Simon Scarrow - Under The Eagle

Cato knew he was in the wrong. The sour note of his reply had been impulsive and now he regretted the offence it had caused.

'Sir. I'm not ungrateful for the offer. I just don't feel like it right now. I can't help it.'

'Can't help it?' snorted Macro. 'Suit yourself then.'

He quickly rose to his feet and stormed off, with one final black look at Cato before entering his tent.

While he waited for his watch to begin, Cato sank into a mood of despair. Perhaps the centurion was right? What kind of romance could he carry on with a girl he could never see? She was, moreover, a dangerous girl to know, given that she could testify that he'd been in the legate's tent that night. If for any reason she was indiscreet, then both of them would be up in front of Vespasian. And the truth, about the other man, was hardly likely to be believed. The best move would be to forget her, forget about love and get on with life. Perhaps he would join Macro and the others after all.

– =OO=OOO=OO-=

Shortly after the change of the second watch, when all but a few diehards were sound asleep, the sentry on the main gate saw two figures walking down the road towards the camp. He called out for the password and, when he received no immediate reply, he lowered his javelin point and challenged them again.'

'Relax soldier!' a voice called out. 'We're friends.'

'Password!'

'We're friends, I tell you! From the other camp.'

'Keep your fucking distance!' the sentry shouted, slightly relieved that the strangers spoke Latin.

'We want to speak with your commander. We have a pass signed by General Plautius himself. Let us in.'

'No! Stay where you are.' The thickset sentry took a pace back and pointed his javelin at the two figures scarcely ten feet away. Now, by the dim light of the stars, he could see that one man was tall and thin, wearing a dark, hooded cloak. The other was a giant of a man who wore a sword in a scabbard at his side. 'Optio! Optio of the watch! Come down here quick!'

The side-passage gate opened and the optio marched over, munching on a hunk of bread soaked in wine.

'What is it? Better not be another false alarm, I'm still bloody eating.'

'This man wants to speak to the legate.'

'Has he given you the password?'

'No, sir.'

'Then tell him to fuck off – you should bloody well know the regulations by now.'

'If I might interrupt?' The taller figure took two paces nearer.

'Stay exactly where you are, pal,' the optio growled.

'I have business with the legate,' the man insisted, then he brought out a small slate from his cloak. 'See here, I've a pass authorised by Aulus Plautius.'

The optio approached cautiously and quickly took the slate held out to him, before retiring towards the open side-gate, which provided just enough light to read the message. The pass was in order and the ring seal pressed into the wax surface bore the eagle of a commanding general. Still, the optio considered, it might just be a fake. Given the strictness with which camp regulations and restrictions of movement to and from the gates were being enforced, the legate and his senior officers were clearly jumpy about something.

The optio paused: a person bearing a pass authorised by Plautius himself must hold some kind of rank. 'Please wait here, sir.'

'Commendable security you have here,' Narcissus said, somewhat later, as he accepted a drink from Vespasian. 'It was quite difficult persuading the senior watch officer to let us see you, even with the general's pass. Your soldiers are sticklers for the rules.'

'No rules – no order – no civilisation – no Rome.' Vespasian trotted out the old adage and raised his glass to Narcissus. 'But I'm glad you came, for whatever reason of your own. I needed to speak to you alone.'

'Then our interests happily coincide.'

'What about him?' Vespasian nodded at the imperial secretary's bodyguard looming in the shadows, still and silent.

'Ignore him,' said Narcissus. 'I take it we're safe in here?'

'Absolutely. All entrances are well guarded.'

'Oh yes?' Narcissus took a small sip of wine as he fixed Vespasian with his eyes. 'That's not what my sources tell me.'

Vespasian coloured. 'Your spy told you about that?'

'I was informed that a sentry had been injured by an intruder. I take it nothing was stolen. Nothing important that is.'

'Nothing.' Vespasian said firmly, forcing himself to keep his eyes fixed on those of Narcissus.

'So what happened?'

'As far as I know, a slave girl was due to meet her lover in my command tent. He didn't show and she waited a while and then left. Shortly afterwards the guards came across someone in the tent. He injured a sentry and fled the scene. A dropped torch set fire to the tent, but we managed to get it out without too much damage being done. And that is all there is to tell.'

Narcissus stared at him and slowly took another sip. 'You tortured the girl?'

'It wasn't necessary.'

'Really? There are some officers who get a kick out of that sort of thing.'

'If you think-' Vespasian half rose from his chair and the figure in the shadows moved quickly forwards. Narcissus waved the bodyguard back.

'I think nothing of the sort. I just wondered if you had managed to get any more information out of her.'

'Just what I said.'

'And the man's name? The one she said she had arranged to meet.'

'Look here, Narcissus, I run my Legion, and if there are any problems to solve then I'll sort them out. You're a freedman, you don't give orders to a legate. This isn't Saturnalia, you know.'

Narcissus gave him a curious smile. 'It's funny you should say that. But no matter… I want the man's name.'

Vespasian did not reply immediately. Much as he disliked Vitellius he was reluctant to give information that might lead an innocent man to his destruction. An innocent man now – but possibly a political rival later. Or an ally. Nothing was written in stone.

'It would be best that you tell me now,' Narcissus said quietly. 'Before I get Polythemus to ask you.'

'How dare you?' Vespasian recoiled in shock. 'You threaten me in my own tent? Why, man, I could call out for my guards now and have you, and your brute there, crucified just like that!' He tried to snap his fingers with a crack but his damp hand made no sound.

The failure of the gesture was not lost on Narcissus and he allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction before he continued in a more conciliatory tone.

'I fear you misunderstand our relative worth in the eyes of the Emperor. Aristocrats with pretensions to political greatness are ten a sestertius. Some undoubtedly have considerable talents – you are such a one – but they are freaks within their own class. Generations of inbreeding have produced nothing more than idle, arrogant idiots. We – the Emperor – can replace you easily enough. I, on the other hand, am irreplaceable. How do you imagine a mere freedman has been able to rise to become the Emperor's right-hand man? There is more intelligence, more cunning and more cruelty in my little finger than in your whole body. Remember that, Vespasian. Remember it before you even think to upbraid me.'

Vespasian clamped his mouth shut to stop up the torrent of rage churning inside him. He gripped the edges of his chair tightly and swallowed.

'Excellent.' Narcissus nodded slowly. 'It's good that you're smart enough to accept an unpalatable truth when it is presented to you. You will grow to understand the importance of that when you return to Rome. I'm glad I was right about you.'

'And how were you right about me?' Vespasian asked through clenched teeth.

'Your brain rules your heart, and your pride knows its place. Now, be a good fellow and tell me the name of the man the slave girl was supposed to meet in your tent.'