The Eagles Prey

Metellus shouted from the direction of the pen,'They're on to us! Let's go lads, this way!'

As Cato ran in the opposite direction, weaving between the huts, he heard the cries of Metellus and his men become more distant and then drowned out by the shouts of the warriors who hunted them down. The narrow ways that twisted between the huts soon disorientated Cato and he had to stop a moment to try to get his bearings, while Figulus and the others glanced round anxiously.

'Where's Lucius?' someone whispered. 'And Severus? They were behind me just now.'

A figure rose up and took a pace back the way they had come.

'Stay where you are!' Cato hissed.'They'll have to take their own chances now. Like Metellus and the others.'

'But, sir-'

'Quiet man!' Cato glanced round at the huts, then up at the pattern of stars in the night sky. 'It's this way… I think.'

'You think?' one of the men muttered.

Cato felt a wave of rage well up inside him. 'Shut up. This way, then. Let's go.'

Shortly afterwards they were through the last of the huts and racing down a low bank towards the edge of the water. The stars shone brilliantly in the night sky and their reflections shimmered off the oily smooth surface of the water that surrounded the camp.

Figulus grasped his arm. 'Over there!'

Cato followed the direction the optio indicated and saw the dark shapes of small boats drawn up on the shore fifty paces away.

'That'll do us. Come on.'

They ran down along the edge of the water until they came to the boats, over a dozen of them. From one came the unmistakable sounds of lovemaking, and Figulus looked towards Cato and drew a finger across his throat. Cato shook his head. There'd already been enough killing and it seemed abhorrent to slaughter a pair of lovers into the bargain. As it was, the moans and groans and cries of passion were sufficiently loud to cover any sounds made by Cato and his men as they eased two of the craft into the water and pushed them out until the cold water reached their thighs.

'Optio,' Cato whispered.

'Sir?'

'Take that man. Get away from here any way you can. Then go north. Find Vespasian and tell him where this camp is, and tell him that Caratacus is about to move against the Third Cohort.'

'What about you, sir?'

'I'm going to warn Maximius.'

Figulus shook his head wearily. 'It's your funeral.'

'Maybe. But there's far more lives at stake than his. Just make sure you find Vespasian. If he's quick he might just save the Third Cohort, and force Caratacus to fight.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then go.' Cato reached out his hand and the two men exchanged a forearm grasp. 'Good luck, Optio.'

'You too, sir. I'll see you back at the legion.'

'Yes… go.'

There was a good deal of splashing as the Romans clambered aboard the two boats. A dark shape rose from one of the craft on the river bank and a string of foul Celtic oaths followed them into the darkness as the four men paddled away. Once they had put some distance between them and the island camp Cato glanced back over his shoulder. There was a faint glimmer that silhouetted the roofs of some of the huts, and the wavering spark of torches being carried amongst the huts. But no sign of pursuit.

'We did it, sir!' the legionary with Cato laughed. 'We escaped from those bastards.'

Cato strained his eyes. 'It's Nepos, isn't it?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, Nepos, we're not out of trouble yet. So do me the favour of keeping your damn mouth shut, and paddle for all for you're worth.'

'Yes, sir.'

Cato took one last look back, and wondered briefly if Metellus had found a way out. Of all the condemned men who had escaped with him, only a handful now remained. And on their shoulders rested the lives of hundreds of comrades, who were completely unaware of the attack that Caratacus was about to unleash on them.

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

' Are you sure about this, sir?' Nepos muttered as they crouched down in some long grass scarcely a hundred paces from the main gate of the fort. The ramparts loomed grey and forbidding in the thin mist of dawn. The brooding, menacing atmosphere in the valley had been present the moment the two men had emerged from the track leading through the marsh and seen the stakes lining the route ahead, each one bearing an impaled head. Nepos looked round at the centurion.

'Sir, if we go in there and give ourselves up, we're dead men. Might as well save them the bother of clubbing us and just bash our brains out on the nearest rock.'

'They have to be warned,' Cato replied firmly.

'Can't we just shout the details out to them, then bugger off sharpish?'

'No. Now shut up.'

Cato took a deep breath and then rose to his feet. Cupping his hands to his mouth he faced the gate and shouted the warning given to sentries by returning patrols.

'Approaching the fort!'

There was a moment's silence and then came the response. 'Advance and give the password!'

Cato looked down at Nepos. 'Right then, let's go.'

The legionary reluctantly stood up beside his superior, then Cato advanced slowly towards the gate. He could already hear the sentry shouting for the duty officer, and could imagine the duty century being roused from their slumber by rough kicks from the centurion and optio. They would scramble into their armour, snatch up their weapons and rush up on to the ramparts under a barrage of abuse from their officers. As the two filthy, bearded fugitives walked steadily out of the mist, through the dew-drenched grass, helmeted heads began to appear along the wall. Javelins wavered above them like tall rushes in a light breeze.

'Shit…' Nepos whispered. 'This was a bad idea. We're dead.'

'Shut up!' Cato snarled. 'Not one more word.'

They stopped just before they reached the defence ditch, which stretched out along the ramparts either side of the gate.

'Who the hell are you?' a voice called down from the gatehouse.

Cato drew a breath before he replied, struggling to sound as authoritative as possible.'Centurion Cato, legionary Nepos, of the Sixth Century, Third Cohort, Second Legion.'

Cato could see heads craning over the wooden rail of the palisade for a better look. Excited muttering rippled down the length of the wall.

'Silence there!' a voice roared out, and Cato saw the transverse crest of a centurion's helmet appear above the gate. The face was indistinct in the dim light but the voice was unmistakable. As soon as the men had fallen silent Tullius looked down on the wretched figures standing outside the fort, then fixed his gaze on the taller and thinner man. For a moment neither officer spoke and Cato was consumed by a sudden terrible doubt and wondered if it had been a foolish mistake to have presented himself before the fort. Perhaps Nepos had been right. They should have stood off, shouted the warning, and then fled for safety. The dread was over in a moment, as Cato reminded himself that his only future lay with the army, whatever the outcome.

'Centurion,' Tullius called out,'what the hell are you doing here?'

The formality of his tone was not lost on Cato and he knew that Tullius was trying to give him one last chance to run.

'I have to speak to Maximius. At once.'

Tullius stared at him a moment, then shrugged before he turned away to give his orders to the men waiting below by the gate. 'Open her up. Optio of the watch! Send a squad out to arrest those men.'

With a deep groan from the hinges the gates swung inwards and at once eight men with drawn swords doubled out and surrounded Cato and Nepos. There was no hiding the surprise in their expressions as they beheld the two fugitives. Surprise, and distaste, Cato realised, and he was suddenly very conscious of their filthy and ragged appearance and felt ashamed. Even so, he drew himself up and, with as much dignity as he could scrape together, he marched in through the gate, flanked by his guards. Out of one prison and straight into another, he mused bitterly, and could not suppress a rueful grin.