When the Eagle Hunts

Cato had tried not to let his disappointment show; being posted to a different century to Macro's was not an appealing prospect. It had taken months to win the centurion's grudging respect and to convince him that he was worthy of the rank of optio. When he had joined the legion, Cato, a former imperial slave, had been the target of bitter resentment and much jealousy because of his instant promotion, for which he had the Emperor himself to thank. Cato's father had served with distinction on the imperial staff, and when he died, Emperor Claudius had freed the boy and sent him to join the eagles, with a kindly lift onto the first rang of the promotional ladder. It had been a well-meant gesture, but no one as lofty as the Emperor had any inkling of the bitterness with which men at the bottom of society reacted to blatant nepotism.

Cato was loath to recall his early experiences of life in the Second Legion: the harsh discipline of the drill instructors, laid more heavily upon him than any of the other recruits; the bullying at the hands of a cruel ex-convict named Pulcher; and perhaps worst of all the frank disapproval of his centurion. That had hurt him more than anything else, and driven him to prove himself on every possible occasion. Now, that struggle for recognition of his worth would begin all over again. In addition, he had a certain personal regard for Macro, at whose side he had fought through the most terrible battles of the campaign so far. It would not be easy to adjust to the style of another centurion.

Vespasian had noticed the optio's expression and tried to offer him some words of comfort. 'Never mind. You can't carry on being an optio forever. Someday, sooner than you think perhaps, you will have a century of your own.'

That he spoke to the lad's inmost ambitions, Vespasian had no doubt. Every young man he had ever known dreamed of honour and promotion, however unlikely they knew it to be. But this one just might make it. He had proved his courage and his intelligence, and with a little help from someone placed high enough to make a difference, he would be sure to serve the empire well.

Since there was little chance of either himself or Macro ever returning to the Second Legion, these kindly words from Vespasian had a distinctly hollow ring. They were so typical of the well-worn encouragement that all commanders offer to those facing certain death, and Cato had felt contempt for himself for having been momentarily taken in by the legate's guile. The bitterness of the thought stayed with him through the night.

'Fool!' he muttered to himself, turning over on his bracken-filled bedroll. He pulled the thick army blanket tightly about him and round his head to keep the chill out. Once again he tried to get to sleep, banishing all thought from his mind and once again the subtle wiles of insomnia nudged his mind back to the previous night's encounter.

Surprise at seeing Boudica and her dangerous cousin was mirrored in the faces of General Plautius and Vespasian as they realised that the new arrivals were known to the centurion and his optio.

'I see you're already acquainted.' Plautius smiled. 'That should make things easier all round.'

'I'm not so sure, sir,' replied Macro, warily sizing up the British warrior towering over him. 'Last time we met, Prasutagus here didn't seem to have much affection for Romans.'

'Really?' Plautius looked steadily at Macro. 'Not much affection for Romans, or not much for you?'

'Sir?'

'You should know, Centurion, that this man volunteered to help in any way that he could. Once I made known to the Icenian elders that my family was being held, this man came forward and volunteered to do all in his power to help me recover them.'

'Do you trust him, sir?'

'I have to. What other choice do I have? And you will work closely with him. That's an order.'

'I thought we'd volunteered, sir.'

'You have, and now that you have, you'll obey my orders. You're to co-operate fully with Prasutagus. He knows the country and customs of the Durotriges, and a great deal about the practices and secret places of the Dark Moon Druids. He's the best chance we have. So look after him, and pay close heed to what he tells you – or rather to what the lady here translates for you. You appear to have met her before as well.'

'You might say that, sir,' Macro replied quietly, and nodded his head formally at Boudica.

'Centurion Macro,' she acknowledged him. 'And your charming optio.'

'Ma'am.' Cato swallowed nervously.

Prasutagus glared at Macro for a moment, and then helped himself to a goblet of the legate's wine which he drank so fast that from either side of the rim drops of red liquid spilled down the thick blond hair of his ornate moustache.

'How quaint,' Vespasian muttered, eyebrows rising anxiously as the Briton went back to the glass jug for a third goblet.

'Since you seem to approve…' Boudica joined Prasutagus and poured herself a goblet, filling it to the brim. 'To a safe return.'

She raised the goblet to her lips and drank until the last drop had been drained, then thumped the goblet down. Boudica gri

Prasutagus muttered something and nudged Boudica to translate.

'He says the wine's not bad.'

Vespasian gave a tight-lipped smile and sat down.

'Well then, enough of the formalities. We haven't much time. Centurion, I will brief your team as fully as I can, and then you need to rest. I'll have some horses, provisions and weapons made ready so that you can leave the camp before dawn. It's important that your party is not seen leaving the legion. You'll be travelling by night mostly, and laying up during the day. If you happen to run into anyone you'll need a cover story. Your best chance is to pretend to be travelling entertainers. Prasutagus will play the part of a wrestler, offering to take on all-comers, for a fee. She will pose as his wife. You two are going to be a pair of Greek slaves, ex-soldiers bought to provide protection in this wild land. The southern tribes of Britain are used to the comings and goings of merchants, traders and entertainers.'

An image of the slaughtered victims of the burned village flickered into Cato's mind. 'Excuse me, sir, given the way they treat the Atrebates, what makes you think they won't just kill us out of hand?'

'It's a tribal convention; you don't piss on your own doorstep. By all means raid other tribes, but you don't want to discourage trade from outside. That's how it works with all the tribes on the edges of the empire. However, you're right to be cautious. The Druids are an unknown element in this. We don't know what the Durotriges will do under their influence. Prasutagus is best placed to deal with any situations you encounter. Watch him carefully, and follow his lead.'

'I'll be watching carefully right enough,' Macro said quietly.

'You really think that'll work, sir?' asked Cato. 'Aren't the Durotriges going to be just a little suspicious of strangers, now that there's a Roman army camping on their doorstep?'

'I admit it won't stand up to much scrutiny, but it might buy you time, should you need it. Prasutagus may be remembered in some parts, which should count for something. You and the optio should stay out of sight as far as possible and let Prasutagus and Boudica approach the Durotriges or any settlements you come across. They'll listen for news of my family. Follow up any leads for as long as it takes, and find them.'

'I thought we only had twenty odd days left, sir. Before the Druids' deal is off.'

Plautius answered him. 'Yes, that's right. But once the deadline has passed and… and if the worst has happened, I'd like to be able to give them a decent funeral. Even if all that's left is ash and bone.'