The Eagles Conquest

'You can do it now.' Macro nodded over Cato's shoulder. 'Here he comes.'

Cato twisted his head and saw the huge hulk of the surgeon emerging from the dull shadows between the tents. He raised a hand in greeting. 'Cato! Awake at last. You were way down the Lethe last time I saw you. Hardly a murmur when I changed the dressing.'

'Thanks.'

Nisus slumped down by the fire between Cato and his centurion, and sniffed at the pot. 'Hare?' 'What else?' replied Macro. 'Any spare?'

'Help yourself.'

Nisus unhooked the mess tin and spoon from his belt and, ignoring the ladle, dipped the mess tin in and scooped it out almost filled to the brim. With a keen look of anticipation he moistened his lips.

'Please make yourself at home,' Macro muttered.

Nisus skimmed a spoonful off the surface, blew on it a moment and sipped cautiously. 'Lovely! Centurion, you're going to make someone a wonderful wife one day.'

'Fuck off.'

'So then, Cato, how are the burns today?'

The optio touched the dressing tenderly and winced immediately. 'Painful. '

'Not surprised. You've not given them a moment's rest. Some of the wounds are open and might've got infected if I hadn't cleaned them out when I changed the dressing. You're really going to have to take a bit more care of yourself. That's an order, by the way.'

'An order?' Macro protested. 'Just who the hell do you medics think you are?'

'We're qualified to look after the health of the Emperor's troops, that's who. Besides, it's an order from the top. The legate told me to make sure Cato rested. He's excused duties and is out of the line of battle until I say so.'

'He can't do that' Cato protested. Macro looked at him sharply and Cato subsided, realising the foolishness of his protest.

'Might as well make the most of it, lad, since the order's come from the legate,' said Macro gruffly.

Nisus agreed with a vigorous nod, and then returned to his stew. Macro reached for one of the roughly hacked logs and placed it carefully in the flames. A small cloud of sparks swirled up and Cato's eyes followed them into the velvet sky until their glow faded and they were lost against the dazzling pinpricks of the stars. Despite being asleep for most of the day, Cato still felt exhaustion weighing down every sinew of his body and would have been shaking with cold but for the fire.

Nisus finished his stew, set his mess tin down and lay down on his side, gazing at Cato. 'So then, Optio. You come from the palace.'

'Yes.'

'Is it true that Claudius is as cruel and incompetent as all his predecessors'?'

Macro spluttered. 'What kind of a question is that for a Roman to ask?'

'A reasonable enough one,' Nisus replied. 'And anyway, by birth I'm not a Roman. African as it happens, though there's some Greek in there as well. Hence the occupation and my presence here. The only place the legions can get decent medical experience from is Greece and the eastern provinces. '

'Bloody foreigners!' Macro sniffed. 'Beat' em in war and they profit from us in peace.'

'Thus it ever was, Centurion. The compensations of being conquered.' Despite the levity of the comments, Cato sensed a bitterness behind the words and was curious. 'Where are you from then?'

'A small town on the African coast. Cartanova. Don't suppose you've ever heard of it.'

'I believe I have. Isn't it home to the library of Archelonides?'

'Why yes.' Nisus' face lit up with pleasure. 'You know it?'

'I know of it. The town's built over some of the foundations of a Carthaginian city, I think.'

'Yes.' Nisus nodded. 'That's right. Over the foundations. You can still see the lines of the old city, and some of the temple complexes and shipyards. But that's it. The city was razed pretty thoroughly at the end of the second patriotic war.'

'The Roman army doesn't do things by halves,' Macro said with a certain amount of pride.

'No, I suppose not.'

'And you trained in medicine there?' asked Cato, trying to steer the discussion onto safer ground.

'Yes. For a few years. There's a limit to what can be learned in a small trading town. So I went east to Damascus and worked in a practice servicing the wide variety of ailments the rich merchants and their wives imagined that they suffered from. Lucrative enough, but dull. I got friendly with a centurion in the garrison. When he was transferred to the Second a few months back, I went with him. Can't say that it hasn't been exciting, but I do miss the Damascus lifestyle.'

'Is it as good as you hear?' Macro asked with the eagerness of all those who believe that paradise must exist somewhere in this life. 'I mean, the women have quite a reputation, don't they?'

'The women?' Vitellius raised his eyebrows. 'Is that all that soldiers think about? There's more to Damascus than its women.'

'Sure there is.' Macro tried to be gracious for a moment. 'But is it true about the women?'

The surgeon sighed. 'The legions who garrisoned the town certainly seemed to think so. You'd think they had never seen a Roman at all before. Bunches of slavering drunks staggering from one brothel to the next. Not so much in pursuance of the Roman peace as in pursuit of a piece for the Romans.'

Nisus gazed into the fire, and Cato saw his mouth fix into a tight, bitter line. Macro was also gazing into the fire, but the lazy flames showed a smile on his face as his mind dwelt upon the exotic pleasures of an eastern posting.

The difference between these two representatives of the ruling and conquered races troubled Cato. What was the value of a world ruled by uncouth womanisers who lorded it over their better educated subject races? Macro and Nisus were not typical examples of course, and the comparison was perhaps unfair, but was it always the case that strength would triumph over intellect? Certainly the Romans had triumphed over the Greeks, for all their science, art and philosophy. Cato had read enough to know how much the Romans had subsequently appropriated from Greek heritage. In truth, the destiny of Rome depended upon her ability to ruthlessly overwhelm other civilisations and subsume them. The thought was very unsettling, and Cato turned to stare down towards the river.

There was no doubting that the Britons were barbarians. Aside from looking the part, the lack of neatly pla

And there was the sinister issue of the Druids. Not much was known of them, and all that Cato had read depicted the cult in lurid and horrific terms. He shuddered at the memory of the grove he and Macro had discovered a few days earlier. The place had felt dark and cold, and filled with menace. If nothing else, the conquest of the misty islands would lead to the destruction of the dark cult of Druidism.

The disgust he suddenly felt for the British caused Cato to pause in this line of thinking. As arguments justifying the expansion of the empire, they seemed plausible and simple. So much so, that Cato could not help being suspicious of them. In his experience, the things in life that were held up as eternal and simple truths were only so because of a deliberate limitation in thought. It occurred to him that everything he had ever read in Latin had presented Roman culture in the best possible terms, and infinitely superior to anything produced by any other race, whether 'civilised' like the Greeks, or 'barbaric' like these Britons. There had to be another side to things.