When the Eagle Hunts

'Don't know. Don't really care. But I expect you'll tell me anyway.'

'Glad to oblige, Centurion. Long before the first Roman legionary ever shows his face in the more uncivilised corners of this world, some Greek trader like me has been travelling and trading with the natives. We learn their languages and their ways, and introduce them to the goods of the empire. More often than not they're pathetically keen to get their hands on the accessories of civilisation. Things we take for granted they treat as status objects. They develop a taste for it. We feed the taste, until they become dependent on it. By the time you turned up these barbarians were already part of the imperial economy. A few more generations and they'd have begged you to let them become a province.'

'Bollocks! Utter bollocks,' Macro replied, jabbing his finger at the Greek, and the other centurions nodded. 'Expanding the empire depends on the sword, and having the guts to wield it. You people just peddle tat to these ignorant fools for your own profit. That's all there is to it.'

'Of course we do it for profit. Why else would one risk the dangers and privations of such a life?' Diomedes smiled in an attempt to lighten the tone of the discussion. 'I merely wished to point out the benefits to Rome of our dealings with these natives. If, in some small way, my kind has helped smooth the path for the all-conquering legions of Rome then we are gratified beyond all measure. I apologise if this modest ambition in any way offends you, Centurion. I did not intend it to.'

Macro nodded. 'All right then. Apology accepted.'

Diomedes beamed. 'And if you should change your mind about the torc…'

'Greek, if you mention it again, I swear I'll -'

'Centurion Macro!' the senior centurion, Hortensius, called out.

Macro instantly turned away from Diomedes and stiffened to attention. 'Sir?'

'Cut the chatter and get your men formed up. Same for the rest of you – we're moving on.'

While the centurions hurried back to their units, bawling out their orders, the villagers quickly loaded the salted beef into the back of one of the supply wagons. As soon as the column was formed up, Hortensius waved the cavalry scouts on ahead and then gave the order for the infantry to advance. The haunted faces of the Atrebate villagers were eloquent testimony to their dread of being left undefended once again, and the headman begged Diomedes to persuade the cohort to stay. The Greek had his orders and politely but firmly made his apologies and hurried after Hortensius. As the Sixth Century, on rearguard duty behind the last of the wagons, marched out of the village gate, Cato felt ashamed to be deserting them while the Druids and their Durotrigan henchmen were still raiding along the frontier.

'Sir?'

'Yes, Cato.'

'There must be something we can do for these people.'

Macro shook his head. 'Nothing. Why do you ask? What would you have us do?'

'Leave some men. Leave one of the centuries behind to guard them.'

'One less century makes the cohort that much weaker. And where would you stop? We can't leave a century in every village we pass through. There's not enough of us.'

'Well, weapons then,' Cato suggested. 'We could leave them some of our spare weapons in the wagons.'

'No we couldn't, lad. We might need them. In any case, they're not trained to use them. It'd be a waste. Now then, let's hear no more about it. We've a long march ahead of us today. Save your breath for that.'

'Yes, sir,' Cato replied quietly, his eyes avoiding the accusing glare of villagers standing beside the village gate.

For the remainder of the day the Fourth Cohort trudged along the muddy track leading south to the sea and a small trading settlement which nestled beside one of the channels leading into a large natural harbour. Diomedes knew the settlement well – he had helped to build it when he had first landed in Britain many years earlier. Now it was his home. Noviomagus, as it had come to be known, had grown rapidly and acquired a happy mixture of traders, their agents and their families. The incomers and their native neighbours had lived side by side in relative harmony over the years, according to Diomedes. But now the Durotriges were raiding their land, and the Atrebates blamed the foreigners for provoking the Druids of the Dark Moon and their followers. Diomedes had many friends, and his family, at Noviomagus, and was concerned for their safety.

As the cohort marched, the dull sun struggled across the leaden grey sky in a low arc. As the gloom of the day's end began to thicken about the cohort, a sudden shout came from the head of the column. The men looked up from the track where they had been fixing their gaze, as tiredness and the weight of their marching packs bent their backs. A handful of cavalry scouts galloped down the track from the brow of a hill. Centurion Hortensius's voice carried clearly to the rear of the column as he gave the order for the cohort to halt.

'There's trouble,' said Macro quietly as he watched the scouts make their report to Hortensius. The cohort commander nodded and then sent the scouts forward again. He turned to the column, cupping a hand to his mouth.

'Officers to the front!'

Cato shifted the yoke from his shoulder and laid it beside the track and trotted after Macro, feeling a thrill of anticipation race up his spine.

As soon as all his centurions and optios were present Hortensius quickly outlined the situation.

'Noviomagus has been attacked. What's left of it is just over that hill.' He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 'The scouts say they can't see any movement, so it looks like there're no survivors.'

Cato glanced at Diomedes, standing aside from the Roman officers, and saw the Greek guide staring at his feet, a deep frown on his forehead. His jaw suddenly clenched tightly and Cato realised the man was close to tears. With a mixture of compassion and embarrassment at witnessing the private grief of another, he turned his eyes back to Hortensius as the cohort commander gave his orders.

'The cohort will form a line just below the crest of the hill, we'll advance over the crest and down the far slope towards the settlement. I'll give the order to halt a short distance from Noviomagus and then the Sixth Century will enter the settlement.' He turned towards Macro. 'Just give it a once-over and then make your report.'

'Yes, sir.'

'It'll be dark soon, lads. We haven't time to construct a marching camp so we'll have to repair the settlement's defences as best we can, and camp there for the night. Right then, let's get to it.'

The officers returned to their centuries and called their men to attention. Once the lines of men were formally dressed, Hortensius bellowed out the command to form line. The First Century faced right, then smoothly pivoted round to form a line two men deep. The following centuries followed suit and extended the line to the left. Macro's century was the last to move into position and he called a halt as soon as his right flank marker came abreast of the Fifth Century. The cohort was held still for a moment to steady the men, and then the order was given to advance. The double ranks rippled up the gentle slope and over the crest. Before them in the distance stretched the sea, grey and unsettled. Closer in was a large natural harbour, from which a wide channel led inland to where the settlement had stood. The surface of the channel was made choppy by a chilly breeze. There were no ships at anchor, and only a handful of small craft were drawn up on the shore. Every man was tense in anticipation of what the far side of the hill would reveal and as the ground started to slope down, the remains of Noviomagus came into sight.

The raiders had been as thorough in their destruction as time had allowed. Only the stark blackened lines of the surviving timber frames showed where the huts and houses of the settlement had stood. Around them lay the charred remnants of the walls and thatched roofs. Much of the surrounding palisade had been torn up and hurled into the ditch below. The lack of any smoke indicated that some days had passed since the Durotriges had razed the place to the ground. Nothing moved amongst the ruins, not even an animal. The silence was broken only by the raw cries of ravens nesting in a nearby copse. On either flank of the cohort the cavalry scouts fanned out, searching for any sign of the enemy.