‘Of course you were. I wouldn’t expect any less of you two.’ Vespasian smiled. ‘And believe me, Centurion Cato, I’ll try to make damn sure that everyone knows about this.’

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

‘This makes for very difficult reading.’ Vespasian tapped a thick finger on the parchment roll on the desk in front of him. ‘I assume you gentlemen know what this is?’

Cato resisted the impulse to glance sideways at Macro and nodded. ‘Centurion Tullius’ report, sir?’

‘Exactly.’ Vespasian looked out over the camp of the Second Legion. Neat rows of goatskin tents stretched out all around, and beyond that the comforting sight of the ramparts of a camp constructed in the face of the enemy. Even though Caratacus and the remainder of his army had been obliterated the legate was not a complacent man. He was aware that some of his peers might accuse him of being overcautious. Ironic, given the mad dash he had led through the heart of the marsh that day. But on the whole Vespasian was very content to be cautious. Careful even. Particularly with his men’s lives.

Outside, a crescent moon bathed the world in pale silver-blue light and stars twinkled benignly in the heavens. Their distant diamond coldness was contrasted here on earth by the campfires glittering like living rubies. Despite having fought an engagement earlier in the day, his men were happy enough, and the lilt of their conversation, punctuated by bouts of hard laughter, drifted over the camp. It occurred to him that this was what peace felt like. After the best part of two seasons of the bloodiest campaigning his men could remember.

The only immediate reminder of the day’s conflict was the sharp odour from the smouldering remains of fires. The smell wafted over from the silent outline of the Third Cohort’s abandoned fort, a short distance away. The palisade had been repaired by the legate’s engineers, and an internal ditch added to secure Caratacus and hundreds of his men, being held prisoner. Vespasian would have liked to have made an example of the villagers who had sacked the camp, but the natives had run off at the sight of the legion, though only after they had torched the headquarters and a few of the men’s tent lines. Little enough damage considering the opportunity that an abandoned camp had presented to the vengeful natives.

Abandoned, that is apart from the cohort commander and one of his centurions. They had paid the price for lingering in the camp to complete an urgent dispatch, or so the report of the senior surviving officer claimed - corroborated by the two men who stood to attention in front of the legate’s campaign table.