Cato blushed a little at the implied criticism, before he shrugged. ‘I’ll leave politics to those who are bred for it. I just want to survive. Right now, we’re sitting on the top of a scorpions’ nest. We’ve got two cohorts of native troops, dangerously cocksure that they can take on anything. We’ve got a town packed to the seams with a starving rabble, and an old king who’s jumping at every shadow because he fears that his own nobles are plotting against him. Outside the walls there are enemy columns raiding Atrebatan lands and butchering our supply convoys. And now . . . now we have some jumped-up tribune on the make, just itching for an excuse to annex the natives.’ He looked at Macro and shook his head. ‘What’s not to be worried about?’

‘You’ve got a point.’ Macro nodded. ‘Let’s get something to drink.’

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Nineteen

Tribune Quintillus walked slowly through the soiled thoroughfares of Calleva. Behind him trudged the bodyguards he had brought with him from army headquarters: six men selected for their toughness; each as tall and broad-shouldered as the tribune. He knew what kind of impression he wanted to cast before these barbarians. As a representative of the general, and by extension the Emperor, he must be the very image of the all-conquering race, chosen by the gods themselves to subdue the backward peoples who blighted the world beyond the frontiers of the Empire.

Quintillus glanced curiously around as he made his way between the thatched huts towards the royal enclosure. Most of the townspeople were sitting around the entrances to their huts, a tableau of gaunt faces with desperation etched into their expressions. They had not quite reached the stage where starvation made them too listless and apathetic to act. Accordingly, the tribune calculated, they still constituted a danger. They might yet have the energy to respond to an appeal to rise up against Verica and Rome.

The quiet was eerie after the noise of training in the depot and Quintillus was relieved when he turned the final corner and caught sight of the wooden gates and raised palisade of the royal enclosure. To the tribune’s surprise the gates were closed. It would seem that those inside the enclosure were well aware of the simmering tensions wreathing the hot streets of Calleva. At the approach of the Romans one of the sentries on the walkway over the gates turned towards the king’s great hall and bellowed notice of the new arrivals. But the gates remained closed as Quintillus strode towards them. He was just beginning to fear that he might face the huge indignity of being denied admission when a face appeared over the palisade above the solid timber gates. Quintillus looked up, squinting into the bright sunshine as he made out the form of a large warrior.

‘Do you speak any Latin?’ the tribune asked, with a smile.