook his head and smiled crookedly.

‘That garrison, sir, does not amount to much, if you’ll excuse my saying so. None of them care. They’re poorly disciplined, poorly commanded, and haven’t the slightest interest in the fort. Every now and then they have a mutiny and somebody gets killed. You can’t expect much of a fort that sheds most of its blood on the drill-ground.’

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