The Eagles Prey

Cato kept silent. He knew what Caratacus said about client kings was true. The story of the growth of the empire was littered with tales of kings who had welcomed client status, and had been so besotted with the baubles laid before them that they became blind to the ultimate fate of their people. Yet what was the alternative, thought Cato. If not a client king, then what? A futile attempt at resistance and then the cold comfort of a mass grave for those kings and their peoples who prized liberty from Rome over life itself. Cato knew he must try to make the king see reason, to end the senseless slaughter that had already drenched these lands in blood.

'How many of your armies has Rome defeated? How many of your men have died? How many hillforts and villages are now no more than piles of ashes? You must sue for peace, for your people. For their sake…'

Caratacus shook his head and continued to stare into the fire. For a long time neither man spoke. They had reached an impasse, Cato realised. Caratacus was consumed by the spirit of resistance. The weight of tradition and the warrior codes with which he had been imbued from the cradle unswervingly bore him down the path to tragic self-destruction. Yet he was sensible to the suffering that his course of action implied to others. Cato could see that his point about their needless sacrifice had struck home with the king. Caratacus was imaginative and empathetic enough for that, Cato realised. If only the king would accept that defeat must be inevitable, then the impasse would be broken.

At length Caratacus looked up, and rubbed his face. 'Centurion, I'm tired. I cannot think. I must talk with you another time.'

He called out for the guard and the man who had escorted Cato from the pen ducked into the hut. The king indicated, with a brief nod of his head, that he had finished with the Roman, and Cato was roughly hauled to his feet and shoved out into the darkness. He glanced back, and before the leather curtain slipped back across the entrance he had one final sight of the king: leaning forward, his head cradled in his hands, locked in a posture of solitude and despair.

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

' He'll get us all killed.' Centurion Tullius nodded towards the cohort commander. Maximius was briefing the optios in charge of the day's patrols. Each officer commanded twenty men and had a native assigned to them to act as a guide. Every one of them was a prisoner, iron collars chained to the belt of legionary guards. Since their children were being held hostage it was unlikely that they would offer any resistance, or attempt to escape or betray their Roman masters. But Maximius was taking no chances. He had few enough men as it was. Centurion Tullius tapped his vine cane against the side of his greave, making a dull clattering noise. Macro glanced down irritably.

'Do you mind?'

'What? Oh, sorry!' Tullius lifted the cane, tucked it under his arm and glanced back towards the cohort commander. 'I thought we were here to find Cato and the others. Had no idea we were going to try and stir up a bloody revolt as well. Couldn't have done a better job if he had tried…the bastard.'

'Perhaps that's just what he's been ordered to do,' Macro wondered aloud.

'What do you mean?'

Macro shrugged. 'I'm not really sure. Not yet. Just seems to be an odd way to get the locals to help us.'

'Odd?' The old centurion shook his head. 'You weren't there when we ran those natives down by the river. He really lost his head.' Tullius lowered his voice. 'He was like a man possessed – wild, dangerous and cruel. He should never have been given a command. As long as he's running the Third Cohort, we're in deep trouble. He's already disgraced us. My service is nearly up, Macro. Two more years to my discharge. I've earned it – spotless record – until now. Even if he doesn't get us killed, the decimation is going to ruin our careers. You and the other centurions are still on the young side, still got years to go. What chance of promotion do you think you'll have with that on your records? I'm telling you, as long as that bastard's in command we're in the deepest of shit.' He looked away from Macro, towards the distant cohort commander and continued softly, 'If only something would happen to him.'

Macro swallowed nervously and stiffened his back. 'I'd be careful what I said if I was you. He's dangerous, all right, but so is that kind of talk.'

Tullius looked closely at the other centurion.'You do think he's dangerous then?'

'He might be. But you really scare me. What are you suggesting, Tullius? A sharp dagger in his back on a dark night?'

Tullius gave a short, unconvincing, laugh.'It's happened before.'

'Oh, yes,' Macro snorted,'I know. And I also know what can happen to the men of those units that are held responsible. I don't fancy ending my days in some imperial mine. And what if he was killed? You'd be in command.' Macro gave the other man a hard stare. 'Frankly, I don't think you're up to the job.'

Tullius looked down before Macro could see the pained expression in his eyes. 'You're probably right… I could have done it once, years ago. But I was never given the chance.'

Quite, thought Macro, and his lips curled in contempt.

Tullius looked up. 'Macro, you could take command.'

'No.'

'Why not? I'm sure the men would follow you. I'd follow you.'

'I said no.'

'All we need to do is make sure that Maximius' death doesn't look suspicious.'

Macro's hand shot out and grabbed the older man by the shoulder. He shook Tullius to emphasise his words. 'I said no. Got that? One more word out of you and I'll hand you over to Maximius myself. I'll even volunteer for the job of executioner.' He let his hand slip back to his side. 'Don't ever talk to me about this again.'

'But why?'

'Because he's our commander. It's not our job to question him, just obey his orders.'

'And if he gives us orders that'll get us killed? What then?'

'Then…' Macro shrugged, 'then we die.'

Tullius looked at him with a startled expression. 'You're as mad as he is.'

'Maybe. But we're soldiers, not senators. We're here to do as we're told and fight – there's no debating the issue. That's what we signed up to when we joined the Eagles. We swore an oath, you and me. That's all there is to it.'

Tullius stared at him, then jabbed a finger into Macro's chest. 'Then you are mad.'

'Gentlemen!'

They both turned round in alarm at the sound of Maximius' voice. He had finished his briefing and started towards them without the two officers being aware of their superior's approach. At the sight of their surprised and alarmed expressions a frown flitted over Maximius' face before he smiled genially.

'You two look like you're about to knock seven shades out of each other!'

Tullius forced out a weak laugh, and Macro made himself smile as the older centurion replied,'A minor disagreement, sir. No more than that.'

'Good. What were you disagreeing about?'

'Nothing really, sir. Nothing worth mentioning.'

'I'll be the judge of that.' Maximius smiled again. 'So tell me.'

Tullius glanced at Macro and flapped a hand in the air between them. 'A difference of opinion, sir, a professional difference of opinion. I was saying that we'd have finished the enemy off a lot sooner if we'd had some of the Praetorian Guard units fighting alongside us.'