The Eagle and the Wolves

Macro exchanged a quick look with Cato as their legate tore off a chunk of bread and popped it into his mouth. 'We're pretty much up for it, sir. Are we getting sent back to the legion?' Macro asked hopefully.

'No. Not yet, at least.' Vespasian couldn't help smiling at the centurion's eagerness to get back in the fight. 'I need two good men for something else. Something very important to the success of our campaign.'

Cato frowned. The last special task to which he and Macro had been assigned had nearly got them both killed. The legate read his expression accurately.

'Oh, it's nothing like last time. Nothing dangerous. Or at least, not likely to be dangerous.' Vespasian bit off another chunk of bread and started chewing. 'You shouldn't even have to leave Calleva.'

Cato and Macro relaxed.

'So then, sir,' Macro continued, 'what do you need us for?'

'You're aware that Centurion Veranius was killed yesterday? '

'Yes, sir. We were watching from the gatehouse.' Macro was momentarily tempted to add some phrase to register the sadness he imagined he was supposed to feel. But he refused to cheapen himself, especially since he had never particularly rated Veranius.

'He was the only officer I could spare to command this garrison.'

There was an implied judgement in that sentence and Macro was mildly surprised that the legate shared his view of the dead centurion.

'And now I need a new garrison commander. The duty should not be too onerous for you while you recuperate.'

'Me, sir? In command of the depot?' Now Macro's surprise was more pronounced. Then the prospect of his first independent command filled him with a warm glow of pride. 'Thank you, sir. Yes, I'd be happy – honoured – to do the job.'

'It's an order, Macro,' Vespasian replied drily, 'not an invitation.'

'Oh, right.'

'There's more.' The legate paused a moment. 'I need you and Centurion Cato to train a small force for the king here in Calleva. A couple of cohorts is what I have in mind.'

'Two cohorts?' Cato's eyebrows rose in surprise. 'That's over nine hundred men. Where are we going to find them, sir? I doubt there's enough men of the quality we need here in Calleva.'

'Then have Verica spread the word. I doubt you'll be short of volunteers in the current situation. Once they come forward, you pick them, train them in our way of waging war, and then you will serve as their commanders, personally responsible to Verica.'

Macro chewed his lip.

'Do you think that's wise, sir? Arming the Atrebatans? In any case, I thought the general's policy was to disarm the tribes. Even those allied to us.'

'It is his policy,' Vespasian admitted, 'but the situation's changed. I can't afford to spare any more men to protect Calleva, or to deal with these raids on our supply columns. I've no choice but to use the Atrebatans. So you start training them as soon as possible. I have to return to the legion today. I've sent word of my plans to General Plautius and asked him for permission to equip Verica's men from our stores here in the depot. Train them, and feed them, but don't arm them until you get word from the general. Understand?'

'Yes, sir,' said Macro.

'Do you think you can do it?'

Macro raised his eyebrows and gently rocked his head from side to side. 'I should think we can make something of them, sir. Can't promise to supply you with front-line troops.'

'So long as they make Verica and his people feel safe, and make those damn Durotrigans think twice before they attack our convoys. Above all, make sure that no harm comes to Verica. If he is deposed, or dies, the Atrebatans might turn against us. If that happens… we may have to abandon the conquest of this island. You can imagine how well that will go down in Rome. The Emperor will not be pleased with us.' Vespasian stared at the two centurions to underline the significance of his warning. If Britain was lost, then there would be no mercy shown to the officers most directly accountable: the legate of the Second Legion and the two centurions he had entrusted with defending Calleva and protecting the Atrebatan king. 'So keep Verica alive, gentlemen. That's all I ask of you. Do a decent job and then you two can get back to the legion the moment you're fit enough.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Now then,' Vespasian pushed his platter to one side and rose from his stool, 'I've got a few things left to do before heading back to the legion. I want you to move into these quarters and take command of the garrison right away. As for the other matter, you'll need to go to the royal enclosure and see one of Verica's advisors. Tincommius is his name. Tell him what you need and he'll make the appropriate arrangements. He seems reliable enough. Right then, I'll see you two when I can. Good luck.'

Once Vespasian had left the room Macro and Cato sat down at the table.

'I don't like it,' said Cato. 'Legate's taking a risk arming these natives. How loyal to Verica will they be? How far can we trust them? You've seen what they're like in the streets. There's no love lost for Rome there.'

'True. But even less lost for the Durotrigans. Cato, think about it. We've got a chance to create and command our own army!'

'It'll be Verica's army, not ours.'

'His in name only, by the time I've finished with them.'

Cato saw the excited gleam in his friend's eyes, and knew it was pointless to try to contradict him for the present. He could foresee that training native levies was going to be more of a challenge than training recruits to the legions. There were so many factors to consider, language not the least of them. He had picked up a basic grasp of Celtic during the months spent in Calleva, but Cato knew he would have to improve on that as quickly as possible if he were to make himself understood to native levies. In one thing Macro was right: it was an exciting opportunity. They could quit the hospital and take the first tentative steps back towards proper soldiering.

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Six

The sun had not yet reached the top of the depot palisade when Centurion Macro emerged from the headquarters building. He was in full uniform, from nail-studded boots, silvered greaves, chain-mail vest with its harness of medallions, right up to the transverse crested helmet, gleaming dully in the shadow of the ramparts. In his hand was a vine cane, symbol of the right conferred upon him by the Emperor, Senate and People of Rome to beat the otherwise sacrosanct body of a Roman citizen. He twirled the cane between the fingers of his right hand as he marched up to the silent mass of natives gathered together on the depot's training ground. Since news of the formation of the native cohorts had spread from the Atrebatan capital, thousands of men from the surrounding lands joined those from Calleva in coming forward to be selected.

After nearly two months in hospital recovering from his head wound, Macro felt good to be getting back to the familiar routines of a centurion's life. No, he corrected himself, barring the odd skull-splitting headache, life didn't just feel good, it felt bloody marvellous. He puffed out his chest, whistling contentedly to himself as he approached his new recruits.

Centurion Cato was standing to one side of the crowd, talking with Tincommius. It was the first time that Cato had worn the uniform and equipment of a centurion and Macro thought it suited him no better than that of an optio. Cato was tall and thin, and the chain mail seemed to hang on the youngster rather than fit him. The vine stick was held awkwardly and it was difficult to imagine Cato wielding that across the back of some recalcitrant legionary, or even one of these natives. Cato's recovery in hospital had been unkind to his already skinny body and the muscle wastage to his legs was evident in the way that the back of his greaves actually overlapped slightly.