Which was why he was being so harsh on the men, Cato realised. He was taking out his anger on them, and with that thought he was awash with guilt and self-contempt. There was really no difference between Maximius' bullying of Cato and Cato's taking it out on the men of his century. Maximius – it pained him to admit it – was right. He was sulking, and now eighty good men were suffering the consequences. Unless he grew out of his sensitivity he would be a perpetual burden to his men. Men who must trust him implicitly if they were to overcome the savage ferocity of Caratacus and his horde.
Not long after noon the track curved towards a small hillock. On its crest stood the raw dark earth of a recently erected rampart. A wooden palisade ran along the top of the earthworks with solid timber towers constructed above the two gates and at each corner of the fort. The distant detail of the structure was lost in the shimmering heat, but beyond the hill there was the glint of the Tamesis, looking cool and inviting to the eyes of sweating legionaries. Cato felt that he had not seen a more serene and peaceful view for months, but sight of the river brought the prospect of the coming battle sharply to mind. Soon enough those quiet waters would be stained with men's blood and their corpses would lay strewn about under the harsh glare of the sun.
As the cohort approached, there was no sign of movement behind the rampart, almost as if the sentries had decided to find some shelter from the sun to enjoy an afternoon nap. Above the fort Cato could see tiny black dots slowly swirling: carrion birds of some kind, he decided. Apart from a few solitary swifts darting high and low, they were the only birds in the clear sky. When the cohort was in long arrow range of the fort and there was still no sign of life, Centurion Maximius halted his men and bellowed out an order for the scouts to mount and move ahead to investigate. With a soft thrumming of hoofs the scouts trotted forwards and started up the gentle incline towards the gatehouse.
'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.