The Eagles Prey

'Not so fast, lads. I want a word with you in my tent, soon as you've set the evening watch.'

Macro and Cato exchanged looks, which was instantly detected by Maximius. 'I'm sure my new centurions will be relieved to know that I won't be keeping them too long, and wasting their precious time.'

Cato coloured.

Maximius regarded the youth coldly for a moment before his face creased into a smile. 'Just make sure you're both in my tent before the first change of watch is sounded.'

'Yes, sir,' replied Cato and Macro.

Maximius gave a sharp nod, turned on his heel and strode stiffly from the briefing tent.

Macro's eyes followed their commander.'Now what was all that about?'

The nearest of the centurions drew back, glancing warily at Maximius until the cohort commander had disappeared through the tent flaps. Then he spoke quietly to Macro and Cato.

'I'd play it carefully, if I were you two.'

'Carefully?' Macro frowned. 'What are you talking about, Tullius?'

Caius Tullius was the most senior of the Third Cohort's centurions after Maximius; a veteran of over twenty years and several campaigns. Although he was reserved in manner, he had been the first to greet Macro and Cato when they had been appointed to the Third Cohort. The other two centurions, Caius Pollius Felix and Tiberius Antonius, had said no more than necessary to Cato as yet, and he sensed hostility in their attitude. Macro was more fortunate. They already knew him from the time before his promotion, and treated him in a cordial manner, as they must, given that Macro's appointment to the centurionate predated their own.

'Tullius?' Macro prompted.

For a moment Tullius hesitated, mouth open as he seemed to be on the verge of saying something. Then he just shook his head. 'It's nothing. Just try not to get on the wrong side of Maximius. Especially you, young 'un.'

Cato's lips compressed into a tight line, and Macro couldn't help laughing.

'Don't be so touchy, Cato. Centurion you may be, but you'll have to forgive people if they mistake you for a boy sometimes.'

'Boys don't get to wear these,' Cato snapped back, and tapped his medallions, instantly regretting the immature need to prove himself.

Macro raised both his hands with a placating smirk. 'All right! I'm sorry. But look around, Cato. See anyone else here that's within five years of your age? I think you'll find that you're a bit of an exception.'

'Exception he may be,' Tullius added quietly, 'but he'd do well not to stand out, if he knows what's good for him.'

The veteran turned away and followed Felix and Antonius towards the entrance to the tent. Macro watched him go and scratched his chin.

'Wonder what he meant?'

'Can't you guess?' Cato muttered bitterly.'Seems our cohort commander thinks I'm not up to the job.'

'Rubbish!' Macro punched him lightly on the shoulder. 'Everyone in the legion knows about you. You've got nothing to prove to anyone.'

'Tell Maximius that.'

'I might. One day. If he doesn't recognise it himself first.'

Cato shook his head. 'Maximius only joined the legion a few months back, in that batch of replacements that arrived while we were in hospital in Calleva. Chances are he knows next to nothing about me.'

Macro prodded one of Cato's medallions.'These should tell him all he needs to know. Now come on, we've got to post our watches. Wouldn't want to be late for Maximius' briefing, would we?'

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER FIVE

Once Cato was satisfied that his optio had the watch organised, he marched through two rows of tents to Macro's century and stuck his head through the flap of the largest tent at the end of the line. Macro was sitting at a small trestle table, examining some tablets by the wan glow of an oil lamp.

'Ready?'

Macro looked up, and then pushed the wax tablets to one side. He rose from his chair and strode over to Cato. 'Yes. I've had enough of this. Bloody pay records. Sometimes I wish you were still my optio. Made the record-keeping side of things a lot easier. I could get on with the real job then.'

Cato nodded in sympathy. Life had indeed been easier before, for both of them. With Macro as his centurion Cato's introduction to army life had been unclouded by the need to take much responsibility on his own shoulders. There had been times when circumstances had forced command on him, and he had coped with such duties, but had always been relieved to hand the burden back to Macro afterwards. That was all gone, now that he was a centurion. Not only did Cato feel constantly judged by others, he sat in judgement of himself. Cato was not impressed by the image of the thin and boyish figure in a centurion's uniform he knew he presented.

'How's Figulus coping?' Macro asked as they made for the large square tent that marked the headquarters of the Third Cohort.'Can't see why you chose him to be your optio. Outside of a straight fight the lad's a bloody nuisance.'

'He's coping well enough.'

'Oh, really?' Macro said with a trace of amusement. 'Handling the pay records on his own then? That, and all the other clerical crap?'

'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 schooclass="underline" 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.'