Read Online Cato 01 - Under the Eagle by Simon Scarrow - Free Book Online
Authors: Simon Scarrow
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the side of Cato's head, knocking him back against the bunk. There was an explosion of white inside Cato's skull before the room swirled back into vision. Pulcher was looking down at a dark oval patch on his arm where Cato's teeth had broken the skin.
'You're dead!' Pulcher stooped into a crouch, knife at the ready. 'You're fucking dead!'
Suddenly a broad shaft of light from the corridor flowed into the room as the door was swung open.
'What the hell is this?' Macro growled. 'Is this a fight?'
Pulcher drew himself up. 'No, sir. Just showing the boy how to handle himself in a fight. We're friends, sir.'
'Friends?' Macro repeated doubtfully. 'Then what happened to your arm?'
'Lad got carried away, sir. Didn't mean no harm. Ain't that right?'
Cato rose from the floor. His first instinct was to tell the truth. Then he realised that this wasn't the soldier's way. If he was to earn any respect from his new comrades he couldn't afford to be seen as running to authority for protection. Besides, if he covered for Pulcher now then maybe the thug would have cause to be grateful to him. Any advantage was worth securing at this stage.
'Yes, sir. That's right. We're friends.'
'Hmm.' Macro scratched his chin. 'Well, if you really are friends then I'd hate to be one of your enemies. Right, optio — I want a word with you in my quarters right now, so I'm afraid your friend here will have to leave.'
'Sir!' Pulcher replied smartly. 'I'll see you tomorrow, Cato.'
'Yes…'
'We can continue our practice then.'
Cato smiled weakly then Pulcher turned and left the room, leaving an amused Macro in his wake.
'So that's your friend, is it?'
'Yes, sir.'
'I'd be a little more careful in my selection of friends if I were you.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Now then, we need to talk. Come with me.'
Macro led the way down the corridor to the administration section of the barracks block where his quarters were situated. Cato was ushered, with a friendly wave, into the centurion's office where two desks were set against opposite walls. The larger desk was completely clear while the smaller was covered in neatly arranged piles of papyrus and waxed slates.
'Over there.' Macro pointed to a trestle chair by the larger desk and Cato sat down quietly while the centurion found another chair and placed it behind the desk.
'Drink?' Macro asked. 'It's good stuff.'
'Thank you, sir.'
Macro poured them each a small cup from a large jar and then eased himself back into his chair. A good deal of wine had already passed his lips that day and he felt uncommonly good-natured. Experience should have told him that today's good nature is tomorrow's skull-crunching hangover — but the gods of wine and memory never were on speaking terms.
'I need to talk about your duties, as far as being an optio is concerned. For the moment I just want you to help Piso with the paperwork. There's no way I can let you give orders to the other men in the century — they'd die laughing. I know you outrank them, officially, but you just have to accept that you can't act as an optio for the moment. Understand?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Given time, once you've trained… then we'll see. But for now I need a clerk more than I need a second-in-command. Piso will show you what you need to know in the morning.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Now I expect you could use some sleep, you'll need it. You can go.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'I will arrange for Piso to show you the ropes after training ends tomorrow.'
'Yes, sir. I'll look forward to it.'
Chapter Five
The time passed quickly, to Cato's consternation. There simply did not seem to be enough time in the day to do all that the army required of him. Apart from the relentless drilling at the hands of Bestia, Cato had administrative duties to carry out each evening, and then he had to ensure that his equipment was thoroughly cleaned for the next morning. Bestia had the eyes of a hawk and any speck of dirt, broken strap or missing buckle was instantly spotted and resulted in
'You're dead!' Pulcher stooped into a crouch, knife at the ready. 'You're fucking dead!'
Suddenly a broad shaft of light from the corridor flowed into the room as the door was swung open.
'What the hell is this?' Macro growled. 'Is this a fight?'
Pulcher drew himself up. 'No, sir. Just showing the boy how to handle himself in a fight. We're friends, sir.'
'Friends?' Macro repeated doubtfully. 'Then what happened to your arm?'
'Lad got carried away, sir. Didn't mean no harm. Ain't that right?'
Cato rose from the floor. His first instinct was to tell the truth. Then he realised that this wasn't the soldier's way. If he was to earn any respect from his new comrades he couldn't afford to be seen as running to authority for protection. Besides, if he covered for Pulcher now then maybe the thug would have cause to be grateful to him. Any advantage was worth securing at this stage.
'Yes, sir. That's right. We're friends.'
'Hmm.' Macro scratched his chin. 'Well, if you really are friends then I'd hate to be one of your enemies. Right, optio — I want a word with you in my quarters right now, so I'm afraid your friend here will have to leave.'
'Sir!' Pulcher replied smartly. 'I'll see you tomorrow, Cato.'
'Yes…'
'We can continue our practice then.'
Cato smiled weakly then Pulcher turned and left the room, leaving an amused Macro in his wake.
'So that's your friend, is it?'
'Yes, sir.'
'I'd be a little more careful in my selection of friends if I were you.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Now then, we need to talk. Come with me.'
Macro led the way down the corridor to the administration section of the barracks block where his quarters were situated. Cato was ushered, with a friendly wave, into the centurion's office where two desks were set against opposite walls. The larger desk was completely clear while the smaller was covered in neatly arranged piles of papyrus and waxed slates.
'Over there.' Macro pointed to a trestle chair by the larger desk and Cato sat down quietly while the centurion found another chair and placed it behind the desk.
'Drink?' Macro asked. 'It's good stuff.'
'Thank you, sir.'
Macro poured them each a small cup from a large jar and then eased himself back into his chair. A good deal of wine had already passed his lips that day and he felt uncommonly good-natured. Experience should have told him that today's good nature is tomorrow's skull-crunching hangover — but the gods of wine and memory never were on speaking terms.
'I need to talk about your duties, as far as being an optio is concerned. For the moment I just want you to help Piso with the paperwork. There's no way I can let you give orders to the other men in the century — they'd die laughing. I know you outrank them, officially, but you just have to accept that you can't act as an optio for the moment. Understand?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Given time, once you've trained… then we'll see. But for now I need a clerk more than I need a second-in-command. Piso will show you what you need to know in the morning.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Now I expect you could use some sleep, you'll need it. You can go.'
'Thank you, sir.'
'I will arrange for Piso to show you the ropes after training ends tomorrow.'
'Yes, sir. I'll look forward to it.'
Chapter Five
The time passed quickly, to Cato's consternation. There simply did not seem to be enough time in the day to do all that the army required of him. Apart from the relentless drilling at the hands of Bestia, Cato had administrative duties to carry out each evening, and then he had to ensure that his equipment was thoroughly cleaned for the next morning. Bestia had the eyes of a hawk and any speck of dirt, broken strap or missing buckle was instantly spotted and resulted in
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