The Eagle and the Wolves

Bedriacus tried to answer, but the fight had almost died in him. His eyes flickered towards Tincommius, then back to Cato and he managed to whisper. 'My eyes… grow dim…'

Tincommius gently pushed Cato away and rested a hand on Bedriacus' brow. 'Sleep, Bedriacus the hunter. Sleep.'

'Stop that!' Cato snapped. 'You bloody fool! We have to know.'

Tincommius looked up with a dark and angry expression. 'The man's dying.'

'I can't stop that. No one can. We have to know. You heard him: someone's after Verica. Now, get out of my way!'

'Too late,' murmured Artax. 'Look. He's gone.'

Cato turned away from Tincommius, and looked down at Bedriacus. The hunter was quite still, eyes staring up at the ceiling, mouth slack and without breath. The surgeon leaned closer to inspect Bedriacus for any sign of life. He turned his head, and placed an ear on the Briton's breast. A few moments later he sat up, and released the bloodstained wad of cloth that he had been holding to the hunter's stab wound. As the material came away, Cato saw the dark puncture, like a glistening mouth. Then the macabre illusion was broken as blood welled up and trickled down the skin and on to the floor.

'He's dead,' the surgeon said officially.

'Right then, better get it in a report,' said Macro, rising to his feet. 'You want the body taken anywhere?'

The surgeon nodded towards the two Britons still sitting beside Bedriacus. 'Ask them, sir. I don't know the local customs.'

'Goodbye, Bedriacus,' Artax said quietly. Cato looked up and saw a faint smile playing at the corners of Artax's lips as the nobleman continued, 'Safe journey to the next world.'

Cato quickly went to the door and shouted an order for the headquarters guard. As distant footsteps pounded across the courtyard he turned back to the two Britons, still squatting over the body. Macro came over to him.

'What's up? Why call the guard? We can get someone else to take the body away.' The older centurion's gaze flickered over the blood smeared across the floor. 'Better get 'em to clean up your office as well.'

'We can deal with that later,' Cato replied. 'Right now I want Artax taken and held somewhere safe. Somewhere nice and quiet, where we can ask him a few questions.'

'What the bloody hell is going on?' Tribune Quintillus exploded as he marched into Cato's office. 'Why was I called away from my training?' Then he noticed the body on the floor. Cato had arranged his cloak so that it covered Bedriacus' face. Only his bare feet stuck out from the heavy material. 'Who is that joker?'

'Joker, sir?' Cato followed the direction of the tribune's glance. 'That's one of my men. My standard bearer, Bedriacus.'

'Dead?'

Macro nodded. 'Well spotted, sir. Glad to see the army is still pursuing its policy of recruiting the brightest and the best.'

Quintillus ignored the comment, and turned to Cato. 'How?'

'Stabbed, sir.'

'Accident?'

'No.'

'Ah, I see,' Quintillus nodded thoughtfully, and then decided what must have happened. 'Some kind of local grudge thing no doubt. Give the Celts long enough and they'd all kill each other. Save us the job. Do we have the culprit?'

'No, sir,' replied Macro.

'Why not?'

Macro gave Cato a look of exasperation as Quintillus continued without pausing for any kind of response, 'If you haven't caught the killer, then why send for me? Why waste my time? I can't do your job for you, you know. Well?'

'We haven't positively identified the killer yet,' Cato said apologetically. 'But the matter is more complicated, sir.'

'Complicated?' Quintillus smiled. 'What could possibly be complicated about some native brawl?'

'It's not a brawl, sir. Or at least it doesn't seem like one. Tincommius found him in the corridor.'

'Tincommius?' The tribune frowned, before he placed the name, and his face brightened. 'One of those clowns that hang around King Verica? What on earth was he doing in here?'

'He's serving with the two cohorts we raised,' Cato explained. 'So are a great many of the nobles, as it happens.'

'They've done us proud, sir,' Macro added. 'They're good men.'

'Yes, well, quite.' Quintillus turned on Cato. 'What's Tincommius got to do with this killing?'

'As I said, sir, he found Bedriacus on his way to find me.'

'Who was on his way to find you?'

'Bedriacus!' Macro snapped.

Cato shot him a warning look. 'Yes, sir, Bedriacus. He was trying to tell me about something he'd overheard. Something about a plot against King Verica.'

'A plot?' Quintillus laughed. 'What is this? Some cheap matinee performance at Pompey's theatre?'

Cato fought to control his exasperation as he replied. 'Never having had the opportunity to attend Pompey's theatre I wouldn't know about that, sir.'

'You haven't missed anything. But it sounds like someone is trying to make up for your lack of education. Or pulling your leg.'

'Pulling his leg!' Macro shot a finger at the body. 'That's a dead man there, sir. Pretty harsh practical joke, wouldn't you say?'

'Centurion, if you only knew the kinds of things the young blades get up to back in Rome… Still, in this instance, maybe there's something more to it. Please continue, Centurion Cato. About this plot?'

'Yes, sir. That's all we got out of Bedriacus before he died.'

'He didn't happen to let you know who stabbed him?'

'No, sir,' Cato admitted.

'Oh, come on! This is ridiculous. There must be more to it than that!'

'Maybe, sir. Tincommius was joined by another man before he set off to find us.'

'And who is this man? Let me guess – another one of Verica's little friends?'

'As it happens, yes, sir. But one who might have less cause to be fond of Rome than some of his comrades.'

'Imagine that.'

Cato shrugged. 'I find it difficult to believe that he just happened to be nearby when Tincommius found this man dying, right outside my quarters. Especially when Bedriacus had something vital he had to tell me. Too much of a coincidence, wouldn't you agree, sir?'

'It might be. Then again, it might just be coincidence that Artax was there. Have you any other proof?'

A puzzled expression passed fleetingly across Cato's face, but he was interrupted by Macro before he could answer the tribune.

'Artax is a fishy one, all right. Arrogant sod has been giving us the evil eye ever since we showed up in Calleva.'

'And yet he still serves with your cohorts,' Quintillus pointed out.

'Well, yes… But what better way to keep an eye on us?'

The tribune shook his head. 'No. I doubt he's plotting anything. Plotters don't tend to try to stand out, let alone act suspiciously.'

'Speaking from experience, sir?'

'Only from common sense, Centurion…'

Some people just couldn't help being confrontational, Cato decided as he watched the two men. But this was not helping things. Artax was being held in a cell on the far side of the headquarters block, and Cato was sure the Briton knew something about the stabbing, if not the plot that Bedriacus had mentioned. He had to be questioned, and soon.

'Sir, we must interrogate Artax. He's keeping something from us. I'm sure of it.'

'You're sure of it?' the tribune said scathingly. 'On what grounds? Gut feeling?'

There was nothing Cato could say to that without looking foolish. It was true that there was no hard evidence on Artax, just Cato's observations of the man over recent days, the weight of coincidence and, if he was honest with himself, gut instinct.

'So, I'm right then?' Quintillus gave a small smile of triumph. 'Well, Centurion?'

Cato nodded.

'So then, this Artax. Just how close is he to the king?'

'Very. Blood relation, and part of his entourage before he joined the cohorts.'

'Sounds like a model ally, and well enough placed for you to treat him with respect, wouldn't you say?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then I suggest you release him as soon as possible, before he reconsiders his view of Rome. Given the sensitivity of the situation I don't think we should risk any unnecessary offence.'