Hunting the Eagles by Ben Kane Page B

this and half a ham. You’re not having any of the meat, but I can manage a bowl of porridge.’
    Piso glanced at Vitellius, who gave him a look. Piso wasn’t sure if it meant ‘Why not?’ or ‘Walking away will look suspicious’, but he couldn’t prevaricate either, because that
too
might cause suspicion, so he smiled at Barrel. ‘Gratitude, brother. I’m famished.’
    ‘The hours seem to double in length when you’re pacing up and down a fucking rampart, with only the corpses of centurions in the ditch to look at. Come on over,’ said Barrel. He shoved out a meaty hand. ‘Gaius.’
    ‘Piso. My friend’s called Vitellius.’ The situation in the camp was
really
bad, Piso thought, if there were dead centurions in the defensive ditch beyond the rampart. He wondered how many had been murdered.
    Gaius gave them both an amiable grin. ‘No sign of Germanicus, was there?’
    Fresh alarm bathed Piso. He had to pretend that they had been on watch all night. ‘No, not a thing.’
    ‘I didn’t think so. The way I’ve heard it, whoever is on sentry duty has to alert the whole cursed camp when that happens. The leaders want everyone there to greet him.’
    ‘That’d be right,’ agreed Piso, his palms prickling, hoping not to get caught out.
    ‘I’d love to see Germanicus’ face when he realises how many of us there are,’ said Gaius, filling a cracked red Samian bowl and handing it to Vitellius. ‘Four entire legions, bar the few miserable cocksuckers who remained “loyal”.’
    ‘The prick will shit his perfumed undergarment,’ said Vitellius, with a grateful nod for the porridge.
    Chuckling, Gaius passed a bowl to Piso, whose heart was still pounding at the mention of ‘loyal’ men. ‘Got your own spoon?’
    ‘Aye.’ Piso fumbled in his purse, grateful that he hadn’t removed his spoon before leaving the principia. He blew on the steaming oats, and took a mouthful. ‘It’s good.’
    ‘There’s no need to lie,’ said Gaius with a snort. ‘The shit tastes the same as always. Plain but filling.’
    ‘It’s more than we had a moment ago, and we’re grateful,’ said Piso.
    Gaius looked pleased. ‘You going for a kip after this?’
    ‘Might as well, eh?’ replied Vitellius. ‘It’s not as if any cursed centurion or optio will stop us.’
    ‘It’s like being in Elysium not to have fucking trumpets wake me before sparrow’s fart every morning,’ said Gaius, chuckling. His face grew serious. ‘What did you do to your centurion?’
    ‘Gave him a good hiding,’ lied Piso. ‘I’d say we cracked most of his ribs before we’d finished.’ Gaius stared at him, and Piso felt his pulse flutter. ‘And yours?’ he asked.
    ‘He’s dead. Happened on the first day.’
    Gods above, thought Piso. He was glad when Vitellius stepped in. ‘A bad ’un, was he?’
    ‘One of the worst. The type who’d beat a man because one of his belt buckles wasn’t shiny, you know. The funny thing is, the fool could have got away. We hadn’t decided to kill him when it all started. I don’t think he really believed us when we told him that we were taking control of the camp and that he should clear off. He laughed in our faces. That riled us, but when he reached for his vine stick, well …’ Gaius’ eyes went out of focus for a moment, then he spat into the fire, making it hiss. ‘When we were done, he had more holes in him than a wine strainer. Good fucking riddance to him, that’s what I say.’
    ‘He’s no loss,’ said Piso, surprised to mean what he said. Life under such a centurion would be miserable beyond belief. Tullus wasn’t just a good leader, he decided – the man was fair too.
    ‘There were a few centurions like that in our legion,’ growled Vitellius. ‘They got short shrift.’
    ‘They say that at least twenty centurions have been killed, and one tribune. You heard that?’ asked Gaius.
    ‘Aye,’ Piso answered, adding for authenticity, ‘The figure varies a little, depending