The Eagles Prey

'Now then, gentlemen, I know I have been commanding this cohort for a little more than a month, but I have watched the centuries being put through their paces and I'm certain that I have never served with a finer body of men… outside Rome, that is. I've also had the chance to assess the potential of Felix, Antonius and Tullius, and I'm pleased with what I've seen. You're good men. Which brings me to our recent appointments…' He turned fully towards Macro and Cato and made a brief smile. 'I've read through your records and I'm glad to have you both serving under me. Macro, two years of service in the centurionate, with excellent reports and commendations from the legate and the general himself. I'm sure you will have every chance to build on that while you serve in my cohort.'

For a moment Macro felt a bitter twist of resentment in his guts. He had served with the Eagles for over fifteen years. Fifteen years of hard experience and some of the toughest fighting to be had. He doubted that anyone he had left behind in the small fishing village along the coast from Ostia would recognise him now. The thickset boy who had hitched a ride to Rome to join the legions was a distant memory, and Macro fumed at the patronising tone of his superior's welcome. But he bit back on the anger, and nodded stiffly. 'Thank you, sir.'

Maximius smiled, and turned his gaze to Cato. 'Of course, Centurion Cato, some records were quicker to read through than others. Despite your years you've racked up some impressive achievements, and you've even picked up some of the local lingo. That might come in useful,' he mused. 'It'll be interesting to see how you cope tomorrow.'

'I hope I won't disappoint you, sir,' Cato replied, tight-lipped as he bit back on his injured pride.

'You'd better not.' The smile faded from Maximius' face. 'There's a lot riding on this for all of us, from the general right down to the legionaries in the front rank. We carry it off and there'll be more than enough glory to go round. We fuck it up and you can be sure that the people back in Rome won't ever forgive us. Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes, sir,' Antonius and Felix answered at once.

'That's good. Now, gentlemen, if you'll join me in a toast…' Maximius reached under the table and lifted a small wine jar from the shadows. 'It ain't the best vintage, but think of it as a taster of the spoils to come. So I give you, the Emperor, Rome and her legions. Jupiter and Mars, bless them all, and grant bloody defeat and death to Caratacus and his barbarians!'

Maximius pulled the stopper out of the jar, grasped the handle and, letting the jar lie across his bent arm, he raised its rim to his lips and gulped down a couple of mouthfuls of wine. Cato watched as a red bead trickled from the corner of the cohort commander's lips and ran down his cheek. Maximius lowered the jar and passed it to Tullius, and one by one the centurions echoed the toast and sealed their oath by sharing the wine. When Macro's turn came, he took rather more mouthfuls than was required and then handed the jug to Cato as he wiped his lip on the back of his other hand.

As he lifted the jug and repeated the toast, Cato sensed every eye in the tent on him and he pursed his lips as the first trickle of wine came down the rough earthenware neck of the jar towards his mouth. As the liquid flowed over his tongue Cato resisted the impulse to gag at the sharp, burning vinegary taste. Even in the poorest quarters of Camulodunum Cato had never tasted such a rancid wine. He forced himself to take another mouthful and then lowered the jar.

'There!' Maximius retrieved the jar, stopped it up and placed it back under the table.'Tomorrow then, gentlemen. Tomorrow we show the rest of the army what a cohort can achieve.'

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER SIX

It was still dark as the cohort prepared to move off. Two braziers either side of the gatehouse illuminated the head of the column, but the glow cast by the gently licking flames carried only as far down the Praetorian way as the First Century. The rest of the men were shrouded in the clammy air of the pre-dawn. Cato, standing with the other centurions by the gate, could hear only the muted exchanges and dull clunk and clatter of equipment of nearly five hundred men getting ready to march into battle. On the open ground, to one side of the gate, stood the mounted contingent that was to accompany the cohort – thirty men under the command of a decurion, lightly armed and trained for scouting and courier duties rather than battle. The horses waited expectantly, ears twitching and hoofs gently scraping the ground as their dismounted riders kept firm hands on the reins. From further off came the muffled sounds of other legionaries rousing; quiet curses amid the coughs and groans of men stretching sleep-stiffened bodies.

'Not long now, lads!' Centurion Maximius called out as he warmed his back against one of the braziers, and cast a huge wavering shadow across the nearest line of tents.

'He's up for it,' Macro remarked quietly.

Cato yawned. 'Wish I was.'

'Lose much sleep?'

'Had to finish the accounts before I turned in.'

'Accounts?' Centurion Felix shook his head in disbelief. 'On the eve of a battle? Are you mad?'

Cato shrugged and Felix turned to Macro. 'You've known him a while, haven't you?'

'Man and boy.'

'He always been like that?'

'Oh, yes! Bit of a perfectionist, our Cato. Never goes into a fight unless his records are sorted. Nothing worse than being killed with a bit of paperwork on your mind. Some peculiar religious thing he picked up from the palace officials. Something to do with his shadow being doomed to walk the earth until the accounts are completed, audited and filed. Only then can his spirit rest in peace.'

'Is that true?' Centurion Antonius asked, wide-eyed.

'Why do you ask?' Macro turned towards him with a horrified expression. 'You haven't gone and left your paperwork half done?'

Cato sighed. 'Just ignore him, Antonius. Taking the piss is Centurion Macro's stock in trade.'

Antonius glanced from Cato to Macro and narrowed his eyes. 'Fucking idiot…'

'Oh, yes? Had you going there for a moment, didn't I? So who's the idiot?'

'You were at the palace?' Felix said, turning to Cato. 'The imperial palace?'

Cato nodded.

'So what's the story, Cato?'

'Not much to say. I was born and raised in the palace. My father was a freedman on the general staff. He arranged most of the entertainments for Tiberius and Caligula. Never knew my mother. She didn't live long after giving birth to me. When my father died I was sent to join the legions, and here I am.'

'Must be a bit of a comedown, after the palace.'

'In some ways,' Cato admitted. 'But life in the palace could be every bit as dangerous as here in the legions.'

'Fu

'Really?' Cato muttered. 'Can't seem to remember the Praetorian Guard ever having a hard time of it, Sejanus and his cronies excepted.'

'You were there then?' Felix's eyes lit up. 'Was it as bad as they say?'

'Worse.' Cato's expression hardened as he recalled the fall of Sejanus. 'Hundreds were slaughtered. Hundreds. Including his kids… They used to play with me when they visited the palace. The Praetorians took them away and butchered them. That's the kind of battle most of them get to fight.'

Macro frowned at the harsh tone in his friend's voice and nodded towards the cohort commander.'Be fair, lad. He wasn't there when it happened.'

'No. I suppose not.'

'And the Guard did all right by us outside Camulodunum. That was a bloody tough fight.'

'Yes. All right. I won't mention it again.'

'You know,' Tullius spoke quietly, 'Maximius might have known your father. You should ask him some time. You might have something in common.'