The Eagle and the Wolves

'Punishment is over!' Macro bellowed. 'Return to training duties!'

The two cohorts were dismissed by centuries and marched off by their Roman instructors, back to the endless regime of drilling and weapons training. Cato watched them closely, his keen senses aware of a subtle change in their mood; a kind of quiet automation of bearing where before there had been a contained flow of energy.

Macro regarded Artax's retreating back for a moment, then muttered quietly, 'He's tough, that one. Lad's got balls of solid bronze.'

'That's as maybe,' Cato replied evenly, 'but I'm not sure how far I can trust him. Especially after he's taken that beating.'

'Right!' Tincommius nodded.

The critical tone of the last words was not lost on Macro and he rounded on Cato and Tincommius with a thin smile. 'You two experts think I shouldn't have punished him?'

Cato shrugged. 'Experts?'

'Sorry. Thought for the moment that you lads must be experts in the art of discipline and the ways of soldiering. I mean, I've only been serving with the Eagles, for what, sixteen years? Course, that don't count for much beside your breadth of experience…'

Macro paused to let Cato make the most of his embarrassment. It would do the young centurion good to be cut down to size. Macro was honest enough to accept that Cato was a far more intelligent being than himself, destined for great things if he survived long enough. Nevertheless, there were times when experience carried more weight than any amount of education, and a wise man should know that much at least.

Macro smiled. 'Artax'll be fine, trust me. I know the type: strong enough that you can't break 'em, and proud enough that they'll want to prove you wrong.'

'He's not some type, sir,' protested Tincommius. 'Artax is a royal prince, not some common soldier.'

'While he serves under me he's a common soldier. He takes his strokes with the rest of the men.'

'And what if he decides to quit? You lose Artax, and you'll lose a quarter, maybe even half, of the men.'

Macro stopped smiling. 'If he runs, I'll treat him the same as any other deserter, and even you know the punishment for that one, Cato.'

'Stoning…'

Macro nodded. 'I wouldn't think twice about doing that to a Roman, let alone some Celt with grand ideas about himself.'

Tincommius looked appalled by the prospect of such a dishonourable death for his kinsman. 'You can't treat a royal prince like some petty criminal!'

'I told you, while Artax serves in my bloody army, he's a soldier. Nothing more.'

'Your army?' Tincommius raised an eyebrow. 'Fu

'And Verica serves Rome!' Macro snapped back. 'Which makes you, and these people of yours, subject to my command, and you will call me "sir" when you address me from now on.'

Tincommius' jaw dropped at being talked to in this ma

'What the centurion means is that all allies of Rome find it best to work within the traditions of the Roman army. It keeps things simple, and makes for a more harmonious spirit of cooperation between the legions and their allied comrades.'

Tincommius and Macro were both staring at him now, frowning.

'I know what I meant to say,' Macro said coldly, 'but fuck knows what you're on about. What are you trying to say, Cato?'

'Just trying to reassure Tincommius that our interests are the same. And that we're proud to lead such fine warriors in the service of King Verica, and Rome. That's all.'

'That's not how it sounded to me… sir,' said Tincommius. 'Sounded more like we were your servants, slaves even.'

'Slaves!' Macro barked out a laugh of frustration. 'What have bloody slaves got to do with it? I'm talking about discipline, that's all. I'm not singling out your lads for a hard time. There's no difference between the way I treat 'em and the way I'd treat our own boys. Ain't that true, Cato?'

'Oh, that's true all right.'

'There! See?'

Tincommius shrugged. 'I don't like to see my people treated like animals, sir.'

'They only fight like animals,' laughed Macro. 'And they're bloody good at it!'

'You sound as if you were proud of us, Centurion.'

'Proud? Of course I'm fucking proud. They carved those Durotrigans up a treat. Lack a bit of finish, mind you. But once Cato and I have trained them up, you'll have the deadliest bunch of Celts in the land.'

Tincommius nodded his approval.

'Happy now?'

'Yes, sir. Sorry I questioned you, sir.'

'I'll let it pass, this time. Now you'd better join the instructors. Born fighters you Britons may be, but you're piss poor at languages. Now bugger off.'

Once Tincommius had left them Macro turned on Cato, stabbing a finger into his chest. 'Don't you ever contradict me in front of him again!'

'Yes, sir.'

'Don't call me sir.'

'Sorry.'

'And don't apologise all the bloody time!'

Cato opened his mouth, closed it again and nodded.

'Now then, Cato, what was that all about? That stuff you were spouting about comrades?'

'I just thought, given the current tensions in Calleva, that we should play up the fact that the Boars and the Wolves were raised to serve Verica.'

'That's what we tell them,' Macro agreed. 'But any idiot can see that they're really just another two auxiliary cohorts serving Rome.'

'Be careful who you say that to. I wouldn't repeat it in front of the likes of Artax.'

'Or that youngster Tincommius!' Macro snapped back. 'Although I can see he's taken you in… Look here, I'm not a complete fool, Cato. But at the end of the day, we trained them, armed them and fed them. That makes 'em ours.'

'I doubt that's how most of them see it.'

'Then they're fools. Now, stop worrying about it.'

'And if someone like Artax takes exception to being given his orders by a Roman?'

'Well, we'll deal with that when the time comes,' Macro concluded impatiently. 'Now, I've got a pile of records to audit, and you've got training duties.'

But Cato was looking over his shoulder towards the depot gates. A small party of horsemen had just ridden in from Calleva. They were led by a tall figure in a scarlet cloak riding a beautifully groomed black horse. Macro turned round to see what his subordinate was gazing at. One of the horsemen kicked his heels in and trotted his mount over towards the two centurions.

'Your eyes are better than mine. Who's that over at the gate?'

'No idea,' replied Cato. 'Never seen him before.'

'We'll know soon enough.' Macro nodded towards the horseman, who reined his beast in a short distance from the two officers and slid smoothly from its back. The man quickly glanced over the centurions and snapped a salute at Macro.

'Sir! Tribune Quintillus presents his compliments and desires the presence of the commanding officer of the depot at once.'

'Who exactly is this Tribune Quintillus?' Macro cocked his head towards the gateway.

'From headquarters, sir. On the general's orders. If you'd attend the tribune at your earliest convenience, sir…?'

'Yes,' Macro growled. 'Of course.'

The horseman saluted, slid back on to his mount and trotted back towards his superior.

Macro exchanged a quick glance with Cato and spat on to the ground. 'What the bloody hell is that tribune doing on my patch?'

04 The Eagle and the Wolves