Simon Scarrow4_ - The Eagle and the Wolves

'There is, unfortunately, an aspect of the report that I would like to discuss further.' Quintillus smiled once again, drawing a scroll from a leather satchel at his feet.

Macro looked at his report with a sinking feeling. 'Oh?'

The tribune unrolled the report from the bottom and skim-read the conclusion.

'You mention, in passing, that elements amongst the Atrebatans are not quite as keen as their king on the tribe's alliance with Rome.'

'Yes, sir.' Macro tried to recall the exact phrasing he had used in his report. He hated being put on the spot like this, called to respond to words he had written several days previously, by a senior officer who had the advantage of having the entire report at his disposal. It was unfair, but there wasn't much that was fair in the legions.

'What do you mean, precisely?' Quintillus asked.

'There's nothing much to it, sir. A few malcontents grumbling about Rome's long-term plans for the Atrebatans, but nothing the king can't handle.'

Cato shot his friend a quick look of surprise, and quickly composed his expression as the tribune looked up from the report.

'Yes, that's pretty much what you say here. But I understand that the king's way of handling these, er, malcontents is perhaps a little more dogged – if you'll pardon the pun – than you imply. I mean to say, feeding one's critics to the hounds is a little extreme…'

'How'd you find out about that?'

The tribune shrugged. 'That's not important. Right now what is important is for you to tell me what the true situation is here in Calleva.'

'They weren't critics, sir. They were traitors and got what was coming to them. Bit harsh, perhaps, but these people are barbarians, after all. Verica's dealt with the problem.'

'True. But why not mention it in this report?'

'That was written before Verica had the traitors killed.'

'Very well,' Quintillus conceded. 'Can't fault you on that one.'

'No, sir.'

'So what has been the situation since then?'

'It's calm enough. A bit of tension on the streets, but that's it.'

'And it would be safe to say that King Verica is secure on his throne?'

'I'd say so.' Macro glanced at Cato. 'Wouldn't you?'

Cato gave the faintest of nods and Macro glared angrily at him.

'Centurion Cato would seem to have a slightly different view of matters,' Quintillus suggested quietly.

'Centurion Cato is not very experienced, sir.'

'I can see that.'

Cato blushed.

'Yet it would be useful to have a second opinion, just for clarity.' The tribune gestured towards Cato. 'Well?'

Cato felt a black wave of anxiety and depression engulf him. He must answer the tribune, yet his loyalty to Macro meant that he must not be seen to undermine his friend's version of events. He cursed his comrade's touchiness. Cato was no more enamoured of aristocratic hauteur than Macro, but having been raised in the imperial palace at least he was used to it and had found a way to cope with such arrogance. Much as Macro might want to enjoy his independent command far from the view of senior officers, Cato knew that it would be dangerous to underplay the political difficulties facing Verica. Moreover, being somewhat more speculative than Macro he could see the wider strategic implications faced by Rome. If the Atrebatans turned against Rome then not only would the current campaign be lost, but the conquest of Britain might well have to be abandoned. The shameful consequences of such an outcome would threaten the Emperor himself. Cato drew himself back from speculation to focus on the present. Much as Cato might be aware of the wider issues Macro was in trouble here and now, and needed his support.

'Centurion Macro is right, sir…'

Macro rested his hands on his knees and eased himself back into his chair, trying hard not to smile.

'He's right,' Cato repeated thoughtfully. 'But it would be wise if we considered the possibility of some kind of trouble brewing up. After all, the king is an old man. Old men have a predilection for mortality, unassisted or otherwise…'

The tribune chuckled. 'And are you aware of any potential assistants in the field – besides Caratacus and the Durotrigans?'

'The families of the men he executed would have motive enough, sir.'

'Anyone else?'

'Just the malcontents Macro was talking about.'

'How many of them would you say there were, Centurion?'

Cato desperately thought about his response. If he estimated too many then Macro would be seen as complacent at best and a liar at worst. If Cato underestimated their number then the tribune would report back to General Plautius that the Roman alliance with the Atrebatans was safe. If it turned out not to be safe…

'How many?'

'It's difficult to say, sir. With Verica taking a hard line on those who oppose him, they're hardly making themselves obvious.'

'Is there any cause for concern?' asked Quintillus, and then added a qualification. 'Is there anything else you think I need to tell the general?'

'In my judgement, it is as Centurion Macro has said, sir. We can contain the problem for now. But if the situation changes, if Verica dies, or we meet with any serious defeat and Verica is deposed, who knows? The man chosen to succeed him by the king's council might not stay loyal to Rome.'

'Is that likely?'

'It's possible.'

'I see.' Tribune Quintillus leaned back in his chair, gazing at the beaten earth floor between his feet. He rasped a thumb along the stubble under his chin as he considered the situation. At length, just as Macro began to shift in his seat, the tribune looked up.

'Gentlemen, I'll be honest with you. The situation is causing me more concern than I thought it would. The general's not going to be a happy man when he reads my report. Right now, the four legions are disposed along a wide front, trying to hold on to Caratacus until we can fix him, and close for the kill. Behind the legions we've got lines of communication stretching right back to Rutupiae. Most of them pass through Atrebatan land. We're already having a hard enough time keeping the enemy's raiding columns at bay. If the Atrebatans go over to Caratacus, then the show's over. General Plautius will be forced to retreat all the way back to the fortress on the Tamesis. It would take us years to recover the ground. In that time Caratacus will be sure to make good use of our setback; the tribes would flock to his side. Given enough men, even though they're Celts, Caratacus might just defeat our legions.' Quintillus looked at Cato and Macro. 'You appreciate the seriousness of the position?'

'We're not idiots, sir,' Macro replied. 'Of course we know the score. Right, Cato?'

'Yes.'

Quintillus gave a faint nod as he seemed to make a decision. 'Then you'll understand the general's thinking when I tell you that he has granted me full procuratorial powers over this kingdom, and I'm to exercise them the moment I perceive any danger to the legions' supply lines.'

'You're not serious, sir?' Cato shook his head. 'Annexation? The Atrebatans would never stand for it.'

'Who said we'd give them any choice in the matter?' Quintillus said coldly. 'While they've the good sense to do our bidding then they can have their king. But the moment they pose any threat to our interests I will be forced to act. The Second Legion will be recalled to Calleva to enforce my orders. These natives, and their lands, will come under direct Roman rule; the kingdom of the Atrebatans will cease to be.'

'No,' muttered Macro. 'They'd die first.'

'Nonsense! Don't be so melodramatic, Centurion. They'll do whatever it takes to survive, like everyone who has no real power to change events. They must already have a pretty good idea of the cost of defying Rome.' The fire of ruthless ambition glinted in the tribune's eyes. 'For those who don't know, I'll teach them.'