The Eagle's Prey Read online

  ‘You stink.’

  ‘Sir, I have to tell you—’

  ‘Shut up!’ Maximius screamed back. ‘Shut your mouth, you disgusting piece of shit! One more word and I’ll cut your throat.’

  He turned to Tullius. ‘Throw ’em in the latrine ditch and post a guard!’ Tullius’ eyebrows rose. ‘Sir?’

  ‘You heard me! Carry out my order.’

  ‘But, sir, Centurion Cato came here to warn us.’

  ‘Centurion Cato?’ Maximius stabbed his finger into Tullius’ chest. ‘He’s no centurion. Got that? He’s a condemned man. A dead man. Don’t ever refer to him by that rank again. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Tullius replied quietly. ‘But the warning?’

  Maximius clenched his fists as the blood drained from his face. ‘Carry out my orders! If you don’t want to end up like Macro, then fucking move yourself!’

  Tullius shrank back. ‘Yes, sir. At once, sir.’

  The old centurion turned and snapped out his orders to the section that had escorted Cato and Nepos inside the fort, and now stood at attention to one side. At once the two fugitives were grasped by the arms and rapidly marched away from the gate towards the far corner of the fort. Cato twisted his head round.

  ‘Sir, for pity’s sake, hear me out!’

  ‘Centurion!’ Maximius spat. ‘Silence that prisoner!’

  ‘Caratacus is coming!’ Cato managed to get out before Tullius jumped towards him and slapped him hard across the jaw. For a moment Cato was dazed by the blow, then he tasted blood and felt his mouth fill up with a thick gout. He dropped his head to one side and spat it out, before he shouted out one last warning.

  ‘Don’t—’

  Tullius raised his fist.

  ‘All right,’ Cato mumbled. ‘All right. What did he mean about Macro?’

  Tullius looked over his shoulder, and saw that Maximius was taking the sentries to task, bawling out a diatribe against sloppy watch-keeping. Tullius turned back to Cato.

  ‘Macro’s under arrest.’

  ‘Arrest?’ For a moment Cato was struck by the dreadful thought that his friend’s role in the prisoners’ escape had been discovered, and, for what it was worth, he tried to bluff it out. ‘What’s he been arrested for?’

  ‘Macro refused an order to carry out reprisals on the natives.’

  ‘Reprisals?’

  ‘Yesterday six of your men were butchered, right in front of us. Maximius ordered Macro to kill sixty villagers in return. He refused. So, Maximius placed him under arrest and handed his century over to an optio, Cordus, a right nasty piece of work, who was only too happy to carry out the order.’

  Cato looked at him. ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘Deadly. But quiet now!’ For an instant Tullius leaned closer to whisper. ‘We’ll talk later. Too many ears close by.’

  They marched on in silence, until they reached the lean-to shack that sat over the fort’s latrine channel. The odour, as they approached, was overpowering – even after the stench of the pen in which the Britons had held them prisoner. Tullius made for the wooden trapdoor that covered the channel between the latrine and the grate through which the sewage trickled out into the drainage ditch that led directly down the slope away from the walls of the fort. Grimacing, he lifted the hatch and threw it back against the wall of the latrine.

  ‘Get in.’

  Cato looked down into the disgusting dark sludge below and shook his head. ‘No.’

  Tullius sighed, and turned to the escort, but Cato grasped him by the arm.

  ‘We saw the heads down by the track leading into the marsh. What’s been going on here?’ Cato could see the older man was wavering. ‘Tell me.’

  Tullius glanced round nervously before he replied. ‘All right. He’s like a madman – Maximius. He’s been slaughtering the natives like he was on piece work.’ Tullius rubbed his chin. ‘Never seen anything like it. It’s as if the man’s possessed … mad. That’s what Macro reckoned. Like Maximius was taking revenge on the locals for all the shit that’s happened to the Third Cohort.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Cato replied, and paused a moment in thought. ‘But I wonder why the legate sent the cohort here. Has to be more to it than just hunting us down.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Think about it. We lost contact with Caratacus. The general had to find some way to lure him out into the open. Now it’s happening.’

  ‘But how could the general know that Maximius would go crazy and provoke Caratacus into an attack? He couldn’t have known.’

  ‘Yes he could … if he ordered Maximius to start slaughtering the locals.’

  Tullius shook his head. ‘No. There’s no method in what he’s been doing. Just madness.’

  ‘He is mad,’ Cato affirmed, ‘if he doesn’t get ready to prepare for the attack. By the end of the day Caratacus and thousands of his men will arrive in front of the ramparts. They’re bent on revenge, and they’ll take this place by storm and slaughter everyone in it. We won’t stand a chance.’

  Tullius stared at Cato, struggling to hide his fear, and the young officer pushed home his advantage.

  ‘There is only one way out of this for the cohort. Only one way I can see. But it’s no good unless I, we, can persuade Maximius.’

  ‘No!’ Centurion Tullius shook his head. ‘He won’t listen. And he’ll make sure I suffer for even talking to you like this. Get in the hole!’

  ‘For fuck’s sake!’ Cato tightened his grip and pulled the older man round to face him. The legionaries reached for their swords. ‘Listen to me!’

  Tullius raised his spare hand. ‘Easy, lads!’

  Cato nodded his thanks, and continued in a desperate whisper. ‘You’re a bloody veteran, Tullius, and those medallions on your harness weren’t given to you for book-keeping, or covering your arse. If you haven’t got the balls to stand up to Maximius, then at least let me have a go.’ Still staring into the older man’s eyes, Cato relaxed his grip and gave the arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze. ‘We’re talking about more than one man’s life here. If Maximius doesn’t listen, we’re all dead. You can make a difference, right now.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Dismiss this escort. Then take me to his tent. Send someone for Macro. He can meet us there. We have to talk Maximius round. Before it’s too late. Now, dismiss these men and hear me out.’

  Cato could see the hesitation in the other man’s expression and leaned closer. ‘We can survive this. Better still, we can come out of it with honour. Best of all, we should be able to finish Caratacus off once and for all.’

  ‘How?’ Tullius asked. ‘Tell me how.’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Half an hour later, Cato eased himself under the back of Maximius’ tent. He glanced round and was relieved to see that the place was empty; the clerks were on the morning inspection with the cohort commander. Cato held the leather flap up and beckoned to Nepos. The legionary scrambled under and moved over so that his centurion could still see Tullius.

  ‘All’s clear. I’ll wait for you in here, sir. You’d better get Macro now.’

  It felt odd to be giving the veteran orders, and Cato realised that it would be best to preserve some sense of the proper code of behaviour if he were to keep Tullius on his side. The old centurion might be well past his prime, and his nerves were clearly worn down, but he still had the sense to see what needed to be done. Cato knew he must have every ally he could win over before he dared to confront Centurion Maximius.

  Tullius nodded. ‘Right. Just you stay out of sight, young Cato.’

  Cato nodded and let the leather drop back to the ground. Glancing round he saw the cohort commander’s personal chest. A red cloak was folded over the side and leaning against it was a sword. It was not the finely crafted sword he habitually wore, just the standard issue, with a handle worn glassy and smooth with age. Cato smiled. It must be a relic from Maximius’ days as a legionary, now just a keepsake. A most useful keepsake. Cato q
uietly drew the blade and then flipped the corner of the cloak over the top of the scabbard to conceal the sword’s absence.

  He passed the sword to Nepos. ‘Take this, and then hide yourself over there, just inside his sleeping quarters. You stay there, and keep silent. Only come out if I call for you. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. Now go.’

  As Nepos padded away Cato glanced round for a hiding place for himself and then turned back to the chest. It had high sides and had been positioned out of the way at the rear of the tent. Treading softly round the chest he lowered himself behind it and settled down to wait for Maximius to return with his officers. It was fortunate, Cato reflected, that the routine of the Roman legions was immutable. The cohort commander would return to his tent for the morning briefing of his officers just as certainly as night followed day.

  Outside the tent the sounds of the legionaries going about their duties was familiar and reassuring after the anxious days Cato had spent hiding in the marsh. Not for the first time he felt that the legion had become his home, and for as long as he lived he would only ever feel safe and secure while he was in its embrace.

  There was little chance of a long life now, he decided bitterly. Even if Maximius didn’t try to kill him on the spot, then the enemy warriors bearing down on the fort would succeed where the centurion had failed. For a moment Cato was tempted to call for Nepos and make a break for it, and get out of the fort, before the cohort commander returned to his tent. Cato clenched his teeth and punched his thigh furiously. He had committed himself now, and he must confront Maximius if there was any chance to avert disaster.

  Time passed with frustrating slowness, and Cato sat in tense anticipation as his ears strained for the first sound of the cohort commander’s approach. A few times he heard Maximius bellow out an order, or an angry curse, as he did his inspection of the fort. Each time Cato prepared himself for the job he must do, and each time it was a false alarm his resolve crumbled a little more and he felt he was one step closer to succumbing to his fears and running away.

  Then, at last, he heard Maximius again, close at hand and clearly approaching the tent.

  ‘Tullius!’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Have you briefed the optios about today’s patrols?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Before the inspection.’

  ‘Good. Just the centurions, then. Ah, there they are. Get to the briefing! Move yourselves!’

  Cato shrank down behind the chest and hardly dared to breathe as blood pounded in his ears. The leather sides of the tent shimmered as Maximius brushed through the flaps into his quarters. There was a grunt as the cohort commander eased himself into a chair, then the tent shimmered again as the other centurions, breathing hard, joined him and Tullius.

  There was no preamble as Maximius barked out an order. ‘Take a seat gentlemen, we’re running late.’

  There was a short shuffling as the officers sat down.

  ‘Where’s Acting Centurion Cordus?’ Maximius snapped. ‘Tullius?’

  ‘Sorry, sir. I sent him to the village to get some natives. The fort’s runoff channel is backing up and needs to be dug deeper.’

  ‘Hardly requires the personal attention of a centurion, does it?’

  ‘He was available, sir. And more than keen to do the job.’

  ‘No doubt,’ Maximius chuckled. ‘Fine lad, that. If only all my officers were as eager to treat these barbarians like the vermin they are … You told him to go, Tullius, so you can go and fetch him.’

  ‘Yes, sir … By your leave?’

  ‘Just go.’

  For a moment no one talked, until Tullius had left the tent, then Maximius laughed again. ‘Just make sure that you don’t end up like that one, lads.’

  Cato heard Centurion Felix echo his commander’s mirth. Then Maximius abruptly stopped.

  ‘What’s the matter, Antonius? Cat got your tongue?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘So why the long face?’

  ‘Sir …’

  ‘Spit it out, man!’

  ‘I was thinking about what Cato said earlier. His warning.’

  ‘A warning, indeed!’ Maximius snorted. ‘He’s just had enough of the marsh. You saw the state he was in. That crap about a warning was just some pathetic attempt to wheedle his way back into the cohort. Anyway, now that the bastard’s back in our hands, and the rest of them are no doubt dead, we can finish our business here and take him to Vespasian and rejoin the legion. You should be celebrating, Antonius, not worrying like an old woman.’

  Cato heard Felix snort his derision, before Centurion Antonius muttered his reply: ‘Yes, sir …’

  ‘What the hell’s that smell?’ Maximius sniffed. ‘Smells like something crept in here, had a shit and died. What is that stench?’

  There was a flicker of light on the back of the tent as the flap was opened again.

  ‘Tullius?’ Maximius sounded surprised. ‘Already? Then where’s—What is the meaning of this? What the hell is Macro doing here? Why is he armed?’

  Taking a last breath to try to calm his nerves, Cato stood up. ‘Sir, you have to listen.’

  ‘What the …?’ Maximius twisted round at the sound of his voice. ‘Cato? What the hell is going on here? Guards!’

  Tullius shook his head. ‘No use, sir. I sent them to fetch Cordus, on your authority.’

  ‘My authority?’ Maximius looked from Tullius to Macro, then round at Cato. His eyes suddenly widened. ‘What is this? A mutiny?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Tullius raised a hand and advanced. ‘You have to listen to us. Listen to Cato.’

  ‘I’ll see you in hell first!’ Maximius spat, and bolted to his feet. ‘Antonius! Felix! Draw your swords!’

  ‘Stay where you are.’ Macro leaped forward and raised the tip of his sword, close to Felix’s throat. ‘Don’t even think about moving. Tullius! You watch him.’ Macro nodded at the cohort commander. But it was too late. Maximius was on his feet, sword drawn, almost as soon as Macro had spoken. Tullius faltered, looking from Maximius to Macro with a helpless expression.

  Cato turned to the flap leading to the cohort commander’s sleeping quarters. ‘Nepos! Get in here!’

  The legionary rushed in, and stood poised with Maximius’ sword raised and ready to strike. For a moment Cato stared nervously as the cohort commander’s muscles trembled in readiness to spring. Maximius’ eyes narrowed briefly and he concentrated his piercing gaze on the legionary.

  ‘Drop that weapon! That’s an order!’

  The tip of Nepos’ sword dipped slightly and Cato stepped in between them, breaking Maximius’ line of sight to the legionary.

  ‘Obey him, and you’re a dead man. Understand?’

  Nepos slowly nodded and Cato turned round to face the cohort commander. ‘Put your sword down, sir.’

  Maximius was still for an instant, then the tension around his eyes eased off and he managed a smile. ‘You have the advantage, Cato. For now.’

  ‘The sword, sir … put it down.’

  Maximius relaxed his arm and let his blade fall to his side.

  ‘Drop the sword, sir,’ Cato said firmly. ‘I won’t warn you again.’

  ‘And let your man strike me down? I don’t think so.’

  No one spoke as Cato reached out his hand towards the cohort commander. Cato felt his heart pounding in his chest, and his throat tightened as he tried to conquer his fear. For a moment it seemed that Maximius had seen through him, and a contemptuous smile slowly formed on the older man’s lips. Cato tilted his head forward and refused to let his gaze waver.

  Eventually Maximius nodded and sheathed his sword. ‘All right, boy. Let’s hear you out.’ Maximius casually turned his back on Cato and stepped towards his desk, ‘Tell me about this attack.’

  Cato saw Tullius’ cheeks puff out as he breathed in relief. But Cato knew it wasn’t over yet. He quickly moved up behind Maximius, shot out a hand and snatched the cohort commander’s sword from its sc
abbard with a sharp rasping noise. He stepped back and raised the blade towards the spine of his superior. Maximius froze.

  ‘You’d better replace that, before it’s too late,’ he said.

  ‘It’s already too late,’ Cato replied.

  Tullius started forwards. ‘What the hell are you doing, Cato?’

  ‘Sir, we can’t trust him. He’ll pretend to hear us out and the moment we leave this tent he’d have us arrested, or killed on the spot. Nepos?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Tie him up.’

  ‘What about him?’ Macro prodded his sword at Centurion Felix. ‘This one won’t rise against his master.’

  ‘Yes, Felix as well. We have to be quick.’

  While the two officers were held at the point of a sword, Nepos hurriedly undid their bootlaces and used the tough leather thongs to bind their wrists and ankles. Tullius and Antonius looked on in mounting horror.

  ‘You can’t do this,’ Tullius muttered. ‘This is mutiny. Shit, you’ll get us killed.’

  ‘It’s too late now, sir,’ Cato said gently. ‘We’re all involved. Me, Macro, you and Antonius. If we let them go now, we’ll all be executed.’

  Maximius shook his head. ‘It’s not too late for you, Tullius. Or you, Antonius. Stop these madmen and you have my word, you’ll not stand trial.’

  Cato glanced at Tullius and saw that the old man was wavering. ‘Tullius! You set me free. You arranged for Macro to be armed and brought here. There’ll be no mercy for you now, sir. There’s more at stake than our lives. He’s not fit to command this cohort. Not when we’re about to be attacked by Caratacus. Sir, hold your nerve. Your men need you.’

  Tullius looked from Cato to Maximius and back again and rubbed his face. ‘Damn you, Cato! You’ll be the death of me.’

  ‘We’re all dead in the end, sir. All that matters is to make certain your death isn’t pointless. If we release him now, Maximius will have us killed like dogs. If he saves us for trial, then we’ll just die in chains when Caratacus gets here. But if we – you – take command, then there’s a chance some of us will survive the attack. Better still, we might even be able to finish Caratacus off for good. If that happens then it’s possible General Plautius will overlook this.’