The Eagles Conquest

Vitellius took pride in the fact that he had quickly learned never to subscribe to someone else's cause. The very notion of a 'secret organisation' was an oxymoron; there was an almost exponential increase in the possibility of betrayal or exposure every time such an organisation recruited a new member. No, it was far safer to work alone; towards a specific end, with no obligations to causes or comrades. Isolation from such groups was his strength and their weakness,as his present scheme proved

But it was now a common assumption amongst the senior officers that the Roman weapons they had discovered in the hands of the Britons must have been supplied by the Liberators. Clearly these traitors had assumed that the Britons would hurl the invaders back into the sea and that such scary catastrophe must lead to the fall of Claudius. In the ensuing chaos, the Liberators saw themselves emerging as the champions of the new republic. Had the invasion failed, no one would have been more delighted than Vitellius. If the political system could be kept unstable enough, he would have time to develop his political position. One day. when he was quite sure the moment was ripe, he would seize power for himself.

Now the Liberators' latest perceived treachery meant that their name would be blackened back in Rome. From the lowliest squat in the slums of the Subura to the wealthiest di

Vitellius found himself warming to Caratacus. He had never met the British leader in person, but the quality of the man's mind was evident in his arrangements for the plot. Despite having the terrible disadvantage of coming from a warrior culture which valued a man's honour above all else, Caratacus was admirably pragmatic. He would be making a stand against Claudius before Camulodunum. That was a certainty. To allow the capital to fall without a single sword being raised in its defence would demoralise any will to resist in the other tribes of the island. The defiant posture would have to be maintained, even at the cost of yet another defeat. There was always the possibility, however unlikely, that the battle could be won, or at least a Roman victory could be made so Pyrrhic that it held up the invasion.

If the coming battle ended in another defeat for the Britons, then the assassination could be attempted at the subsequent surrender of the tribes taken by the Emperor in person. Caratacus had managed to persuade one of his followers to accept the suicidal duty of wielding the blade. It only remained for Vitellius to see to it that the man was provided with a knife after being searched prior to his presentation to the Emperor. But without the message Nisus had been carrying, Vitellius would not know the identity of the assassin. Without that knowledge, there could be no attempt on the Emperor's life.

Whether the assassination of Claudius succeeded or not, the blame would be attached to the Liberators. It might well be a British knife that plunged into the Emperor's heart but those investigating the plot would be sure to find some way of implicating the Liberators, particularly if they were encouraged to do so.

Vitellius suddenly sat upright on his camp bed, angry with himself.

There was no point in thinking about the pleasures the future had to offer when at any moment his complicity in the plot could be revealed by Nisus. Equally, there was little he could do about it until Nisus, or news of Nisus, was brought into the main camp. Then he could justify his attendance on the man by acting the concerned friend. In the meantime, he admonished himself, he must be calm. He must not give the appearance of being fretful lest anyone who saw him remembered it when giving evidence to any investigation that might take place if the worst happened. Better to think about something more pleasing.

It was then that he recalled having seen Flavia amongst the imperial entourage. Behind Vespasian's wife had stood that terribly attractive slave girl he had once had a fling with when the Second had been stationed in Germania. Even that lecherous old dotard Claudius had noticed her. As he recalled her features, Vitellius smiled at the prospect of renewing their relationship.

Chapter Forty-Three

'Get him under the lamps!' the senior surgeon shouted as two legionaries carried the stretcher into the treatment tent. 'Take care, you fools!'

Cato walked beside them, pressing a blood-drenched rag to the wound. The senior surgeon, dark ski

Where did you find him?'

'He was trying to get through our picket lines,' Cato replied. 'One of my men stopped him.'

'I'll say.' The senior surgeon lifted the compress again to examine the wound, and grimaced at the unstaunched flow of blood.

Nisus' head came up as he suddenly screamed, then dropped back with a jarring thud on the examination table, muttering and moaning. 'We must stop the bleeding. It looks like he's lost too much already.' The senior surgeon looked up. 'How long ago did you say you found him?'

Cato calculated from the watch signals. 'Half an hour.' 'And he's been bleeding like this all the time?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then he's had it. Nothing I can do.'

'There must be something, sir,' Cato said desperately. 'Friend of yours?'

Cato paused a moment before he nodded.

'Well, Optio, I'm really sorry about your friend Nisus, but there really is nothing we can do for him. This kind of injury is always fatal.' Nisus was trembling now, and his moaning had a keening note. His eyes flickered and were suddenly wide open, glancing around in a dazed panic before they rested on Cato.

'Cato… ' Nisus reached out a hand.

'Lie still, Nisus,' Cato ordered. 'You need to rest. Lie back.'

'No.' Nisus smiled weakly, then his lips twisted as an agonising spasm glipped him. 'I'm dying. I'm dying, Cato.'

'Nonsense! You won't die!'

'I'm the bloody surgeon' I know what's happening to me!' His eyes blazed fiercely, then clamped tightly shut as the next spasm shot through him. 'Ahhh! It hurts!'

'All right, Nisus.' The senior surgeon patted his shoulder. 'It'll be over quite soon. Want me to make it easier for you?'

'No! No drugs.' He was panting now, in shallow rasping breaths. His hand still grasped Cato's and the powerful grip was almost painful as he struggled to keep a hold on the living world even as death gradually drew him away. With a supreme effort, and driven by what spark of consciousness remained, he seized Cato with his other hand and pulled the optio close to his mouth.

'Tell the tribune, tell him… ' The voice tailed out into a whisper and Cato was not even sure whether he was hearing words or the last wheezing breaths of a dying man. Slowly the Carthaginian's grip slackened, his breathing faded into silence. Nisus' head lolled back and his lifeless eyes gIazed over, mouth hanging slightly open.