‘What are you talking about, lad?’

Cato tried to elaborate, but found it excruciating to talk about his feelings for Lavinia. It wasn’t that there were no words — his mind reeled with well-remembered lines from any number of poems — but none seemed to quite capture the essence of the horrible aching pain that twisted his stomach and tore at his heart. Poets, he decided, were poor mirrors of mankind’s soul. Precious little pen-scratchers pouring out their petty banalities in order to impress their pals. His feelings for Lavinia went some way beyond mere verse. Or did they? Perhaps Macro was right and his motives were somewhat more prosaic than he thought?

‘What’s so different about this woman? Spit it out.’

‘I think you have to see her to understand.’

‘Bit of a looker, eh?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Cato smiled.

‘So let her know you’re interested and that you’ll pay what it takes to have your way — within reason of course, no sense in inflating her price for the lads who come after you — give her one and be on your way’

‘I was hoping for something a little more meaningful and long-lasting.’

‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous.’

‘Yes, sir!’ Cato replied hurriedly. There was no speaking to the man on such issues, he now realised. ‘Shall we continue with the letters, sir? We’ve quite a long way to go.’

‘And some of us are hoping to go all the way,’ Macro smirked.

‘Yes, sir. The letters, sir?’ Cato held out the waxed tablets.

‘All bloody right then! I can see you don’t want to talk about the woman — that’s your business, right?’

‘Shall we continue with the letters, sir?’

‘Fair enough,’ Macro said sulkily, ‘bloody letters it is.’

Under The Eagle

Chapter Nineteen

By nightfall on the eve of the Legion’s departure every vehicle had been checked for roadworthiness and all wheels freshly greased with tallow. Now they stood in long ranks loaded with the Legion’s equipment and assorted baggage. In their pens outside the fortress the animals contentedly chewed on the last of the winter feed. Most of the headquarters staff, their work done for the next few weeks, were on a serious bender amongst the tents and grimy halls where the locals sold a heady brew that the garrison had grown accustomed to in the years they had been stationed on the Rhine frontier. The more sober-headed veterans were busy waterproofing their boots and making sure that the nail-studded soles were in good shape for the three hundred miles that lay between the Second Legion and the coast.

At headquarters a small staff still laboured over final details in large chambers that echoed with an eerie emptiness now that all records had been carefully ordered and packed in filing chests and loaded on wagons. Sundry debts owed to local traders were still being settled and travel permits written out for those officers’ families immediately heading south to Italy. A detachment of the Legion’s cavalry had been assigned to escort the convoy as far south as Corbumentum before turning west to rejoin the Legion.