Cato 01 - Under the Eagle Read Online Free PDF

Rome, he has made you a freedman and wishes me to appoint you centurion in my legion.'
    'Oh,' Cato replied. 'Is that good, sir?'
    Macro spluttered with rage momentarily, before regaining control and bunching his fists hard against his thighs.
    'Problem, Centurion?' Vespasian asked.
    'No, sir,' Macro managed to respond through clenched teeth.
    'Now then, Cato,' the legate continued mildly. 'There is absolutely no possibility of me appointing you centurion, whatever the Emperor wishes. How old are you?'
    'Sixteen, sir. Seventeen next month.'
    'Sixteen… Hardly old enough to be a man. Certainly too young to lead men.'
    'Begging your pardon, sir, but Alexander was only sixteen when he commanded his first army in battle.'
    Vespasian's eyebrows shot up in amazement. 'You consider yourself to be an Alexander? What do you know about military affairs?'
    'I have studied them, sir. I am familiar with the works of Xenophon, Herodotus, Livy and, of course, Caesar.'
    'And that makes you an expert on the modern Roman army does it?' Vespasian was enjoying the youngster's hubris. 'Well, I must say, I only wish all our recruits were so versed in the arts of war. It would be novel to have an army march on its brains rather than its stomach. Would be quite something, wouldn't it, Centurion?'
    'Yes, sir,' Macro replied. 'We'd all be headaching instead of bellyaching, sir.'
    Vespasian looked at Macro in surprise. 'Was that meant to be a joke, centurion? I don't hold with junior officers being funny. This is the army, not some Plautus comedy.'
    'Yes, sir. Who, sir?'
    'A playwright,' Cato patiently explained to Macro. 'Plautus adapted material from Greek theatre—'
    'That's enough, son,' Vespasian cut in. 'Save it for the literary salons, should you ever return to Rome. Now then, I've decided. You will not be a centurion.'
    'But, sir…'
    Vespasian held up a hand to silence him and then pointed at Macro. 'You see this man? Now, he's a centurion. The man who escorted you here from Aventicum is also a Centurion. How do you think they came to be centurions?'
    Cato shrugged. 'I've absolutely no idea, sir.'
    'No idea? Well, just you listen. This man, Macro, has been a legionary for many years — how many, centurion?'
    'Fourteen years, sir.'
    'Fourteen years. And in that time he has marched halfway across the known world and back. This man has fought in Jupiter knows how many battles and minor engagements. He has been trained to use every weapon in the army. He can march up to twenty miles a day in full armour carrying his kit. He has been trained to swim, build roads, bridges and forts. He has many other qualities besides. This man led his patrol to safety when the Germans cut them off on the far side of the Rhine. Then, and only then, was he even considered for promotion to the centurionate. Now which of these things can you do? Right now?'
    Cato thought back a moment. 'I can swim, sir — a bit.'
    'Have you considered a career in the navy?' Vespasian asked hopefully.
    'No. I get seasick.'
    'Oh dear. Well, I'm afraid that swimming doesn't quite qualify you for command, but since we're going to need every man we can train for next year I will allow you to join the Second Legion. Dismissed… that's the army way of saying, please be a good fellow and wait outside.'
    'Yes, sir.'
    Once the door had closed behind the young man, Vespasian shook his head. 'What's the world coming to? Think we can make a soldier out of him, Centurion?'
    'No, sir,' Macro replied immediately. 'The army's too dangerous a place for theatre critics.'
    'So is Rome,' Vespasian sighed, recalling those who had rashly ventured an opinion on the literary output of the late Caligula. Not that matters were much better under his successor, Claudius. The new Emperor's chief secretary, the freedman Narcissus, had spies everywhere, busy compiling reports on the loyalties of every Roman who might pose the least possible threat to the new regime. The atmosphere in the capital was poisonous