Simon Scarrow - When the Eagle hunts

General Plautius considered the proposal for a moment.

'I don't like it. I can't risk any botched rescue attempt by a handful of men in the middle of enemy territory. That's more likely to lead to my family being killed than anything else.'

'No, sir,' Vespasian countered firmly. 'I'd say it's the best chance we have. If your Briton really knows the lie of the land and its people, we stand a good chance of finding the hostages before the enemy is alerted to the Second's advance.'

Plautius frowned. 'Your best chance has just been downgraded to a good chance.'

'Better than little or.no chance, sir.'

'Did you have anyone in mind for this mission?'

'No, sir,' Vespasian admitte amp; 'Haven't thought that far ahead. But we'd need some men with plenty of initiative.

They'd have to be resourceful, good in a fight – if it came down to it…'

Plautius looked up. 'What about that centurion you sent to retrieve Caesar's pay chest, just after we landed? Him and that optio of his. Did a pretty good job, as I recall.'

'Yes, they did,' mused Vespasian. 'A very good job indeed…'

'Come on, you dozy beauties!' roared Centurion Hortensius as he stuck his head into Macro's tent. Macro was fast asleep on his camp bed, snoring with a deep bass rumble. To one side Cato slumped over a desk where he had been compiling the Sixth Century's strength re'turn when the irresistible need for rest had finally overvhelmed him. Outside, in the century's line of tents, the mc.n were also fast asleep, and so it was with the rest of the. Fourth Cohort. Except Senior Centurion Hortensius. Afe seeing to the injured and giving orders that a hot meal be prepared for the cohort, he had gone to make his report.

To find himself in the presence of not only the legate but also the commander of all the Roman forces in Britain was something of a surprise. Tired-as Hortensius was, he stood to attention and stared rigidly ahead as he outlined the short history of the Fourth Cohort's patrol. Giving the bare details, without embellishment, Hortensius delivered his report with the formal tonelessness of a long-serving professional. He answered their questions in the same style. As the debriefing proceeded, Hortensius became aware that the general seemed to want far more from his answers than he could possibly provide. The man seemed to be obsessive about even the smallest details concerning the Druids, and was horrified when told of Diomedes's slaughter of the Druid prisoners.

'He killed all of them?'

'Yes, sir.'

'What did you do with the bodies?' asked Vespasian.

'Dumped them in the well, sir, then filled it in. Didn't want to give their mates any further excuse to give us a hard time.'

'No, I suppose not,' Vespasian replied, with a quick glance at the general. The questions continued for a little while before the general relented and curtly waved him towards the door. Vespasian was angered by the general's casual dismissal of the veteran centurion.

'One final thing, Centurion,' Vespasian called out.

Hortensius halted and turned round.'Sir?'

'You did an excellent job. I doubt many men could have led the cohort as you did.'

The centurion inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement of the praise. But Vespasian was unwilling to let the matter rest there. He placed heavy emphasis on his next words. 'I imagine there will be some kirid of commendation or award for your performance…'

General Plautius looked up. 'Er, yes.., yes, of course.

Some kind of award.'

'Kind of you, sir.' Hortensius addressed his reply to his legate.

'Not at all. It's well-deserved,' Vespasian said crisply.

'Now, one last thing. Would you be kind enough to send Centurion Macro and his optio to see us? At once, if you please.'

Cato had dipped his head into an icy butt of water in an attempt to be more wakeful in front of his legate, and he looked a sorry state as he and Macro entered the headquarters tent. His dark hair was plastered across his forehead and beads of water trickled down either side of his nose and dropped in dark spatters on his tunic. Macro looked sidelong at him and frowned, largely oblivious of his own appearance.

Since returning to the caml5 they had removed only their belts and armour, and still w0re.the soiled, bloodstained and torn tunics of the last three clys of marching and fighting.

Nor were their shallow cuts and scratches dressed in any way; dried blood still crusted their arms and legs. The legate's chief clerk curled his lip at the sight of them as they approached his desk outside the general's day tent; these two were hardly likely to do the legion's reputation much good in the eyes of the gen6raL The clerk added a wrinkled nose to his expression of distaste as the two men came to a halt in front of him.

'Centurion Macro? Couldn't.you have presented yourself in a more respectable condition, sir?'

'We were told to be here as soon as possible.'

'Yes, but even so…' The chief clerk looked disapprovingly at Cato, dripping perilously close to his paperwork.

'You might have let the optio dry out first.'

'We're here,' said Macro, too tired to be angry with the clerk. 'Better tell the legate.'

The clerk rose from his stool. 'Wait.' He slipped through the tent flap and pulled it to behind him.

'Any idea what this is about, sir?' Cato rubbed his eyes the refreshing shock of the cold water had already worn off.

Macro shook his head. 'Sorry, lad.' He tried to think of any misdemeanour he or his men might have unwittingly committed. One of the recruits had probably been caught taking a dump in the tribunes' latrine again, he mused. 'I doubt we're in any kind of serious trouble, so take it easy.'

'Yes, sir.'

The clerk reappeared. He stood to one side of the tent flap and held it open for them.

'Anyway, we'll find out soon enough,' mumbled Macro as he led the way. Inside, he raised his eyebrows at the sight of the general, just as Hortensius had done before him. Then he marched up to the senior officers and stood to attention.

Cato, younger and lacking the toughness of the veteran centurion, shambled to his side and stiffened into the appropriate posture as best he could. Macro saluted his legate.

'Centurion Macro and Optio Cato reporting as ordered, sir.'

'At ease,' ordered Plautius. The general cast a disapproving eye over them before he turned to Vespasian. 'These are the men we were talking about?'

'Yes, sir. They're just back from that patrol. You haven't caught them at their best.'

'So it seems. But are they as reliable as you say?'

Vespasian nodded, uncomfortable at discussing the two men as if they were not present. He had noticed that those of aristocratic descent, like Aulus Plautius, were inclined to regard the lower orders as part of the scenery without a moment's consideration of how crushing it was to be treated that way. Vespasian's grandfather had been a centurion, like this man standing before them, and it was only due to the social reforms of Emperor Augustus that men from more humble lineages could now rise to the highest offices in Rome. In due course Vespasian, and his elder brother Sabinus, might become consuls, the highest post a senator could achieve. But those sehators from the oldest families would still look down their firle noses at the Flavians and mutter snide remarks to each Other about the arrivistes' lack of refinement. '

'You're sure of them?' Pla.utius persisted.

'Yes, sir. Definitely. If anyone can do the job, it's these Despite his exhaustion, Cato's curiosity was aroused and it sharpened his concentration. He barely managed to restrain a glance towards his centurion. Whatever this 'job" was, it came right from the top and had to be a chance to distinguish himself and prove to the other men of the legion, and more importantly to himself, that he was worthy of the optio's white strap he wore on his shoulder.