The Eagles Prey

'What a prick,' Macro muttered.

'Wonder what's keeping the legate.' Cato stared along the wharf. 'He's only supposed to be paying his respects to the garrison commander.'

Macro shrugged. 'You know what his class are like. Very clubbable. Probably swapping their addresses back in Rome right now.'

Cato suddenly craned his neck. 'There he is!'

'So much for that theory,' Macro grumbled.'At least we can set sail before that bloody captain has a stroke.'

The legate, like his centurions, was travelling light. All his baggage would follow on later and eventually catch up with him in Rome. His travelling chest had already been carried aboard and he wore a silk tunic with a gold weave in the hems – a simple design, but one that clearly indicated his social status – and people cleared the way ahead of him as he strolled along the wharf, looking for the Ajax. Cato waved his arm and caught the legate's attention, and a moment later his iron-studded boots thudded down on the deck. Cato and Macro automatically stood to attention.

'At ease.' Vespasian looked troubled. 'I've just heard some news that may be of interest to you. An army dispatch rider arrived this morning.'

Macro scratched his chin. 'What's that then, sir?'

'Caratacus has escaped.'

'Escaped?' Macro shook his head in disbelief. 'How?'

'It seems there was a riot over the prisoners' food rations. Some men were sent in to quieten them down. Turns out the riot was staged, and the prisoners rushed the stockade gate the moment it was opened. Apparently they just threw themselves at the guards bare-handed. Hundreds of them were killed, but they made sure Caratacus got away. How's that for loyalty?' Vespasian turned to Cato.'You know him. What do you think he'll do now?'

Cato shrugged. 'I don't know, sir. I only talked with him a few times.'

'Will he try to continue the fight?'

Cato nodded. 'Yes, sir. I believe he's the kind of man who will never give in. He'd rather die, if he had to.'

'So, it's not over, then.' Vespasian shook his head sadly.'After everything that's happened, I'd hoped…'

He didn't finish the sentence, and just looked away with a weary expression. The legate walked slowly to the front of the vessel and leaned over the bow rail. Macro and Cato watched him for a moment before Macro spoke.

'You have to hand it to Caratacus. Never say die.'

Cato nodded and said quietly, 'At least he was kind enough not to escape before we got full credit for his capture.'

Macro looked at Cato wide-eyed. Then he roared with laughter and slapped his friend on the shoulder. Cato winced.

With the last of his passengers on board, the captain gave the order to cast off and two large sweeps were lowered over the sides. With the crew straining at the long oars the ship was slowly rowed out into the channel, until the Ajax was clear of the other vessels. Then the oars were shipped and the sails unfurled. A light breeze carried them out to sea where the wind strengthened, the mainsail filling up like a pot belly. The bow rose and fell as it met the ocean swell. Cato and Macro moved to the back of the ship and leaned on the stern rail, watching the coast gradually slip away until Britain was no more than a vague outline on the horizon. At that point Macro lost interest, and wandered forward to the main mast to try to interest some of the crew in a game of dice.

Cato stayed at the rail, wondering why he suddenly felt so emotional at the disappearance of the land where he had suffered so much pain, so much loss, and seen more than enough cruelty to last him a lifetime. He should feel relieved to be quitting the island, he thought. Instead, he felt a peculiar emptiness, like he was leaving some essential part of himself on those shores. A moment later, the stern of the vessel reared up and Cato had one final sight of the distant land, then the Ajax swooped down the far side of the swell and Britain disappeared for good.

A little later Cato sensed a presence at his shoulder and glanced back. Macro was standing there, looking into the creamy wake behind the ship. 'Seems no one on this bloody ship is prepared to gamble with a centurion.'

'Can you blame them?' Cato smiled.

'I don't suppose you-'

'No.'

'Oh, right.' Macro did not hide his disappointment. 'What are you moping about here for?'

Cato stared at his friend for a moment. In truth he had begun to think about the future. About what would happen now that they had left the Second Legion. The legate had promised to act as their patron when they reached Rome. He would try to use what influence he had to secure them appointments in a new legion, but that would depend on vacancies. Right now only the units in Britain were on campaign, and the demand for centurions amongst the other legions posted across the Empire would be limited. The prospect of several months kicking his heels in Rome, with an increasingly frustrated Macro for company, was none too appealing. Cato just hoped that when the time came, their new legion would offer his friend a chance to get stuck into some serious soldiering, before he went completely mad.

Cato smiled. 'Just thinking.'

'What about?'

'What comes next. Anything has got to be better than the last two years.'

'You think so?' Macro sniffed. 'Believe me, there are worse places. And with our luck, you can be sure we'll be seeing them.'

Cato turned to look back over the stern, his eyes following the diminishing traces of the Ajax's wake, until he was staring at the horizon.

'I wonder if we'll ever see Britain again?'

Macro shrugged his heavy shoulders. 'Frankly, lad, I fear we just might.'

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Although Caratacus and his warriors were driven from the battlefield by the legions in the year following the invasion, the indomitable British commander continued a spirited resistance against Roman rule. After his defeats in the south-east of the island Caratacus fled to the tribes that inhabited modern-day Wales. These wild and warlike mountain tribes shared his desire for independence, and were encouraged in their will to resist by the druid cult based in their refuge on the island of Anglesey. Their determination to fight on, coupled with the mountainous terrain, made life very difficult for governors of the new Roman province of Britannia for many more years. Caratacus shared his new-found experience of the most effective kind of warfare to wage against Rome with the mountain tribesmen. Fast-moving raiding columns posed a constant danger to the widely dispersed Roman soldiers and their tenuous lines of supply.

Rome had a long tradition of never admitting defeat, or permitting pockets of resistance to continue in lands it had laid claim to. Eventually Caratacus was driven out of Wales and fled to the north of Britain, in a bid to whip up support amongst the powerful Brigantian confederation. A considerable number of Brigantian nobles were sympathetic to his cause, but their ruler, Queen Cartimandua, was afraid of provoking the wrath of Rome. How that turned out is another story. A story that may well require the return to Britain of two very experienced and talented legionary officers.

Cato and Macro are on their way to Rome. We know from the tombstones of centurions that such men served in a variety of units across the length and breadth of the Empire. Our heroes can expect to travel to new lands and encounter a wide range of enemies in the future. But before Cato and Macro secure appointments in a new legion they must first overcome the rumours and suspicions surrounding their recent actions during the war against Caratacus. They must prove themselves worthy of being reappointed to the ranks of Emperor Claudius' legions. Ahead of them lies a perilous undercover mission to secure a sacred artefact that will determine the destiny of the Empire.