The Eagles Prey

'That's how it looks from the outside,' Macro admitted.'But you had to be there, sir. You had to see the way he ran the cohort. He just wasn't up to the job. First that balls-up at the Tamesis, for which Cato and others were punished. That wasn't justice, sir. Then there's the way he treated the locals. You'd think he was trying to stir 'em up deliberately. Force them to react. I'd say the man was mad.'

Vespasian shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. 'That's not relevant, Macro, and you know it. Sometimes an officer has to be a harsh disciplinarian. Perhaps Maximius did what he thought was necessary.'

Cato was staring hard at the legate. 'Unless, of course, he was ordered to give the locals a hard time…' His eyes narrowed.'That's why the legion was camped at the end of the track on the other side of the marsh. That's why you marched so quickly to relieve us. You were expecting Caratacus to come out and fight, sir.'

'Silence!' Vespasian snapped, then continued in a cold, threatening tone, 'What the legate of this legion thinks is not the concern of his centurions. Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes, sir!' Cato said stiffly.

'Good. Then all that matters is what I decide to do with you two.' Vespasian leaned back in his chair and regarded them without expression for a moment. Cato felt the sweat break out on the palms of his hands as he balled them into tight fists behind his back.

'Once again, you have performed a valuable service for your comrades, and the Emperor,' Vespasian began. 'I think it's fair to say that your action in blocking the enemy's route from the marsh sealed the fate of Caratacus. And your capture of their commander alone is enough to win the highest of military decorations. Not to mention a promotion.'

Macro beamed at Cato, but Cato sensed this was merely the preamble to something a lot less laudatory.

Vespasian paused briefly before he continued. 'However, I have to say that you, Cato, are still under sentence of death, and you, Macro, are guilty of insubordination and mutiny, which also means a death sentence. If the testimony of one of the other surviving officers of the Third Cohort is to be believed, the pair of you might have a hand in the killing of Centurion Maximius.'

'Cordus!' Macro spat. 'It's that bastard, Cordus. If he-'

'Wait!' Vespasian snapped. He raised a hand as Macro opened his mouth to continue his protest. An unaccustomed moment of discretion forestalled any further protest from passing Macro's lips.

'As you know, there's no proof to back up his allegations. That aside, I ca

He paused to let the threat sink in.

'The problem is that you two have become heroes to the men of this legion. If you're executed after all that you have achieved, the morale of this unit would be severely damaged for some time to come. General Plautius ca

Macro responded first. 'What are you suggesting, sir? Are you going to discharge us?'

There was a look of horror on the face of the older centurion as the full implication of such a possibility struck home. No more life in the legions. No more chance of booty, no fat gratuity and a comfortable and honourable retirement in some provincial colony. All Macro had known was soldiering. Without the army, and without any income what could he do? Beg? Become a bodyguard for some spoiled brat of a senator's son? The fleeting images that poured through his mind promised only misery. The destruction of his being by a slow, remorseless process of degradation.

Cato was in a more reflective frame of mind. He was young. He had seen rather more of life and death than he had ever imagined, and bore the scars to prove it. Perhaps he had had enough of this life and might find something better. Something more peaceful, more rewarding, something less likely to see him in an early grave.

'Discharge?' Vespasian raised his eyebrows. 'No. You're far too valuable to Rome to throw away in such a ma

'Which one, sir?' asked Cato.

'None of the units in General Plautius' army, that's for sure. Rumours about your past will follow you wherever you go in this province. So, you'll have to be reassigned. You're leaving Britain. I'm taking you back to Rome with me. I'll see what I can arrange for you with the imperial general staff. Narcissus owes me a favour or two.'

Cato could not hide his surprise.'You're leaving Britain, sir? Why?'

'My tour of duty's over,' Vespasian replied simply. 'I was notified shortly after your escape. In a few days I'll no longer be legate of the Second. My replacement is due to arrive any day now.'

'Why, sir? Surely after all you've achieved…?'

'It seems I've lost the confidence of the general.' Vespasian gave a weary smile. 'Besides, there are plenty of senators who are queuing up for the chance to win a little glory. I don't have much influence at the court of Claudius. They do. Do I really have to spell it out to you?'

'No, sir.'

'Good.' Vespasian nodded. 'Now, I've other work to attend to. Plenty of things to get sorted out before my replacement arrives. You have a few days to settle your affairs in the Second Legion. Pay your debts. Get your savings refunded, and make your farewells. You're dismissed.'

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Ten days later, Cato and Macro were sitting on a rough wooden bench opposite the merchant ship that would carry them, and the legate, across the sea to the port of Gesoriacum on the Gaulish coast. The Ajax was tied alongside the wharf at Rutupiae. Dressed in simple tunics, they sat in the shade and watched the captain shouting at the porters that were unloading his cargo of wine from the hold. The slaves had been doing their best to crack one of the amphorae and get a free drink. The captain, however, had carried such cargoes many times before and was threatening to have the skin off the back of the first man who damaged ajar. His voice was hoarse from competing with the shrill cries of the gulls that swirled over the harbour, scavenging.

It had been well over a year since they had last visited the invasion port. Cato had been the optio in Macro's century at the time; a self-conscious and anxious creature who doubted he would live long enough to see the winter. Rutupiae had been a vast supply depot, constantly replenished with food, equipment and men throughout the first season of campaigning. Hundreds of ships had filled the narrow cha