The Eagles Prey

'Officers to the front!'

Cato ran forward, his harness jingling loudly as he passed by the silent ranks of each century. He joined the other officers breathing heavily and mopped the perspiration from his brow.

'Something's wrong,' muttered Felix.

Maximius slowly turned towards him. 'Really? Do you think so?'

Felix looked surprised. 'Well, yes, sir. That or they have the worst sentries I've ever encountered. In which case someone's in for a roasting.'

Maximius nodded. 'Well, thank you for your concise appraisal of the situation. Most instructive… you idiot! Of course something's wrong.'

Felix began to stammer something, and then shut his mouth and gazed down at his boots as he scraped one foot across the loose soil. The other centurions turned their gaze on the fort and silently watched the scouts ride up towards the entrance. One of the gates began to swing open slowly.

'Sir!'

'I see it, Antonius.'

A dark shape flitted out of the shadows under the gatehouse into the sunlight. A large dog, one of the hunting beasts the Batavians insisted on taking with them on campaign. It glanced quickly at the approaching horsemen and then turned and bolted down the slope in the opposite direction. For a moment the officers watched it run, sleek back bobbing up and down as it disappeared round the flank of the hill.

'Sir, what's that?' asked Cato, and raised an arm to point at the gatehouse.

The gate had continued to inch open and was now swinging out from the shadows. Something had been fixed to the inside of the gate.

'Oh, shit,' Centurion Felix whispered.

No one replied. They could see it clearly now and for a moment no one spoke. It was the body of a man, nailed to the timbers with a spike through both his palms. He was stripped and had been disembowelled, and his guts hung down over his legs, red and grey and glistening.

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER EIGHT

Centurion Maximius swung round. 'Cohort! Form up. Close order!'

As the men shuffled together and raised their shields Maximius ordered his centurions to rejoin their units. Up by the fort the scouts had spread out across the track and the decurion took three of his men and slowly approached the gate. They paused by the corpse for a moment and had disappeared inside by the time Cato ran up to Figulus at the head of the Sixth Century.

'What's happening, sir?'

'You've got eyes, Optio,' Cato snapped back at him. 'See for yourself.'

While Figulus shaded his brow with his hand and squinted towards the gateway, Cato became aware of several muted exchanges from the men behind him. He shot an angry look over his shoulder.

'Shut your mouths!'

Cato saw one man mutter something to his neighbour and turned round and strode over to him, pointing.

'You! Yes, you! You're on a charge. What's your name?'

'Titus Velius, sir!'

'What the fuck are you doing, talking after I've told you to be silent?' Cato stopped in front of him and leaned forward, glaring into the legionary's face. Velius was a little shorter than Cato, several years older and much more heavily built. He stared over the shoulder of his centurion, expressionless.

'Well?'

'Just saying we're in trouble, sir.' He met Cato's eyes briefly. 'That's all.' Then his gaze reverted to a fixed forward stare.

Cato's nostrils flared as he exhaled angrily. 'Optio!'

'Sir?' Figulus trotted over towards him.

'Put Velius on a charge. Ten days' latrines.'

'Yes, sir.'

Cato stepped back and looked round at his men. 'Next loudmouth I catch speaking out of turn pulls twenty days in the shit!'

He turned away and scanned the fort once again. The gate had fetched up against the wall of the gatehouse and the man hung motionless. There was no sign of any life beyond the gate and only the slowly wheeling crows broke the awful stillness that hung over the silent ramparts. Cato scanned the surrounding landscape, but not a soul moved in any direction. No enemies, no auxiliary troops and none of the local natives.

At length the decurion of the scouts emerged from the shadows of the gatehouse and trotted his horse down towards Centurion Maximius, who had advanced a short distance in front of his cohort, impatient to discover what had happened to the garrison of the fort.

'Well?'

The decurion looked badly shaken. 'They're all dead, sir.'

'All? The entire unit?'

'I suppose so, sir. Didn't count 'em but there must be over a hundred bodies in there. Most don't look like they died quickly.'

Maximius looked towards the fort for a moment before he gave his orders to the decurion. 'Take your men. Find the tracks of whoever did this. Find out where they went and report back to me at once.'

The decurion saluted, wheeled his horse about and trotted back towards his men, ordering them to form up. Maximius marched steadily towards the gate and entered the fort.

Once the scouts had galloped off to the north, on the trail of the enemy, the men of the cohort waited quietly in the baking sunshine, watching anxiously for the cohort commander to reappear. A long time passed, maybe a quarter of an hour, by Cato's estimate, and at length he slapped his thigh in frustration.

'Think something's happened to him, sir?' Figulus asked quietly.

'I hope not. But he'd better get out of there soon. We can't afford to be delayed. He's got his orders.'

'Shouldn't someone go and check on him?'

Cato looked along the column, picking out the other centurions. Macro was looking his way and raised his hands in a gesture of frustration.

'You're right,' Cato replied. 'Someone has to find him. Stay here.'

Cato trotted forward. Felix and Antonius eyed him with surprised expressions as he passed by. He stopped when he reached Macro.

'Taking his bloody time!' Macro grumbled.

'I know. We have to get moving.'

'We need the trenching tools from the fort.'

'Then we should be getting them and moving on to the ford. Someone has to go up there…'

While Macro scratched his chin and considered the situation, they were joined by Centurion Tullius, an anxious expression on his weathered features.

'What do you think we should do?'

Macro looked at Tullius in surprise. As the senior officer present Tullius should be making decisions, not asking for advice, or worse still, opinions. The old centurion looked hopefully at the other two officers, waiting for them to say something.

'Someone has to go up there,' Cato said, at length.

'He told us to stay with our centuries.'

'Look,' said Macro, 'we can't fuck about here all day. We've got to get to that ford. Someone has to fetch Maximius. Right now.'

'Yes. But who?'

'Who cares?' Macro replied. 'You go.'

'Me?' Tullius looked frightened by the idea. He shook his head. 'No. I'd better stay with the cohort. If it's a trap I'll be needed here. You go, Cato. You'd better double up there right away.'

Cato didn't wait to show an expression of distaste, but turned towards the fort and began to run up the slope. Almost at once a figure emerged from the gate and Maximius came striding down the track. He saw the gathering of centurions at once and started towards them angrily. The three centurions steeled themselves for his wrath.

'What the hell is this? Who told you to leave your units?'

'Sir,' Cato protested, 'we were concerned for your safety.'

'And we're running behind schedule,' added Macro. 'We should be heading for the ford by now, sir.'