The Blood Crows (Roman Legion 12) Read Online Free PDF Page B

arrow would find him, just as it had Decimus and countless others.
    ‘How many years have you served in Britannia?’
    Decimus scratched his chin. ‘I came over five years ago from the training depot in Gesoriacum. Served with the Second against the Decangli before being sent up with a detachment to reinforce the Fourteenth at Glevum. Then two years campaigning against the Silures before this.’ He patted his lame leg.
    ‘All right, then.’ Cato nodded and thought a moment before he continued. ‘How do you like working as a wharf rat?’
    ‘Fucking hate it, sir.’ He hurriedly turned to Portia. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’
    Portia looked back levelly. ‘I spent the best part of fifteen years living with a marine. So keep your fucking apology to yourself.’
    Macro stared at his mother in shock; his mouth sagged open and then shut quickly as he decided it was best to ignore what she had said.
    Decimus turned back to Cato. ‘But what’s an invalid soldier to do? I was lucky to get a partial pay-out of the discharge bonus. Enough to set me up in digs here, but not enough to live on.’
    ‘I see,’ Cato responded. ‘Well, I may have work for you. Nothing too onerous, but there might be some danger. If you’re interested, come back here at first light.’
    Decimus looked surprised for a moment before he bowed his head and limped away.
    Macro watched him until he was out of earshot and then turned to Cato. ‘What was that all about?’
    ‘Things have changed since we were last here. Sure, we’re going to get a briefing from the governor, but he’ll paint the scene from his perspective. The usual blend of confidence and underplaying the threat posed by the enemy. Ostorius is like any other governor. He’ll want to make out that his period in office was a great success and he’ll want any letters or reports that we write home to reflect that. So, it might be useful to hear the views of one of Marius’s mules. Besides, I’ll need a servant in camp to take care of my kit. Someone I hope I can trust.’
    ‘Trust?’ Portia sniffed. ‘That vagabond? He looks like a common crook to me.’
    Cato wagged a finger. ‘Don’t rush to judgement. Appearance is not everything. If it was, everyone would run a mile from your son.’
    ‘They already do,’ Macro growled. ‘If they know what’s good for them.’
    ‘Oh, you!’ His mother lightly slapped his shoulder. ‘You’re a pussycat in tiger’s clothing. Don’t think I can’t see that. Cato too.’
    Macro flushed with embarrassment. He hated talking about feelings and the idea that he even had a sensitive side to his nature filled him with disgust. Feelings were for poets, artists, actors and other classes of lesser mortal. A soldier was different. A soldier was required to put his heart and brains in check and get on with doing his duty. When he was off duty, he should play as hard as he could. Of course, he admitted to himself, some soldiers were different. He stole a glance at Cato, thin, sinewy and, until recently, youthful-looking. Now there was a certain hardness to his gaze and the gawky awkwardness of earlier years had largely gone. He moved purposefully and with an economy of effort that was the hallmark of a veteran. Yet Macro knew his friend well enough to know that his mind was ever restless, steeped in the works of the philosophers and historians that he had studied so earnestly as a boy. Cato was a very different kind of soldier, Macro reflected, and he grudgingly accepted that the younger man was all the better for it.
    He cleared his throat with a deep rumble of irritation before addressing Cato.
    ‘Well, it’s your decision. But why not just buy yourself a slave? You can afford to. And there’ll be bargains to be had in Londinium with the prisoners the army has taken.’
    ‘I don’t want some tribesman. Last thing I need is a resentful native cleaning my sword and having to guard my back day and night, while I’m dealing with the enemy. No, it