M. Scott: The Eagle of the Twelfth

Corbulo.

Thoughtfully, I draw another picture. We both look at it. I say, ‘Vespasian has asked me to be part of his personal bodyguard. That way, if I don’t want to be part of the new Twelfth, I can still be with the force that takes back Jerusalem.’

‘He knows the value of a good man when he sees one. Like good horses, they are few enough, and to be cherished.’ Pantera stands. Neither of us is good at saying goodbye. He says, ‘I’m leaving in the morning. I’ve left the Berber colt in your care. You’ll need a good mount while your roan filly becomes a brood mare.’

I blink at him. ‘When will you come back to claim him?’

He is looking down at the Eagle I have drawn in water on the oak table. ‘If I come back,’ he says, ‘it won’t be to claim him. Or the bow.’

He leaves me, then. I sit a while longer, before I smooth out the drawing and stand.

I drink the water, and a little of the wine, and then I go to tell my general that I will be honoured to serve in his bodyguard for as long as he has need of me.