When the Eagle Hunts

'Boudica, could you ask her where these bowls came from?'

The two women struggled to converse for a moment before the question was fully understood and an answer given.

'She traded for them with a Greek merchant.'

'Greek?' Cato nudged Macro.

'Eh?'

'Sir, the woman says she got these bowls off a Greek merchant.'

'I heard, so?'

'Was the merchant's name Diomedes?'

The woman nodded and smiled, then spoke quickly to Boudica in the singsong tones of the Celtic tongue.

'She likes Diomedes. Says he's a charmer. Always has a small gift for the women and a quick enough wit to pacify their menfolk afterwards.'

'Beware Greeks bearing gifts,' mumbled Macro. 'That lot'll jump anything that moves, male or female.'

Boudica smiled. 'From my own experience I'd say you Romans are only marginally more discriminating. Must be something they put in all that wine you southern races are so fond of drinking.'

'You complaining?' asked Macro, watching Boudica closely.

'Let's just say it was an education.'

'And you've learned all you need about the men of Rome, I suppose.'

'Something like that.'

Macro's eyes glinted angrily at Boudica, before he returned to his broth and continued eating in silence. An awkward tension filled the air. Cato stirred his broth and brought the conversation back to the less touchy subject of Diomedes.

'When was the last time she saw him?'

'Only two days ago.'

Cato stopped stirring.

'Came through on foot,' Boudica continued. 'Just stayed for a meal and passed straight on, heading west into Durotrigan territory. Doubt he'll find much trade there.'

'He's not after trade,' Cato said quietly. 'Not any more. Did you hear, sir?'

'Of course I heard. This bloody mission is dangerous enough as it is, without that Greek stirring things up. Just hope they find him and kill him quickly, before he causes us any trouble.'

They continued eating in silence, and Cato made no further attempt to keep the conversation going. He pondered the implications of the news about Diomedes. It appeared that killing the Druid prisoners was not enough for the Greek. His thirst for revenge was leading him towards the Dark Moon Druids' heartland. On his own he stood little chance, and he might alert the Durotriges to be on the lookout for strangers. That could only magnify the risk the four of them already faced. Gloomily Cato ate another spoonful of broth, chewing hard at a lump of gristle.

The hospitality of Vellocatus and his wife extended to a silver platter of honeyed cakes when they had eaten their fill of broth. Cato lifted a cake and noticed a geometric pattern on the platter beneath it. He dipped his head to look more closely.

'More of the Greek's trading, I imagine,' said Boudica as she helped herself to a cake. 'Must be making a fine living out of it'

'I bet he is,' said Macro and took a bite of cake. His eyes instantly lit up and he nodded approvingly at their hostess. 'Good!'

She beamed happily and offered him another.

'Don't mind if I do,' said Macro, spilling crumbs down his tunic. 'Come on, Cato! Fill up, lad!'

But Cato was lost in thought, staring fixedly at the silver platter, until it was taken away and returned to the wicker basket. He was certain he had seen it before, and was greatly disturbed to see it again. Here, where it had no reason to be. While the others happily ate the cakes, he had to force himself to chew his. He watched Vellocatus and his wife with a growing sense of unease and anxiety.

'Are you sure they're asleep?' whispered Macro.

Boudica took a last glance at the still forms huddled beneath their furs on the low bier and nodded.

'Right, you'd better let Prasutagus have his say.'

Earlier, the Iceni warrior had quietly asked Boudica to let the others know he wanted a word before they passed into Durotrigan territory the next day. Their host had insisted on broaching a cask of ale and had made enough toasts to ensure his happy inebriation before he staggered over to his wife and fell asleep. Now he breathed with the regular deep rhythm of one who would not wake for many hours yet. Against the occasional rumbling of snores from the shadows, Prasutagus briefed the rest of his party in low, serious tones. He watched the others closely as Boudica translated, to make sure that the gravity of his words sank in.

'He says, once we cross the river, we must be seen as little as possible. This may well be the last night we can enjoy shelter. There will be no fires at night if there is any chance of them being seen by the enemy and we will make as little contact with the Durotriges as possible. We will search for another twenty days, until the Druids' deadline has passed. Prasutagus says that if we find nothing by then we head back. To stay any longer would be too dangerous, given that your legion will be marching against the Durotriges in only a few days' time. The moment the first legionary sets foot on Durotrigan soil, every stranger travelling their lands will be regarded as a potential spy.

'That wasn't the deal,' Macro protested quietly. 'The orders were to find the general's family, alive or dead.'

'Not if the deadline has passed, he says.'

'He'll follow his orders, like the rest of us.'

'Speak for yourself, Macro,' said Boudica. 'If Prasutagus goes, then I go, and you're on your own. We didn't agree to suicide.'

Macro glared angrily at Boudica. 'We? Who is this "we", Boudica? The last time we were together this one was just some lunk of a relative who couldn't resist playing the father figure to you and your mate. What's changed?'

'Everything,' Boudica replied quickly. 'What's past is past, and whatever's to come must not be tainted by the past.'

'Tainted?' Macro's eyebrows rose. 'Tainted? Is that all I was to you?'

'That's all you are to me now'

Prasutagus hissed. He nodded his head towards their hosts and wagged his finger at Macro, warning him to lower his voice. Then he spoke quietly to Boudica, who relayed his words.

'Prasutagus says the route he has planned will take us through the heart of Durotrigan territory. That's where we'll find the bigger villages and settlements, the most likely places where your general's family might be held.'

'What if we're caught?' Cato asked.

'If we're caught, and handed over to the Druids, then you two and I will be burned alive. He'll face a far worse death.'

'Worse?' Macro sniffed. 'What could be worse?'

'He says he'll be skinned alive, and then fed piece by piece to their hunting dogs while he still draws breath. His skin, and head, will be nailed to an oak outside their most sacred glade as a warning to Druids of all levels of the fate that will befall any who betray the brotherhood.'

'Oh…'

A short silence fell. Then Prasutagus told them to get some sleep. Tomorrow they would be in enemy country and would need all their wits about them.

'There's just one more thing,' Cato said softly.

Prasutagus had started to rise to his feet, and shook his head at the optio. 'Na! Sleep now!'

'Not yet,' Cato insisted, and with a hiss of anger Prasutagus sat down again. 'How can we be sure this farmer can be trusted?' whispered Cato.

Prasutagus explained impatiently, and nodded to Boudica to translate.

'He says he has known Vellocatus since he was a young boy. Prasutagus trusts him and will stand by that trust.'

'Oh, that's reassuring!' said Macro.

'But I don't understand why Vellocatus can live here, right on the doorstep of the Durotriges, and not be afraid of cross-border raids,' Cato persisted. 'I mean, if they wipe out an entire settlement well inside Verica's lands, why leave this place alone?'

'What's your point?' Boudica asked wearily.

'Just this.' Cato reached into the wicker basket by the hearth and quietly withdrew the silver platter, careful not to disturb the crockery. He showed the platter to Macro. 'I'm almost certain I've seen this before, in the storage pit at Noviomagus. We left the booty there, if you recall, sir. No space in the wagons.'