The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

General Plautius walked slowly across the area where the prisoners had been held, under the anxious gaze of his officers. Not only were the centurions of the Third Cohort present, but also Legate Vespasian, his senior tribunes, the Second's camp prefect, and the senior staff of the other three legions who had been expecting to attend an execution this morning. Only a few of them talked, in tones so muted that they were only just audible above the steady patter of raindrops. The rest watched the army's commander with fixed expressions as they huddled under the shelter of their cloaks. The heat from their bodies was making the fat used to waterproof the coats give off a thick musty smell that Vespasian had always found quite sickening. It reminded him of the mule ta

Focusing his mind back on the present Vespasian glanced towards Maximius and the other officers of the Third Cohort. It was hard not to feel sorry for them – the other centurions. They had been poorly led and the harsh punishments that had befallen them had not been deserved. Maximius, despite his years of experience, just lacked the necessary moral fibre and cool-headedness required of a cohort commander. A classic example of overpromotion and the consequences that follow from the dangerous elevation of a man who was simply not up to the job. Vespasian bitterly regretted ever having accepted him into the Second Legion, and he wondered how many of the officers that stood beside the cohort commander would have their careers blighted by the events of the last few days. There were some good men there, the legate mused. Tullius was old and would complete his term of service in two years' time. But he had experience and a steady enough nerve, and would never let his comrades down. Centurion Macro was as dependable as they came, and was, in so many ways, the ideal centurion: brave, resourceful and tough as old leather. Unimaginative perhaps, but in a centurion that was a positive virtue. The other two Vespasian was less certain about. Only recently promoted, Antonius and Felix had excellent records and were highly commended for promotion to the centurionate by the Second's camp prefect. Remembering their stumbling performance in the disciplinary hearing Vespasian wondered if Sextus had been bribed to recommend them. They had proved themselves as legionaries, but were they ready to prove themselves as centurions?

The missing officer, Centurion Cato, was the last of Maximius' men that Vespasian considered. He had deliberately put off thinking about the young man in the hope that General Plautius would have finished his inspection of the ground before Vespasian got round to thinking about Cato. Cato's career was over, and soon – very soon – his life would be over as well. That thought troubled Vespasian deeply, for he had quickly come to realise that there were few men of Cato's calibre in his legion, or indeed in any other legion. In the two years since the youngster had joined the Second, Vespasian had watched him mature into an officer of outstanding courage and intelligence. He made mistakes, for sure, but he learned from them every time, and knew how to get the best out of the men he commanded. Men like Cato, provided they lived long enough, were the brains and backbone of the professional army, and could expect to end their careers in one of the top jobs: chief centurion, camp prefect or, if they were truly exceptional, the prefecture of the legions in Egypt – the highest military post available to men outside the exclusive senatorial class in Rome.

Provided they weren't snuffed out by the fortunes of war, or the exigencies of Emperor Claudius' reputation-building first.

Vespasian caught a movement over by the rampart and looked up with a start. He had been so lost in thought that he had momentarily lost track of the general's movements and was surprised to see that he had reached the gap in the palisade. The legate told himself he would have to watch that. Letting his attention wander in the presence of superiors was a dangerous habit.

General Plautius bent down to look at the gap for a moment, then straightened up and leaned carefully over the palisade to inspect the ditch on the far side. At length he turned round slowly and paced back towards his officers.

Sextus leaned closer to his legate and growled in a low voice, 'Now we're for it.'

The general stopped several paces from the silent officers and let his eyes wander over them until they came to rest on Vespasian.

'Every single one?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And no sign of them?'

'Not yet, sir. But I've sent all my scouts and my Batavian mounted cohort out to look for the prisoners. They'll report as soon as they find anything.'

'I'd imagine they would,' Plautius replied with scything sarcasm. 'Otherwise there's not much point them being out in this weather, is there?'

'Er, no, sir.' Vespasian made himself steady his gaze, fighting off the temptation to glance down, or away from his commander. 'Not much.'

'So, forty-odd men just happened to escape without anyone in this camp, or the Second Legion's main camp, noticing. Strikes me as rather unlikely. Which implies two possibilities. Either your lookouts are as blind as Tiresias, or… the prisoners were permitted to escape. Either way, your men are responsible for this situation, Legate.'

Vespasian bowed his head a fraction. Plautius was being unfair. It had been a dark and rainy night and the sentries of his camp might well have missed movement from the rampart of the Third Cohort's camp. That would sound like an excuse and Vespasian could well imagine the quiet sneers and sidelong glances that would greet such an explanation. He kept his mouth shut and met his general's gaze steadily.

'If my men are to be held to account, then since I am their commander, any fault is mine as much as theirs… sir.'

The general nodded. 'That's right, Legate. The question is, what am I to do about it? What would be a suitable punishment for you and your legion?'

Vespasian flushed with anger. He could see the direction Plautius was taking this and needed to act swiftly if he was to limit the damage to his legion. If the general wanted more blood then the morale of the Second would receive yet another blow. The disgrace of decimation already weighed heavily on their minds, but the fact that the punishment had been levied on the Third Cohort alone had allowed the rest of the legion to escape any significant damage to their hard-won reputation. A reputation that had been bought with the blood of their comrades, and a reputation that had been built on some spectacular feats of arms.

As their commander, it was natural that Vespasian should bask in the reflected glow of his men's achievements. Yet his first thought was for his men – for how shamed they would feel to be the target of the general's wrath yet again. All thanks to the failures of Maximius and the Third Cohort. If Vespasian was to preserve what remained of his men's battle spirit then he would need to make a sacrifice.

'My legion does not deserve to be held accountable for the deeds of a disgraced cohort, sir. The Second has put in an outstanding performance on this campaign. They have fought like lions. You said it yourself, sir, only a few months back. Like lions. If any unit is to be punished, then let it be the cohort who permitted the prisoners to escape. Let the Third be held to blame, sir.'

General Plautius did not reply immediately, as he weighed up the legate's offer. At length the general nodded. 'Very well then, those who permitted their comrades to escape punishment will have to provide a replacement for each condemned man.'