The Eagles Prey

Tullius nodded. 'Right. Just you stay out of sight, young Cato.'

Cato nodded and let the leather drop back to the ground. Glancing round he saw the cohort commander's personal chest. A red cloak was folded over the side and leaning against it was a sword. It was not the finely crafted sword he habitually wore,just the standard issue, with a handle worn glassy and smooth with age. Cato smiled. It must be a relic from Maximius' days as a legionary, now just a keepsake. A most useful keepsake. Cato quietly drew the blade and then flipped the corner of the cloak over the top of the scabbard to conceal the sword's absence.

He passed the sword to Nepos. 'Take this, and then hide yourself over there, just inside his sleeping quarters. You stay there, and keep silent. Only come out if I call for you. Understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Now go.'

As Nepos padded away Cato glanced round for a hiding place for himself and then turned back to the chest. It had high sides and had been positioned out of the way at the rear of the tent. Treading softly round the chest he lowered himself behind it and settled down to wait for Maximius to return with his officers. It was fortunate, Cato reflected, that the routine of the Roman legions was immutable. The cohort commander would return to his tent for the morning briefing of his officers just as certainly as night followed day.

Outside the tent the sounds of the legionaries going about their duties was familiar and reassuring after the anxious days Cato had spent hiding in the marsh. Not for the first time he felt that the legion had become his home, and for as long as he lived he would only ever feel safe and secure while he was in its embrace.

There was little chance of a long life now, he decided bitterly. Even if Maximius didn't try to kill him on the spot, then the enemy warriors bearing down on the fort would succeed where the centurion had failed. For a moment Cato was tempted to call for Nepos and make a break for it, and get out of the fort, before the cohort commander returned to his tent. Cato clenched his teeth and punched his thigh furiously. He had committed himself now, and he must confront Maximius if there was any chance to avert disaster.

Time passed with frustrating slowness, and Cato sat in tense anticipation as his ears strained for the first sound of the cohort commander's approach. A few times he heard Maximius bellow out an order, or an angry curse, as he did his inspection of the fort. Each time Cato prepared himself for the job he must do, and each time it was a false alarm his resolve crumbled a little more and he felt he was one step closer to succumbing to his fears and running away.

Then, at last, he heard Maximius again, close at hand and clearly approaching the tent.

'Tullius!'

'Sir?'

'Have you briefed the optios about today's patrols?'

'Yes, sir. Before the inspection.'

'Good. Just the centurions, then. Ah, there they are. Get to the briefing! Move yourselves!'

Cato shrank down behind the chest and hardly dared to breathe as blood pounded in his ears. The leather sides of the tent shimmered as Maximius brushed through the flaps into his quarters. There was a grunt as the cohort commander eased himself into a chair, then the tent shimmered again as the other centurions, breathing hard, joined him and Tullius.

There was no preamble as Maximius barked out an order. 'Take a seat gentlemen, we're running late.'

There was a short shuffling as the officers sat down.

'Where's Acting Centurion Cordus?' Maximius snapped. 'Tullius?'

'Sorry, sir. I sent him to the village to get some natives. The fort's run-off channel is backing up and needs to be dug deeper.'

'Hardly requires the personal attention of a centurion, does it?'

'He was available, sir. And more than keen to do the job.'

'No doubt,' Maximius chuckled. 'Fine lad, that. If only all my officers were as eager to treat these barbarians like the vermin they are… You told him to go, Tullius, so you can go and fetch him.'

'Yes, sir… By your leave?'

'Just go.'

For a moment no one talked, until Tullius had left the tent, then Maximius laughed again. 'Just make sure that you don't end up like that one, lads.'

Cato heard Centurion Felix echo his commander's mirth. Then Maximius abruptly stopped.

'What's the matter, Antonius? Cat got your tongue?'

'No, sir.'

'So why the long face?'

'Sir…'

'Spit it out, man!'

'I was thinking about what Cato said earlier. His warning.'

'A warning, indeed!' Maximius snorted. 'He's just had enough of the marsh. You saw the state he was in. That crap about a warning was just some pathetic attempt to wheedle his way back into the cohort. Anyway, now that the bastard's back in our hands, and the rest of them are no doubt dead, we can finish our business here and then take him to Vespasian and rejoin the legion. You should be celebrating, Antonius, not worrying like an old woman.'

Cato heard Felix snort his derision, before Centurion Antonius muttered his reply: 'Yes, sir…'

'What the hell's that smell?' Maximius sniffed. 'Smells like something crept in here, had a shit and died. What is that stench?'

There was a flicker of light on the back of the tent as the flap was opened again.

'Tullius?' Maximius sounded surprised. 'Already? Then where's-What is the meaning of this? What the hell is Macro doing here? Why is he armed?'

Taking a last breath to try to calm his nerves, Cato stood up. 'Sir, you have to listen.'

'What the…?' Maximius twisted round at the sound of his voice. 'Cato? What the hell is going on here? Guards!'

Tullius shook his head. 'No use, sir. I sent them to fetch Cordus, on your authority.'

'My authority?' Maximius looked from Tullius to Macro, then round at Cato. His eyes suddenly widened. 'What is this? A mutiny?'

'No, sir,' Tullius raised a hand and advanced. 'You have to listen to us. Listen to Cato.'

'I'll see you in hell first!' Maximius spat, and bolted to his feet. 'Antonius! Felix! Draw your swords!'

'Stay where you are.' Macro leaped forward and raised the tip of his sword, close to Felix's throat.'Don't even think about moving. Tullius! You watch him.' Macro nodded at the cohort commander. But it was too late. Maximius was on his feet, sword drawn, almost as soon as Macro had spoken. Tullius faltered, looking from Maximius to Macro with a helpless expression.

Cato turned to the flap leading to the cohort commander's sleeping quarters. 'Nepos! Get in here!'

The legionary rushed in, and stood poised with Maximius' sword raised and ready to strike. For a moment Cato stared nervously as the cohort commander's muscles trembled in readiness to spring. Maximius' eyes narrowed briefly and he concentrated his piercing gaze on the legionary.

'Drop that weapon! That's an order!'

The tip of Nepos' sword dipped slightly and Cato stepped in between them, breaking Maximius' line of sight to the legionary.

'Obey him, and you're a dead man. Understand?'

Nepos slowly nodded and Cato turned round to face the cohort commander. 'Put your sword down, sir.'

Maximius was still for an instant, then the tension around his eyes eased off and he managed a smile. 'You have the advantage, Cato. For now.'

'The sword, sir… put it down.'

Maximius relaxed his arm and let his blade fall to his side.

'Drop the sword, sir,' Cato said firmly. 'I won't warn you again.'

'And let your man strike me down? I don't think so.'

No one spoke as Cato reached out his hand towards the cohort commander. Cato felt his heart pounding in his chest, and his throat tightened as he tried to conquer his fear. For a moment it seemed that Maximius had seen through him, and a contemptuous smile slowly formed on the older man's lips. Cato tilted his head forward and refused to let his gaze waver.