When the Eagle Hunts

While Macro steered a way through the throng to the bar, Cato looked round and saw that the only place left was a rickety trestle table flanked by two benches, right by the door they had just entered. He pulled back the end of one bench and bowed his head. 'There you are, ladies.'

Boudica curled her lip at the roughly hewn furniture presented to her, and might have refused to sit had her cousin not quickly nudged her forward. The younger woman was called Nessa, a brown-haired Icenian with blue eyes and round cheeks. Cato was well aware that his centurion and Boudica had arranged for her to come along to keep him distracted while the older couple continued their peculiar relationship.

Macro and Boudica had met shortly after the fall of Camulodunum. Since the Iceni were nominally neutral in the war between Rome and the confederation of tribes resisting the invaders, Boudica was more curious than hostile towards the men from the great empire across the sea. The town elders had rushed to ingratiate themselves with their new rulers and invitations to feasts had flooded into the Roman camp. Even junior centurions like Macro had found themselves asked to attend. On the first such night he had met Boudica. Her forthright nature had appalled him at first; the Celts appeared to have a distastefully egalitarian attitude towards the gentler sex. Finding herself standing next to a centurion, who in turn stood next to a barrel of the most powerful beer he had ever encountered, Boudica wasted no time in grilling him for information about Rome. At first her open approach inclined Macro to regard her as just another of the horse-faced women that made up the majority of the higher class of Briton. But as he endured her questioning, he slowly became less and less interested in the beer. Grudgingly at first, then more willingly as she artfully drew him into a more expansive discussion, Macro talked to her in a way he had never before with a woman.

By the end of the evening he knew he wanted to see more of this lively Icenian, and stammered out a request to meet again. She gladly assented, and extended an invitation to a feast being held by her kinsman the following night. Macro had been the first guest to arrive and stood in embarrassed silence by the spread of cold meats and warm beer until Boudica arrived. Then he watched in horror as she matched him drink for drink. Before he knew it, she had slapped an arm round his shoulder and was hugging him tightly to her. Looking round, Macro observed the same forwardness in the other Celtic women and was trying to reconcile himself to the strange ways of this new culture when Boudica planted a boozy kiss on his lips.

Momentarily startled, Macro tried to break away from her powerful embrace, but the girl had mistakenly taken his writhing as a sign of his ardour and merely tightened her grip. So Macro gave in and kissed her back, and on the alcohol-saturated wings of passion they had collapsed under a table in a dark corner and fumbled the evening away. Only the limp side effects of the beer prevented the consummation of their mutual attraction. Boudica had been decent enough not to make an issue of it.

They continued to meet almost daily from that point on, and sometimes Macro invited Cato to join them, mainly from a sense of pity for the lad, who had only recently seen his first love murdered at the hands of a treacherous Roman aristocrat. Quiet and shy at first, Cato had been slowly drawn out by Boudica's infectious sociability and now the two could hold a conversation for hours. Macro felt himself being slowly frozen out. Despite Boudica's claim that she only had relationships with grown-ups, Macro was not reassured. Hence the presence of Nessa – at Macro's suggestion. A girl Cato could get stuck into while he continued wooing Boudica.

'Does your centurion often frequent places like this?' asked Boudica.

'Not always as nice as this.' Cato smiled. 'You should feel honoured.'

Nessa missed the ironic tone and sniffed in disgust at the suggestion that any right-thinking person should deem it a privilege to be led to such a dive. The other two rolled their eyes.

'How did you manage to get permission to be out?' Cato asked Boudica. 'I thought your uncle was going to burst a blood vessel that night we had to carry you back home.'

'He nearly did. Poor chap's not been quite the same since and only agreed to letting us out to stay the night with some distant cousins provided we were escorted.'

Cato frowned. 'So where's the escort?'

'Don't know. We got separated in the crowd near the town gate.'

'On purpose?'

'Of course. What do you take me for?'

'I wouldn't presume.'

'Very wise.'

'Prasutagus is probably peeing himself with worry!' Nessa giggled. 'You can bet he'll be searching every drinking hall he can think of.'

'Which makes us quite safe, since my dear kinsman – another cousin incidentally – would never think of this place. I doubt he's ever even ventured into the alleys behind the quay. We'll be all right.'

'If he does find us,' Nessa's eyes widened, 'he'll go mental! You remember what he did to that Atrebate lad who tried to chat us up. I thought Prasutagus was going to kill him!'

'Probably would have if I hadn't hauled him off.'

Cato shifted nervously. 'Big lad, this kinsman of yours?'

'Huge!' Nessa laughed. 'Sa! Huge is the word all right.'

'With a brain in inverse proportion to his physique,' Boudica added. 'So don't even think of trying to reason with him if he comes in here. Just run.'

'I see.'

Macro returned from the bar, arms raised to keep cups and jug above the throng. He set them down on the rough surface of the bench and politely filled each of the pottery mugs to the brim with red wine.

'Wine!' Boudica exclaimed. 'You do know how to spoil a lady, Centurion.'

'Beer's off,' explained Macro. 'This is all they have left, and it's not cheap either. So drink up and enjoy'

'While we can, sir.'

'Eh? What's the matter, lad?'

'These ladies are only here because they slipped away from a rather large male relative who is probably looking for them right now, and not in the best of moods.'

'Not surprising on a night like this.' Macro shrugged. 'Still, we're well out of it now. We've got a fire, drink and good company. What more could you ask for?'

'A seat nearer the fire,' replied Boudica.

'Now then, let's have a toast.' The centurion raised his mug. 'To us!' Macro raised his mug to his lips and downed the wine in one go then slammed the mug back down. 'Ahhhh! That hit the spot! Who's for more?'

'Just a moment.' Boudica followed his lead and drained her cup.

Cato knew his limitations with respect to wine, and just shook his head.

'Suit yourself, lad, but wine's as good as a knock on the head for helping you forget your troubles.'

'If you say so, sir.'

'I do say so. Particularly if you have some bad news to break.' Macro looked across the table at Boudica.

'What news?' she asked sharply.

'The legion's being sent south.'

'When?'

'Three days' time.'

'First I've heard of it,' said Cato. 'What's up?'

'I'd guess the general wants to use the Second Legion to cut Caratacus off from any escape route south of the Tamesis. The other three legions can clear up on the north side of the river.'

'The Tamesis?' Boudica frowned. 'That's a long way off. When is your legion coming back here?'

Macro was about to give some glib and reassuring answer when he saw the pained expression on Boudica's face. He realised that honesty was the right course of action in this situation. Far better for Boudica to know the truth now than for her to resent him later.

'I don't know. Maybe a few more campaign seasons, maybe never. All depends on how long Caratacus continues to fight on. If we can crush him quickly then the province can be settled straightaway. As it is, the wily bastard keeps raiding through our supply lines, and all the while he's trying to negotiate with other tribes to get them to join him in resisting us.'