'Is good!'
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cato gently eased the tall reeds apart and crept forward, making for the low hummock where he had left Macro earlier in the day. Around him, the cold damp air was thick with the smell of rotting vegetation. His feet squelched through dark mud, staining his calves black as he progressed as quietly as he could, dragging the cut bough of a holly bush behind him. At last the ground became firm underfoot, and he crouched low, picking his way up the bank, eyes and ears straining for any sign of his centurion.
'Pssst! Over here.'
A hand reached through the reeds at the top of the hummock and beckoned. Cato eased himself forward, taking care not to disturb the reeds, in case anyone in the village was looking their way. Just beyond was the small patch they had quietly cut before dawn. Macro was lying on a bed of rushes, peering through the dried brown remains of the previous summer's growth. Cato dropped the end of the holly branch and stretched out on the ground beside him. On the other side of the hummock, the reeds stretched out along a slowly flowing river that curled round a Durotrigan village and provided it with a natural defence. On the opposite side of the village rose a high rampart topped with a stout palisade that crossed a narrow gateway. The village itself was the usual dismal affair that seemed to be the best the more rustic of the Celts could construct. A loose muddle of round wattle and daub huts topped with a thatch of rushes cut from the river bank. From the slight elevation of the hummock Macro and Cato had a good view over the village.
The biggest of the huts stood on the bank directly opposite Cato and Macro and had its own palisade. The ring of posts was lined on the inside with smaller huts. A number of thick posts rose on one side of the compound. They were familiar enough to the two Romans – sword practice posts. Even as they watched, a small group of black-cloaked men emerged from one of the smaller huts, stripped off their cloaks, and drew their long swords. They each picked a post and began to lay into them with well-honed swinging cuts. Sharp cracks and dull thuds carried clearly across the glassy surface of the river. Cato's gaze shifted to a peculiar structure built onto the side of the large hut. It appeared to be a small cabin of some kind. But there were no windows, and the only visible opening was filled by a small timber door, fastened on the outside by a stout bar. Another black-cloaked figure stood guard by the entrance, a war spear in one hand, the other hand resting on the rim of a grounded kite shield.
'Any sign of the hostages, sir?'
'No. But if they're anywhere in the village, that hut looks like our best bet. Saw someone take a jug and some bread in there not long ago.'
Macro turned away from the village and eased himself back on the rustling mass of cut reeds.
'Everything sorted?'
'Yes, sir. Our horses are safe in that dell Prasutagus showed us. I've agreed a signal with Boudica in case there's any trouble.' Cato indicated the holly bough.
'If they leave it much longer it'll be dark before we get started,' said Macro quietly.
'Prasutagus said he'd give me enough time to get back to you and then they would move.'
'You left them in the dell?'
'Yes, sir.'
'I see.' Macro frowned, then heaved himself back into position to continue watching over the village. 'Then I expect we'll have to wait a while longer before they turn up.'
Even though the winter months had nearly come to an end, it was still cold and the steady light drizzle had thoroughly penetrated their clothes. After a little while Cato's teeth were chattering and his body trembled. He tightened his muscles to try and fight off the sensation. These last few days had been the most uncomfortable of his life. Apart from the physical discomforts they had endured, the constant fear of discovery, and terror of the consequences, had made every moment a nervous torment. Now, as he lay on a damp river bank, legs caked in foul-smelling muck, chilled to the bone and starving for a decent warm meal, he began to fantasise about fixing himself an honourable discharge from the legion. It was not the first time the thought of quitting the army had come to his mind. Not the first by a long way. The train of thought was familiar and primarily focused on the task of discovering a means by which he could quickly acquire a pensioned discharge without sustaining a disabling injury. Unfortunately teams of sharp-minded imperial clerks had pored over the regulations long before Cato was born and had managed to close nearly every loophole. But somewhere, some way, there had to be a means by which he could beat the system.
Macro suddenly grunted. 'Here they come. Must have satisfied himself with a quickie.'
'Pardon?'
'Nothing, lad. There they are, on the track in front of the gate.'
Cato looked beyond the village and saw two tiny grey shapes on horseback emerging from the forest. As they boldly trotted down the track towards the village, the watchman above the gate turned and called down to a small knot of men huddled round a glowing fire. They responded to his summons at once and scrambled up the crude wooden steps inside the rampart. Prasutagus and Boudica disappeared from sight as they rode up to the gate. Watching the villagers on the palisade brandishing their weapons, Cato felt a momentary pang of concern. But a moment later the gates swung inwards and the two Iceni entered.
At once they were surrounded and the reins of their mounts seized. Even from across the river Macro and Cato could hear Prasutagus bellow in outraged indignation and issue his challenge in his role as itinerant wrestler. One of the villagers ran off, disappearing among the huts before he burst into the compound surrounding the largest hut. He hurried inside and quickly re-emerged in the company of a tall erect figure whose black cloak was fastened at the shoulder with a large gold brooch. In an unhurried manner he followed the watchman back to the main gate. Meanwhile Prasutagus continued to shout his challenge to the villagers in his deep booming voice and by the time the village chief appeared, a large crowd had gathered at the foot of the rampart. The chief pushed his way through and strode up to the visitors, who were still on horseback. Prasutagus showed just the right amount of arrogance by folding his arms and staying put for a moment. Then he casually flung his leg across his beast and slipped to the ground. He still towered over the chief, and lifted his chin to emphasise his contemptuous gaze.
Prasutagus made his challenge again. This time he undid the clasp of his cloak and tossed it to Boudica, who had also dismounted and stood with the horses, having seized the reins back from the villagers. The Iceni warrior pulled his tunic off and stood bare-chested, arms raised and fists clenched, bunching his muscles for the delectation of the crowd.
'Bloody show-off!' muttered Macro. 'Poncing around like some rich old tart's gladiator playmate! One more of those poses and I'll puke.'
'Easy, sir. It's all part of the plan. Look there, at the compound.'
The men training at the sword posts had stopped, and were hurriedly sheathing their swords and pulling on their black cloaks. As they left the compound, the guard on the door of the cabin took a few steps towards them and called out. The response was a harsh shout and with a sullen expression the guard went back to his post at the door of the cabin.
'Now's our chance!' Macro slipped back down from the crest of the hummock and started to pull off his clothing. He glanced at Cato. 'Come on, lad! Let's be having you.'
With a resigned sigh, Cato slithered down over the rushes and began to strip. Off came the cloak, the harness and chain mail, and lastly his under tunic. As he peeled the last layer of wet material from his body, the cold air brought his skin up in tight goose pimples and he shivered terribly. Macro looked over his thin frame with disapproval.