The Eagles Conquest

'What's happening over there, sir?'

'Well, sounds to me like they're trying to whip up a bit of battle fever.'

'Battle fever?'

'Of course. They know the odds are against them. We've given them a good kicking in every fight so far. Morale won't be high so Caratacus will be doing everything he can to make them fight hard.'

A fresh roar burst out from the enemy camp, and another rhythmic clatter.

'What's that noise, sir?'

'That? It's the same trick we use. A sword beating on a shield. You get everyone to beat to the same rhythm and that's the sound you get. Supposed to scare the shit out of the enemy. That's the idea, at least. Personally, I find it just gives me a headache.'

Cato finished his stew and set the mess tin down beside him. The contrast between the two camps disturbed him. While the enemy seemed to be having some kind of wild celebration, the legions were settling down for a night's sleep, as if tomorrow was merely another day.

'Shouldn't we be doing something about that lot?'

'Like what?'

'I don't know. Just something to break up their party. Something to unsettle them.'

'Why bother?' Macro yawned. 'Let them have their fun. It won't make any difference when our lads get stuck into them tomorrow. They'll just be more tired than us.'

'I suppose so.' Cato licked the last drips of stew from his fingers. He picked up some grass and wiped his mess tin clean. 'Sir?'

'What is it?' Macro replied sleepily.

'Do you think the baggage train would have been able to catch up with us today?'

"Don't see why not. No rain today. Why do you ask?'

'Er, just wondered if we'd be getting artillery support tomorrow.'

'If Claudius is sensible, we'll be getting all the fire support we can manage against those fortifications. ' Cato rose to his feet.

'Going somewhere?'

'Latrine. And maybe a quick stroll before I turn in, sir.'

'Quick stroll?' Macro rolled his head to one side and looked at Cato.

'Haven't you had enough of walking over the last two days?'

'Just need to clear my head, sir.'

'All right then. But you'll need a good night's sleep for tomorrow.'

'Yes, sir.'

Cato strolled off towards the centre of the camp. If the baggage train had caught up with the army then he might see Lavinia. This time there would be no enclosure to keep him out. A few guards maybe, but they could easily be avoided in the dark. And then he would hold Lavinia in his arms again and smell the scent of her hair. The prospect filled him with a keen sense of anticipation and he quickened his pace as he walked up the via Praetoria in the direction of the legate's tents. The jaunty spring in his stride carried him forward with such momentum that he nearly floored a figure who suddenly emerged from a tent flap and stepped directly in his path. As it was they collided and Cato's chin was badly knocked when it struck the other person's head.

'Ow! You stupid bloody… Lavinia!'

Rubbing her head, Lavinia stared at him, wide-eyed. 'Cato!'

'But… why…' he mumbled as surprise overcame loquacity. 'What are you doing here? How did you get here?' he added, remembering the muddy tracks that had sucked down the baggage wagons.

'With the artillery train. As soon as they could move, Lady Flavia left her wagon to follow on with the rest and we hitched a ride with a catapult crew. What happened to your face?'

'Someone ran into me, quite a few times. But that's not important now.' Cato wanted to fold his arms about her, but there was a strange, distant expression in her eyes that discouraged him. 'Lavinia? What's the matter?'

'Nothing. Why?'

'You seem different.'

'Different!' She laughed nervously. 'Nonsense. I'm just busy. I've got an errand to run for my mistress.'

'When can I see you?' Cato risked taking her hand in his. 'I don't know. I'll find you. Where are your tents?'

'Over there.' Cato pointed. 'Just ask for the Sixth Century of the Fourth Cohort.' The sudden image of Lavinia wandering through the darkened tents surrounded by thousands of males made him worry for her safety. 'It'd be better if I waited for you here.'

'No! I'll come and find you, if I get time. But you must go now.' Lavinia leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the cheek before pressing her hand firmly against his chest. 'Go on!'

Confused, Cato backed off slowly. Lavinia smiled nervously and waved him away, as if joking, but there was an intensity in her eyes that made Cato feel cold and afraid. He nodded, turned and walked away, round the corner of a line of tents and out of her sight.

As soon as the tents blocked her view of him, Lavinia turned and hurried down the via Praetoria along the line of torches leading away from the legate's tents.

Had she waited a moment she might have seen Cato peep cautiously round the tent line. He watched her almost run in the opposite direction, and once he was sure that he could remain out of sight in the shadows on this side of the via Praetoria he followed her, padding softly from tent to tent, keeping her in view. She didn't go very far. Just to the first of the six big tents of the Second Legion's tribunes. The cold anxiety he had felt a moment earlier turned to a sickening, icy dread as he watched Lavinia boldly pull open the fIap of Vitellius' tent and step inside.

Chapter Forty-Seven

With a grand flourish Claudius whipped back the silk sheet covering thetable. Underneath, illuminated by the glow of dozens of hanging oil lamps. lay a contoured reproduction of the surrounding landscape, as detailed as the staff officers could make it in the time available, based on reports from the scouts. The legions' officers crowded round the table and examined the landscape intently. For those who had arrived after sunset this was the first opportunity to see what lay ahead of them the next day. The Emperor allowed his officers a brief moment to familiarise themselves with the model before he began the briefing.

'Gentlemen, tomorrow m-m-morning we begin the end of the conquest of this land. Once Caratacus is beaten and his army wiped out, there will be n-nothing between us and the capital of the Catuvellauni. With the f-fall of Camulodunum the other British tribes will bow to the inevitable. a year from now, I th-think we can safely say, this island will be as peaceful a p-p-province as any in the empire.'

Vespasian listened in silent contempt, and judging by the arch glances being subtly exchanged by other officers, they shared his doubts. How could there be a complete conquest in just one year? No one even knew the extent of this island; some explorers claimed that it was just the tip of a vast landmass. If so, and if tales of the savage tribes of the far north were true, it would take many more years before the province was pacified. But by then Claudius would have had his triumph in Rome and the mob would have long forgotten distant Britain, distracted by an endless orgy of gladiatorial contests, beast hunts and chariot races at the Circus Maximus. The last page of the official history of Claudius' conquest of Britain would have been written then copied onto scrolls to be placed in every major public library across the empire.

Meanwhile Plautius and his legions would still be occupied extinguishing all the minor strongholds that insisted on holding out against the invader. And while a Druid still lived, there would be constant, simmering resistance to Rome, which would regularly boil over into armed rebellion. Ever since their bloody persecution by Julius Caesar the Druids had regarded Rome, and all things Roman, with an unquenchable and fervent hatred.

'In two days' time,' Claudius continued, 'we will be feasting in C-Camulodunum. Think on that, and in years to come you w-w-will be able to tell your grandchildren of the d-d-decisive battle you fought and won at the side of Emperor C-Claudius!' Eyes gleaming and mouth gri