The Eagles Conquest

Each evening, when the last light of day had all but gone, Macro halted his column in the temporary marching camps attached to the forts. Before first light he roused his men and the column marched on well before the sun had raised its head above the distant horizon. The hard pace was as much a test of his new men as it was a result of his desire to get back to his legion. It was gratifying to him that not one of the men he had chosen for his century fell out of line and joined the ragged column of stragglers destined for the other legions. Only a handful of those picked for the Second failed to keep the pace he set. Vespasian would be pleased with his replacements. With such men in his legion the Second would win a fine reputation in the rest of the campaign. And Vespasian, Macro knew, was not a man who forgot those who served him well.

It felt strange to retrace a route so recently taken at such a cost in lives. Here was the forest track where the Second had been ambushed by Togodumnus and would have been crushed, had it not been for the timely intervention of the Fourteenth Legion. Macro could even see the oak tree on the distant hill where he had killed Togodumnus in single combat as the British chieftain fled towards the marshes with his men.

The following day they marched across a pontoon bridge over the Mead Way where, only weeks before, their comrades had withered under such a hail of arrow and slingshot that the smooth flowing water was stained red. The route then turned north and passed over a gentle ridge and down towards the Tamesis, through the gorse-choked marsh to the fortress on the south bank, where they waited for transports to feITy them across to the main body of the army. The bridge was nearly finished and the engineers were being driven hard to complete it in time for the Emperor to lead the eagle standards and his reinforcements over into enemy territory.

The column of replacements waited wearily while the transports shuttled back and forth across the Tamesis. At last it was the turn of the Second's replacements to cross. On landing, Macro dismissed his century and led the rest of his column up to the Second's headquarters to parade them on the wide avenue opposite the main entrance. Inside the clerical tent he handed over the roster, after having marked off the names of those men he had chosen for his century.

'Looks like you've picked only the best for us, Centurion.'

Macro turned and quickly stood to attention at the sight of his legate. 'Yes, sir. The best.'

'Well done.' Vespasian pulled on his helmet with its bright red crest 'Now I'll introduce myself to them officially.'

Cato, meanwhile, took his kit to the section tent and then went in search of Nisus, dete

But Nisus was not in the field hospital, not in his tent, not sitting down by the jetty. Eventually Cato went back to the field hospital and asked one of the orderlies where Nisus might be found.

'Nisus?' The orderly's eyebrows rose.

Cato nodded and a flash of recognition lightened the orderly's face. 'You're that mate of his, aren't you? I'm surprised you don't know.'

'Don't know?' Cato felt his blood run cold. 'I've been out of the camp. What's happened?'

'Nisus has gone.'

'Gone?'

'Disappeared. Two days ago. Just walked out of the camp to go fishing, and never came back.'

'Who saw him last?'

'Don't know.' The orderly shrugged. 'He was supposed to meet someone by the river and never showed up. That's how it got reported.'

'Who was he supposed to meet?'

'A tribune. The resident broad-striper.' Vitellius. Cato nodded slowly.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

It was noon before Vespasian reached the last of the fortified outposts ringing the main camp. He had not given any warning of the inspection, wanting to catch each garrison at its habitual level of operational readiness rather than presenting a show for the visit of a high-ranking officer. Vespasian was gratified to see that he was challenged as he rode up towards each fort, and that admission was steadfastly refused unless the correct password was given. Beyond the gates most of the fortlets were well ordered, with infantry weapons close to hand and an adequate supply of ammunition on the bolt-thrower platforms.

The last fort was no exception, and as Vespasian and his mounted escort trotted through the gate he was immediately confronted with a line of legionaries standing to across the entrance. Their optio gave the order for the gate to be closed the moment the last of the legate's escorts had passed inside.

'What's this, Cato?' Vespasian waved his hand at the legionaries as he dismounted. 'An honour guard?'

'A precaution, sir.' Cato saluted. 'The gate is always the weakest point of a defence. ' 'Archimedes?'

'Yes, sir. From his treatise on siege warfare.'

'Well, he's right, and you do well to pay heed to him. What's your strength?'

'Forty men, sir. And forty in the other half of the century in the next outpost with Centurion Macro.'

'So, you're up to full strength once again, with the cream of the crop. I'll be expecting nothing but the best from the Sixth Century of the Fourth Cohort from now on. See to it that I'm not disappointed.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Right then, let's have a look round.'

Vespasian strode off to begin his inspection, with the anxious optio following in his wake. The tents were scrutinised for any signs of slack guy ropes, leaking seams and untidy stowage of bedding. The latrine was examined to ensure that it had not reached the level where it must be filled in and a new one dug. Then Vespasian climbed up onto the turf ramp and began a tour of the palisade. At the artillery platform he carefully examined the winding mechanisms to ensure that they were adequately greased, and nodded approvingly at the scent of linseed oil on the torsion springs. He was experimenting with the elevating gear when there was a shout from the watchtower.

'Enemy in sight!'

'Come on!' Vespasian led the way up the rough wooden ladder of the watchtower. He emerged through the opening on the platform and stepped over to the side of the sentry as Cato scrambled up behind him.

'Over there, sir.' The sentry pointed again and beyond the tip of the javelin lay a distant hill. Vespasian could make out the tiny shapes of horses galloping ahead of a thin smudge of brown from the dust kicked up by their hooves. The land stretching out from the fortlet was mostly grass, mixed with random copses of oak, but the horsemen made no attempt to conceal their approach and pounded directly towards the fortlet.

'I hardly think they mean to attack us,' muttered Vespasian. 'Nevertheless, sir, I think we should stand the men to,' said Cato. 'Very well.'

Cato bellowed the order and the half-century snatched up their weapons and ma

'Load the bolt-thrower!' Cato called down to the palisade. The artillery crew strained on the winch sheers, and the clank of the ratchet competed with the excited hubbub of the soldiers watching the chase. The men's mood was understandable, but not tolerable and Vespasian raised an eyebrow at the optio. Cato leaned over the rail.