Cato 05 - The Eagles Prey Read Online Free PDF Page B

swarmed around the flickering yellow flares of the oil lamps and every so often there was a pop and crackle as an insect foolishly ventured into a flame. At the head of the tent a large hide map, depicting a section of the Tamesis, was suspended on a wooden frame.
    Three rows from the front sat the six centurions of the Third Cohort. Tucked on to the end of the row sat a tall youth, who looked conspicuously out of place amongst the lined and weathered faces of the other centurions seated near him. Indeed, he looked barely old enough to qualify for service with the legions. Beneath a curly mop of dark hair, brown eyes gazed out of a lean-looking face. His thin frame was readily apparent beneath the tunic, chain-mail corselet and harness, and his bare arms and legs were not bulky with muscle, but slender and sinewy. In spite of the uniform and the two sets of untarnished medals fixed to his harness, he still looked like a boy, and the sidelong glances he darted about the tent revealed the self-consciousness he felt about his situation.
    ‘Cato! For fuck’s sake, stop fidgeting!’ grumbled the centurion sitting next to him.’You’re like a flea on a hot plate.’
    ‘Sorry, it’s this heat. It’s making me feel funny.’
    ‘Well, you’ll be the only one laughing. I don’t know what’s wrong with this bloody island. When it isn’t wet and rainy it throws a blinder of a day at you. Wish it would make its mind up. I’m telling you, we should never have come to this dump. Why the hell are we here, anyway?’
    ‘We’re here because we’re here, Macro.’ His companion made a smile.’I seem to remember you telling me that’s always the answer.’
    Macro spat on the ground between his boots. ‘Try to help you out and all I ever get is backchat. Why do I bother?’
    Cato smiled again, spontaneously this time. Only a few months earlier he had served as Macro’s optio, second in command of the century Macro commanded. Much of what he had come to know of army ways over the last two years had been taught to him by Macro. Since Cato had been given his first legionary command ten days earlier he had felt terribly exposed to the onerous responsibilities of his new rank and had affected a hard and humourless countenance in front of the eighty men of his own century, and prayed that they did not see through the mask to the anxious and tormented soul beneath. Once that happened his authority to command would be lost, and Cato lived in dread of that moment. He had a very limited time to win their loyalty. No easy feat when he had barely come to know the names of the men under his command, still less the peculiarities of their character. He had drilled them hard, harder than most centurions did, but knew that until they had seen him perform in battle they would not fully accept him as their commander.
    It was different for Macro, he reflected with a trace of bitterness. Macro had had more than ten years of service before being promoted, and he wore his rank like a second skin. Macro had nothing to prove and the scars that covered his body were testament to his courage in battle. Moreover, the older man was short and solidly built - the physical antithesis of his friend. A legionary only had to take one look at Macro to realise this centurion was not the sort of man you pissed off if you valued your teeth.
    ‘When is this bloody briefing going to start?’ Macro muttered, slapping at a mosquito that had landed on his knee.
    ‘On your feet!’ The camp prefect bawled out from the front of the tent. ‘Legate present!’
    The centurions instantly rose up and stood to attention as a side flap was held open by a sentry and the commander of the Second Legion entered the tent. Vespasian was powerfully built, with a broad, heavily lined face. While not handsome, there was, nevertheless, something about his appearance that put men at their ease. No haughty expression of social aloofness that was common amongst the senatorial class. But