The Eagle: The Making of a Roman Epic Page #2

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There's still metal in there.

Well...

I guess, it's gonna be time.

You're gonna do it, right?

- Yeah.

- It'll be over before you know it.

I've the best knives

in the business.

Some wine.

- Ready?

- Ready.

You can go.

No.

I'm gonna need the slave

to hold you down.

- Can't my uncle do it?

- Me? No...

I've grown to hate

the sight of blood,

Especially, the blood of someone

I'm quite fond of.

Be strong.

Quickly now.

Hold him down.

Put your weight on him, slave!

Harder!

Take a deep breath.

When I say "now", let it out.

Now!

Did I shame myself?

Thank you.

There he is.

Spear! Now!

Cut him off!

Turn around!

As I remember it,

they seem to be fond of you.

Marcus.

May I present my nephew,

Marcus Flavius Aquila.

Claudius Marcellus

is my old friend,

And the esteemed Legate

of the Sixth Legion.

Your uncle is an old

sparring partner.

Tribune Servius Placidus,

and...

Indispensable member

of my staff.

Ah... Supper's ready.

Boiled eggs and fish.

Don't all rush at once.

If it was my choice,

I'd be a soldier all my life.

However, my father will insist

I go into politics.

Have we met before?

Your name sounds familiar.

Oh, I doubt it.

The Tribune's Club, in Rome?

No, I was only

a cohort centurion.

Ah. Right.

I remember now.

Flavius Aquila... Your father marched

with the Eagles, too, did he not?

He commanded

the First Cohort of the Ninth.

Of course. The Ninth.

Every Roman

remembers the Ninth.

Talking of the Ninth, there's been a

rumour recently along the Wall.

Rumours, rumours.

Britain's full of nothing

but rumours.

They say the Eagle's been seen,

Receiving divine honours in some

tribal temple in the far north.

An Eagle in the hands of the

Painted People, a potent weapon.

One has to wonder

how any Roman could let it go.

If this were to be true,

Surly, we should act.

What would Rome say?

Eagle lost, honour lost.

Honour lost, all lost.

Rome would love to get

the Eagle back,

But politics being politics,

No Senator's going to risk thousands

of lives, on a tainted Legion.

My hands are tied.

Not if you sent one man.

North of the wall?

No Roman could survive

up there.

- Has anyone ever tried?

- No...

But that's the point, militarily...

To try, would be to fail.

How do you know?

One man can hide

where an army can't.

No one would even know

he was there.

- It's too risky.

- Quite right.

The loss of the Ninth

was humiliating enough,

without adding

another pointless death.

Marcus.

Marcus.....

You can't let the likes of him

do this to you.

He has no notion

how you and I, lived our lives.

Ever since I can remember.

All I've ever worked to be

was a soldier, like my father.

I know.

I can still see him now,

riding away for the last time.

I can still feel

how proud I was.

My father...

Centurion of the First Cohort

of the Ninth Legion,

Can you imagine anything

more magnificent,

Than to be a soldier?

And to serve Rome,

- With courage and faithfulness.

- But you did, son.

For what? For what?!

- An honourable discharge?

- That's fate.

That's in the hands of the Gods.

When I made Centurion,

They asked me...

Where I wanted to be posted.

I knew the answer

before they'd even asked.

Britain.

This is where my father

lost the Eagle.

This is where I was going

to win so much glory,

That no Roman would ever dare

bring up his name again.

And what all I do now?

What all I do? I sit, and I listen to

some silk-arsed politician's son,

Pisses on our family's name!

I will not sit in some villa,

for the rest of my days,

Rotting and remembering.

If I can't win back

my family's honour,

by being a soldier,

Then I'll do it by finding

the lost Eagle.

You can't.

No Roman can survive

north of the wall alone.

- You can't.

- Then I'll take Esca.

I can use his knowledge,

he speaks their language.

- Esca?

- Why not?

Because he's a Britain.

He may not be

from north of the wall,

But he's a Britain.

And he will slit your throat

the minute you're alone.

- He wouldn't do that.

- How do you know?

- He gave me his word.

- His word?

He's a slave.

He says what he says,

and he does what he does,

Because he has to.

Once you be on their territories...

If I'm wrong...

Then I'll die.

And that's how it should be.

Where are you heading?

North.

Didn't they tell you,

this is the end of the world?

Just open the gates, soldier.

See you in the afterlife, Roman.

Who did this?

Rogue warriors.

You know, sometimes, I...

I dream that I'll...

find my father alive up here.

And that he survived

in some hidden place?

Is that why you're here?

To find your father?

No.

We're here to find the Eagle.

How can a piece of metal

mean so much to you?

The Eagle is not

a piece of metal.

The Eagle is Rome.

It's a symbol of our honour.

Every victory,

every achievement.

Wherever the Eagle is,

we can say that... Rome did that.

You wouldn't understand.

How could you?

My father was Cunoval,

Bearer of the Blue War Shield's

the Brigantes.

Lord of five hundred spears.

Seven years ago,

you took our lands.

And we rose against you.

My father and two brothers died.

My mother also.

My father killed her before

the Legionaries broke through.

He knew what they would do to her.

She knelt in front of him

and he slit her throat.

Rome also did that.

The Highlands.

- Which way?

- It's up to you.

in a single glen.

There are thousands of glens.

You could search for months

and still find nothing.

North.

Whoever we meet,

let me do the talking.

If they find out you're a Roman,

they'll kill you.

And me.

Don't look.

There's three Rogue warriors

behind you, across the river.

How many behind me?

I don't see anyone.

They're there.

Are you ready?

Next time, don't hesitate.

Stay back.

He remembers seeing

the Legion march north.

But they never

came back this way.

He must know more than that.

He says not.

- Ask him again.

- No.

What're you doing?

Enough!

Enough!

Enough!

Enough!

No more games, no more lies!

Ask him where the legion went.

Ask him!

Kill him!

Kill him!

- Do it, now!

- Chin-strap scar.

Only a Roman helmet does that.

He's a Legionary.

What's your name?

What's your name?

I'm called...

Guern.

My name...

is Lucius Caius Metellus.

First Cohort of the Ninth Legion.

How did you survived

up here for so long?

My tribe is called

the Selgovae.

They took me in, made me

one of their own.

I have a woman, two sons.

My life is here now.

I don't trust him.

- He's a deserter.

- We don't know that.

He's still a Roman.

He was a Roman when he ran.

I don't know what your...

father's orders were, but...

All I know...

Is that we had it coming.

Why did they have to come north?

There's nothing here

worth taking.

Couldn't they be satisfied

with what they had?

They always have to punish and...

push on, looking for more conquests,

more territories, more...

wars.

Just tell me what happened.

When the order came for the Ninth

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