Read Online Cato 01 - Under the Eagle by Simon Scarrow - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Simon Scarrow
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wrong with it.'
'Perhaps if I fight him when I'm drunk I won't notice the pain,' Cato wondered. 'He gets to win easily, I get a few knocks and then it's all over.'
'Maybe. But I wouldn't count on him letting it go at that. I know the type, once they know they've got you beaten they can't resist coming back and doing it again and again. But you keep avoiding Pulcher and people are going to start wondering. I say face him, take a beating — but don't give in too early. Try and stick it to him. Land a few painful blows and he'll leave you alone. Maybe.'
'Maybe? Is that the best I can hope for? Accept a swift kicking on the off chance that Pulcher may decide to leave it at that? What if he doesn't?'
Pyrax shrugged.
'Oh thanks! That's really helpful.'
'Just telling you how it is, son.'
Cato shook his head. 'There must be some other way. Some way of confronting him without a fight.'
'Maybe,' Pyrax shrugged. 'But whatever you do just get it over with soon, before too many people think you're a coward.'
Cato stared at him a moment. 'Is that what they're saying?'
'What d'you expect? That's what it looks like.'
'I'm not a coward.'
'If you say so. But you'd better prove it.'
The door opened with an icy blast and several legionaries entered the mess. In the wildly flickering glow of the mess brazier, Cato recognised them as men from another century. They looked round and then, very deliberately, sat on a bench on the far side of the room. Pyrax quickly downed the last of his wine and rose to his feet.
'Must be off.'
'Why so early?' asked Cato. 'There's plenty left in the flask.'
'True. But I've my reputation to think of,' Pyrax added coldly. 'Remember what I said — do whatever you're going to do, but do it soon.'
Once Pyrax had left the mess Cato brooded over his wine for a while, and then, when he looked up, he momentarily caught the eyes of one of the new arrivals. The man instantly glanced away and carried on talking in low tones to his friends. It was hard not to think that they were talking about him, that they had come to this mess out of curiosity to see the coward who had been appointed an optio.
Cato stood up and, pulling his cloak on, hurried from the mess. The air was freezing and the night sky was threaded with fine clouds rimmed in pale silver from a half moon. Quite beautiful, he thought and paused for a moment to savour the stillness of the moment. But all too soon his mind turned back to the need to confront Pulcher and with a curse he stamped off towards his quarters.
~*~
Nor was Pulcher the only thing troubling his mind. Aside from the relentless drilling during the day Cato had to devote most evenings to learning his duties as an optio. The centurion's secretary, Piso, had been ordered to train the new recruit in the art of military administration. And an art it was, as Cato quickly came to realise. Piso was responsible for the century's records; a file on each legionary itemising every aspect of the soldier's life as far as it affected the Legion. Medical records, leave granted, military awards granted, disciplinary breaches and the appropriate punishments, deductions from pay for food and repayments on equipment issued.
One evening, shortly after the conversation with Pyrax, found Piso and his protégé working in the warm fug of the century's office. The brazier glowed and the wooden fuel crackled pleasantly as the two men examined Cato's latest attempt at writing in the arid style beloved of the army. Piso grunted appreciative noises as he read over the brisk but irrefutably logical requisitions and nodded approvingly at some of the well-turned phrases calculated to provoke a sense of urgency, or implying that an authority well above that of a lowly century clerk was indirectly responsible for the request.
The doorlatch clattered and Macro came into the room rubbing his hands and making straight for the brazier. He stretched his arms out and smiled as the heat soaked into his palms. A
'Perhaps if I fight him when I'm drunk I won't notice the pain,' Cato wondered. 'He gets to win easily, I get a few knocks and then it's all over.'
'Maybe. But I wouldn't count on him letting it go at that. I know the type, once they know they've got you beaten they can't resist coming back and doing it again and again. But you keep avoiding Pulcher and people are going to start wondering. I say face him, take a beating — but don't give in too early. Try and stick it to him. Land a few painful blows and he'll leave you alone. Maybe.'
'Maybe? Is that the best I can hope for? Accept a swift kicking on the off chance that Pulcher may decide to leave it at that? What if he doesn't?'
Pyrax shrugged.
'Oh thanks! That's really helpful.'
'Just telling you how it is, son.'
Cato shook his head. 'There must be some other way. Some way of confronting him without a fight.'
'Maybe,' Pyrax shrugged. 'But whatever you do just get it over with soon, before too many people think you're a coward.'
Cato stared at him a moment. 'Is that what they're saying?'
'What d'you expect? That's what it looks like.'
'I'm not a coward.'
'If you say so. But you'd better prove it.'
The door opened with an icy blast and several legionaries entered the mess. In the wildly flickering glow of the mess brazier, Cato recognised them as men from another century. They looked round and then, very deliberately, sat on a bench on the far side of the room. Pyrax quickly downed the last of his wine and rose to his feet.
'Must be off.'
'Why so early?' asked Cato. 'There's plenty left in the flask.'
'True. But I've my reputation to think of,' Pyrax added coldly. 'Remember what I said — do whatever you're going to do, but do it soon.'
Once Pyrax had left the mess Cato brooded over his wine for a while, and then, when he looked up, he momentarily caught the eyes of one of the new arrivals. The man instantly glanced away and carried on talking in low tones to his friends. It was hard not to think that they were talking about him, that they had come to this mess out of curiosity to see the coward who had been appointed an optio.
Cato stood up and, pulling his cloak on, hurried from the mess. The air was freezing and the night sky was threaded with fine clouds rimmed in pale silver from a half moon. Quite beautiful, he thought and paused for a moment to savour the stillness of the moment. But all too soon his mind turned back to the need to confront Pulcher and with a curse he stamped off towards his quarters.
~*~
Nor was Pulcher the only thing troubling his mind. Aside from the relentless drilling during the day Cato had to devote most evenings to learning his duties as an optio. The centurion's secretary, Piso, had been ordered to train the new recruit in the art of military administration. And an art it was, as Cato quickly came to realise. Piso was responsible for the century's records; a file on each legionary itemising every aspect of the soldier's life as far as it affected the Legion. Medical records, leave granted, military awards granted, disciplinary breaches and the appropriate punishments, deductions from pay for food and repayments on equipment issued.
One evening, shortly after the conversation with Pyrax, found Piso and his protégé working in the warm fug of the century's office. The brazier glowed and the wooden fuel crackled pleasantly as the two men examined Cato's latest attempt at writing in the arid style beloved of the army. Piso grunted appreciative noises as he read over the brisk but irrefutably logical requisitions and nodded approvingly at some of the well-turned phrases calculated to provoke a sense of urgency, or implying that an authority well above that of a lowly century clerk was indirectly responsible for the request.
The doorlatch clattered and Macro came into the room rubbing his hands and making straight for the brazier. He stretched his arms out and smiled as the heat soaked into his palms. A
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