The Eagles Prey

'I'm… instructing him at the moment.'

'Instructing him? As in showing him how to read and write, perhaps?'

Cato lowered his head to hide the dark expression on his face. Macro was right in his implication. Figulus was a poor choice for the job, in many respects – barely able to write his own name and completely out of his depth when required to calculate any sums larger than the small amount of savings he had scraped together in his first year of service with the legion. Yet Cato had offered the position to him immediately. Figulus was almost the same age and Cato desperately needed a familiar face amongst the men under his command. Most of the men he had known when he had first joined Macro's old century were dead, or discharged as invalids. The survivors had been distributed to the other centuries in the understrength cohort. So Figulus it had been.

He was not without redeeming features, Cato reflected in a self-justifying moment. Figulus was from Gallic stock; tall and broad, he was a match for any man in the legion, and any enemy outside it. Moreover, he was good with the men, with his easy-going and guileless nature. That made him a useful bridge between Cato and his century. And Figulus, like Cato, was anxious to prove himself worthy of his new rank. However, Cato's attempt to teach him the basics of record-keeping had quickly exhausted the centurion's patience. If things didn't improve soon it looked as if Cato would have to take on most of the optio's job as well.

'You could always replace him,' Macro suggested.

'No,' Cato replied obstinately. 'He'll do.'

'If you say so. It's your decision, lad.'

'Yes. It's my decision. And you're not my father, Macro. So please stop acting like it.'

'All right! All right!' Macro raised his hands in surrender. 'Won't mention it again.'

'Good…'

'So, er, what do you make of our man, Maximius?'

'Don't know him well enough to make a judgement yet. Seems competent enough. Bit harsh on the bullshit front.'

Macro nodded. 'He's from the old school: every buckle done up tightly, every blade polished until it dazzles and not a speck of mud allowed on parade. His kind are the backbone of the army.'

'What's his history?' Cato glanced at his companion. 'You speak to anyone about him yet?'

'Had a word with Antonius in the mess the other day. He came in with the same replacement column and got to know Maximius back in the depot at Gesoriacum.'

'And?'

'Not much to tell. He's been a centurion for the best part of ten years, and served right across the Empire. Before that he was in the Praetorian Guard. Served a few years and then transferred to the legions.' Macro shook his head. 'Beats me why he took a transfer. I'd have killed to serve in the Guard; better pay, better accommodation and the best fleshpots and cheapest dives that only Rome can provide.'

'Too much of a good thing, perhaps?'

'What?' Macro was astonished. 'What kind of bollocks is that? One of your stupid fucking philosophies, I bet. Look, lad, there's no such thing as enough of a good thing. Believe me.'

'Very epicurean of you, Macro.'

'Oh, piss off…'

They had reached Maximius' tent. A dull glow framed the flaps at the entrance, and as the sentries spied the two centurions approaching from the darkness, one stepped to one side and held a flap open. Macro led the way. They entered the thick, hot atmosphere inside the tent and saw Maximius seated beside his campaign table. In front of him were arranged five stools, three of which were already occupied by the other centurions of the Third Cohort.

'Thank you for joining us,' Maximius said curtly.

The signal for the change of watch was still not due for nearly half an hour, by Cato's calculation, but before he could even consider protesting Macro stepped in front of him.

'Sorry, sir.'

'Take your seats, gentlemen. Then we can get started.'

As they sat down Macro raised an eyebrow to Cato in warning. It dawned on Cato that this was how Maximius liked to run his cohort. He expected – no, demanded – that his subordinates exceed the requirements of his orders. It might lead to a certain amount of second-guessing, but it kept them on their toes. Cato had been aware of this style of command in other cohorts and disliked it intensely. A commander who adopted such an approach could never be certain that his orders would be carried out as he intended.

Once the last arrivals were seated Maximius cleared his throat and stiffened his spine before he began to address his officers.'Now that we're all here… You saw the legate's map and understand our task. We hold the fords against Caratacus and he is beaten. We'll be the first cohort to march from camp tomorrow, before sunrise, as we've got the furthest to go. We'll be following a supply track that leads to the ford. There's an auxiliary post we should reach by noon. We'll rest there and draw from their rations. The ford's a mile or so further to the north and we can reach it and fortify it soon afterwards. We should arrive in plenty of time. Your men are to leave their packs here tomorrow. They're to be ready to fight and carry nothing else, apart from their canteens. We're marching to battle. There are to be no shirkers, no stragglers…and no surrender when we meet the enemy. Of course,' he gri

All but one of the centurions nodded solemnly. Maximius turned towards Macro.

'What's the matter?'

'Can we really afford to take prisoners, sir?'

'Can we afford not to?' Maximius laughed. 'You got something against being rich, Macro? Or do you want to be just a wretch when you retire?'

Macro smiled politely. 'I like money as much as the next man, sir. But we're one cohort, way out on the flank of the legion. If we have to start detaching men to guard prisoners it'll be a drain on our strength. And I'm not happy at the idea of having any sizeable body of Britons behind us as well as in front of us, whether they're armed or not. It's asking for trouble, sir.'

'Come now, Macro. I think you exaggerate the danger. What about you, young Cato? Wouldn't you agree?'

For a moment Cato was gripped by an instinctive panic as he struggled for a response to the direct question.

'I don't know, sir. Depends how many of them there are. If we can handle them then of course we should take prisoners. But, like Macro says, if they come at us in any kind of strength we'll need to face them with every man we have. In that event, any prisoners will pose a danger to us… sir.'

'I see.' Maximius nodded thoughtfully.'You think we should err on the side of caution? You think that's what made us Romans the masters of the world?'

'I don't know about that, sir. I just think we should carry out our orders without taking any u

'So do I!' Maximius laughed loudly, and Felix and Antonius joined in. Tullius smiled. When Maximius had finished he leaned forward and clapped Cato on the shoulder.'Don't worry. I'll not take any chances. You have my word. On the other hand, I'll not willingly pass up an opportunity to make some easy money. But you're right to be cautious. We'll see what the situation is tomorrow, and act on what we find. That should set your mind at rest, eh, lad?'

Cato nodded.

'Good. That's settled then.' Maximius took a step back to address his officers more formally. 'Following on from our orders, I wanted you to know that I am determined that the Third Cohort will prove itself worthy of the task the legate has assigned to us. I will tolerate nothing less than the best tomorrow, from both you and your men. I set high standards for the men under my command because I want us to be the hardest fighting cohort there is. Not just in this legion, but in any legion.' He paused to look round at his centurions' faces, scrutinising them for any unfavourable reaction. Cato returned the gaze without betraying any emotion.