The Eagle and the Wolves

Tincommius shrugged. 'Then we can't guarantee the loyalty of our people.'

The argument was going round in circles and Vespasian's frustration was turning to anger once more. There had to be a way through this. Then an idea did occur to him.

'Why can't you go after these raiders yourself?'

'With what?' snapped Verica. 'Your general permits me fifty armed men. That's barely enough to protect the royal enclosure, let alone the ramparts of Calleva. What could fifty men do against the force that attacked your convoy today?'

'Then raise more men. I'll petition General Plautius to suspend the limit on your forces.'

'That's all very well,' Tincommius said calmly, 'but we have very few warriors left. Many chose to join Caratacus rather than lay down their arms. Some – though not many – stayed loyal to Verica.'

'Start with them then. There must be many more who'd want revenge on the Durotrigans – all those whose farms have been destroyed by enemy raiders.'

'They're farmers,' Tincommius said dismissively. 'They know almost nothing about fighting. They don't even have proper weapons. They'd be slaughtered.'

'So train them! I can provide the weapons from the depot here – the moment we get permission from the general – enough for, say, a thousand men. That's more than sufficient to take on those raiders… Unless the Atrebatans are too afraid.'

Tincommius gave a bitter smile. 'You Romans, so brave behind your armour, your huge shields and all those cheap battlefield traps. What do you know of courage?'

Verica coughed. 'If I might make a suggestion…'

The other two turned towards the old man on the throne. Vespasian dipped his head in assent. 'Please do.'

'It crossed my mind that you might lend us some of your officers to train our men in the ways of the Roman army. After all, it will be your equipment they will be fighting with. Surely you can spare that many men – if it helps solve both our problems?'

Vespasian considered the idea. It made good sense. Calleva would be able to take care of itself, and such a force might indeed take the strain off the legion's lines of communication. Well worth seconding a few officers for. He looked at Verica and nodded. The king smiled.

'Of course, such a force would need to be adequately provisioned in order to be effective… You said it yourself, Legate. Soldiers are only any good if they have full bellies.'

'Yes, my lord,' Tincommius nodded, and continued with a cynical edge to his voice, 'I dare say that the prospect of a decent meal will lead to no shortage of recruits. And a full belly has a wonderful way of dispersing rebellious instincts.'

'Now wait a moment.' Vespasian raised a hand, anxious not to commit himself to more than he could deliver. He was angry with the old man for manoeuvring him into this position, but accepted the cogency of his argument. The scheme might even work, provided, of course, that General Plautius agreed to the arming of the Atrebatans. 'It's an interesting proposition. I need to think about it.'

Verica nodded. 'By all means, Legate. But not for too long, eh? It takes time to train men, and we have very little time if it's to make a difference. Give me your response tomorrow. You may go.'

'Yes, sir.'

Vespasian smartly turned and marched out of the hall, under the silent gaze of the two Britons. He was anxious to be free of them and be somewhere quiet where his tired mind could think the plan through, without having to worry about being manipulated by the shrewd king of the Atrebatans.

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Five

'Lift this please, Centurion.' The surgeon handed Cato a sword. He took it in his right hand and slowly raised it to his front. The early morning sunlight glinted along the blade.

'That's good. Push it out as far as you can, then hold.'

Cato looked down the length of his arm and grimaced at the effort of keeping the blade up; he could not stop the tip of the sword from wavering, and soon his arm began to tremble.

'To the side now, sir.'

Cato swept his arm round and the surgeon ducked beneath its arc. Macro winked at Cato as the surgeon straightened himself, well away from the blade.

'Well, no problem with the muscles there! Now then, how does your other side feel?'

'Tight,' Cato replied through gritted teeth. 'Feels like something's stretching badly.'

'Painful?'

'Very.'

'You can lower the sword now, sir.' The surgeon waited until the blade had been returned to its scabbard and then returned to the corner of the room. Cato stood before him, bare-chested and the surgeon ran his finger along the thick red line that curved round the left side of Cato's chest and a third of the way across his back. 'The muscles are quite tight under the scar tissue. You need to loosen them up. It's going to take plenty of exercise. It'll be painful, sir.'

'I don't care,' replied Cato. 'All I want to know is how soon I can get back to the legion.'

'Ah…' The surgeon made a face. 'That may take some time, and, well, frankly, you'd better not build your hopes up too much.'

'What do you mean?' Cato said with a quiet intensity. 'I am going to recover.'

'Of course you are, Centurion. Of course you are. It's just that you might have difficulty bearing the weight of a shield on your left arm, and the added strain of wielding a sword might well cause the muscles down the left side to tear. You'd be in agony.'

'I've endured pain before.'

'Yes, sir. But this would be quite incapacitating. There's no easy way to say this, sir, but your army career might well be over.'

'Over?' Cato replied softly. 'But I'm only eighteen… It can't be over.'

'I didn't say that it was, sir. Just that there is a chance that it might be. With thorough exercise and favouring of that side, there's a chance you could return to active service.'

'I see…' Cato felt sick. 'Thank you.'

The surgeon smiled sympathetically. 'Well, then, I'll be off.'

'Yes…'

Once the door was closed Cato pulled on his tunic and slumped down on his bed. He ran a hand through his dark curls. It was unbelievable. He had not even completed two years of service with the Eagles, and had only recently been promoted, and the surgeon was telling him it was as good as over.

'He can get stuffed,' said Macro, in an awkward attempt to cheer his friend up. 'You just need to get some exercise, get yourself back in shape. We'll work on it together, and I'll have you in front of your own century before you know it.'

'Thank you.'

Macro was only trying to be kind, and Cato, despite his inner agony, was grateful to the man. He straightened up and forced a smile on to his face. 'Better get started on the exercise as soon as possible then.'

'That's the spirit!' Macro beamed, and was about to offer some more encouragement when there was a sharp rap on the door.

'Come!' yelled Macro.

The door opened and a cavalry scout stepped smartly into the hospital room.

'Centurions Lucius Cornelius Macro and Quintus Licinius Cato?'

'That's us.'

'Legate requests your presence.'

'Now?' Macro frowned as he looked up through the open shutters. The sun was well above the horizon, by some hours. He looked at Cato with raised eyebrows. 'Tell him we'll be there directly.'

'Yes, sir.'

When the scout had closed the door behind him Macro quickly reached for his boots, and gave Cato a gentle nudge. 'Come on, lad.'

Vespasian waved his hand at a bench in front of the low table where he was eating his breakfast. There was a platter of small loaves, a bowl of olive oil and a jar of fish sauce. Macro met Cato's gaze and gave a disappointed shrug. If this was how legates ate, you could keep it.

'Now then,' Vespasian began, as he spread the dark fish sauce over a hunk of bread, 'how far have you two recovered from your wounds? Are you fit enough for light duties?'