The Eagle and the Wolves

'Sir! It's the king!' The surgeon had to shout to be heard above the din. 'He's regained consciousness.'

'When?'

'Just now.'

'How is he?'

'Groggy, but lucid enough. Cadminius told him about our situation. He wants to see you. Both of you.'

Macro shook his head. 'Tell him we're a little busy.'

'No!' Cato interrupted, with an excited expression. 'Can Verica be moved?'

'I suppose so, if it's really necessary. Can't make his condition any worse, I'd say.'

'Good!' Cato slapped the surgeon on the arm. 'Then get him up here. Right away.'

The surgeon shook his head. 'I don't know about that.'

'All right, I'll make it simple.' Cato drew his sword and raised the tip under the surgeon's chin. 'I order you to bring him here immediately. That good enough?'

'Er, yes, sir.'

'Off you go then.'

As the surgeon ran off to fetch his patient Macro laughed. 'That was all centurion. You're coming on nicely, Cato.'

Cato was looking back down the street. Tincommius was surrounded by his men and he was arguing furiously, arms waving to emphasise his point. But they would not be moved by his pleas and shouted their protest back in an equally emphatic manner. To the side kneeled Figulus, silently watching the confrontation and not daring to move for fear of drawing attention to himself. Behind him stood the man with the club, waiting for a decision to be made.

'With any luck,' said Macro, 'they'll start laying into each other any moment now.'

'I doubt it,' Cato replied. He had seen Tincommius at work and knew that the prince was more than capable of turning things round. They had already underestimated him once. It would not pay to do so again. Cato looked behind him. 'Where's that bloody surgeon?'

As they waited for Verica to be fetched the smooth-talking Tincommius began to wear his men down. He was doing nearly all the talking while most of them hung their heads and listened to the haranguing and rhetorical appeals in silence.

'Here he comes,' said Macro, and Cato turned to see the surgeon emerging from the great hall, closely followed by a stretcher with a bodyguard at each corner. Walking beside the stretcher was Cadminius, anxiously looking down at the pale face resting on a soft cushion.

'Hurry!' Cato shouted. 'Up here! Quick as you can.'

The small party trotted across to the gate, trying hard not to jolt the king. When they reached the wall the burly bodyguards heaved the stretcher poles up to the hands of the men on the palisade. While Verica was carried carefully to the wider platform above the gate, Cato glanced back towards the confrontation between Tincommius and his men. The prince had had enough, and pushed his way through them, drawing his sword as he made for Figulus.

'Stop!' Cato cried out in Celtic. 'Stop him!'

Tincommius spared him a brief glance and continued towards the kneeling Roman. But before he could reach Figulus, the man with the club stepped forward and placed himself between the prince and Figulus, shaking his head.

'Out of my way!' Tincommius' cry of rage could be heard above the cheers of the defenders. Cadminius helped his king off the stretcher and gently supported him as Verica took two unsteady paces towards the palisade. As the king came into view the Atrebatan warriors in the street looked up in astonishment.

'Sire, Tincommius told them you were dead,' explained Cato. 'He told them that we had murdered you.'

The old man still looked a little dazed, and winced painfully as he turned his head towards Tincommius. The shouts of the men on the wall of the enclosure died away as they gazed at their king. Then the only sounds remaining were the sobbing and cries of the broken Romans lying in the street. Verica's body trembled.

'Sire?' Cadminius tightened his grip on the king's waist.

'I'm all right… all right.'

Cato leaned closer to him, talking quickly and quietly. 'Sire, you must tell them who attacked you. You must let them know that Tincommius is a traitor.'

'Traitor?' the king repeated with a hurt expression.

'Sire, please. That man's life depends on it.' Cato pointed towards Figulus.

Verica stared at the kneeling Roman, and his nephew for a moment, and then coughed – a terrible racking cough that left him breathless and clutching his head, wincing at the agony. Then he forced himself to stand as straight as possible and called out to his countrymen at the end of the street.

'It was Tincommius… Tincommius who attacked me.'

'It was Artax!' Tincommius screamed. 'It was Artax! I saved the king!'

Verica shook his head sadly.

'He lies!' Tincommius cried out in desperation. 'The king is being forced to lie by those Romans! See them beside him! Making him say this.'

'No!' Verica shouted, his voice cracking with the effort. 'It was you, my nephew! YOU!'

The warriors at the end of the street turned to look at the prince, and he was aware of the doubt and contempt in their faces.

'He lies, I tell you!'

Cato tore his gaze away from the drama and called out to his men. 'Mandrax!'

'Here, Centurion!'

'Pick twenty men, and get ready to fetch those prisoners when the gate opens.'

'What are you up to?' asked Macro. 'What did you say?'

'I'm going to try to get Tincommius if I can. Then return here as fast as possible.'

'You're quite mad,' said Macro, but made no attempt to stop him when Cato climbed down from the gate, snatched up his helmet and shield and turned to the legionaries positioned there. 'When I give the order I want the gate opened as fast as you can.'

His heart was beating fast with the anticipation of renewed action, and all the exhaustion of earlier had disappeared as Cato's senses quickened. As soon as Mandrax and his party were ready, Cato drew a breath and shouted, 'Open the gate!'

The legionaries slipped the restraining bar to one side and dragged the gate back.

'Follow me!' Cato called over his shoulder and ran out into the street. He made towards the men clustered around Tincommius, and resisted the impulse to draw his sword; it was vital that he did not look as if he was about to attack them. Tincommius turned towards the enclosure and thrust his arm out towards Cato.

'Get them!'

'Wolves! Boars!' Cato called out. 'Hold him. Hold Tincommius!'

For a horrible instant, Tincommius' men turned towards Cato and the centurion was sure they would fight, that he had badly misjudged their mood. But they simply stood their ground and watched as Cato and his men quickly covered the short distance from the gate. Tincommius looked round at his men with a terrified expression and then he turned and ran.

'Stop that traitor!' shouted Cato. But it was too late. Tincommius had burst through the ring of men and was sprinting towards the corner, and the safety of his Durotrigan allies. He might have made good his escape, but the man with the club hurled it after the prince and struck him on the back of the knee. The club was deflected between his legs and Tincommius tumbled headlong into the small huddle of the remaining Roman prisoners. With savage cries of rage they fell on him, beating him with their tethered hands. Cato stopped by the ring of men, who stared at him with uncertain expressions as they held their weapons ready. Cato immediately turned to the crippled men lying in the street and snapped out his orders.

'Get the live ones inside the enclosure! Move! The Durotrigans will be here any moment!'

Whatever authority and urgency there was in his tone, it had its effect. The men hurried towards the Romans on the ground, and began dragging them up the street, the need for speed making them ignore the renewed screams from their former prisoners.

Cato swung round to Mandrax. 'Get the rest of the prisoners up! Make sure you don't leave behind whatever's left of Tincommius!'

Mandrax grinned. 'Yes, Centurion.'

Leaving the men to carry out his orders, Cato trotted further down the street, round the corner that led towards Calleva's main gate. Then he stopped. Thirty paces away, and stretching all the way down the street were the Durotrigans, resting quietly between the huts that lined the streets. Hundreds of them. Almost at once there was a cry of alarm and one of the warriors jumped to his feet, pointing towards Cato. Others sprang up, reaching for their weapons.