The Eagle and the Wolves

'The families of the men he executed would have motive enough, sir.'

'Anyone else?'

'Just the malcontents Macro was talking about.'

'How many of them would you say there were, Centurion?'

Cato desperately thought about his response. If he estimated too many then Macro would be seen as complacent at best and a liar at worst. If Cato underestimated their number then the tribune would report back to General Plautius that the Roman alliance with the Atrebatans was safe. If it turned out not to be safe…

'How many?'

'It's difficult to say, sir. With Verica taking a hard line on those who oppose him, they're hardly making themselves obvious.'

'Is there any cause for concern?' asked Quintillus, and then added a qualification. 'Is there anything else you think I need to tell the general?'

'In my judgement, it is as Centurion Macro has said, sir. We can contain the problem for now. But if the situation changes, if Verica dies, or we meet with any serious defeat and Verica is deposed, who knows? The man chosen to succeed him by the king's council might not stay loyal to Rome.'

'Is that likely?'

'It's possible.'

'I see.' Tribune Quintillus leaned back in his chair, gazing at the beaten earth floor between his feet. He rasped a thumb along the stubble under his chin as he considered the situation. At length, just as Macro began to shift in his seat, the tribune looked up.

'Gentlemen, I'll be honest with you. The situation is causing me more concern than I thought it would. The general's not going to be a happy man when he reads my report. Right now, the four legions are disposed along a wide front, trying to hold on to Caratacus until we can fix him, and close for the kill. Behind the legions we've got lines of communication stretching right back to Rutupiae. Most of them pass through Atrebatan land. We're already having a hard enough time keeping the enemy's raiding columns at bay. If the Atrebatans go over to Caratacus, then the show's over. General Plautius will be forced to retreat all the way back to the fortress on the Tamesis. It would take us years to recover the ground. In that time Caratacus will be sure to make good use of our setback; the tribes would flock to his side. Given enough men, even though they're Celts, Caratacus might just defeat our legions.' Quintillus looked at Cato and Macro. 'You appreciate the seriousness of the position?'

'We're not idiots, sir,' Macro replied. 'Of course we know the score. Right, Cato?'

'Yes.'

Quintillus gave a faint nod as he seemed to make a decision. 'Then you'll understand the general's thinking when I tell you that he has granted me full procuratorial powers over this kingdom, and I'm to exercise them the moment I perceive any danger to the legions' supply lines.'

'You're not serious, sir?' Cato shook his head. 'A

'Who said we'd give them any choice in the matter?' Quintillus said coldly. 'While they've the good sense to do our bidding then they can have their king. But the moment they pose any threat to our interests I will be forced to act. The Second Legion will be recalled to Calleva to enforce my orders. These natives, and their lands, will come under direct Roman rule; the kingdom of the Atrebatans will cease to be.'

'No,' muttered Macro. 'They'd die first.'

'Nonsense! Don't be so melodramatic, Centurion. They'll do whatever it takes to survive, like everyone who has no real power to change events. They must already have a pretty good idea of the cost of defying Rome.' The fire of ruthless ambition glinted in the tribune's eyes. 'For those who don't know, I'll teach them.'

'If it comes to that,' said Cato.

'Yes.' The tribune nodded. 'If it comes to that.'

Cato's mind was reeling from the boldness of the blow that the tribune was willing to strike. He could readily imagine how the proud and prickly Artax would react. Tincommius as well. Even the lowly Bedriacus might well resent the arbitrary imposition of direct Roman rule. Over the last few months Cato felt he had come to know something of these people. As he had picked up some of their language he had learned about their culture and had even come to respect them in many ways. These Britons had an integrity that was quite lacking in those races that had lived for many years in the shadow of the Eagles. In Gaul, Cato had seen the extent to which the land had been turned into a rough facsimile of the vast estates that covered Italy. Generations of natives had lost their ancestral territories and now worked the same fields in exchange for a pittance. Where the estates were worked by chain gangs, the descendants of the once-proud tribes who had nearly bested Caesar himself were now forced to find work in the small industries that had sprouted up around the new Roman cities stamped across Gaul.

Whatever the strategic exigencies of the current situation, Cato felt that the Atrebatans deserved better than this. Good men had shed their blood to defend the supply routes of the legions. He had seen them die. To be sure, they had also been defending themselves from their warlike neighbours, but what had truly impressed him was the mutual respect and, dare he admit it, affection that had forged a bond between the warriors of the Atrebatans and their instructors from the Second Legion. Particularly Figulus, who was familiar with their tongue and, once out of uniform, looked every inch a Celt.

The sounds of the men training across the parade ground were clearly audible through the open window of Macro's office, and Cato was struck by the sudde

'Sir, we've raised two good cohorts of warriors here. They fight well and they fight alongside Rome because they believe we are friends, not oppressors. In time they might be allowed to serve as auxiliary units, and where they lead, other tribesmen will follow. All of that would be lost if you reduced their kingdom to a province. Worse, you would find them ranged against us… I doubt the general would approve.'

Quintillus frowned for a moment, before his expression relaxed and he smiled. 'You're right, of course. We must not squander this opportunity you two have created. While these cohorts of yours are still around we'd better tread carefully.'

Cato relaxed and nodded. Then the tribune gracefully rose from his chair. Macro and Cato shot up from their seats and stood to attention.

'Now, gentlemen, if you'd excuse me, I really must pay my respects to King Verica, before I cause our ally any further offence.'

After the tribune had gone Macro smiled. 'You got him in a nice twist! Bastard'll have to leave us be, for now at least.'

'I'm not so sure.'

'Come on, Cato! Why do you always have to be so bloody suspicious? You heard the man: he thinks you're right.'

'That's what he says…'

'And?'

'I'm not sure.' Cato looked down between his feet. 'I don't trust him.'

'You think he's dodgy?'

'No. Not deceitful, maybe. Just ambitious. It's not everyday the general hands out procuratorial powers.'

'Meaning?'

'Meaning our friend Quintillus might be awfully tempted to exercise those powers, come what may. Even if that means provoking the Atrebatans into open rebellion.'

Macro looked at him a moment, then shook his head. 'No. Nobody would be that foolish.'

'He isn't a nobody,' Cato said quietly. 'Quintillus is a patrician. His kind doesn't serve Rome. The way he sees it, Rome is there to serve him, any way he can make her. If the Atrebatans rise up, then he can use his powers to take command of all available troops to crush the tribesmen. A glorious victory has a fu