The Eagles Prey

Cato stared at him, and nodded dumbly. Tullius looked down the track and shook his head in wonder. 'Looks like they'll be having another go any moment now. You'd better get your men ready.'

'Yes, sir.' Cato saluted and glanced along the palisade towards the thin line of men that stretched out towards the redoubt where he could see Macro smiling as he did the rounds of his men, giving them a slap of encouragement on the shoulder as he passed by. He caught sight of Cato and flashed him a brief thumbs-up. Cato nodded, and turned his mind to his immediate duty. He saw a number of legionaries sprawled along the line of the palisade. They would be a hazard to have underfoot when the next attack came.

'Get those bodies off the rampart!'

There was no sense of ceremony as his men heaved their comrades' corpses down the slope, limbs flopping loosely as they tumbled. As soon as the task was complete Cato ordered them to stand to and his men faced the enemy, swords drawn. As he walked down the line Cato was pleased to see that there was no sign of fear in their expressions, just the resigned determination of seasoned veterans. They would hold their position and fight until they were cut down, or the enemy gave way. Cato was pleased by their composure, but the pleasure was tinged with regret. If only Vespasian and General Plautius could see them now. The shame of decimation was behind them, and they would sell their lives like heroes. Unless the legate arrived in time the only witnesses to their valour would be the enemy. And the native warriors were so insanely intent on obliterating the cohort that they would be insensible to the courage of the Romans. Cato smiled to himself. It was a strange thing, this life in the legions. Two years he had served under the Eagles, and yet each battle always felt like the first and last. He wondered if he would ever become accustomed to the peculiar intensity of sensation that went with every battle.

'Man approaching!'

The voice was distant, and Cato could not place the direction at first. Then, as he saw heads turn to glance back behind the wall, he followed suit and saw the lookout Macro had posted waving his arm to attract attention and then point back towards the column of smoke that marked the site of the fort. No one moved. One man represented no threat, just a source of curiosity, and they waited for further information about the approaching figure.

The lookout turned his back to them for a while and then called out, 'One of ours!'

An icy tingle of dread rippled up Cato's spine. Supposing it was Maximius? Or Felix? Their arrival would result in his death just as surely as an enemy sword-thrust. Then he angrily told himself that such a fear was wholly baseless. He already knew who that man must be, long before he ran over the brow of the hill and staggered down towards the rampart.

'Sir!' the lookout shouted towards the defenders.'It's Nepos.' Tullius turned to seek Cato out. 'Centurion Cato, come with me.'

They climbed down and marched towards Nepos as the legionary covered the last stretch of the slope leading down from the hill.

Tullius drew up in front of him. 'Make your report! What happened at the fort?'

Nepos struggled for breath and, licking his lips, he glanced quickly at Cato.

'Tell him what happened,' said Cato.

'The villagers, sir, they ransacked the place… set it on fire… I left the tent to see… to see what was happening. They saw me; gave chase… I tried to get back to the headquarters tent… but some of 'em had got there before me.'

Tullius shot a horrified look at Cato before turning back to the legionary. 'And Maximius? Felix?'

Nepos lowered his head, struggling for breath.

'What happened?' Tullius grabbed his arm. 'Tell me!'

'They're dead, sir. Nothing I could do to save them. The villagers went after me. I had to run…'

The man was spent and had nothing further to add. Tullius released his grip and stared back towards the diffused column of smoke hanging over the valley.

'Poor bastards.'

'Yes, sir.' Cato nodded. 'But how could we know the villagers would attack the fort?'

'We should never have left them there.'

'Sir, we weren't to know. And we had to deal with the threat from Caratacus.' Cato spoke calmly, and with direct emphasis. 'No one is to blame. Fortunes of war. Nothing we can do about it now, sir.'

Centurion Tullius looked at him, and was silent for a moment. 'No. Nothing.'

'And now, sir,' Cato continued,'the enemy's building up for another attack. We should get back on the wall. Nepos?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Take some equipment from one of the casualties, then join me on the rampart.'

'Yes, sir.'

Tullius watched the man trot across to one of the bodies and help himself to a sword, helmet and shield. 'I hope he's telling the truth.'

'Of course he is, sir. After what Maximius has been doing to the locals recently, I'd be surprised if they didn't take the chance to get their revenge at the first opportunity. Wouldn't you? Wouldn't anyone else?'

Tullius turned to look at Cato, fixing him with a searching stare. 'There's nothing you want to tell me?'

Cato raised his eyebrows.'I'm afraid I don't understand, sir.'

'What did you-'

Before Centurion Tullius could ask his question there was a cry from the palisade.

'Enemy's on the move!'

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER FORTY

This time the enemy was more cautious. Caratacus had managed to rein his warriors in, and the head of the column approaching along the narrow track was composed of men carrying shields. Instead of the usual Celtic rush, the enemy advanced slowly, struggling to keep in the unfamiliar formation as a number of them held shields overhead. It was crudely handled but clearly based on the model they had deployed when Caratacus had forced the crossing of the Tamesis. If barbarians continued picking up more tricks of the trade from the legions, Cato reflected, Rome was going to have its hands full in a few more years.

Septimus gave his centurion a wry look.'Much more of this and we might as well sign them on as an auxiliary cohort.'

'Give me an ally rather than an enemy every time,' Cato muttered. He glanced beyond the approaching shield wall and saw Caratacus directing the operation from further down the track, well out of javelin and slingshot range. The enemy leader stood on his chariot, while an attendant was busy tying a rough dressing around his shoulder. When the front rank of the enemy column was no more than fifty paces from the Roman defences Caratacus cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted an order for them to halt. The warriors shuffled to a stop, adjusted their line, and began to spread out each side of the track, to the very fringes of the marsh. When the line was ready the men holding the upper tier of shields moved forward, into position, and then all fell still. Caratacus turned to a compact group of men standing beside his chariot and waved them up the track. Cato saw that they carried no swords or shields,just heavy haversacks hanging across their chests, and something that flickered like thin snakes drooping from their hands.

'Slingers…' He drew a deep breath and called a warning out to his men. 'Prepare to receive slingshot! Shields up.'

All along the palisade the men lifted the rims of their shields and hunched down behind them as they braced for the fusillade of missiles that were far more deadly than arrows, and the supply of which would take a lot longer to exhaust than javelins. Cato, poised to duck down as soon as the enemy loosed the first volley, kept watch over his shield. The slingers ran down to the shield wall, then spread out to give themselves room to swing the leather cords that stretched out to the pouches containing the shot. A low whirring began to build up as the first slingers prepared to unleash their missiles.

'Here it comes!' Septimus bellowed. 'Heads down!'