The spring day wore on as Prasutagus led them along narrow tracks, all the while keeping the horsemen and their wagon in view, and closing the distance only when there was no risk of being spotted. It called for an exhausting degree of vigilance. By late afternoon they were still some way behind the enemy, but close enough to see that the wagon was protected by a score of mounted Druids in their distinctive black cloaks.
'Bollocks!' said Macro, squinting into the distance. 'Twenty on three isn't good odds.'
Prasutagus merely shrugged and urged his horse along an overgrown track winding up the side of a hill. The Druids were obscured for a moment behind a line of trees. The others trotted after him, until they stopped in an overgrown track just below the crest from where they could see the Druids below, still heading south-east. Macro was riding at the back, watching the column, when Cato suddenly reined in, causing Macro to yank on his reins savagely to avoid riding into the backside of Cato's mount.
'Oi! What the fuck are you playing at?'
But Cato ignored his centurion.
'Bloody hell…' he muttered in awe at the panorama stretching out before him.
As Macro eased his beast alongside, he too could see the vast expanse of multi-tiered earthworks rising up from the plain ahead of them. With a recently developed eye for ground, Cato took in the neatly overlapping ramps that defended the nearest gateway, and the well-placed redoubts from which any attacker would fall victim to enfilading volleys of arrows, spears and slingshot. On the highest tier of the hill fort a stout palisade ringed the enclosure. From end to end Cato estimated the hill fort must measure nearly half a mile. Below the fortress, the rolling wooded landscape was divided by a serenely meandering river.
'We've had it,' Macro said quietly. 'Once the Druids get the general's family safely inside that lot, nobody'll be able to get to them.'
'Maybe,' replied Cato. 'But the bigger the line of defence, the more thinly spread the watchmen,'
'Oh, that's good! Mind if I quote you some day? You idiot!'
Cato had the grace to flush with embarrassment at his precocious remark, and Macro nodded with satisfaction. Didn't do to let these youngsters get too full of themselves. Up ahead Prasutagus had wheeled his horse round and now raised his arm to point at the hill fort. He was grandly illuminated by a halo of bright sunshine against the blue sky as he spoke.
'The Great Fortress…'
'No, really?' Macro growled. 'Thanks for letting us know.'
Despite his sarcastic response, Macro was still running a professional eye over the structure and wondering if it might yet be taken, once the Second Legion set to it. Despite the clever layout of the approach route through the ramparts, there was no sign that the fortress was designed to withstand the attentions of a well-equipped modern army.
'Sir!' Cato interrupted his line of thought and Macro raised an angry eyebrow. 'Sir, look there!'
Cato was pointing away from the Great Fortress, back towards the Druids and the small covered wagon they were escorting. Only they weren't escorting it any more. In sight of their haven, the Druids had urged their mounts into a trot and already the column of horsemen had drawn well ahead of the wagon. They were making straight for the nearest gate in the ramparts. In front of them the track curved round a small forest towards a narrow trestle bridge that spanned the river. Cato's excitement rose as he quickly estimated the relative speeds of the mounted Druids, the wagon and themselves. He nodded. 'We could do it.'
'There's our chance!' Macro barked. 'Prasutagus! Look there!'
The Iceni warrior quickly grasped the situation and nodded vigorously. 'We go.'
'What about Boudica?' asked Cato.
'What about her?' Macro snapped. 'What're we waiting for? Come on!'
Macro kicked his heels into the flanks of his horse and headed down the slope in the direction of the wagon.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As they charged down the grassy slope, the wind roared in Cato's ears and his heart thudded against his chest. Only shortly before, they had been quietly picking their way along a little-used path. Now fate had thrown them a slim chance to rescue the general's family and Cato felt the mad exhilarating terror of imminent action. Looking ahead he saw that the hill fort was now hidden behind the trees that ran alongside the track. Barely half a mile away trundled the wagon on its solid wooden wheels, drawn by a pair of shaggy ponies. The two Druids on the driver's bench were not yet aware of the riders' approach and sat upright, craning their heads forward for the first glimpse of the ramparts of the Great Fortress. Behind them, over the axle, a leather cover hid their prisoners from view. As hooves pounded the ground beneath him it seemed impossible to Cato that they had not been noticed, and he prayed to any god that would hear him that they remain undetected a moment longer. Long enough to prevent the Druids whipping their ponies into a trot and buying them just enough time to alert their companions who had gone ahead.
But the gods were either ignorant of this tiny human drama or cruelly conspiring with the Druids. The driver's companion suddenly glanced back, and shot up from the bench, shouting and pointing at the approaching Romans. With a sharp crack that carried clearly across the open ground, the driver lashed out at the broad rumps of his ponies and the wagon lurched ponderously forward, axle groaning in protest. The other Druid fell back on the bench, then cupped his hands and shouted for help, but his comrades were screened from sight by the curve of the treeline and his cries went unheeded.
Cato was now close enough to make out each Druid's features over the flapping mane of his horse, and saw that the driver was grey-haired and overweight, while his companion was a sallow youth, thin and pinch-faced. The fight would be over very quickly. With luck they would release the hostages and be racing away from the hill fort well before the mounted Druids began to wonder at the time the wagon was taking to catch up with them. Under the frantic urgings of the driver, the wagon rumbled forward at an ever increasing pace, bumping and jolting violently along the rutted track as it headed round the curve of the trees towards the bridge. Their pursuers were only a short distance away from them, kicking in their heels and urging their foam-flecked mounts on.
There was a sharp squeal of panic from behind him, and Cato glanced back to see Boudica's horse tumble headlong, rear legs flailing at the sky before crashing over the horse's neck. Boudica was flung forwards and instinctively ducked her head and curled her body just before hitting the ground. She bounced over the grassy hummocks with a scream. Her companions reined in. The horse lay twisted, its back broken, its forelegs struggling vainly to raise the rear half of its body. Boudica had fetched up in a puddle and was rising uncertainly to her feet.
'Leave her!' Macro shouted, spurring his horse on. 'Get the fucking wagon before it's too late!'
The Druids had gained valuable distance from their pursuers. The wagon was rumbling wildly, a scant few hundred paces from the bridge; soon it would emerge in full view of the hill fort, and the Druid horsemen not far beyond. With a savage dig into the flanks of his mount, Cato raced after his centurion, with Prasutagus at his side. They were galloping parallel to the track, keeping clear of its treacherous ruts, and ahead of them they could see the tied leather flaps at the rear of the wagon. The younger Druid glanced back at them, his face filled with fear.