The Eagle and the Wolves

'Now, where the hell are they off to?' Figulus said loudly.

The men on the breastwork stayed in position, watching for the enemy's next move, not yet daring to believe that they might not come back. The clink and clatter of the Durotrigans' armour and weapons faded into silence and then there was just the sound of the injured.

'Cato!'

'Yes, sir!'

'Strength return, right now.'

Cato nodded, and slipped down on to the ground. He staggered a moment on his tired legs and then began to count off the survivors at the breastwork, and the handful of men still standing in reserve.

'They're coming back!' shouted a legionary, and Cato ran to take up his position. In the fading light dim figures could be seen making their way through the gateway into the enclosure.

'One last effort, boys!' Macro called out, even his voice cracking under the strain.

Each defender tightened his grip on shield and spear and steeled himself for a final struggle. Then Cato laughed – a high-pitched nervous sound – and he lowered his spear and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the breastwork.

Striding through the gate was a broad man with a red cloak. The sun gleamed on his highly polished helmet, and above the helmet curved a brilliant red crest. The man barked an order and a screen of troops fanned out on either side of the gate, and cautiously picked their way across the enclosure towards the hall. As they approached Cato's keen eyes recognised the officer.

'It's Centurion Hortensius!' Cato laughed with nervous relief.

Hortensius marched up towards them, smacking his vine cane into the palm of his spare hand.

'Macro and Cato,' he called. 'I might have guessed. Only you two could have ended up in a fucking mess like this!'

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Once Vespasian had sent off the scouts to make sure that the Durotrigans were keeping clear of Calleva, he led the relief column in through the blackened frame of the town's main gate. The legate immediately made for the depot, and the charred ruin of the headquarters block and the grisly remains of the hospital. Although the Durotrigans had razed the Roman buildings to the ground they had at least left the supplies largely untouched. No doubt they had intended to gorge themselves and carry off what they could, but the sudden arrival of the legate and his six cohorts had caused the Durotrigans to panic and flee the Atrebatan capital empty-handed.

Vespasian gave orders to begin repairs to the depot's defences and then, with tribune Quintillus at his side, they rode off to join Hortensius' cohort, which had been sent on ahead to secure the royal enclosure. As soon as he caught sight of Macro and Cato the legate had demanded to know the full story.

'No,' Vespasian decided, as he glanced round the shadows lengthening across the scattered bodies in the royal enclosure. 'It's out of the question. There's too much to be done here. We're staying.'

Cato exchanged an anxious look with Macro. Surely the legate would see the danger?

'Sir, we can't stay,' said Cato.

'Can't stay?' Quintillus, at his commander's shoulder, repeated with a slight smile. 'Centurion Cato, the truth is we can't afford to leave. Even you must be aware of the strategic situation? Verica will die soon. His warriors are nearly all dead. This kingdom will fall to the first enemy that passes through the gate you two saw fit to burn down. Only Rome can guarantee order here now.'

Cato placed his hand behind his back and clenched his fist, pressing his nails into the flesh of his palm. He was exhausted and angry, and needed his wits to be sharp.

'Sir, if we lose these six cohorts and a legate, there won't be a strategic situation to worry about, only a rout.'

'Really!' The tribune laughed and turned to Vespasian. 'I think this young man has become physically and mentally exhausted over the last few days, sir. It's only natural he might have an inflated fear of the enemy.'

This was too much for Macro. His bull neck swung forward. 'Afraid? Cato afraid? It wasn't Cato who ran off when they gave us that first pasting-'

Vespasian stepped between them and raised his hand, speaking in an urgent undertone. 'That's quite enough, gentlemen! I'll not have my officers arguing in front of the men.'

'Nevertheless,' Quintillus continued quietly, 'I will not stand for a common centurion inferring that I'm a coward. I was the one that rode for help.'

'Quite,' Macro smiled sweetly. 'And I wasn't inferring that you're a coward… sir.'

'Enough!' said Vespasian. 'Centurion Cato, given how things have turned out, I think we can discount anything Tincommius may have said. It wouldn't be the first time he's managed to fool a Roman officer.'

Quintillus tightened his lips.

Had he not been so weary Cato might have been a bit more circumspect in his approach to the commander of the Second Legion, but he had to press upon the legate the seriousness of their situation. 'Sir, he said that Caratacus and his army would be arriving tomorrow. If we're not well clear of Calleva by then-'

'I've made my decision, Centurion. We stay. I'll have the scouts out at first light. They can warn us of any approaching danger.'

'It might be too late by then, sir.'

'Look here, this Tincommius is a liar. He deceived you.'

'He deceived all of us, sir.'

'Quite. So why should we believe him now? How can you be sure he's speaking the truth? Let's accept that Tincommius wasn't lying. I doubt Caratacus would have given General Plautius the slip. He'd be fighting a rearguard action all the way. He'd have more reason to worry about us than we about him. Look, it was probably no more than a simple ploy by Tincommius to get you to surrender. Surely you can see through that?'

Macro glanced down to hide his anger at the accusation they could have been so easily gulled.

'But what if he was telling the truth, sir?' Cato persisted. 'We'd be caught here in Calleva and cut to pieces. Verica would be killed, Tincommius placed on the throne and the Atrebatans would change sides.'

Vespasian gave him a stony look. 'A commander of a legion does not let himself be ruled by hysterical hypotheses. I want proof.'

He looked closely at the two centurions. 'You two need rest more than anyone else – you and your men. I order you to get some sleep right away.'

It was a cheap and crude way to end the discussion, but Vespasian had made his decision and would no longer brook any questioning of it. But still Cato made one last effort as Macro saluted and turned to quit his commander's presence.

'Sir, the price of sleep now may be defeat and death tomorrow.'

Vespasian, who had not slept for over two days himself, was fractious, and snapped irritably back at his subordinate, 'Centurion! It is not for you to question my orders!' He raised his finger threateningly. 'One more word from you, and I'll have you reduced to the ranks. Now get out of here.'

Cato saluted, turned away and marched stiffly to catch up with Macro as they headed back to where their men were resting outside the redoubt. Most were asleep, curled up on their sides, heads pillowed on their bent arms.

'Not very bright of you,' Macro said quietly.

'You heard Tincommius – why didn't you back me up?'

Macro drew a deep breath to stave off his irritation with the younger officer. 'When a legate makes a decision, you don't question it.'

'Why not?'

'Because you don't fucking do it. All right?'

'I'll let you know this time tomorrow.'

Cato slumped down beside Mandrax, who was snoring loudly, propped up against a wheel with the standard planted firmly in the ground beside him. Macro remained silent as he carried on walking towards the pitifully small cluster of sleeping men that were all that remained of his first independent command.