The sentries on the wall were turning to look back into the camp but the distance between them, and the darkness, protected Cato and he walked steadily on. After a nerve-shredding age, he reached the cohort standard and then hurried to the tents of the Sixth century. Off in the night, a trumpet sounded the call-out of the watch cohort. Without a glance back over his shoulder, he entered the eight-man tent of his section and lay straight down on his blanket roll, without removing his cloak or boots.

‘That you, Cato?’ Pyrax asked sleepily from the darkness.

Cato lay still and silent.

‘Cato?’

It was no good ignoring Pyrax. Better say something. ‘Yes?’

‘What’s going on out there?’

‘How should I know?’

‘You’ve just come in.’

‘Just been to the latrines, that’s all. Seems like there’s some kind of fire up at headquarters.’

‘Careless twats,’ Pyrax yawned. ‘Wake me if it spreads to our tent line. Night.’

‘Night then,’ Cato muttered sleepily. But there was no sleep possible as he lay quietly staring up at the roof of the tent in absolute terror.

Under The Eagle

Chapter Twenty-three

With hands on hips and head thrown back, Vespasian looked up into the starry night, through a large scorched hole in the roof of his tent. Lowering his eyes he stared at the silent ring of men standing around the table. The sentries looked down in shame.

‘So how do you suppose our thief managed to gain entry to this tent? If you were as conscientious in your duties as you claim.’

‘Sir, we were keeping a good watch, as always,’ the centurion explained. ‘Four men at the entrance, another four patrolling the outside of the tentage. I’ve checked round and we’ve found two places where the tent sidings have been slashed open. I suspect our man used those to get in and out, sir.’

‘You suspect that, do you?’ Vespasian said bitterly. ‘That’s brilliant Centurion, quite brilliant. And while our man was busy cutting his way in, where were the rest of you?’

‘Please, sir, we were being spoken to by the tribune.’

‘Which tribune?’

‘Gaius Plinius, sir. Duty tribune for the night. Came up and demanded a full inspection.’

‘And why did he do that, do you suppose?’

‘Begging your pardon, sir, but we were talking about the invasion.’

‘Oh, were you? What were you saying?’

‘Well, sir—’ the centurion was embarrassed. ‘Some of the lads have heard that there’s monsters living on the islands.’

‘And where might they have heard such nonsense?’ Vespasian asked, trying not to reveal his anxiety.

The centurion shrugged. ‘Just the grapevine, sir.’

Vespasian drew a breath. ‘So then, Plinius was disciplining you for talking like a bunch of old women, and that’s when you think the intruder made his way into my tent?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Right, well, you and the watch will be up on charges. And you’re demoted to a line century. Now get out of here.’

As he watched them shuffle out Vespasian knew that the latter punishment was the more telling since the headquarters guard was rightly seen as a cushy number under normal circumstances; better food, lighter duties and a relatively safe position in the line of battle. And now one of them was lying in the hospital tent critically injured. The man had been unconscious and bleeding heavily from a slash wound to the back and side of the head. He was alive, just, but the surgeon had not been convinced that he would survive the night. It was too bad, since the man might have seen his attacker and be able to provide an identification. And that was what Vespasian desperately needed at the moment.