Under The Eagle

Chapter Twenty-six

'And, if I'm not mistaken, lurking under that monstrously oversized helmet is young Cato.' Narcissus smiled and held out his hands. With an instinctive reluctance Cato responded and Narcissus held the young man's hands in a tight grasp while he stared searchingly into Cato's eyes. 'It's good to see you. But what you are doing dressed up as a soldier is quite beyond me.'

'It's because I am a soldier – sir,' Cato said formally. 'As you may recall, I was given my freedom on condition I agreed to enlist.'

'I seem to vaguely recall some such detail,' Narcissus replied airily, as if trying to remember a snack he had once eaten. 'So how are you finding the army? I'd wager a boy of your age would be relishing the outdoor life.'

'Can't complain, sir,' Cato said, bitterly swallowing the indignity of being referred to as a boy in front of his centurion. 'Of course, it is more physically demanding than living in the palace.'

Narcissus produced a thin smile. 'You're right about that, I'm afraid – haven't exercised in years. Policymaking is more my metier these days. But no matter. I'm glad to see you again, my boy. I trust that he is giving satisfaction, Centurion?'

'Yes, sir. The lad's got the makings of a fine optio. You must be quite proud that the palace can turn out lads as good at soldiering as young Cato.'

'Refresh my memory, if you'd be so kind. What exactly is an optio?'

'Why, he's my second-in-command, sir,' Macro replied, shocked by the civilian's ignorance. 'And good at the job too.'

'It's most gratifying that even the army can appreciate the worth of a good education.'

Macro produced the required flush of anger.

'Just my little joke, Centurion. No harm intended.'

Narcissus took him by the arm and led him into the lodge of the imperial staging post. The imperial secretary was well into his middle years and his eyes peered out of crow's-feet lines formed by a lifetime's worth of smiling. There was no stoop in the way he carried himself and the mobility of his expression clearly matched the speed of his thinking. And yet that dry, caustic wit indicated a mind practised in the art of putting others down. Macro pressed his lips together; as long as the man was under his protection he would have to endure the inevitable slights and barbs. Narcissus, he concluded, was typical of his kind. He treated social superiors as intellectual inferiors and – as his treatment of Cato had shown – he was inclined to treat his intellectual equals as social inferiors. One just could not win with that kind of man. Best try and ignore it.

'What are your orders, Centurion?' Narcissus asked him when they were alone inside the lodge. 'Your precise orders?'

'To escort you as far as the main body of the army and then wait for the rest of the Legion in a holding area yet to be specified. That was it, sir. Other than to render you assistance should you require it.'

'In other words, you're to obey my orders.'

'Yes, sir,' Macro conceded reluctantly. 'That's about the size of it.'

'Good.' Narcissus nodded. 'Glad to see that Vespasian managed to get that right at least.'

Macro stiffened at this unwarranted slur on his commander's aptitude. Coming from a Roman citizen that would be bad enough – but to hear a freedman speak in this manner was a clear breach of the most basic social etiquette.

'Centurion, we must get on the road immediately,' Narcissus ordered, poking Macro's chest to emphasise the point. 'I have to reach Gesoriacum as soon as possible. Much depends on it. In fact, I can tell you that the entire campaign depends on it, and more. Do we understand one another?'

'I'm not sure what you want me to understand, sir,' Macro replied frankly. 'Why the hurry?'

'That information is given on a strictly need-to-know basis.'

'But a whole century to guard one man?'

'Suffice to say that some political miscreants would prefer me not to make it to Gesoriacum – and that's all you need to know.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Right then,' Narcissus resumed brightly. 'Let's be off. I'm travelling light; just my litter bearers and a personal bodyguard. A number of my porters have succumbed to some local ailment and I'll need a few of your men to replace them. There are two chests outside the stables. See to it now, please, and I'll join your line of men in a moment.'

The grinding of Macro's teeth was almost audible as he emerged from the lodge and approached Cato.

'Detail five men for the freedman. He needs some porters.'

'Porters?'

'You deaf? Just get on with it. The men can stow their yokes on the wagon.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Apparently we're in a bit of a hurry to reach the coast, so we're going to have to give our leisurely stroll through Gaul a miss. Might as well have stayed with the Legion,' Macro grumbled.

Narcissus's litter turned out to be a light travelling model with screens, carried by eight huge Nubians who moved with a strength and litheness born of a lifetime's experience at the job. The litter took up position in the middle of the century, immediately followed by the two chests carried by the five bitterly resentful legionaries who had joined the slave porters. The latter were quite enjoying having someone brought down to their level. Beside the litter stood the bodyguard: a huge, muscular figure with a highly polished black cuirass and short sword. His knotted ponytail, savagely scarred face and black eye-patch announced to the world a long experience in the arena. Suddenly a hand emerged from the leather screen and clicked its fingers to attract the bodyguard's attention.

'You! Polythemus! Tie these back. Might as well see some of this benighted land while we march. Right then, Centurion!' Narcissus called out. 'When you're ready.'

Macro sourly gave the order to advance and the century moved off, marching through the main gate of Durocortorum, along the plumb-line straight road that passed through the town to the far gate and the road to Gesoriacum. As they crested a low ridge, Cato glanced back and saw, far to the rear, the advance units of the Legion emerging from the forest road, heading towards the town they had just left. He felt a twinge of anxiety as he thought of Lavinia, then vivid memories of the previous night flooded into his mind and he turned away, filled with dread.