The Eagle and the Wolves

The woman reached forlornly towards the head one last time, but Tincommius held her down, and she suddenly turned on him and spat into his face. The Atrebatan prince recoiled in surprise and with a last snarl the woman curled into a ball on the ground and wept bitterly. Cato pulled Tincommius away from the scene.

'It had to be done. There was no other way. You saw how the crowd reacted.'

Tincommius slowly wiped the spittle from his brow before replying.

'But it was her son. She had a right to do him honour.'

'Even after he'd betrayed his people? Betrayed her?'

Tincommius was still for a moment. Then he nodded slowly. 'I suppose so. I suppose it was necessary. I just felt…'

'I know how you felt.'

'Do you?' Tincommius looked startled for an instant, before his expression recomposed and he nodded. 'I suppose even a Roman understands grief.'

'You can count on it.' Cato gave him a faint smile. 'Now take the standard, and get yourself back to Centurion Macro.'

Fortunately there were no more such scenes as Cato and Bedriacus pushed themselves through the throng towards the entrance to Calleva. To one side of the gate Verica stood on a wagon, surrounded by his nobles and the royal bodyguard. Cato caught sight of the Boar standard unsteadily making its way over towards Verica and turned round to pull Bedriacus within earshot. The centurion pointed towards the Atrebatan king.

'Come with me!'

The hunter nodded, and before Cato could stop him, Bedriacus ploughed into the throng, roughly shoving his people aside to make way for his centurion. For a moment Cato feared that the mood might turn nasty, but the Atrebatans were in too good a humour to take offence. A huge quantity of the local beer had already been consumed during Calleva's celebration, and the returning soldiers were doing their best to make up for lost time as unstoppered jugs were passed around. Despite the hunter's best efforts it still took a long time before Cato finally joined Macro and Tincommius. After the tight, heaving mass of the excited tribe Cato was relieved when he finally managed to squeeze through the shields of the bodyguards into King Verica's presence.

'Centurion Cato!' Verica smiled, raising a hand in greeting. 'My heartiest congratulations on your victory.'

'The victory is yours, my lord. Yours, and your people's. They deserved it.'

'High praise indeed, from an officer of the legions.'

'Yes, my lord. And I'm sure the men will continue to justify your pride in them.'

'Of course. But for now we must let them celebrate.' Verica turned to Macro. 'I'd like to hear the whole tale after you've rested. Please be my guests tonight in my great hall.'

Macro bowed his head. 'We'd be honoured, my lord.'

'Very well, until then.'

Verica was helped down from the wagon. He turned towards the gate and his bodyguard quickly formed round him and opened a path through the crowd.

'Come on,' said Macro, after he had passed the word for the cohorts to reassemble in the depot the following morning. 'We've got to get that convoy inside the depot before the locals recover their wits enough to ransack it.'

Once Macro and Cato had escorted the supply wagons through the gatehouse into Calleva, it quickly became clear that many of the Atrebatans were not in a celebratory mood. Small groups of men squatted outside some of the huts, staring silently at the wagons as they trundled along the rutted street towards the depot. Only the children seemed oblivious to the tense division of sympathies in Calleva, and ran happily alongside the wagons, laughing and teasing the drivers. A rumour had carried through the town that some of the supplies would be distributed to the townspeople, and even the children were excited by the prospect of filling their bellies.

At the sight of Macro and Cato the children ran over to the two centurions who had defeated the Durotrigans and crowded round them, babbling away in their singsong Celtic.

'All right! All right!' Macro grinned as he raised his hands. 'See? I've got nothing for you. Nothing!'

Cato's grim expression had deterred all but the most thick-skinned of the children and he glared at the others who finally got the point and turned their attention to Macro.

'Why so glum? Hey, Cato!'

Cato looked round. 'Glum?'

'You look like someone who just lost a bloody fight, not won it! Come on, lad. Join the celebrations.'

'I will, later.'

'Later? What's wrong with now?'

'Sir.' Cato nodded down at the children.

One of the urchins, more daring than the others, was fiddling with the fastening of one of the silver medallions on Macro's harness.

'Why, you little bastard!' Macro cuffed the boy heavily on the ear. 'What the bloody hell do you think you're up to, sunshine? All of you! You've had your fun, now piss off!'

He swept them away with broad strokes of his arm, sending several sprawling on the street with a shrill chorus of shrieks and screams. The others kept out of the centurion's reach and giggled as he made a wild face at them. 'Grrrrr! Get out of here before the big bad Roman eats you all for his supper.'

When the children continued to dog his footsteps Macro's tiredness soon won out over his good spirits, and he turned and drew his sword. At the sight of the glinting blade the Atrebatan children fled screaming into the narrow alleys between the huts.

'That's better.' Macro nodded with satisfaction. 'Though they don't give up easily, that lot.'

'Blame it on the parents,' Cato smiled humourlessly. 'The speed the general's campaign is going, I shouldn't be surprised if those children are old enough to fight the Durotrigans before we're through. Or fight us.'

Macro stopped and looked at his junior centurion. 'You really are in a shitty mood, aren't you?'

Cato shrugged. 'Only thinking. That's all. Just ignore me.'

'Thinking?' Macro raised his eyebrows, then shook his head sadly. 'Like all things, there's a time and a place for that, my boy. We should be celebrating, like our lads. You, particularly.'

Cato raised his eyebrows. 'Me?'

'You've proved the quacks wrong. A few weeks ago they were all for giving you a medical discharge. If only they could have seen you in action! So let's celebrate. In fact, the moment we've seen these wagons safely inside the depot, you and me are going to have a drink. My treat.'

Cato tried not to show his alarm at the prospect of one of Macro's drinking binges. Unlike his friend, who enjoyed a cast-iron constitution, and quickly recovered from any amount of drink, wine and beer went straight to Cato's head, and he suffered the appalling consequences for days. Much as he was relieved to prove the surgeon wrong, there were other matters that required his attention.

'Sir, we must make a report to the legate, and the general, at once. Then we have to join Verica tonight.'

'Screw Verica. Let's get drunk.'

'We can't do that,' Cato continued patiently. 'We dare not cause any offence. Vespasian's orders were very firm about that.'

'Bloody orders.'

Cato nodded sympathetically, and then tried to change the subject. 'And we need to think about how the men performed at the river crossing.'

'What's there to think about? We kicked the stuffing out of the Durotrigans.'

'This time, maybe. When we next face them we might not have the advantage of surprise.'

'The lads did well enough,' protested Macro. 'Got stuck into the enemy like pros. Well, maybe not professionals – they'll never match up to the legions.'