Under The Eagle c-1

by Simon Scarrow

  'Where've you been?'

  'I just went for a walk, sir.'

  'A walk, eh? I don't suppose you happened to pass the general's quarters?'

  Cato smiled.

  'I suppose it's that woman of yours. Still carrying the candle for that little bint?' Macro shook his head wonderingly. 'What did I tell you about all this before – back at the base? A soldier who lets his feelings cloud his thinking is a soldier distracted, and the army can't afford distraction. Put her out of your mind, boy. As a matter of fact, I might be able to help out in that direction. Some of the lads and I are heading into the town later on tonight – I've wangled a pass to purchase barley supplies for the cohort. We've been told where to find a nice little inn that offers something a little more tasty than the local brew. You might want to join us once you've finished your watch.'

  'Is that an order, sir?'

  Macro stared coldly at him. 'Well, fuck you, lover boy. I'm just trying to help out. But if you want to sit and sulk rather than have a drink with some mates and get your end away, then it's your funeral.'

  Cato knew he was in the wrong. The sour note of his reply had been impulsive and now he regretted the offence it had caused.

  'Sir. I'm not ungrateful for the offer. I just don't feel like it right now. I can't help it.'

  'Can't help it?' snorted Macro. 'Suit yourself then.'

  He quickly rose to his feet and stormed off, with one final black look at Cato before entering his tent.

  While he waited for his watch to begin, Cato sank into a mood of despair. Perhaps the centurion was right? What kind of romance could he carry on with a girl he could never see? She was, moreover, a dangerous girl to know, given that she could testify that he'd been in the legate's tent that night. If for any reason she was indiscreet, then both of them would be up in front of Vespasian. And the truth, about the other man, was hardly likely to be believed. The best move would be to forget her, forget about love and get on with life. Perhaps he would join Macro and the others after all.

  – =OO=OOO=OO-=

  Shortly after the change of the second watch, when all but a few diehards were sound asleep, the sentry on the main gate saw two figures walking down the road towards the camp. He called out for the password and, when he received no immediate reply, he lowered his javelin point and challenged them again.'

  'Relax soldier!' a voice called out. 'We're friends.'

  'Password!'

  'We're friends, I tell you! From the other camp.'

  'Keep your fucking distance!' the sentry shouted, slightly relieved that the strangers spoke Latin.

  'We want to speak with your commander. We have a pass signed by General Plautius himself. Let us in.'

  'No! Stay where you are.' The thickset sentry took a pace back and pointed his javelin at the two figures scarcely ten feet away. Now, by the dim light of the stars, he could see that one man was tall and thin, wearing a dark, hooded cloak. The other was a giant of a man who wore a sword in a scabbard at his side. 'Optio! Optio of the watch! Come down here quick!'

  The side-passage gate opened and the optio marched over, munching on a hunk of bread soaked in wine.

  'What is it? Better not be another false alarm, I'm still bloody eating.'

  'This man wants to speak to the legate.'

  'Has he given you the password?'

  'No, sir.'

  'Then tell him to fuck off – you should bloody well know the regulations by now.'

  'If I might interrupt?' The taller figure took two paces nearer.

  'Stay exactly where you are, pal,' the optio growled.

  'I have business with the legate,' the man insisted, then he brought out a small slate from his cloak. 'See here, I've a pass authorised by Aulus Plautius.'

  The optio approached cautiously and quickly took the slate held out to him, before retiring towards the open side-gate, which provided just enough light to read the message. The pass was in order and the ring seal pressed into the wax surface bore the eagle of a commanding general. Still, the optio considered, it might just be a fake. Given the strictness with which camp regulations and restrictions of movement to and from the gates were being enforced, the legate and his senior officers were clearly jumpy about something.

  The optio paused: a person bearing a pass authorised by Plautius himself must hold some kind of rank. 'Please wait here, sir.'

  'Commendable security you have here,' Narcissus said, somewhat later, as he accepted a drink from Vespasian. 'It was quite difficult persuading the senior watch officer to let us see you, even with the general's pass. Your soldiers are sticklers for the rules.'

  'No rules – no order – no civilisation – no Rome.' Vespasian trotted out the old adage and raised his glass to Narcissus. 'But I'm glad you came, for whatever reason of your own. I needed to speak to you alone.'

  'Then our interests happily coincide.'

  'What about him?' Vespasian nodded at the imperial secretary's bodyguard looming in the shadows, still and silent.

  'Ignore him,' said Narcissus. 'I take it we're safe in here?'

  'Absolutely. All entrances are well guarded.'

  'Oh yes?' Narcissus took a small sip of wine as he fixed Vespasian with his eyes. 'That's not what my sources tell me.'

  Vespasian coloured. 'Your spy told you about that?'

  'I was informed that a sentry had been injured by an intruder. I take it nothing was stolen. Nothing important that is.'

  'Nothing.' Vespasian said firmly, forcing himself to keep his eyes fixed on those of Narcissus.

  'So what happened?'

  'As far as I know, a slave girl was due to meet her lover in my command tent. He didn't show and she waited a while and then left. Shortly afterwards the guards came across someone in the tent. He injured a sentry and fled the scene. A dropped torch set fire to the tent, but we managed to get it out without too much damage being done. And that is all there is to tell.'

  Narcissus stared at him and slowly took another sip. 'You tortured the girl?'

  'It wasn't necessary.'

  'Really? There are some officers who get a kick out of that sort of thing.'

  'If you think-' Vespasian half rose from his chair and the figure in the shadows moved quickly forwards. Narcissus waved the bodyguard back.

  'I think nothing of the sort. I just wondered if you had managed to get any more information out of her.'

  'Just what I said.'

  'And the man's name? The one she said she had arranged to meet.'

  'Look here, Narcissus, I run my Legion, and if there are any problems to solve then I'll sort them out. You're a freedman, you don't give orders to a legate. This isn't Saturnalia, you know.'

  Narcissus gave him a curious smile. 'It's funny you should say that. But no matter… I want the man's name.'

  Vespasian did not reply immediately. Much as he disliked Vitellius he was reluctant to give information that might lead an innocent man to his destruction. An innocent man now – but possibly a political rival later. Or an ally. Nothing was written in stone.

  'It would be best that you tell me now,' Narcissus said quietly. 'Before I get Polythemus to ask you.'

  'How dare you?' Vespasian recoiled in shock. 'You threaten me in my own tent? Why, man, I could call out for my guards now and have you, and your brute there, crucified just like that!' He tried to snap his fingers with a crack but his damp hand made no sound.

  The failure of the gesture was not lost on Narcissus and he allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction before he continued in a more conciliatory tone.

  'I fear you misunderstand our relative worth in the eyes of the Emperor. Aristocrats with pretensions to political greatness are ten a sestertius. Some undoubtedly have considerable talents – you are such a one – but they are freaks within their own class. Generations of inbreeding have produced nothing more than idle, arrogant idiots. We – the Emperor – can replace you easily enough. I, on the other hand, am irreplaceable. How do you imagine a mere freedman
has been able to rise to become the Emperor's right-hand man? There is more intelligence, more cunning and more cruelty in my little finger than in your whole body. Remember that, Vespasian. Remember it before you even think to upbraid me.'

  Vespasian clamped his mouth shut to stop up the torrent of rage churning inside him. He gripped the edges of his chair tightly and swallowed.

  'Excellent.' Narcissus nodded slowly. 'It's good that you're smart enough to accept an unpalatable truth when it is presented to you. You will grow to understand the importance of that when you return to Rome. I'm glad I was right about you.'

  'And how were you right about me?' Vespasian asked through clenched teeth.

  'Your brain rules your heart, and your pride knows its place. Now, be a good fellow and tell me the name of the man the slave girl was supposed to meet in your tent.'

  'Vitellius. She said it was Vitellius.'

  'Vitellius? Now that is very interesting, wouldn't you say? A senior tribune engaged in a liaison with a slave girl in the legate's command tent where, no doubt, some very sensitive documents were being stored. I find that very interesting. Not to mention suggestive. Don't you?'

  Vespasian just stared coldly back.

  'Do you still have the letter?'

  'Yes.'

  'You're clear about what has to be done?'

  'Of course, but finding a wagon dumped in a bog a hundred years ago won't be easy.'

  'Then you'd better get some good men for the job. Keep the numbers down – the less who know what's going on, the better – and make sure they are discreet.'

  'I have a few men in mind.'

  'Fine. That chest has to be located and once you've got it, guard it with your life. When the Emperor arrives with the reinforcements the chest will be passed over to a special unit of the Praetorian Guard for shipment to Rome. And then you will forget that you ever knew about it. You and those men you choose to carry out the mission.'

  Narcissus pushed his cup away and rose to his feet. 'Now, I'm afraid I must go. Thanks for your hospitality, Vespasian. And relax. I'm sure the Emperor will be deeply gratified when I report how co-operative you have been.'

  'Before you leave, tell me one tiling.'

  'Yes.'

  'Who is the imperial spy in my legion? I must know who I can trust once we arrive in Britain.'

  'Then he would lose his value to me.'

  'Like being able to report on me, for instance?'

  'Of course.'

  'Then, at least tell me who the traitor is,' Vespasian asked. 'I need to know which direction to guard myself against.'

  Narcissus tried to look sympathetic. 'I don't know. I suspect, but I can't be sure yet – I need further proof. If I say anything that causes you to treat the people around you differently then the other side's spy will know we are closing in. Nothing must be done to alert suspicion. You speak to no-one about this matter. Not even your wife. Understand?'

  Vespasian nodded. 'I understand that you're putting me in danger.'

  'You're a soldier. Get used to it.'

  With that, the imperial chief secretary turned his back on the legate and left the tent, summoning his bodyguard from the shadows with a waggle of a finger. Alone, Vespasian fumed with silent frustration. He had managed to get himself off the hook for the theft of the letter, for the moment. But he was no nearer finding a way out of the dark threads of intrigue that bound him so tightly.

  Outside, Narcissus paused. There was no sign that Vespasian had ordered them to be followed. He turned to his bodyguard.

  'Make sure that I'm not tailed. If I call out, come as quickly as you can.'

  He walked off quietly, and a few moments later the bodyguard followed, hugging the shadows and keeping a keen eye on his master. Narcissus walked down the line of tribunes' tents, then paused outside an entrance flap. When he was sure he was unobserved, he entered hurriedly. Inside, the imperial spy was waiting for him, as had been arranged earlier in the day by secret messenger. He rose from his campaign seat to greet the imperial secretary.

  'Keeping well, sir?'

  Narcissus grasped the hand that was extended towards him and smiled. 'Yes, Vitellius, very well. Now, we need a little talk about that scroll I told you about a few months ago. Moreover, I'm curious to know why you omitted to tell me about your arranging to be in the legate's tent the night it was burgled.'

  Vitellius frowned. 'But I wasn't in the tent.'

  'That's not what Vespasian says. He questioned some slave girl who said she had arranged to meet you in there.'

  'It's not true. I swear it's not true.'

  Narcissus watched him closely and then nodded in satisfaction at the response. 'All right. I believe you… for the moment. But if it's not true, then why would she say so? Or why would she be told to say so?'

  'Told? Who by?'

  'That, my dear Vitellius, is what you were sent here to find out.'

  Chapter Thirty-one

  'Cato! How on earth did you get in here?'

  'Brought a report from my centurion to headquarters, my lady. Somehow I lost my way trying to get out. And here I am.'

  Flavia laughed as she rose from the floor. She had been busy packing a campaign chest for her husband and the wooden flooring was covered in neat piles of tightly folded clothes. 'You look awful. Rough night?'

  'Yes, my lady. I went into Gesoriacum.'

  'When will you youngsters learn? Still, I don't suppose you've come here to explain yourself to me. So you might want to go and inspect progress on the nursery I'm having built for Titus.'

  'My lady?'

  'I've put Lavinia in charge of some household slaves to spruce up the nursery. She wanted a word with you. And I dare say you wouldn't mind seeing her again.' Flavia winked. 'Now run along and let me get back to work. Go out that flap, it's the third entrance on the left. Oh, and don't let anyone catch you in here.'

  As Cato walked slowly the way Flavia had indicated, his mind raced. Desperate as he was to see Lavinia, there were still questions in his mind about that night in the legate's tent. He needed to know if she had said anything to anyone about him. Clearly Flavia knew he had been there, but who else? He paused at the entrance to the nursery.

  Cato steeled himself and stepped inside. The interior was cluttered with children's toys and clothing. Squatting amongst the mess were several of Flavia's household slaves, busily striving to make a comfortable place for a child to play. Sitting to one side, happily painting a farm animal on to a small screen, was Lavinia. She had not seen Cato enter and jumped when he softly called her name from a few feet away.

  'Now look what you've made me do.' She laughed, pointing her brush at the screen. 'There's a tail on my cow's head.'

  'Cow?' Cato could have sworn it was a horse.

  Lavinia turned to face him. For a moment her expression was serious and his heart sank. Then she reached out for his hands and smiled.

  'I was worried about you, after I heard about that sentry.'

  'Why didn't you come back?'

  'I couldn't. When I got back to my quarters, my lady Flavia said she needed me, said Titus was ill. I couldn't see anything wrong with him but she told me to stay with him while she went to find some medicine. By the time she got back everyone was shouting. I'm glad you got out before that nasty business with the guard happened. I can't tell you how worried I've been. I felt really bad about leaving you alone in the tent. I'm sorry I did, truly I am.'

  Cato squeezed her hands. 'It's all right. I'm just glad you were safe. When that man came into the tent I was afraid you'd walk right into him when you came back. I think he'd have killed you.'

  'Other man?'

  'Yes, you didn't think it was me who attacked that sentry?'

  'No… but who?'

  'I don't know. When he discovered I was there he nearly did for me. I shouted for help and, when the sentry appeared, the man attacked him and vanished. I got out as quickly as I could.'

  'I see.'

  'Anyway, I was
so glad to see you safe when the wagons arrived at the camp.'

  'Were you glad? Really?'

  'Of course.'

  'That's so sweet.' She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. 'You do care for me, don't you?'

  He said nothing and kissed her back, for longer this time, his heart pounding against the warm softness pressed against his chest. When their lips parted he looked into her eyes, feeling cheap for what he was about to ask.

  'Has the sentry identified anyone yet?'

  'He's dead. He died back in Durocortorum. My mistress only had word of it this morning. He never spoke a word – so you're safe.'

  'Does anyone, apart from Flavia, know that I was there that night?'

  'No. But the legate knows I was there. He found my hair ribbon.'

  'What did you say to him?' Cato felt a finger of ice trace its way down his spine.

  'I told him I was going to meet someone else there and that when he didn't show up I went to bed. That's all I told him. I swear.'

  'I believe you. Who did you say you were going to meet?'

  'Tribune Vitellius.'

  'Why him?' Cato felt uneasy about Vitellius being fitted up in this manner. A vision came to mind of the tribune issuing orders in the flames of the German village. It would be a low thing to do to cast suspicion on him.

  'Because my mistress told me to say so. Apparently her husband doesn't like him, and thinks there's something suspicious about him. He seemed the natural choice, she said.'

  'It doesn't seem quite right.' Cato started to protest but Lavinia pulled him close and kissed him again.

  'Hush! It doesn't matter. As long as no-one suspects you. That's all that matters to me. Now then,' she continued, pulling him to a screened-off area of the tent that was to be used as a changing area, 'we haven't much time and there's a lot we have to catch up on.'

  'Wait. What do you mean, we haven't much time?'

  'My mistress is returning to Rome soon. She's taking me with her.'

  Cato felt sick.

  'I'll try and wait for you in Rome,' she said gently.