The haunted faces of the Atrebate villagers were eloquent testimony to their dread of being letl undefended once again, and the headman begged Diomedes to persuade the cohort to stay. The Greek had his orders and politely but firmly made his apologies and hurried after Hortensius. As the Sixth Century, on rearguard duty behind the last of the wagons, marched out of the village gate, Cato felt ashamed to be deserting them while the Druids and their Durotrigan henchmen were still raiding along the frontier.
'Sir?'
'Yes, Cato.'
'There must be something we can do for these people.'
Macro shook his head. 'Nothing. Why do you ask? What would you have us do?'
'Leave some men. Leave one of the centuries behind to guard them.'
'One less century makes the cohort that much weaker.
And where would you stop? We can't leave a century in every village we pass through. There's not enough of us.'
'Well, weapons then,' Cato suggested. 'We could leave them some of our spare weapons in the wagons.'
'No we couldn't, lad. We might need them. In any case, they're not trained to use thern.-It'd be a waste. Now then, let's hear no more about it. We've a long march ahead of us today. Save your breath for that.'
'Yes, sir,' Cato replied quietly, his eyes avoiding the accusing glare of villagers standing beside the village gate.
For the remainder of the day the Fourth Cohort trudged along the muddy track leading south to the sea and a small trading settlement which nestled beside one of the channels leading into a large natural harbour. Diomedes knew the settlement well – he had helped to build it when he had first landed in Britain many years earlier. Now it was his home.
Noviomagus, as it had come to be known, had grown rapidly and acquired a hppy mixture of traders, their agents and their families. The incomers and their native neighbours had lived side by side in relative harmony over the years, according to Diomedes. But now the Durotriges were raiding their land, and the Atrebates blamed the foreigners for provoking the Druids of the Dark Moon and their followers.
Diomedes had many friends, and his family, at Noviomagus, and was concerned for their safety.
As the cohort marched, the dull sun struggled across the leaden grey sky in a low arc. As the gloom of the day's end began to thicken about the cohort, a sudden shout came from the head of the column: The men looked up from the track where they had been fixing their gaze, as tiredness and the weight of their marching packs bent their backs. A handful of cavalry scouts galloped down the track from the brow Of a hill. Centurion Hortensius's voice carried clearly to the rear of the column as he gave the order for the cohort to halt.
'There's trouble,' said Macro quietly as he watched the scouts make their report to Hortensius. The cohort commander nodded and then sent th scouts forward again. He turned to the column, cupping a hand to his mouth.
'Officers to the front!'
Cato shifted the yoke from his shoulder and laid it beside the track and trotted after Macro, feeling a thrill of anticipation race up his spine.
As soon as all his centurions and optios were present Hortensius quickly outlined the situation.
'Noviomagus has been attacked. What's left of it is just over that hill.' He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 'The scouts say they can't see any movement, so it looks like there're no survivors.'
Cato glanced at Diomedes, standing aside from the Roman officers, and saw the Greek guide staring at his feet, a deep frown on his forehead. His jaw suddenly clenched tightly and Cato realised the man was close to tears. With a mixture of compassion and embarrassment at witnessing the private grief of another, he turned his eyes back to Hortensius as the cohort commander gave his orders.
'The cohort will form a line just below the crest of the hill, we'll advance over the crest and down the far slope towards the settlement. I'll give the order to halt a short distance from Noviomagus and then the Sixth Century will enter the settlement.' He turnedowards Macro. 'Just give it a once-over and then make your report:'
'Yes, sir.'
'It'll be dark soon, lads. We haven't time to construct a marching camp so we'll have to repair the settlement's defences as best we can, and camp there for the night. Right then, let's get to it.'
The officers returned to their centuries and called their men to attention. Once the lines of men were formally dressed, Hortensius bellowed out the command to form line.
The First Century faced right, then smoothly pivoted round to form a line two men deep. The following centuries followed suit and extended the line to the left. Macro's century was the last to move into position and he called a halt as soon as his right flank marker came abreast of the Fifth Century. The cohort was held still for a moment to steady the men, and then the order was given to advance.
The double ranks rippled up the gentle slope and over the crest. Before them in the distance stretched the sea, grey and unsettled. Closer in wasa large natural harbour, from which a wide channel led inland to where the settlement had stood. The surface of the channel was made choppy by a chilly breeze. There were no hips at anchor, and only a handful of small craft were drawn up on the shore. Every man was tense in anticipation'of what the far side of the hill would reveal and as the ground started to slope down, the remains of Noviomagus came into sight.
The raiders had been as thorough in their destruction as time had allowed. Only the stark blackened lines of the surviving timber frames showed where the huts and houses of the settlement had stood. Around them lay the charred remnants of the walls and thatched roofs. Much of the surrounding palisade had been torn up and hurled into the ditch below. The lack of any smoke indicated that some days had passed since the Durotriges had razed the place to the ground. Nothing moved amongst the ruins, not even an animal. The silence was broken only by the raw cries of ravens nesting in a nearby copse. On either flank of the cohort the cavalry scouts fanned out, searching for any sign of the enemy.
The chinking of the legionaries' equipment seemed unnaturally loud to Cato as he marched down towards the settlement. While concentrating on keeping in step with the others, no mean feat with his lanky gait, his eyes swept over the land surrounding Noviomagus, searching for any sign that this might be a trap. In the failing light the cold winter landscape was filled with gloomy shadows and he tightened his grip on the handle of his shield.
'Halt!' Hortensius had to strain his voice to be clearly heard above the wind. The double line drew up, and stood still for a beat before-the next order was called out. 'Down packs!'
The legionaries lowered the yokes to the ground and stepped forward five paces to stand well clear of their marching equipment. Now their fight hands held only a javelin, and they were ready to fight.
'Sixth Century, advance!'
'Advance!' Macro relayed the order, and his men marched out of the line, approaching tha settlement from an oblique angle. Cato felt his heart quicken as they neared the blackened ruins, and a flighty ripple of nervous energy flowed through his body as he prepared himself for any sudden encounter. Just beyond the ditch, Macro halted the century.
'Cato!'
'Yes, sir!'
'You take the first five sections and enter through the main gate. I'll take the rest and enter from the seaward side.
See you in the centre of the settlement,'
'Yes, sir,' Cato replied, and a sudden chill of fear caused him to add, 'Be careful, sir.'
Macro paused, and looked at him scornfully. 'I'll try not to twist my ankle, Optio. This place is as still as a grave. The only thing left moving in there will be the spirits of the dead. Now get moving.'
Cato saluted, and turned back towards the ranks of legionaries. 'First five sections! Follow me!'
Without a pause he strodeup towards what was left of the main gate, his men hurrying to keep up. A rutted track led gently up to the huge timbers that formed the main gate and the fortified walkway,thht had once protected the entrance. But now the gates had gone, savagely cut from t
heir rope hinges and smashed into pieces. Cato picked his way over the splintered fragments. On either side, the defensive ditches curved out round the low rampart and smashed palisade. The legionaries followed silently, eyes and ears straining for any sign of danger in the tense atmosphere that enveloped them.
On the other side of the ruined gateway the full extent of. the Durotriges' destruction was evident. The place was littered with smashed pots, shredded clothing and the debris of all that had made up the worldy possessions of the people who had lived here. As the men Tanned out on either side of him, Cato looked around and was surprised to see no sign of any bodies; not even the remains of animals. Apart from small eddies of ash disturbed by the breeze, nothing moved in the eerie silence.
'Spread out!' ordered Cato, turning back to his men.
'Search thoroughly. We're looking for any survivors. Report back to me once we reach the centre of the settlement!'
Weapons at the ready, the legionaries cautiously picked their way through the destroyed buildings, using the points of their javelins to test any mounds of debris. Cato watched their progress for a moment before slowly walking up the ash-strewn route that led from the gateway towards the heart of Noviomagus. The lack of bodies disturbed him. He had braced himself for the horrors he might see, and the absence of any sign of the people and beasts who had lived here was almost worse, for his imagination took over and filled him with a terrible foreboding. He cursed himself angrily. It was possible that the raiders had surprised the settlement, taken it without a fight, and carried offthe people and their beasts as booty. It was the most likely answer, he assured himself.
'Optio!' A voice called out close by. 'Over here!'
Cato ran towards the voice. Near the remains of a stone animal pen the legionary was standing by a large pit, covered with a hide cover. He had drawn back one side and was pointing down with his javelin.
'There, sir. Have a look at this.'
Cato joined him and looked into the pit. It was ten feet or so across and as deep as a man. The earth along the edges was loose. In the gloom he saw a pile of dried haunches of meat, scores of grain baskets, some Greek silverware and a few small chests. It was clear that the pit had been dug recently, no doubt to store the spoils the raiders had selected.
They had covered the pit with the tarpaulin to keep wild animals out. Cato slipped offhis shield and lowered himself down by the chests. He flipped open the lid of the nearest one. Inside he found a selection of Celtic ornaments fashioned from silver and bronze. He picked up a mirror and flipped it over, admiring the fine workmanship of the spiralling patterns on the reverse. He placed it back in the chest and took in the assorted torcs, necklaces, cups and other vessels, all of the highest craftsmanship. Little of this would have been used by the inhabitants of Noviomagus. It would have been gained frOm trade with native tribes and stockpiled during the winter before it was shipped to Gaul where a high price could be fetched by agents of dealers in Rome. Now the Durotriges had seized and hidden it, no doubt intending to pick it up on their way back from raiding deep into the territory of the'Atrebates.
Cato trembled as he roalised the full implication. He slammed down the lid of the chest andcrambled out of the pit.
'Find the others, and get them to the centre of the village as fast as possible. I'm going on ahead to find the centurion.
Get moving!'
Cato hurried through the brittle remains of the burned out buildings where only the stoutest timbers and blackened stone walls still stood. He heard Macro calling out orders, and made for his centurion's ўoice. Emerging between the walls of two of the more substantial buildings arranged around the heart of Noviomagus, he caught sight of Macro, and a few of his men, standing beside what looked like a covered well, about ten feet across. A waist-high stone parapet encircled it and the whole was covered with a conical hide roof. Strangely, the roof had been left intact by the raiders, apparently the one thing they had not tried to destroy.
'Sir!' Cato called out as he ran towards them. Macro looked up from the well, a distracted expression on his face.
Seeing Cato, he stiffened his posture and strode to meet him.
'Found anything?'
'Yes, sir!' Cato could not restrain his nervous excitement as he made his report. 'There's a pit filled with spoils near the main gate. They must be intending to come back this way. Sir, we might have a chance to spring a trap on them!'
Macro nodded solemnly, apparently unmoved by the prospect of ambushing the raiders. 'I see,' he said.
Cato's impulse to run on about his discovery was stilled by the peculiar deadness in the face of his superior.
'What's the matter, sir?'
Macro swallowed. 'Did you find any bodies?'
'Bodies? No, sir. None. It's a funny thing.'
'Yes.' Macro pursed his lips and jabbed a thumb towards the well. 'Then I guess they must all be in there.'
Chapter Ten
In the failing light Centurion Hortensisus formed a dull silhouette, almost devoid of detail as he leaned his hands on the stonework and peered int6 the well. Macro and his men hung back, keeping as far from.any lingering spirits of the dead as possible. Diomedes Sat alone, his back against the blackened stonework of a ruined building. His head was bowed, face buried in his arms, body wracked with grief.
'He's taking it a bit hard,' muttered Figulus.
Cato and Macro exchanged a look. Both had seen the twisted pile of mutilated bodies that almost filled the well.
Given the extent of the settlement, there must have been hundreds of them. What horrified Cato more than anything was that no living thing had been spared. The tangle of bodies included even the villagers' dogs and sheep, as well as women and children. The raiders had made it clear what fate would befall those who sided with Rome. The young optio had reeled before the dark vision in the well, and had felt a chilling pang of horror arid despair as his eyes fell on the face of a young boy, barely more than an infant, sprawled on top of the heap. Beneath a wild thatch of straw-blond hair, a pair of startling blue eyes stared up in wide-eyed terror. The boy's mouth hung open to reveal tiny white teeth.
He had been killed with a spear thrust to the chest and his coarse wool top was stained black with dried blood. Recoiling from the charnal pit, Cato had turned, bent over and thrown up.
Now, half an hour later, he felt cold and weary with the profound sorrow of those who have seen the utter grimness of life for the first time. Violent death was something he had lived with ever since he had joined the eagles. That was barely more than a year ago. So little time, he reflected. The army had succeeded in hardening him without his really being aware of it, but in the face of the bloody handiwork of the Druids of the Dark Moon cult, he was consumed with horror and despair. And as his mind tried to come to terms with the actions of men who so outraged every civilised standard, a steadily swelling urge to wreak savage revenge upon them threatened to overwhelm him. The image of the boy's face flashed through his mind once more and instinctively his hand twisted and tightened on the pommel of his sword. Now the same Druids had their hands on a Roman family, no doubt destined for the, same fate as the inhabitants of Noviomagus.
Macro noticed the movement. For a moment he was almost moved to place a fatherly hand on his optio's shoulder and try to comfort him. He had grown used to the optio's presence and tended to forget that Cato lacked experience of the absolute brutality of war. It was hard to believe that the clumsy bookworm who had turned up with the oth" bedraggled recruits back in Germany was the same man the scarred junior officer standing silently beside him. lad had already won his first decoration for bravery; the polished phalera gleamed on the optio's harness. There was no doubting his courage and intelligence, and if he the harsh life of the legions for long enough, lay ahead of him. Yet he was still little more than a boy, inclined to a painful degree of self-consciousness that Macro could not understand. Any more than he could understand the depths of the lad's occasional moods, when he seemed to
shrink into himself and wrap himself up in a tangle of' unfathomable threads of thought.
Macro shrugged. If the boy would only stop thinking so much, he'd find life a lot easier. 'Macro had little time for introspection, it merely confused the issue and prevented a man from doing things. Best lef to those idle intellectuals back in Rome. The sooner Cato accepted that, the happier he'd be.
Figulus was still tutting at Diomedes's shameless display of emotion. 'Bloody Greeks! They turn everything into a drama. Too much tragedy and not enough comedy in their theatres, that's their problem.'
'The man's lost his family,' Macro said quietly. 'So do him a favour before he overhears you, and fucking shut up.'
'Yes, sir.' Figulus waited a moment, and then casually wandered off, as if looking fdr something else to divert his attention while the century waited for orders.
Centurion Hortensius had seen enough, and briskly strode over to join Macro.
'Bloody mess in there.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Best get your lads to fill it in. We haven't got time for a proper burial. Anyway, I don't know what the drill is for the local version.'
'You could ask Diomedes,' suggested Macro. 'He'd know.'
They both turned to look at the Greek guide. Diomedes had raised his head, and was staring towards the well, his features twisted and trembling as he struggled with his grief.
'I don't think so,' decided Centurion Hortensius. 'Not for a while at least. I'll take care of him while you see to the well.'
Macro nodded, before another thought occurred to him.
'What about the loot my optio discovered?'
'What about it?'
Cato looked up irritably at the senior centurion's failure to grasp the significance of his find. Before he could give voice to any insubordinate explanation, Macro intervened.
'The optio reckons the raiders intend to return for their spoils.'
'Oh, does he?' Hortensius glared at the young optio, angered that so young and inexperienced a soldier should presume to understand the enemy's intentions.
When the Eagle hunts c-3 Page 9
