Free Eagles at War by Ben Kane Page B

left alone within the sacred space.
    ‘You’re in luck, sir. The aquilifer has just left.’ The soldier whose job it was to carry the eagle checked on the standard once daily.
    Pleased to have the place to himself, Tullus walked inside. Light, cast by a multitude of well-placed oil lamps, glittered off the stuccoed walls and the ceiling, and reflected off gold and silver emblems – images of the emperor, discs, human hands, spear tips, laurel wreaths – on the dozens of standards that were propped up against the back wall. To the left and right of the standards were the embroidered cloth banners used by detachments from the legion, and the imposing cavalry standards. In the centre of all, with a space on either side to indicate its status, the legion’s eagle had been placed in a special rosewood stand. A physical embodiment of everything that was noble about the Eighteenth, it was an awe-inspiring sight.
    Compared to most, Tullus was not superstitious; much of the time, he didn’t place a lot of faith in the gods either. In this room, he felt different. A sense of reverence fell over him now, as it did with each visit. The deep silence helped – no one spoke in the shrine unless there was great need – and so too did the dazzling light cast by the abundant precious metal on display. The standard of a man’s century and his cohort were also causes for pride, as were the battle awards affixed to their staffs. Yet the main reason for Tullus to bow, and for the hairs to stand on his neck, was the overwhelming sense of majesty emitted by the eagle.
    Cast from solid gold, and larger than a man could hold in both hands, the eagle was depicted lying forward on its breast. A golden wreath encircled its almost-touching wings, which were raised straight up behind its body. Its open beak and piercing stare gave off a real sense of arrogance. I know my purpose, and what I represent, it seemed to say. Do you, Tullus? Will you follow me, even unto death? Will you protect me at all costs?
    I will, he thought, closing his eyes, as I would have done since the first day I enlisted. I live only to honour you, and my legion. I swear this by every god in the pantheon.
    Tullus’ heart thudded in his chest, ten, twenty, fifty times. There was no answer from the eagle. There never was, but a gradual sense of acceptance stole over him, as if his promise had been received, as if the eagle would watch over him on the impending patrol. He looked up.
    You are a true soldier of the Eighteenth, the eagle’s eyes seemed to say.
    You are one of mine.
    That was all Tullus ever wanted to be.
    Tramp, tramp, tramp . Scchhhkkk-thunk. Scchhhkkk-thunk. The comforting sounds, of hobnails striking the road surface, and of mail shirts knocking off the back of shields, filled Tullus’ ears. He was riding alongside his century, which was positioned third along the column, a vantage point that allowed him to ascertain – should he need to – what was going on at the front and back, and to either side. Separated by strips of cultivation, German longhouses dotted the landscape. Boys stood watch over small groups of sheep and cattle. At the edge of a copse, a dozen bare-chested men toiled together, felling trees.
    This was the second day of their patrol, and they were nearing Aliso. Things had gone well thus far. From the start, the new tribune Tubero had been as keen as a leashed hunting dog with the scent of game in its nostrils, but he had listened – albeit with reluctance – to Tullus’ advice. Moreover, he had followed it, which had been a relief to Tullus. Varus had sent a note on the eve of their departure, ordering Tullus to ensure that ‘nothing untoward’ happened while they were gone. Despite Tubero’s seniority, there was no doubt on whose shoulders the responsibility for the patrol fell.
    Tullus didn’t know where Tubero was at that exact moment. Although that meant he had no one watching him, that the potential for trouble existed, oddly