The Eagles Prey

Macro swallowed nervously and stiffened his back. 'I'd be careful what I said if I was you. He's dangerous, all right, but so is that kind of talk.'

Tullius looked closely at the other centurion.'You do think he's dangerous then?'

'He might be. But you really scare me. What are you suggesting, Tullius? A sharp dagger in his back on a dark night?'

Tullius gave a short, unconvincing, laugh.'It's happened before.'

'Oh, yes,' Macro snorted,'I know. And I also know what can happen to the men of those units that are held responsible. I don't fancy ending my days in some imperial mine. And what if he was killed? You'd be in command.' Macro gave the other man a hard stare. 'Frankly, I don't think you're up to the job.'

Tullius looked down before Macro could see the pained expression in his eyes. 'You're probably right… I could have done it once, years ago. But I was never given the chance.'

Quite, thought Macro, and his lips curled in contempt.

Tullius looked up. 'Macro, you could take command.'

'No.'

'Why not? I'm sure the men would follow you. I'd follow you.'

'I said no.'

'All we need to do is make sure that Maximius' death doesn't look suspicious.'

Macro's hand shot out and grabbed the older man by the shoulder. He shook Tullius to emphasise his words. 'I said no. Got that? One more word out of you and I'll hand you over to Maximius myself. I'll even volunteer for the job of executioner.' He let his hand slip back to his side. 'Don't ever talk to me about this again.'

'But why?'

'Because he's our commander. It's not our job to question him, just obey his orders.'

'And if he gives us orders that'll get us killed? What then?'

'Then…' Macro shrugged, 'then we die.'

Tullius looked at him with a startled expression. 'You're as mad as he is.'

'Maybe. But we're soldiers, not senators. We're here to do as we're told and fight – there's no debating the issue. That's what we signed up to when we joined the Eagles. We swore an oath, you and me. That's all there is to it.'

Tullius stared at him, then jabbed a finger into Macro's chest. 'Then you are mad.'

'Gentlemen!'

They both turned round in alarm at the sound of Maximius' voice. He had finished his briefing and started towards them without the two officers being aware of their superior's approach. At the sight of their surprised and alarmed expressions a frown flitted over Maximius' face before he smiled genially.

'You two look like you're about to knock seven shades out of each other!'

Tullius forced out a weak laugh, and Macro made himself smile as the older centurion replied,'A minor disagreement, sir. No more than that.'

'Good. What were you disagreeing about?'

'Nothing really, sir. Nothing worth mentioning.'

'I'll be the judge of that.' Maximius smiled again. 'So tell me.'

Tullius glanced at Macro and flapped a hand in the air between them. 'A difference of opinion, sir, a professional difference of opinion. I was saying that we'd have finished the enemy off a lot sooner if we'd had some of the Praetorian Guard units fighting alongside us.'

'I see.' Maximius looked searchingly at his subordinate's expression before turning to look at Macro. 'And what does Centurion Macro think?'

'He thinks the Guard are a bunch of idle wasters, sir,' Tullius chipped in before Macro could respond.

Maximius raised a hand. 'Quiet. I think Macro can speak for himself. Well, what do you think?'

Macro shot Tullius a withering glance before he replied, acutely bitter at the situation Tullius had forced on him. 'They're good men, sir. Good men, but, er, they must go soft after spending too long in Rome… sir.'

'And you think the men of the legions are a tougher proposition then?'

Macro shrugged his shoulders helplessly. 'Well, yes, sir. I suppose so… yes.'

'Bollocks!' Maximius spat back. 'There's no comparison. Your Guardsman is the finest soldier in the Empire, bar none. I should know. I served with them long enough. Tullius is right. If Claudius had left a few of 'em behind when he buggered off back to Rome last year, it'd all be over by now. The Guard would have sorted Caratacus out in double time.' He glared at Macro, breathing hard through flared nostrils. 'I thought an officer with your experience would have known that. There's no comparison between a Guardsman and your bog-standard legionary.'

'Yes, sir.' Macro coloured. He was tempted to defend himself. To answer back and justify the words Tullius had put in his mouth. To tell Maximius about the balls-up at the battle outside Camulodunum a year earlier that had nearly cost his vaunted Guards their lives. But Macro could not trust himself to continue the discussion: once his spirit of defiance was up there was no telling how indiscreet he would become. Best to let the cohort commander's umbrage wash over him like one of the flotsam-bloated waves that rolled over the shore at his childhood home just outside Ostia. Macro stiffened his back and stared into his superior's face. 'As you say, sir. There's no comparison.'

Maximius sensed the ironic tone straight away and dismissed Tullius with a curt word of command. As soon as there was no one near enough to overhear their conversation he turned back to Macro.

'What exactly were you and Tullius talking about?'

'Like he said, sir, it was a professional disagreement.'

'I see.' Maximius stared hard at Macro and chewed on his bottom lip. 'Nothing to do with that traitor we're looking for, then?'

Macro felt his pulse quicken and prayed that there was no sign of guilt written into the expression on his face as he replied, 'No, sir.'

'We're not getting very far with that line of inquiry, are we, Macro?'

'We, sir?'

'Of course.' Maximius glanced round suspiciously and then lowered his voice so that it was barely more than a whisper. 'Who else can I trust in this matter, Macro? Tullius is an old woman. Felix and Antonius are too young to be trusted with secrets, and uncovering secrets. You're the only one of my officers I can rely on. I want this traitor identified and brought to me in chains. You're the perfect man for the job, Macro.'

'Yes, sir.' Macro nodded. 'What exactly do you want me to do?'

'Just talk to the men. Nice and easy. Don't push for information. Say as much as you need to, nothing more, and just listen. Then report back to me.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Right then.' Maximius turned round and nodded towards the last patrol standing at ease by the gate. 'I want you to take them out today. The guide says there's a few small farms to the east. They might be worth checking out. After all, Cato's lot will need food. If there's any sign that the locals have been harbouring them, you know what to do. Make an example of them.'

'Yes, sir.'

'The optio there, Cordus, is from Felix's century. He's a good man, you can rely on him. Now you understand your orders?'

'Yes, sir.'

The cohort commander paused a moment to look intently at Macro. 'Report everything to me when you return – everything.'

Macro saluted. 'I understand, sir.'

'Good luck, then.'

At noon Macro gave the order for the patrol to halt. Sentries were posted at each end of the track and the rest of the men gratefully slumped down on to the ground and reached for their canteens. The sky was a piercing blue, except for a scattering of puffy clouds drifting slowly away to the south of the marsh. Macro craved some shadow and looked at them longingly. The sunshine beat down on the still air that hung over the marshland and every man in the patrol was sweating heavily. The felt liner inside his helmet was drenched and Macro could feel beads of sweat running down his forehead, and dripping on to his cheeks. The heat was exhausting and the men had grumbled about their lot all morning, until Macro had lost his patience and ordered them to shut up. Thereafter they had marched along in silence, growing steadily more surly as the guide led them along the narrow winding paths, through rank-smelling shallows and thickets of gorse without encountering any sign of habitation.