Read Cato 05 - The Eagles Prey for Free Online Page B

Macro prompted.
    For a moment Tullius hesitated, mouth open as he seemed to be on the verge of saying something. Then he just shook his head. ‘It’s nothing. Just try not to get on the wrong side of Maximius. Especially you, young ‘un.’
    Cato’s lips compressed into a tight line, and Macro couldn’t help laughing.
    ‘Don’t be so touchy, Cato. Centurion you may be, but you’ll have to forgive people if they mistake you for a boy sometimes.’
    ‘Boys don’t get to wear these,’ Cato snapped back, and tapped his medallions, instantly regretting the immature need to prove himself.
    Macro raised both his hands with a placating smirk. ‘All right! I’m sorry. But look around, Cato. See anyone else here that’s within five years of your age? I think you’ll find that you’re a bit of an exception.’
    ‘Exception he may be,’ Tullius added quietly, ‘but he’d do well not to stand out, if he knows what’s good for him.’
    The veteran turned away and followed Felix and Antonius towards the entrance to the tent. Macro watched him go and scratched his chin.
    ‘Wonder what he meant?’
    ‘Can’t you guess?’ Cato muttered bitterly.’Seems our cohort commander thinks I’m not up to the job.’
    ‘Rubbish!’ Macro punched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Everyone in the legion knows about you. You’ve got nothing to prove to anyone.’
    ‘Tell Maximius that.’
    ‘I might. One day. If he doesn’t recognise it himself first.’
    Cato shook his head. ‘Maximius only joined the legion a few months back, in that batch of replacements that arrived while we were in hospital in Calleva. Chances are he knows next to nothing about me.’
    Macro prodded one of Cato’s medallions.’These should tell him all he needs to know. Now come on, we’ve got to post our watches. Wouldn’t want to be late for Maximius’ briefing, would we?’

CHAPTER FIVE
    Once Cato was satisfied that his optio had the watch organised, he marched through two rows of tents to Macro’s century and stuck his head through the flap of the largest tent at the end of the line. Macro was sitting at a small trestle table, examining some tablets by the wan glow of an oil lamp.
    ‘Ready?’
    Macro looked up, and then pushed the wax tablets to one side. He rose from his chair and strode over to Cato. ‘Yes. I’ve had enough of this. Bloody pay records. Sometimes I wish you were still my optio. Made the record-keeping side of things a lot easier. I could get on with the real job then.’
    Cato nodded in sympathy. Life had indeed been easier before, for both of them. With Macro as his centurion Cato’s introduction to army life had been unclouded by the need to take much responsibility on his own shoulders. There had been times when circumstances had forced command on him, and he had coped with such duties, but had always been relieved to hand the burden back to Macro afterwards. That was all gone, now that he was a centurion. Not only did Cato feel constantly judged by others, he sat in judgement of himself. Cato was not impressed by the image of the thin and boyish figure in a centurion’s uniform he knew he presented.
    ‘How’s Figulus coping?’ Macro asked as they made for the large square tent that marked the headquarters of the Third Cohort.’Can’t see why you chose him to be your optio. Outside of a straight fight the lad’s a bloody nuisance.’
    ‘He’s coping well enough.’
    ‘Oh, really?’ Macro said with a trace of amusement. ‘Handling the pay records on his own then? That, and all the other clerical crap?’
    ‘I’m . . . instructing him at the moment.’
    ‘Instructing him? As in showing him how to read and write, perhaps?’
    Cato lowered his head to hide the dark expression on his face. Macro was right in his implication. Figulus was a poor choice for the job, in many respects - barely able to write his own name and completely out of his depth when required to calculate any sums larger than the small amount