The Eagles Prey

'Sir?'

'Get the cohort up for me. Ready for duty. I'll do an inspection as soon as I get back.'

'Yes, sir.'

The optio nodded towards the small collection of tents in the centre of the camp.

'I'm coming,' Maximius responded with a trace of irritation at the optio's manner.

The centurions silently watched as their cohort commander was marched away between the double file of provosts. Maximius stiffened his back and strode forward as if he was on the parade ground.

'Poor bastard,' Cato said softly enough that only Macro heard him. 'This is the end of the road for him, isn't it?'

'Yes,' Macro muttered. 'If there's any justice.'

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The optio and the provosts returned with Maximius just over an hour later. Tullius had carried out his orders and the legionaries were formed up ready for inspection. In the short time that they had been allowed, the men had struggled to make the best of their appearance. As Tullius caught sight of their commander approaching he bellowed out the order to call them to attention and the men stamped their feet together and stiffened their backs, staring fixedly ahead. The centurions stood to the front of their men, and to each side of them stood their optio and standard-bearer. As Maximius and his escort approached, Cato could see that he looked strained and shaken by his questioning. He acknowledged Tullius' formal greeting with a nod and then, without even looking at the men, he quietly ordered Tullius to dismiss them.

'Cohort! Fall out!'

The men turned and filed back towards their sleeping lines and Cato noted their discontented expressions and the faint grumblings of resentment at being roused and rushed into preparing for an inspection. That was the army way, he knew. Moments of frenzied activity, often for no better reason than to keep the men on their toes, ready to respond to any demand on the instant. But right now they were still tired and hungry, and their resentment was understandable. Even so…

Cato raised his vine cane towards a pair of soldiers whose complaints had reached his ears. 'Quiet there!'

The men, tough-looking veterans, fell silent, but briefly eyed their centurion with contempt before turning away. For a moment Cato was filled with cold, bitter rage and was tempted to call them back and punish them for their impudence. Legionaries must always respect the rank, if not the man, and no infraction could be overlooked. But by then the two men had merged with the rest of the century walking away from him and it was too late for Cato to act. He slapped his cane hard into the palm of his left hand, wincing at the pain of this self-inflicted punishment for his hopeless indecision. Macro would have had them by the balls in an instant.

Cato turned and saw that the other centurions were making their way towards Maximius, while behind him the provost escort stood and waited. Cato strolled over to join them, the self-contempt of a moment earlier turning to anxious curiosity. The centurions gathered in a rough semi-circle about their cohort commander. Maximius was still wearing only his tunic and clearly felt uncomfortable about addressing his fully dressed and armed officers.

'The legate has taken my deposition. Now he wants to speak to the rest of you individually. The optio here will call for us in order of seniority. None of you is to discuss the evidence you give with anyone. Is that understood?'

'Yes, sir,' the centurions replied quietly. Tullius raised his hand.

'Yes?'

'What about the men, sir?'

'What about them?'

'Will any of them be required today?'

'No. Stand them down. Pass the word that it's going to be a make-and-mend day.'

Tullius nodded unhappily. Make-and-mend was a rarely granted privilege when the legionaries were permitted time to maintain their equipment, or fashion some trinket, or simply rest and talk or gamble. Much as the men delighted in make and mend, the centurions resented it, grumbling that it softened them and too much of it made the men slack. It did, of course, win a small measure of popularity and good will for the officer who gave the order.

'Make and mend,' Tullius nodded. 'Yes, sir. Shall I tell them now?'

'No, you're to go with the optio. I'll tell them.'

'Yes, sir.' Tullius switched his gaze to the impassive faces of the provosts. Maximius noted his concerned expression and spoke quietly to his officers.

'It's all right. I did as I said I would earlier. None of you has anything to worry about. Just tell the truth.'

'Centurion Tullius?' the optio called out, extending his arm towards the provosts. 'If you please, sir?'

Tullius swallowed nervously. 'Yes, of course.'

Tullius fumbled with his helmet ties as he strode towards the escort. Then, flanked on either side, he was marched off, crested helmet tucked under his arm. When the escort was out of earshot Centurion Antonius stepped close to his cohort commander.

'What happened, sir?'

Maximius stared at him, his blank expression giving nothing away. 'What happened to me is… nothing to do with you. Understand?'

Antonius looked down. 'Sorry, sir. I just… it's just that I'm worried. Never experienced anything like this before.'

Maximius' lips relaxed into a slight smile. 'Me neither. Just answer the questions the legate asks you as straight as you can, and remember you're a centurion of the finest bloody legion in the empire. The only things in life that should worry a centurion are barbarians, plagues, wine droughts and insanely jealous women with access to cutlery. Questions -' he shook his head – 'questions will never hurt you.'

Antonius smiled. So did the others, even Cato, who as a child had lived in the imperial palace long enough to know that the wrong answer to a question could kill a man just as surely as the strongest barbarian warrior.

All morning and into the afternoon, the centurions waited by the smouldering remains of the fire the slave had built to cook their food. When he returned from his interrogation Macro had taken the whetstone out of his leather haversack and busied himself in sharpening the edges of his short sword. He spoke to no one, not even Cato, and refused to meet the eyes of the other centurions as he concentrated on rasping the stone along the bright shining length of his blade.

While Antonius was being questioned Tullius and Felix played at dice, and the luck seemed to be going Felix's way to an extent that outraged the laws of probability. The fact that he owned the dice began to feed the suspicion growing in the mind of the normally trustful Tullius. Cato watched them with amusement for a while. He never bet on games of chance, and thought it weak-minded of men who did. When he had lived in Rome, the tiny sums of money he had bet as a boy had always been on the races in the Circus Maximus, and then only after exhaustive study of form.

A little apart from the others, Maximius sat with his back to his men and his officers, staring down towards the ford and the field of corpses beyond. Cato felt sorry for him, in spite of the harsh way the cohort commander had treated him in the short time they had served together. A ruined soldier, especially one as respected as a senior centurion, was indeed a pitiful sight, and if the inquiry did ruin Maximius he would be too old to achieve anything else in his life. In a few years he would take the meagre pension of a legionary and eke out his days in some veterans' colony, drinking and reminiscing. A centurion's retirement, by contrast, offered a chance for further service and advancement as a magistrate. At the moment Maximius had little prospect of such a future.

He shifted his gaze from the cohort commander, and looked down towards the inviting water of the river. Antonius was still being questioned, and once he was done it would be Felix's turn. So there was time for Cato to have a swim. He stripped down to his tunic and turned to Macro.