The Eagle and the Wolves

'Can you blame them?' Cato replied. 'They're not stupid. They know we don't have much hope.'

The young centurion realised that he was trembling in the cool dawn air and remembered that he had not eaten since the previous dawn, nor had he rested properly for days. He crossed his arms and rubbed his shoulders.

Macro eyed him curiously. 'Afraid?'

For a moment Cato thought about denying it, then realised he would not fool Macro, and simply nodded.

Macro smiled wearily. 'Me too.'

Once the mutual admission had been made there was an awkward silence before Cato spoke again.

'You know, it's possible that the tribune might get help to us in time.'

'Possible? Only if we can hold out for a few days yet.'

'We might.'

'No,' Macro replied, lowering his voice to make quite sure that he was not overheard by any of his men. 'Once they get over the wall – and they will – then we'll have to fall back on the depot. And once they break into the depot it's all over… Just hope I get a chance to take that bastard Tincommius with me before I'm finished…' Macro's vengeful train of thought was interrupted by a loud rumble from his stomach. '… Which reminds me, I'm hungry. I sent Silva to the depot to draw some rations. Should have been back long ago.'

'I don't think I can eat anything right now.'

'Course you can. You'd better,' Macro said seriously. 'Make sure the men see you eat. You let them know how nervous you really are and they'll lose what little heart they have left for this fight. You'll eat your full ration and like it. Understand?'

'What if I'm sick?' The mental image of himself, pale and puking in front of his men filled Cato with dread and shame.

Macro's eyes narrowed. 'The moment you throw up, I'll chuck you over the palisade. I mean it.'

For an instant Cato wondered if his friend was serious, and then the cold, hard expression told him Macro was in deadly earnest. Before Cato could respond, the groaning squeak of a poorly greased axle announced the arrival of Silva and the cart loaded with rations he had fetched from the depot. A pair of stocky mules was harnessed to his cart and Silva steered them towards the legionaries waiting by the gate. Macro licked his lips as he saw several jars of wine and haunches of cured meat in the back of the cart.

'Come on.' Macro nudged Cato. 'Let's eat.'

The two officers joined the legionaries gathering round the cart as Silva hoisted himself up beside the wine jars.

'Easy now, lads. There's plenty for everyone.'

'What about my men?' asked Cato.

'Them?' Silva replied with a trace of disapproval. 'They can take their turn after our boys have finished.'

'They'll have theirs now. Detail some of these men to see to it.'

An expression of distaste flitted across Silva's face before he nodded reluctantly. 'Yes, sir.'

While Silva carried out the order Macro pushed his way through to the cart, and used his dagger to hack off two chunks of cured pork. He tossed one to Cato, and the younger centurion nearly fumbled the catch. Macro laughed, tore off a strip of the meat with his teeth and began to chew.

'Come on, Centurion Cato,' he spluttered. 'Eat up! Might be the last meal you ever eat in this world!'

Cato's stomach still felt tight and twisted, and the prospect of eating the cold meat made the bile rise in his throat. He grimaced, but Macro shot him a warning glance and Cato raised the meat to his lips and bared his teeth.

A distant brass note sounded beyond the ramparts. At once it was taken up by several other war horns. Macro threw his meat down into the churned mud at the rear of the cart, and spat out the half-chewed pork.

'Get to your positions!' he roared. 'They're coming!'

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Thirty-One

'Sir!' Figulus shouted from the watchtower as he saw Macro and Cato rushing up the ramp. 'Enemy's on the move!'

'Keep an eye on them!'

As they reached the palisade Cato put on his helmet and tied the straps. Macro glanced over the approaches to the main gate, straining to pick out the details in the rapidly thinning mist.

'Figulus! What are they up to?'

'Looks like a frontal attack on the gate, sir.'

Cato rubbed his tired eyes as the enemy began to appear. The Durotrigans were advancing behind a long line of crude wicker screens that rippled forward over the flattened grass. Looking round, Cato could not see any sign of movement towards any other section of the town wall.

'Shall I get some of the Wolves to reinforce the gate?'

Macro's gaze followed the route Cato's had just taken and he scratched the stubble on his chin, making a faint rasping noise under his dirty nails. He shook his head. 'We're too thinly spread as it is. I'll have to make do with our lads here. You get back to your standard.'

'Can't I fight here?'

'No.'

Cato thought about protesting, and then nodded. Macro was right. One more Roman on the gate was not going to make much of a difference. He should stay with the natives and keep them ready for any new surprises the Durotrigans might have planned for them. But he couldn't help wanting to fight, and maybe die, alongside the men of his Second Legion. Cato smiled to himself as he realised that the legion was the nearest thing he had to a family in this world, and the thought of being separated from them when the end came was unbearable. Now, other men looked to him and he saw the Celtic warriors of the Wolf Cohort clustered around Mandrax and his standard, watching their centurion in the distance.

'See you later, Macro,' Cato muttered.

Macro nodded, without turning his gaze from the approaching enemy, and Cato strode back along the rampart towards his men. He had a headache and the throbbing in his head was so painful that he was sure that he would throw up, and worse, he realised he had a terrible thirst and cursed himself for not taking a canteen of water from Silva's supply wagon before heading up on to the rampart. His tongue felt thick and rough and the sensation made the nausea unbearable. Cato bit down on his lip and forced himself to try to think of something else. Anything.

'Macro!' a voice cried out, and Cato stopped to look back towards the gate. The Durotrigans had stopped just beyond javelin range, and a small gap had opened in the centre of the line. Tincommius stepped forward cautiously, both hands cupped to his mouth as he called on Macro again.

'What do you want?' the centurion shouted back. 'Come to surrender?'

Cato smiled at Macro's defiant tone. Tincommius lowered his head for a moment, and even at this distance Cato could read the disappointment in the man's posture.

The Atrebatan prince looked up and called out in Latin, 'You can't hold out much longer, and you know it. I'm afraid I have even more bad news for you. Caratacus is coming in person to seize Calleva. We've had word that he'll be here in two days, with his whole army. Then Calleva must fall.'

'So why the hurry to take us now? Scared you'll miss out on the glory? Or is it just that you need something to present to your new master?'

Tincommius shook his head. 'Don't be a fool, Centurion. You, your men and those of my people still foolish enough to stand by you are all going to die… unless you surrender the town to me.'

'You want the town? Come and get it, you wanker!' Macro cupped his hands and blew a loud raspberry to make sure the Durotrigans and the Atrebatan traitors got the point. The legionaries inside the gate cheered the centurion.

Tincommius listened a moment, then waved a hand dismissively as he stepped back behind the wicker screens. The gap closed, an order was shouted and the line moved forward towards the gate.

Cato turned away from the gate and hurried back to the Wolf standard.

'What did the traitor want, sir?' asked Mandrax.

'Told us to surrender. He'll let the Romans leave unharmed if we let him have Calleva.'

'What did Centurion Macro say?'

'You heard him.' Cato blew a loud raspberry and the men around him roared with laughter. One even went as far as slapping the young centurion on the back. Cato indulged their mood for a moment before he gave his orders. He took a quick glance at the small knots of men dispersed along the ramparts and made a quick calculation.