The Eagle and the Wolves

'I got as close to a boar as I ever want to be the other night.'

Macro grunted.

'Mind you,' Cato continued. 'I've seen them hunted in the arena.'

'That's not quite the same thing,' Macro said gently.

'Ugly brutes.'

'Yes. Ugly and bloody dangerous. If you find yourself on the ground facing one, watch those tusks. I've seen 'em carve a man up really nicely. Didn't kill him straight off. His wounds got infected with some poison they carry on the tusks. Must have been agony. He died screaming a few days later…'

'Thanks for that. Feel so much happier now.'

'You'll be all right,' Macro laughed, slapping his companion on the shoulder. 'Just stick close to me and watch your back.'

'Someone else could use that advice,' Cato muttered, nodding at the king and his nobles gathered about the fire and toasting each other with beer. Artax was standing close by the side of his king. Cato noticed that he was not drinking like the others, but seemed distracted. As well he might, Cato reflected. Verica was old. In months, maybe even weeks, Artax would be ruler of the Atrebatans. That kind of prospect was likely to turn a man's mind from the here and now. It was vexing Cato almost as much. Would King Artax be every bit as fiercely proud and prickly as Artax the young nobleman? If so, what hope was there for good relations between the Atrebatans and Rome? But maybe Verica was right. The old king was shrewd enough to see that the Atrebatans needed a ruler who would offend the least number of people and in that respect Artax was indeed a wise choice. But would he be wise enough in turn to see where the only possible destiny of his people lay?

'Verica's safe enough,' said Macro, 'now that he's got Artax onside.'

'Yes. I suppose. But I still don't trust him. He's up to something.'

'You're jumping at shadows.'

'Shadows don't kill people.'

'No.' Macro raised his head to the sky and squinted round. 'Come on then. Doesn't look like it's going to get any warmer or drier.'

They just had time to grab a hunk of cold mutton and a small loaf of bread when Cadminius sounded his horn to summon everyone to the hunt. Mouths full, and chewing frantically Cato and Macro stuffed the remains of their barely started meal into their haversacks and hurried over to the horseline. The hunting party heaved themselves on to the backs of their ponies and made themselves comfortable before reaching for the spears their slaves held ready for them. Verica was helped on to his mount, and Artax roughly pushed aside a slave to make sure that it was he who helped his king into the saddle. Verica looked down and smiled warmly, before reaching over to pat Artax on the shoulder.

'Touching, isn't it?' Macro muttered. 'Nothing quite like having someone throw a kingdom your way to improve your ma

Tincommius urged his horse over towards the two centurions.

'Good morning!' Cato called out to him.

'Good? Is it good?' Tincommius replied sourly.

'Boy's got a pine cone up his arse,' Macro whispered before Tincommius came within earshot. The Briton pulled the reins and drew his horse up beside the two Romans. Macro smiled at him.

'Cheer up, old son. Just as long as it doesn't really piss down we should be in for a good hunt. That forest is teeming with boar, if Artax is to be believed.'

'Artax… Oh, I'm sure he's right.'

Macro and Cato exchanged looks, before Macro continued in a hearty tone, 'I take it you aren't best pleased with Verica's choice of successor?'

Tincommius turned towards them, cold resentment on his face. 'No. Are you?'

'Provided he does good by Rome, he'll do well enough for me.'

'And you, Cato – what do you think?'

'I don't know. I just hope Verica lives for a while yet. Just to keep things settled.'

'Settled?' Tincommius laughed softly. 'Is that what you call it? Nothing's settled. Not while we're waiting for the old man to die. Everyone's thinking about what happens next. Do you really think Artax can hold the kingdom together?'

Cato watched him closely as he replied. 'Do you think someone else could do a better job?'

'Maybe.'

'You for instance?'

'Me?' Tincommius looked startled.

'Why not? You're closely related to Verica. You have some influence with the court. You might persuade the king's council to choose you instead of Artax.'

'Cato,' Macro growled, 'best keep our noses out of it. All right?'

'Just thinking.'

'No. Thinking's what you say to yourself up here.' Macro tapped his head. 'What you're doing is shit-stirring. We keep out of tribal politics.'

'We might not be able to for much longer. We have to think ahead. Tincommius has to think ahead. For all our sakes.'

Tincommius nodded slowly, but Macro shook his head.

'Leave it out. We're soldiers, not diplomats. Our job is to protect Calleva and prepare the Wolves and the Boars for battle. That's it, Cato. We leave the other stuff to cunts like Quintillus.'

Cato raised his hand in surrender. Just then the horn sounded again and there was a jostling of horses as the hunting party formed a loose column behind King Verica. Macro's horse was squeezed forward and for a brief moment Cato found himself pressed close alongside Tincommius. Their eyes met.

'Think about what I said,' Cato said softly.

Tincommius nodded and turned his gaze away, fixing his eye on the stooped figure at the front of the column. Then he clicked his tongue and urged his mount forward.

'What the hell are you playing at?' Macro whispered. 'You trying to plant ideas in his head?'

'I don't trust Artax,' said Cato.

'I don't trust anyone,' Macro replied in a furious undertone. 'Not Artax. Not Tincommius and certainly not that oily shit of a tribune. You start messing with the likes of them and you'll get us both killed.'

When the hunting party reached the edge of the forest the horsemen spread out along the tree line. Cadminius found Macro and Cato and told them to take up position close to the king, along with Artax, Tincommius and Cadminius himself.

'Why?' asked Macro.

'He needs men around him he can trust,' Cadminius replied quietly.

'What about them?' Macro nodded towards the king's bodyguards, who hung back behind the hunting party and formed a screen a short distance from the tree line.

'They'll make far too much noise if they stick close to the king. Scare all the boars away.'

'Doesn't he think that's a bit risky?' asked Cato.

Cadminius shook his head wearily. 'You've seen how he is these last few months. He's growing old and he knows it. He wants to get as much out of what's left of his life as he can. You can't blame him.'

'I might not, but his people might.'

Cadminius shrugged as he turned his horse away. 'We're his people, Centurion. He can do as he likes.'

Once the hunting party was settled in position they waited for the first sounds of the beaters. The horses lowered their heads and grazed on the wet grass while their riders sat quietly on their backs, spears resting across their thighs. The rain continued to patter a gentle drizzle on the leaves of the trees and soaked through the clothes of the hunting party. Cato's hair was soon plastered across his scalp and irritating rivulets began to trickle down his nose. With a muttered curse he pulled the cold mutton from his haversack, placed the bag on his head and sat there miserably chewing on the stringy meat waiting for the hunt to begin. As he sat, he wondered about the wisdom of having Artax so close to the king. Chosen successor he might be, but given the man's impatient and impetuous nature would Artax be willing to wait for his benefactor to die a natural death? It was as well that Macro, himself, Cadminius and Tincommius were close at hand, and Cato resolved to stay near to the king in the coming hunt.