When the Eagle hunts c-3

by Simon Scarrow

  'Pssst! Over here.'

  A hand reached through the reeds at the top of the hummock and beckoned. Cato eased himself forward, taking care not to disturb the reeds, in case anyone in the village was looking their way. Just beyond was the small patch they had quietly cut before dawn. Macro was lying on a bed of rushes, peering through the dried brown remains of the previous summer's growth. Cato dropped the end of the holly branch and stretched out on the ground beside him. On the other side of the hummock, the reeds stretched out along a slowly flowing river that curled round a Durotrigan village and provided it with a natural defence.

  On the opposite side of the village rose a high rampart topped with a stout palisade that crossed a narrow gateway.

  The village itself was the usual dismal affair that seemed to be the best the more rustic of the Celts could construct.

  A loose muddle of round wattle and daub huts topped with a thatch of rushes cut from the river bank. From the slight elevation of the hummock Macro and Cato had a good view over the village.

  The biggest of the huts stood on the bank directly opposite Cato and Macro and had its own palisade. The ring of posts was lined on thb inside with smaller huts. A number of thick posts rose on one side of the compound.

  They were familiar enough't6 the two Romans – sword practice posts. Even as they watched, a small group of black-cloaked men emerged f,.rom one of the smaller huts, stripped offtheir cloaks, and.drew their long swords. They each picked a post and began to lay into them with well honed swinging cuts. Sharp cracks and dull thuds carried clearly across the glassy surface of the river. Cato's gaz shifted to a peculiar structure built onto the side of the large hut. It appeared to be a small cabin of some kind. But there were no windows, and the. only visible opening was filled by a small timber door, fastened on the outside by a stout bar. Another black-cloaked figure stood guard by the entrance, a war spear in one hand, the other hand resting on the rim of a grounded kite shield.

  'Any sign of the hostages, sir?'

  'No. But if they're anywhere in the village, that hut looks like our best bet. Saw someone take a jug and some bread in there not long ago.'

  Macro turned away from the village and eased himself back on the rustling mass of cut reeds.

  'Everything sorted?'

  'Yes, sir. Our horses are safe in that dell Prasutagus showed us. I've agreed a signal with Boudica in case there's any trouble.' Cato indicated the holly bough.

  'If they leave it much longer it'll be dark before we get started,' said Macro quietly.

  'Prasutagus said he'd give me enough time to get back to you and then they would move.'

  'You left them in the dell?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'I see.' Macro frowned, then heaved himself back into position to continue watching over the village. 'Then I expect we'll have to wait a while longer before they turn up.'

  Even though the winter months had nearly come to an end, it was still cold and the steady light drizzle had thoroughly penetrated their clothes. After a little while Cato's teeth were chattering and his body trembled. He tightened his muscles to try and fight offthe sengation. These last few days had been the most uncomfortable of his life. Apart from the physical discomforts they had endured, the constant fear of discovery, and terror of the consequences, had made every moment a nervous torment. Now, as he lay on a damp river bank, legs caked in foul-smelling muck, chilled to the bone and starving for a decent warm meal, he began to fantasise about fixing himself an honourable discharge.from the legion. It was not the first time the thought of quitting the army had come to his mind. Not the first by a long way.

  The train of thought was familiar and primarily focused on the task of discovering a means by which he could quickly acquire a pensioned discharge without sustaining a disabling injury. Unfortunately teams of sharp-minded imperial clerks had pored over the regulations long before Cato was born and had managed to close nearly every loophole. But somewhere, some way, there had to be a means by which he. could beat the system.

  Macro suddenly grunted. Here they come. Must have satisfied himself with a quickie.'.

  .'Pardon?'

  'Nothing, lad. There they are, on the track in front of the gate.',:

  Cato looked beyond the.village and saw two tiny grey shapes on horseback emerging from the forest. As they boldly trotted down the track towards the village, the watchman above the gate turred and called down to a small knot of men huddled round a glow.ing fire. They responded to his summons at once and scrambled up the crude wooden steps inside the rampart.. Prasutagus and Boudica disappeared from sight as they rode up to the gate.

  Watching the villagers on the palisade brandishing their weapons, Cato felt a momentary pang of concern. But a moment later the gates swung inwards and the two Iceni entered.

  At once they were surrounded and the reins of their mounts seized. Even from across the river Macro and Cato could hear Prasutagus bellow in outraged indignation and issue his challenge in his role as itinerant wrestler. One of the villagers ran off, disappearing among the huts before he burst into the compound surrounding the largest hut. He hurried inside and quickly re-emerged in the company of a tall erect figure whose black cloak was fastened at the shoulder with a large gold brooch. In an unhurried manner he followed the watchman back to the main gate. Meanwhile Prasutagus continued to shout his challenge to the villagers in his deep booming voice and by the time the village chief appeared, a large crowd had gathered at the foot of the rampart. The chief pushed his way through and strode up to the visitors, who were still on horseback. Prasutagus showed just the right amount of arrogance by folding his arms and staying put for a moment. Then he casually flung his leg across his beast and slipped to the ground. He still towered over the chief, and lifted his chin to emphasise his contemptuous gaze.

  Prasutagus made his challenge again. This time he undid the clasp of his cloak and tossed it to Boudica, who had also dismounted and stood with the horses, having seized the reins back from the villagers. The Iceni warribr pulled his tunic off and stood bare-chested, arms raised and fists clenched, bunching his muscles for the delectation of the crowd.

  'Bloody show-off!' muttered Macro. 'Poncing around like some rich old tart's gladiator playmate! One more of those poses and I'll puke.'

  'Easy, sir. It's all part of the plan. Look there, at the compound.'

  The men training at the sword posts had stopped, and were hurriedly sheathing their swords and pulling on their black cloaks. As they left the compound, the guard on the door of the cabin took a few steps towards them and called out. The response was a harsh shout and with a sullen expression the guard went back to his post at the door of the cabin.

  'Now's our chance!' Macro slipped back down from the crest of the hummock and started to pull offhis clothing. He glanced at Cato. 'Come on, lad! Let's be having you.'

  With a resigned sigh, Cato sithered down over the rushes and began to strip..Off came: the cloak, the harness and chain mail, and lastly his under tunic. As he peeled the last layer of wet material from his body, the cold air brought his skin up in tight goose pimpl.es and he shivered terribly.

  Macro looked over his thin frame with disapproval.

  'You'd better get some decent food inside you and do some fitness training when we get back to the legion. You look like shit.'

  'Th-thank you, sir.'

  'Come on, boots off. The only thing you need is your sword, and your float.'

  Cato's swimming skills were rudimentary at best, the result of lack of practice and a deep-rooted fear and hatred of water. Macro passed him an inflated wineskin. 'Cost me the last drop of the decent stuff, that did.'

  'You didn't throw it away?'

  'Course not. It was Massic. Can't be throwing that away, so I finished it off. Helps to keep the cold out. Anyway, here. Take it, and don't bloody drown on me.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  Cato fastened his leather scabbard belt tightly round his waist and followed Macro down the far side
of the hummock, careful not to disturb the reeds as he passed. He took a last glance towards the village gate where Prasutagus and one of the villagers were already squaring up. Then they rushed at each other and the villagers let out an excited roar.

  'Fucking move yourself!' Macro hissed at Cato.

  The still and stagnant water amongst the reeds was bitterly cold and Cato gasped as he squatted down beside Macro. The freezing water stung his skin, almost as if it was burning him. The two Romans rustled through the reeds to the edge of the river. As the far bank came into sight, they lowered themselves into the water until just their heads were exposed. Under the surface Cato's arms were wrapped tightly about the inflated wineskin.

  'Right, offwe go,' whispered Macro. 'Keep it as quiet as you can. Not one splash or we're dead.'

  The centurion eased himself out into the slow current and gently stroked through the water. With a deep breath, Cato pushed himself away from thebank and followed Macro, using his legs to propel himself after his centurion.

  The river was perhaps fifty paces wide at this point, but for Cato the distance seemed insurmountable. He felt certain that either the wineskin would deflate and he would drown, or that the terrible aching cold would freeze him to death.

  The danger of being spotted by the enemy and being killed by a spear was the least of his concerns. It would bring an end to the awful misery of being up to his neck in this icy current.

  They paddled towards the back of the large hut, the maddening slowness of their progress a necessary agony if they were not to be discovered. By the time they emerged from the water, Cato's fingers and toes had become quite numb. Macro, too, was suffering and shivered uncontrollably as he helped Cato up onto the river bank and then rubbed his optio's limbs vigorously, trying to restore some sensation in them. Then they made their way up the bank and round the hut to the cabin. Macro hodded to Cato to make ready, but Cato could not stop shakiag and had barely enough feeling in his hands to draw his sword and hold it with a firm grip.

  'Ready?'

  Cato nodded.

  ., 'Let's go.'

  The cheers and shouts from the fight reached an abrupt crescendo, then there wis a deep collective groan.

  Prasutagus had floored their first champion. In the sudden quiet Macro held his hand out to stop Cato. The Iceni warrior bellowed another challenge..Someone replied, and the shouting rose again.

  'Come on.' Macro crept forward, crouching low and using his spare hand for balance. They climbed a small lip of earth at the top of the bank and then pressed up against the back wall of the main hut. Lungs still aching from the effort of swimming the river, and shivering with cold, Macro eased himself along the wall. Behind him Cato strained his ears for any sound of an approaching tribesman. Macro caught sight of the corner of the log cabin and stopped, flattening himself against the wall. Above the low bark roof he could see the guard's spear tip, and below that the top of his bronze helmet. Macro bent low, barely breathing, and eased his way into the angle where the cabin leaned up against the hut. With his back to the cabin, he beckoned to Cato. For a moment they listened, but no noise came from the front of the cabin. Macro indicated that Cato should stay put, then he inched his way along the rough timber towards the corner.

  Sword ready, he slowly peered round and saw the guard standing six feet away, outside the low entrance. Despite his spear, helmet and flowing black cape, he was little more than a boy. Macro moved his head back round the corner and with his eyes searched the ground by his feet. He picked up a hard clod of earth and stone and made ready to lob it.

  Suddenly the guard started speaking. Macro froze.

  Someone responded to the guard – a low voice close at hand, and with a start Cato realised it came from within the cabin. He jabbed his finger towards the wall of the cabin behind him and Macro nodded. Someone else must have been imprisoned with the general's family. Before the guard could reply, Macro threw the clod in a low arc across the roof of the cabin. The moment it landed with a soft clump, he rose and dived round the corner. As he had hoped, the guard had turned to investigate the sound, and before he could react to the soft pad of feet, Macro had clamped a hand over the guard's mouth. He yanked the guard's head back and rammed his sword through the black cape, the tip angled up under the Briton's ribcage into his heart. The guard jerked and thrashed a moment, powerless in the centurion's tight grip. The movements quickly became feeble, and then stopped. Macro held him a moment longer to make certain, and then quietly lifted the body round the corner of the cabin and laid it down against the wall of the hut.

  The voice from inside the hut called out.

  'We'd better put a stop to that,' whispered Macro. 'Before someone hears.'

  Leading the way, Macro hurried to the bar locking the cabin door, slid it out and tossed it to the ground. With a powerful heave he pushed the Sturdy wooden door inwards.

  The light from outside felFon the blinking face of another black-caped man. He had rais.d himself on one arm and now scrambled for the sword lying beside him. Macro lunged forward, smothering the Bffton with his body, and smashed the pommel of his sword into the side of the man's head. With a grunt the Briton went limp, knocked cold by the blow.

  'Sir!' Cato called out, but before Macro could respond to the warning, a figure charged out of the gloom at the end of the cabin, spear held ready to. thrust into Macro's naked side. There was a sharp crack as Cato smashed his sword down on the shaft of the spear and the leaf-shaped blade bit into the hard-packed earth a few inches from Macro's heaving chest. As the Briton's momentum carried him forwards, Cato flicked his blade round and the man tumbled throat first onto the point. The blade penetrated his brain and the Briton died instantly.

  'Shit! That was close!' Macro blinked at the spear embedded in the ground close to his chest. 'Thanks, lad!'

  Cato nodded as he worked his sword free of the second man's skull. With a soft crunch the blade came out, stained with blood. Despite all the death he had seen in the brief time he had served with the eagles, Cato winced. He had killed before, in battle, but that was instinctive, and there was no time to reflect on the matter. Unlike now.

  'Is there anyone here?' Macro called out, straining his eyes into the gloom of the cabin. There was no reply. One end was piled with split logs. At the other some indistinct shapes lay huddled on the ground around the pitcher and what was left of the loaves Macro had seen enter the cabin a while earlier.

  'My lady?' Cato called out. 'Lady Pomponia?'

  There was no movement, no sound, no sign of life in the cabin. Cato hefted his sword and slowly approached, a sick feeling of despair welling up in his guts. They were too late.

  With the point of his sword he lifted the top layer of rags and swept them to one side. Underneath lay a pile of wool capes and fur skins. Bedding, not bodies. Cato frowned for a moment, then nodded.

  'It's a trap,' he said.

  'Eh?'

  'The general's family were never here, sir. The Druids must have guessed we'd attempt a rescue, and wanted to divert us from where they're really keeping the prisoners.

  So they spread a rumour that the captives were being held in this village. Prasutagus got word of it, and here we are. They set us up.'

  'And we fell for it,' Macro replied, the instant relief he had felt at not finding bodies now turned just as quickly to an icy dread. 'We have to get out of here.'

  'What about the others?'

  'We can signal them when we get back to the hummock.'

  'And if the Durotriges discover the bodies of their men before we can show the signal?'

  'Then that's too bad.'

  Macro pushed Cato out of the cabin, shut the door and hurriedly replaced the locling bar. Keeping low, they ran round the back of the hut and sJithered down the bank to the river. Cato retrieved his wine'skin float from the reeds at the water's edge and waded ia, gritting his teeth as the freezing water rose up his bare ch.st. Then he was kicking out, desperately trying to keep up with his centurion
. The return crossing seemed to take longer. Cato listened for the first shouts indicating that the. enemy had discovered the bodies, but mercifully the cheering from the village gate continued unabated and at last, numb with cold, he waded after Macro into the reeds on the far bank.

  Moments later they were s.itting by their equipment and clothing, each with their heavy wool cloaks clenched tightly about their shivering bodies. Macro turned towards the village where Prasutagus and his latest challenger were locked in an awkward stumbling hold. To one side, halfway up the rampart, stood Boudica.

  'She's there. Make the signal,' Macro ordered. 'Quick as you can.'

  Cato grabbed the holly bough and held it upright in the soft ground just below the top of the hummock. 'Has she seen it, sir?'

  'I don't know… No. Oh shit.'

  'What's happening, sir?'

  'Someone's come back into the compound.'

  As Macro watched, the black-cloaked figure passed the cabin without a glance and strode down the line of practise posts before turning into one of the smaller huts and disappearing from sight. Macro breathed deeply with relief, then turned his gaze back to the village gate. Boudica remained still, as if she was watching the fight. When Prasutagus brought his foe crashing to the ground, Boudica still did not react. Then suddenly she raised her hand to her hood and lifted it.

  'She's seen it! Get that thing down now!'

  Cato quickly lowered the branch and wriggled up to join his centurion. By the gates Prasutagus stood erect, his magnificent arrogance evident even at this distance. The villagers were clamouring for another challenger. When Boudica stepped up to Prasutagus's side and held out his tunic and cloak, the crowd's roar became angry. The warrior chief, black feathers adorning his helmet, confronted Prasutagus. The Icenian shook his head and held out his hand for the purse owed him for defeating his opponents.