Simon Scarrow - When the Eagle hunts

A creaking on the ladder caused him to turn his head.

A massive man was squeezing through the hatchway. Over six feet tall, and broad-shouldered to match, the Second Legion's camp prefect was a grey-haired veteran with a livid scar from forehead to cheek. As the senior career officer of the legion he was a soldier of immense experience and courage. In Vespasian's absence, or death, Sextus would assume command of the legion.

'Morning, Sextus. Come to See the fight?'

'Of course, sir. How're the lads of the Fourth doing?'

'Not too bad. Still formed up and heading this way. By the time I get over there with the elief I imagine it'll all be over.'

'Maybe,' Sextus replied.'with a shrug as he squinted at the distant fight. 'Are you sure you should be leading the relief column, sir?'

'You think I shouldn't?'

'Frankly, sir, no. Legates should look after the legion as a whole, not arse around on minor details.'

Vespasian grinned. 'That's);our job, I suppose.'.

'Yes, sir. As it happens.'

'Well, I need the exercise. You don't. So be a good chap and look after things here for:an hour or so. I'll try not to make a mess of your First Cohort.'

Both men chuckled; camp prefects were promoted from the rank of senior centurion of the First Cohort, and they were notoriously protective about the last field command of their career.

Vespasian turned and swung himself onto the sentry ladder, slipping easily through the hatchway. Back on the ground, he paused by the gate where his body slave carefully slipped on his helmet and tied the chin thongs securely. The men of the Third Cohort were tramping by, heading through the gates to join the column formed up on the track outside.

Vespasian felt a thrill of excitement flow through his body at the prospect of leading the relief column to the aid of the Fourth Cohort. After the tedium of the long winter, most of it snugged down in temporary barracks, here was a chance to get back to some proper soldiering again.

Vespasian allowed his body slave a final tweak of the red ribbon fastened about his cuirass and then turned to march out of the camp and take up his position at the head of the column. Before he made it through the gate, a shrill cry from the top of the watchtower stopped him in mid stride.

'Horsemen approaching from the north-east!'

'Now what?' muttered Vespasian, angrily slapping his hand against his thigh. Through the gate-he saw the three cohorts waiting to go to the aid of their comrades. But he could hardly leave the legion until he had ascertained whether the camp was being threatened on another front.

Equally, any delay in sending help to the Fourth Cohort would cost lives. The relief column had to set off at once.

And since he had to investigate the sighting to the northeast, it would need a new commander. He looked up. at the watchtower.

'Camp Prefect!'

A face, dark against the sky, appeared above the palisade.

'Yes, sir?'

'Take charge here.'

By the time Vespasian had run across the camp and climbed the watchtower on the northern gate, he was desperately out of breath again. Clutching the sentry rail and taking great gulps of air, he took a last glance at the relief column snaking its way across the rolling comtryside towards the dark mass of tiny figures that represented the Fourth Cohort. Sextus could be trusted to see that the'rescue operation was carried out with as little loss of life as possible. Camp prefects, as a rule, had long outgrown the distasteful – and dangerous thirst for glory that some of:the junior officers espoused. If he was honest, the men of.the relief column were probably safer with Sextus in charge rather than himself. That thought did little to relieve the frustration he felt at having to pass the command over to the camp prefect.

As soon as he was breathing more easily, Vespasian turned and walked over to the sentry keeping watch to the north.

'So where are these bloody horsemen?'

'Can't see them right now, sir,' the sentry replied nervously, not wanting his legate to suspect that it might be a false alarm. He continued hurriedly, 'They rode down into that dip there, sir. Just a moment ago. Should be coming back into view any time now, sir.'

Vespasian looked in the direction indicated, a shallow valley running parallel to the camp barely a mile away. But the only sign of life was a thin trail of smoke rising from a small group of thatched huts. They waited in silence, the sentry growing ever more twitchy as he willed the horsemen to reappear.

'How many of them did you see?'

'Thirty or so, sir.'

'Ours?'

'Too far off for me to be sure, sir. They might have had red cloaks.'

'Might have?' Vespasian turned to look at the sentry, an older man who must have served quite a few years with the eagles. Certainly long enough to know that a sentry should only ever report details they were sure of. The legionary stiffened under the legate's gaze and was astute enough to refrain from any further comment. Vespasian seethed internally at having been diverted to the watchtower. If he'd known the number of the approaching horsemen earlier he could have left Sextus to deal with the matter. Well, it was too late now, he reflected, and it would be bad form to take it out on this nervous sentry. Better to keep an air of imperturbability, and enhance the image of the unflappable commander he presented to the men of his legion.

'Look, sir!' The sentry jabbed his hand over the palisade.

A line of plumed helmets bobbed up over the side of the valley. Above them flapped a purple pennant.

'The general himself!' The sentry whistled.

Vespasian's heart felt heavy. The general had got his message, then. He now knew of the terrible danger his family was in. Reminded of his own pregnant wife and young son, Vespasian could sympathise with his general. But sympathy did not allay his apprehension about the general's state of mind.

Vespasian was suddenly aware that the sentry was watching him.

'What's the matter, soldier? Never seen a general before?'

The sentry coloured, but before he could respond, Vespasian sent him down the ladder to alert the duty centurion of General Plautius's approach. The usual formalities due to a commanding general would have to be organised quickly. Vespasiala stayed in the watchtower until the sentry returned, watching the approaching column canter towards the northern gate. The general's mounted guard came first, followed by Platius himself and a handful of staff officers. With them rode two hooded figures, and then came the rearguard section, riding either side of five Druids who were tied to their mounts: As they neared, Vespasian could see the foam on the flanks of the horses; the beasts had obviously been driven to thelimits of their endurance in the general's bid to reach the.Second Legion as swiftly as possible.

Vespasian quickly descended from the tower and took position at the end of the honour guard formed up on either side of the gateway. It would create a good impression if he greeted the general in person. The pounding of hooves was clearly audible now, and Vespasian gave a nod to the centurion in command of the honour guard.

'Open the gates!' shouted the centurion. The locking bar was lifted and carried to one side and then with a deep groan the gates were hauled open as widely as possible. It was neatly timed, as moments later the first of the general's personal guard reined in to one side of the gateway and waited for Plautius to enter the camp first. The general, followed by his staff, slowed to a walk as the guard centurion bellowed his orders.

'Honour guard.., present!'

The grounded javelins of the legionaries were thrust forward at an angle, and the general responded with a salute in the direction of the headquarters tents where the Second Legion's standards were housed in a temporary shrine. Plautius came to a halt beside Vespasian and dismounted.