'That's tough. Very tough,' Macro murmured, his face all but hidden in the gathering shades of night 'Two twenty-fifths of his gratuity is all he'll get. Not much for a man to survive on.'

'He's from Rome, sir. He'll be eligible for the corn dole.'

'Corn dole!' Macro sniffed contemptuously. 'That's a bloody humiliating prospect for an ex-legionary. No, I can't let him depend on that. He has to have some money to set up in trade. A cobbler wouldn't miss a leg or two. He can do that, or some similar trade. We'll have a collection for Maximus. You do the rounds before everyone turns in tonight. And do him a refund from the funeral club. I doubt if the lads will protest about that. See to it.'

'Yes, sir. Anything else, sir'?'

'No. You can pass the word about tomorrow's advance while you note the contributions for Maximus. Let the lads know we'll be up before dawn. Breakfasted, assembled and ready to move off. Now go to it.'

As he watched the optio's dark form move down the tent line, Macro's thoughts returned to Caius Maximus. He was barely older than Cato, but not nearly as bright. Quite stupid in fact. A big, gangling youth from the slums of the Subura in Rome. Tall, ponderous, with large ears between which a maddening lopsided smile split his face. From the moment Macro had taken charge of the century he had seen Maximus as a casualty waiting to happen, and he had shaken his head in pity at the boy's attempts to cut it in the legion. It gave Macro no satisfaction to be proved right about the lad, and the thought of the thick young invalid trying to survive in a teeming metropolis populated by thieves and rogues of the very worst kind was painful. But the sword that had cut short the lad's career, not to mention his leg, could just as easily have landed on any other man in the century, Macro reflected. It could just as easily have been him or young Cato.

The centurion folded up his tunic and placed it between his harness and his armour so that the dew would not soak it. Satisfied that his weapons were to hand, Macro pulled his wool cape across his body and lay back on the grass staring up into the star-pricked blackness. All around, the darkness was filled with the sounds of an army bedding down for the night. The distant blare of a horn from headquarters announced a change of watch, and then, in the gathering quiet of rows of slumbering men, the centurion fell asleep.

The Eagles Conquest

'Why?'

'Sir?' Vitellius smiled innocently at the legate.

'Why have you been posted back to the Second Legion? I thought you'd been promoted to the general's staff permanently. A reward for your heroic efforts. So what's changed?' Vespasian eyed him suspiciously. 'Were you ordered back here, or did you request it?'

'It was my request, sir,' the tribune replied easily. 'I told the general that I wanted to be back in the thick of it when the legion next goes into battle. The general said he admired my pluck, wished there were more like me, asked me once if I wished to change my mind, and then sent me on my way.'

'I can imagine. No one in his right mind would actually want an imperial spy camping on his doorstep.'

'He doesn't know, sir.'

'Doesn't know? How can he not know what you are?'

'Because no one has told him. Our general assumes that my preferment is entirely down to my palace connections. When I asked to be returned to the Second he wasn't that sorry to see me go. If I can be honest, sir?'

'Please go ahead.'

'I'm not sure I have the right temperament to be on the general's staff. He works them too hard and exposes them to too many risks, if you understand me.'

'Perfectly,' Vespasian replied. 'I heard you had gone in with the Ninth on the river assault.'

Vitellius nodded, the terror of the attack still fresh in his mind; the mind-searing certainty that he would never survive the savage fusillade of arrows and slingshot poured down on the Romans by the desperate defenders.

'I heard you acquitted yourself well enough.'

'Yes, sir. All the same, I'd rather not have been down there.' 'Possibly, but perhaps there's some hope for you yet. Start behaving like a tribune, forget the espionage, and we might just survive each other's company.'

'That would be nice, sir. But I am the Emperor's servant, and will remain so until I die.'

Vespasian regarded his senior tribune closely. 'I thought the only thing you served was your ambition.'

'Is there anything more worthy of a man's service?' Vitellius smiled. 'But ambition has to work within the boundaries of the possible and the whim of fate. No one knows the will of the gods. Given the prospect of his imminent deification, I expect that only Claudius can know how things will turn out. '

'Hmmm.' The imperial predilection for immortality was something that had troubled Vespasian over the years. He found it hard to believe that a motion voted for on the floor of the senate house could determine the divine status of a man. Especially such an unprepossessing creature as the present Emperor. Being declared a god had not protected Caligula from the wrath of those who had assassinated him. It seemed that those mad emperors whom men would destroy they first made gods. Vespasian looked up into the eyes of his senior tribune.

'Look here, Vitellius, we're in the middle of a major campaign. The last thing I need to worry about is you spying on me and my men behind our backs.'

'Can you think of a better time to spy, sir? When men's minds are preoccupied with battle they're inclined to guard their tongues less. Makes my task that much easier.'

Vespasian regarded him with open contempt. 'There are times when you make me feel quite sick, Tribune.'

'Yes, sir.'

'If you come between my legion and its responsibilities to the rest of the army, I swear I will kill you.'

'Yes, sir.' If there was any sense of either smugness or surrender to a higher authority in the tribune's expression, it was unreadable to Vespasian. Neither man spoke, or even moved, as they watched each other closely. Eventually Vespasian eased himself back in his chair.

'I'm sure we understand one another, Vitellius.'

'Oh, I'm quite sure that we do, sir. And may I assume that the arrangement we came to over your wife's extracurricular politics and my treasure-hunting still stands?'

Vespasian clasped his hands together tightly and nodded. 'As long as you keep to your side of the bargain.'

'Don't worry, sir. Your wife is quite safe, for the moment.'

'Assuming there's a shred of truth in what you have said about her.'

'Shred of truth?' Vitellius smiled. 'I think you'd be quite surprised at the lengths Flavia would go to pursue her political ends. Far more than is discreet for one whose husband has a promising future… in the service of the Emperor.'

'So you say.' Vespasian nodded slowly. 'But you have yet to provide me with firm evidence of your allegations. Nothing you have told me so far would be provable in a court of law. '

'Court of law!' Vitellius chuckled. 'Such a quaint notion. What makes you think for a moment that any charges against Flavia, or yourself, would be brought before any court at all? A quiet word from the Emperor and a small squad of Praetorians would pay you a visit with orders not to leave until you were both dead. The best you could hope for is a polite little obituary in the Rome gazette. That's how the world works, sir. Best get used to it.'

'I'll get used to it. Just as you had better get used to the fact that I can implicate you in a little treason of your own.'

'Oh, I haven't forgotten, sir. That's why we're having this discussion. I assume you have made sure that your side of the agreement is safely documented?'