Simon Scarrow - When the Eagle hunts

While his mind slowly drifted off, Cato, with a soldier's delight in small luxuries,i smiled at the fact that he had been given an entire room to himself. Wait until Macro found out.

When he next woke up, Cato was still lying on his front. He could hear the shouts and bustle of many men. The orderly had just changed the soiled bedling, and cleaned his patient.

He smiled as Cato's eyes flickered open and fixed on him.

'Morning, sir.'

Cato's tongue felt thick, and he nodded his head slightly to return the greeting, 'You look much better today,' continued the orderly.

'Thought you was a goner when they brought you in, sir.

Must've been a clean wound that Druid gave you.'

'Yes,' Cato replied, trying not to remember. 'Where am I?'

The orderly frowned. 'Here, sir. Here being the new hospital block in the new fort that's been thrown up in Calleva. Quick work. Just hope it don't fall down around our ears.'

'Calleva,' repeated Cato. That was days away from the hill fort. He must have been out for the entire journey.

'What's all the fuss?'

'More casualties coming in from the legion. Seems the legate has turned over another of them hill forts. We're out of space and the surgeon's tearing his greasy hair out trying to reorganise things…' The orderly's voice trailed away.

'And it would make my life a lot easier if my staff got on with their work instead of gossiping with the customers.'

'Yes, sir. Excuse me, sir. I'll be on me way.' The orderly hurried from the room and the surgeon came round the bed to speak to Cato. He smiled his bedside smile.

'You're looking chipper!'

'So I've been told.'

'Well now. I've got some good news and some bad news.

Good news is your wound's healing nicely. I imagine you'll be up and about in a month or so.'

'A month!' Cato groaned at the prospect.

'Yes. But not all of it will have to be spent lying on your stomach.'

Cato stared at the surgeon for a moment. 'And the good news is?'

'Ha ha!' The surgeon chuckled obsequiously. 'Well then, the thing is we're a bit pressed for space, and while I'd normally not dream of imposing on my officer patients, I'm afraid you're going to have to share.'

'Share?' Cato frowned. 'Who with?'

The surgeon leaned closer, looking over Cato's shoulder in the direction of the doorway. 'He's a bit of a sod. Grumbles all the time, but I'm sure he'll respect your privacy and pipe down a bit. Sorry, but there's nowhere else I can stick him.'

'Does he have a name?' muttered Cato.

Before the surgeon could reply, there was a commotion at the door and muttered curses.

'Watch it, you bloody fbols!' growled a familiar voice.

'This isn't a bloody batteripg ram you're playing with.'

More muttered curses followed.

'Who's this you've landed me with? If he talks in his" sleep I'll have your balls off.'

The orderlies struggled 'round the end of Cato's bed and set their patient down with a thump on the bed next to him.

'Oi! Careful, you hopeless wankers. I've got your number!'

Cato looked over, smiling fondly. Centurion Macro looked as white as a t6ga, his face pallid and gaunt beneath the tightly bound bandage. But there he was, very much alive and on form. With Maco snoring in the same room, he'd never get another decent night's sleep.

'Hello, sir.'

'Hello yourself!' Macro snapped back, then his eyes blinked wider and he propped himself up on an elbow, grinning with unrestrained pleasure at the sight of his optio.

'Well, I'll be buggered! Cato! Well, I… I… It's good to see you again, lad!'

'You too, sir. How's the head?'

'Hurts like hell! An every-hour-of-every-day hangover.'

'Nasty.'

'And you? What happened?'

'Druid stuck a sickle in my back!'

'Get away! A sickle in the back? That's bollocks, that is!'

'Centurion Macro,' interrupted the surgeon. 'This patient needs his rest. You mustn't excite him. Now, please settle down – and I'll see to it that you get some wine.'

At the promise of wine, Macro clamped his mouth shut.

The surgeon and the orderlies left the room. Only when he was sure that they were out of earshot did he turn to Cato and continue in a whisper, 'Heard you got the general's wife and son – minus a finger, I'm told, but otherwise intact.

Bloody good job! Should be a gong or two coming our way.'

'That would be nice, sir,' Cato replied wearily. He wanted more sleep, but the sheer pleasure of seeing his centurion again made him smile.

'What's up?'

'Nothing, sir. Just glad to see you sill with us. I really thought you'd had it.'

'Dead? Me?' Macro sounded offended. 'Take more than some bloody Druid with an attitude to top me! Wait till I have another crack at those bastards. They'll think twice before they wave a sword in my direction again, I can tell you.'

arrow 'Glad to hear it.' Cato's eyelids suddenly felt very heavy; he knew there was one more thing that needed saying, but for the moment it eluded him. Beside him Macro was complaining about being confined to bed, and if he heard the surgeon tell him to sleep one more time he'd have the man's guts for garters. Then Cato remembered.

'Excuse me, sir.'

'Yes?'

'Can I beg a favour of you?'

'Of course you can, lad! Name it.'

'Could you make sure that I get to sleep first, before you Macro glared at him a aoment, then angrily launched his bolster across the gap at hi.s companion. ,.

A few days later they had visitors. Cato had been shifted round and lay on his bac,.k, still bandaged, but much more comfortable. A boad'lay between the edge of his bed and Macro's and they were playing dice, at Macro's insistence. The run of the luck had been going Cato's way all morning, and the piles of.pebbles they were using as stakes were very uneven. Macro looked ruefully at Cato's latest cast of the dice and atthe few remaining pebbles before him.

'Don't suppose you could sb me a few of yours if I lose this one?'

'Yes, sir,' Cato replied, clamping his jaws together to stop a yawn escaping.

'Good of you, lad!' Macro smiled, swept the dice up into his cupped hands and shook them. 'Come on! Centurion needs new boots…'

He opened his hands, the dice dropped, tumbled over and came to rest.

'Six! Pay up, Cato!'

'Oh, well done, sir!' Cato smiled in relief.

The door opened and they looked round as Vespasian stepped into the room, clutching a woollen bundle to his chest. The legate waved a hand at them as both men ridiculously tried to struggle towards some equivalent of coming to attention.

'Relax.' Vespasian smiled. 'It's a private visit. Aside from being diverted from the campaign to Sort out a little problem Verica is having with his subjects. I brought some people to see you before they head back home.'

He stood aside to allow Boudica and Prasutagus to enter.

The Iceni warrior had to duck under the doorframe, and seemed to take up a rather larger portion of the room than was really fair. He smiled broadly at the two Romans in their beds.

'Ha! Sleepy heads!'

'No, Prasutagns old son,' replied Macro. 'We've been injured. But I suppose you wouldn't know about that. Being built like a bloody rock and all.'

When Boudica translated, Prasutagus roared with laughter. In the close confines of the room the sound was deafening, and Vespasian flinched. Prasutagus finally got control of himself and beamed down at Cato and Macro. Then he said something to Boudica, and the words came hesitantly, as if he was embarrassed.

'He wants you to know he feels a brother bond with you,'

Boudica translated. 'If you ever want to join our tribe, he'll consider it an honour.'

Macro and Cato exchanged an awkward look, before Vespasian leaned over them, whispering anxiously.