The Eagles Conquest

'Nisus, old lad.' Macro adopted his worldly-wise voice. 'I've seen a great deal of other so-called civilisations in my time, and take it from me, they've nothing to teach us. They better us in nothing. Rome is the best, root and branch, and the sooner they recognise that, as you have, the better.'

Nisus started, and his widened eyes reflected the glow of the embers for an instant before he cast them down. 'Centurion, I joined the army to gain the rights conferred by Roman citizenship. I did it for pragmatic reasons, not idealistic ones. I don't share your sense of your empire's destiny. In time it will pass, as all empires have passed, and all that will remain will be ruined statues half-buried in deserts that will merely evoke the curiosity of passing travellers.'

'Rome fall?' Macro scoffed. 'Do be serious! Rome is the greatest in every way. Rome is, well… you tell him, Cato. You have a better way with words than me.'

Cato glared at his centurion, angry at the awkward situation he had been thrust into. Much as he might believe in most of Macro's claims for Rome, he was well aware of the debt the empire owed to older cultures, and he had no wish to offend his new Carthaginian friend.

'I think what you're trying to say, sir, is that in a way the Roman empire marks an end to history, in that we represent an amalgam of the best qualities to be found in men, together with the blessings of the most powerful gods. Any war we fight is intended to protect those who enjoy the benefits of empire from the danger of the barbarians outside the empire.'

'That's right!' Macro said triumphantly. 'That's us! Well done, lad! Couldn't have phrased it better. What d'you say to that, Nisus?'

'I'd say that your optio is young.' Nisus was struggling to keep the bitterness out of his voice. 'He'll have his own wisdom in time, not second-hand. Maybe he'll learn something from the few Romans who possess real wisdom.'

'And who might they be?' asked Macro. 'Bloody philosophers, no doubt.'

'They might be. Then again they might be amongst the men around us. I've talked to some Roman soldiers who share my views,'

'Oh yes? Who?'

'Your tribune Vitellius for one.'

Macro and Cato exchanged a look of astonishment.

Nisus leaned forward. 'Now there's a man who thinks deeply about issues. He knows the limits of the empire. He knows what the expansion of the empire has cost its people, Roman and non-Roman alike. He knows… ' Nisus paused, aware that he had said more than he should. 'All I meant to say is that he thinks these things through, that's all.'

'Oh, he thinks things through all right!' Macro replied bitterly. 'And stabs you in the back if you happen to get in his way. The bastard!'

'Sir,' Cato cut in, anxious to ease the awful tension between them, 'whatever we might think of the tribune, it's best we keep it to ourselves for now.'

If Nisus had befriended Vitellius, then they must take great care not to say anything that the tribune might be able to use against them, should Nisus repeat their conversation. The treachery over Caesar's pay chest still rankled, and the fact that Vitellius had not been called to account made him a dangerous enemy.

Macro checked his temper and sat in silence, chewing on a crust, frowning at the dark landscape of endless lines of tents and campfires.

Nisus waited a moment, then rose to his feet, brushing the crumbs from his tunic. 'I'll see you around, Cato.'

'Yes. And thanks for the fish loaves.'

The Carthaginian nodded, then turned and walked briskly away.

'If I were you,' Macro said quietly, 'I'd steer well clear of him. The fellow keeps unhealthy company. We shouldn't trust him.'

Cato looked from his centurion to Nisus' fast receding shadow and then back again. He felt bad about the way Macro had treated the surgeon and ashamed that he had felt compelled to go along with his centurion's facile line of argument. But what was the alternative? And in any case, Nisus was wrong. Especially in his appraisal of Tribune Vitellius.

Chapter Thirty -One

As soon as the ramparts had been completed, General Plautius ordered the men to construct a string of forts to guard the approaches to the main camp. At the same time, the engineers started on the pontoon bridge. They drove piles into the river and secured the vessels in position by day, and laid the roadway by night. Working from each bank, the engineers were steadily closing the gap and soon men and supplies would be able to pass freely across the Tamesis. Nisus watched them from a tree stump above the river, his eyes on the shimmering reflection of torches in the dark water. He was frowning as he gazed down on the river, and was so deeply immersed in his thoughts that he did not notice his visitor until the man sat down on a log close by.

'Well, my Carthaginian friend, you do look gloomy!' Vitellius gave a small laugh. 'What's up?'

Nisus thrust his dark thoughts aside and forced a smile. 'Nothing, sir. '

'Come now, I can read a man's body like a book. What's the matter?'

'Just needed some time alone.'

'I see,' replied Vitellius and rose from the log. 'Then please excuse me. I thought we might talk, but I can see that you don't want to…'

Nisus shook his head. 'No need to go. I was just thinking, that's all.'

'What about?' Vitellius smoothly seated himself again. 'Whatever it was, it seems to have upset you.'

'Yes.' Nisus said no more and simply stared out across the river once again, leaving the tribune to sit silently at his side.

Vitellius was shrewd enough to know that the men he wished to manipulate needed to trust him first. And more, he must seem considerate and empathetic to a degree that indicated compassion rather than comradeship. So he waited patiently for Nisus to speak. For a while the surgeon continued to stare at the river in silence. Then he shifted his position and turned his head to the tribune, not quite able to shift the despair from his expression.

'It's strange, but no matter how many years I've served Rome I still feel, and am made to feel, like an outsider. I can mend the men's wounds, I speak to them in their tongue and I share their suffering in long campaigns. Yet the moment I mention my race or origins, it's as if a sour smell has come between us. I can see them almost recoil physically. You'd think that I was Hannibal himself from the way some of them react. The moment I mention Cartage it seems that nothing has changed in the last three hundred years. But what have I done to cause them to react this way?'

'Nothing,' replied Vitellius gently. 'Nothing at all. It's just the way we're raised. Hannibal is a name that has passed into our folklore. And now everything Carthaginian is associated with the terrible monster who once came within a whisker of wiping out Rome.'

'And is that how it will always be?' The aching bitterness in Nisus' voice was clear. 'Isn't it time your people moved on?'

'Of course it is. But not while there's still some political advantage to be wrung out of old fears. People need someone to hate, to be suspicious of, to blame for the unfairness in their lives. That's where you come in. And by "you" I mean all non-Romans who live cheek by jowl with the citizens. Take Rome. At first it was threatened by Etruscans, then the Celts, then the Carthaginians. All very real threats to our survival which made us stick together. But once we became the most powerful nation on the earth and there were no longer any enemies to make Rome tremble, we found it was still expedient to have someone to fear and hate. Being Roman means thinking you're the best. And being the best only has meaning if there is something less worthy to compare yourself to and pit yourself against.'

'And you Romans seriously think you are the most superior race in the whole world, I suppose.'

'Most do, and the truth of that, as they would see it, is more evident with every victory over an enemy, with every piece of land that is added to the empire. It encourages the mob in Rome, and it gives them something to be proud of as they eke out their lives in appalling squalor.'