Page 82 of Taming the Eagle
“No, but you won’t be taking back Dalginross or Bochastle … or Pinnata Castra,” the tribune reminded him. “Admit it, Aquila … despite that you successfully held Ardoch, your control on the rest of this territory has unraveled.”
Justin’s gaze narrowed. “I assume the emperor has decided the north is more trouble than it’s worth?” He wasn’t a fool; he knew there was more to Hadrian’s decision to withdraw than the problems they’d been having with the Picti.
“He has,” Flavius replied.
Silence fell in the office. The doors were open, letting in a soft breeze, and beyond the principia, they could hear the shouts of troops on the parade ground. Even after the losses of late, order still reigned at Ardoch. And it always would while he commanded here.
A dull sensation pulled at his chest then. Regret. He’d defended himself to the tribune, yet they both knew the truth of it. He was well aware that he should have driven his pugio into Toutorix’s throat when the bastard had stood before him in that roundhouse.
Nonetheless, talking about it wouldn’t change what he’d done. It was time to turn talk away from his failure. His mood was bleak this afternoon as it was, and the smug tribune wasn’t helping.
“So, Hadrian is at the Wall?” Justin asked finally.
Flavius nodded. “He’ll be there for the next few months … overseeing work.” He flashed Justin a grin. “You should see it, General … the Wall will be magnificent when done, eight feet wide and twelve feet high … with milecastles along its length.”
“I’m sure it will be,” Justin murmured.
Once, he too would have been as excited as the tribune at the prospect of this great feat of engineering: a high fortified wall that stretched from one coast to another. But ever since Fenella’s departure, he felt jaded and old beyond his years.
These days, he could barely dredge up the will to show any enthusiasm at all for the glory of the empire. The ambition that had once driven him had burned away, leaving only ashes at his feet.
“Mithras, you’re looking rough these days,” Marcus greeted Justin as he approached his bed. “As bad as I feel.”
Justin decided to ignore his friend’s candid observation. He was aware the strain was starting to show and didn’t need reminding of it. He slept poorly these days, ate sporadically, and drank more than usual. However, he didn’t wish to discuss himself. After his meeting with the tribune, his patience was thin indeed.
Halting, he folded his arms across his chest. “Surgeon Falco tells me you’re on the mend. No early retirement for you.”
The primus pilus snorted. “Of course not … there are plenty of good fighting years left in me yet.” Marcus was propped up against a nest of pillows, and was indeed looking the healthiest Justin had seen him since the attack. His face, which had been taut with pain at first, had relaxed, and there was color in his cheeks. He flashed Justin a grin. “Fear not, we’ll stand together in battle again.”
“Not at Ardoch, we won’t.”
Marcus’s grin faded.
“Tribune Lucius is here,” Justin informed his friend without preamble. “He brings orders from Hadrian … we are to abandon the north.”
The centurion’s mouth pursed, his dark eyes narrowing. “What?”
“The emperor wants Valeria Victrix at the Wall … to help build and defend it. He has decided to leave Caledonia to its people for the time being.”
Marcus scowled. “So all our work … the last five years at Ardoch, and all the men we’ve lost defending it, will be for nothing?”
“It would seem so.”
Justin’s words were measured, controlled, even if his gut clenched. It wasn’t up to him to question the will of the emperor, only to follow orders. His wishes were immaterial, as were Marcus’s. They would do as they were told—as they always had.
The two men’s gazes locked. The centurion’s expression altered then, concern shadowing his eyes.
Justin tensed. Despite that he and Marcus had known each other for years, he hadn’t confided in him about Fenella. The centurion knew Justin had given the woman her freedom, and that she’d chosen to leave—but nothing else.
Nonetheless, the look on Marcus’s face now warned Justin that his friend had guessed the reason for his bloodshot eyes and haggard face.
“When are we going?” Marcus asked finally.
“Within days.”
Marcus took in this news, his jaw tightening. “So soon?” Then with a sigh, he sank back against the pillows before running a hand down his face. “Cacat,” he murmured.
Shit.