When the Eagle hunts c-3

by Simon Scarrow

  'Where do you think you're going?'

  Prasutagus made a quick gesture towards his mouth. 'Find food.'

  Macro stared at the Briton, wondering how far he could be relied on.

  Prasutagus held his gaze for a moment then turned and ducked out of the lodge. A flash ofpearl3 daylight filled the interior before the leather curtain fell back across the doorway and all was still and silent in the lodge. With his veteran's instinct to snatch whatever rest he could, Macro fell asleep almost at once.

  He awoke with a start, eyes snapping open, perplexed by the tangle of pine branches above his head. Then a sense of location returned and Macro remembered he was in the lodge. From the pale quality of the light filtering in from a narrow slit in the wall it was clear that dusk was approaching.

  He had been asleep for almost the entire day then. A snapping crackle of twigs sounded from the end of the lodge and Macro twisted his head round. Boudica was squatting down next to the hearth with a pile of kindling at her side.

  She reached for another handful as he watched. There was no sign of Prasutagus, and no sound from outside. Cato was still deeply asleep and lay with his mouth open, his breathing accompanied by an occasiohal clicking at the back of his throat.

  'It's time we talked,' said Macro quietly.

  Boudica appeared not tO have heard him, and continued snapping twigs, arranging tl.m in a nest around the clump of dry bracken she had pulled from one of the cots.

  'Boudica, I said it's tim we talked.'

  'I heard you,' she replied without turning round. 'But what's the point? It's over between us.'

  ' Since when?'

  'Since I was betrothed to Prasutagus. We're to be wed as soon as we return to Camulod.unum.'

  Macro sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot.

  'Married? To him? When was all this decided? It's been less than a month since we last saw each other. You couldn't stand the sight of him then. At least, that's how you behaved.

  So what are you playing at, woman?'

  'Playing?' Boudica repeated the word with a faint smile.

  Then she turned and faced him. 'There are no more games for me, Macro. I am a woman now, and I'm expected to behave like one. That's what they told me.'

  'Who told you?'

  'My family. After they finished beating me.' Her eyes fell to the floor. 'Seems that I caused them some embarrassment after that last night we had in the inn. When I got home to my uncle's house they were all waiting for me. Somehow, they'd found out. My uncle took me out to his stable and whipped me. He kept shouting that I had shamed him, shamed my family and shamed my tribe. And all the time he whipped me.

  I-I've never known a person could feel such pain…'

  Macro had been beaten a few times in his younger days – at the hands of a centurion wielding a vine staffwith all the brutality the officer could muster. He remembered the agony well enough, and understood what she must have endured.

  Rage and pity welled up inside him. He rose from the cot and went to sit beside her.

  'I thought he was going to kill me,' whispered Boudica.

  Macro put his arm round her shoulder and gave her a comforting squeeze. He felt her body flinch at his touch.

  'Don't, Macro. For pity's sake don't touch me. I can't bear it.'

  The chilling despair of rejection turned Macro's guts to ice. He frowned, angry with himself for having let this woman work her way into his heart so completely. He could imagine the other centurions laughing contemptuously into their cups if they ever got wind of his infatuation with some native girl.

  Screwing them was one thing; forming an emotional attachment was quite another. It was just the sort of pathetic behaviour he himself had once been so critical of. He recalled the jibes he had given Cato when the lad had fallen for the slave girl Lavinia. But that had been a harmless teenage fling; just the kind of thing to be expected of youngsters before the harsh demands of adulthood closed down such experimentation with all that life had to offer. Macro was thirty-five, nearly ten years older than Boudica. True, there were relationships with greater differences in age, but they were rightly derided by most people. The gap in age that had charmed him so utterly a few months earlier now mocked him. The centurion felt like one of the 15athetic old gropers who haunted the Circus Maximus, trying thefir hand with women young enough to be their grandchildren. The comparison made him burn with shame. He stirred uncomfortably.

  'So they forced you never, to see me again?'

  Boudica nodded.

  'And you went along with it.'

  She turned her face to him, twisted with bitterness. 'What else could I do? They said if I was ever caught with another Roman I'd be beaten again. I thj'nk I'd rather die than face that. Truly.' Her expression softened. 'Sorry, Macro. I can't risk it. I have to think about my future.'

  'Your future?' Macro was scornful. 'You mean marriage to Prasutagus? I must admit; that came as a bloody big surprise. Why did you agree tO it? I mean, he's not exactly the sharpest arrow in the quiver.'

  'No. He's not. But he is well-positioned for the future.

  An Iceni prince with a household in Camulodunum and a growing reputation in the tribe. Now he's developing a useful relationship with your general. With this mission he will win Plautius's gratitude.'

  'I wouldn't put too much faith in that,' muttered Macro.

  He had experience of just how short-lived the general's gratitude could be.

  Boudica gave him a curious glance. When he did not elaborate, she continued, 'If we manage to find the general's family, Prasutagus will have more influence with Rome than almost any other Briton. And if Rome does eventually conquer this island, those people who helped her do so are bound to be rewarded.'

  'Those people, and the wives of those people.'

  'Yes.'

  'I see. Well, you've come a long way over the last month.

  I hardly recognise you.'

  Boudica was injured by his cynical tone and looked away. Macro did not regret his remark, but at the same time he could not make himself dislike Boudica enough to enjoy insulting her. He wished he could find some hint of the brassy, affectionate girl he had fallen for back in Camulodunum. 'Are you really so cold-blooded?'

  'Cold-blooded?' The idea seemed tosurprise her. 'No.

  I'm not cold-blooded. I'm just making the most of what has been forced on me. If I was a man, if I had power, then things would be very different. But I'm a woman, the weaker sex, and I have to do what I'm told. That's the only choice I have, for now.'

  There was a pause before Macro summoned the courage to speak. 'No, you had another choice. You could have chosen me.'

  Boudica turned and looked at him closely. 'You're serious, aren't you?'

  'Very.' Macro's heart soared as he saw Boudica smile.

  Then her eyes fell away and she shook her head.

  'No. It's out of the question.'

  'Why?'

  'It would be no life for me. I'd be an outcast from my tribe. What if you tired of me after a while? I'd have nothing left. I know what becomes of such women, pathetic hags who follow the army and llve off the legion's scraps, until disease or some violent drunk does for them. Would you wish that on me?'

  'Of course not! It wouldn't be like that. I would provide for you.',: 'Provide for me? You don't make it sound very appealing.

  I'd be rootless, and at your mercy, in your world. I couldn't bear that. Despite what I've learned of life beyond the lands of the Iceni, I'm still Iceni through and through. And you're Roman. I might speak your language well enough, but that's as far as I want Rome to penetrate my being – and none of your filthy innuendo, please!".

  They both smiled for a moment, and then Macro raised his rough soldier's hand to her cheek, marvelling at its softness. Boudica remained still. Then, very tenderly, her lips brushed his palm in a soft kiss that sent tingles up Macro's arm. He slowly leaned forward.

  There was a heavy thud outside the lodge. The leather flap
hanging across the entrance was flung to one side.

  Macro and Boudica sprang apart. The centurion snatched up some kindling and began snapping it into pieces and thrusting it at Boudica, who resumed laying the fire. A dark figure blotted out the light from the doorway. Macro and Boudica, squinted at the silhouetted figure.

  'Prasutagus?'

  'Sa!' He moved inside the lodge, dragging the gutted carcass of a small deer after him. The light fell on the Iceni warrior's face, revealing a faint look of amusement in his eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  For the next five days they travelled deeper into Durotrigan territory, cautiously riding along trails by night and finding somewhere to hide and rst during the day. Prasutagus seemed tireless, never sleeping more than a few hours. Each stage of their journey was planned by him to bring them close to a village. He rested until midday, and then slipped into each village to look fox any signs of Roman hostages.

  At dusk he returned with.meat for the others, which they cooked over a low fire, luddling round to draw as much warmth as they could from the flames in the bitter night air.

  Once they had eaten, they put the fire out and followed Prasutagus as he picked his way. along well-used trails. Every farmstead and small settlement was carefully circumvented and there were frequent stops.while the Iceni warrior made sure that the way ahead was clear before they continued.

  Just before dawn heled them off the tracks into the nearest woodland, and would not let them stop until they had discovered a dip in the forest floor where the party could rest for the day unobserved.

  They covered themselves with cloaks and the blankets from their mounts and slept as well as they could in such uncomfortable conditions. A watch was kept throughout the day, and all four of them took their turn, standing quietly in the shadows of the forest, a short distance from the camp.

  Cato, younger and thinner than the others, suffered most from the cold, and his sleep was fitful and broken. The temperature had dropped below freezing on the second day and the penetrating cold of the frozen earth made his hip joints so stiff that he could barely move his legs when he woke up.

  On the fifth day, a mist closed in. Prasutagus left them as usual to scout round the next village. While they waited hungrily for him to reappear with the day's meal, Boudica and the two Romans prepared a small fire. A light breeze was blowing through the forest, and they had to build a turf windbreak round the fireplace. Cato collected some fallen branches from beneath the nearest trees, every so often pausing to rub his hips and ease the stiffness in his joints.

  When he had amassed enough fuel to maintain the fire for the few hours it would be needed, he slumped down between Boudica and his centurion, who sat opposite each other on either side of the fireplace. At first no one spoke. The wind steadily strengthened and they clutched their cloaks more tightly about them against the biting cold. A few paces away the horses and ponies stood in sullen silence, lank manes lifting and flapping with each gust.

  There were now only fifteen days left before the Druids' deadline. Cato doubted that they would find the general's family in time. There was no point in their being here. There was nothing they could do to prevent the Druids from murdering their hostages. Nothing. Five nights of tense scrambling through enemy territory had taken their toll and Cato did not think he could cope with much more. Cold and filthy, exhausted in mind and body, he was in no condition to keep looking for the hostages, let alone to rescue them.

  This was a fool's errand, and the hostile glances Macro increasingly threw his way convinced Cato that he would never be forgiven for his stupidity – assuming they ever made it back to the Second Legion.

  Above the dark interlace of tossing branches, the sky dimmed into dusk, and still!there was no sign of Prasutagus.

  At length Boudica rose to her feet and stretched her arms behind her back with a deep grunt.

  'I'll just go a little way'down towards the track,' she said.

  'See if there's any sign of m.'

  'No,' Macro said firrn!y. 'Sit tight. We can't take the risk.'

  'Risk? Who in their right mind would be abroad on a day like this?'

  'Besides us?' Macro chuckled mirthlessly. 'I dread to think.'

  'Well, I'm going anyway.'-.

  'No, you're not. Sit down.'

  Boudiea remained on her feet and spoke quietly. 'I really thought you were a better man than this, Macro.'

  Cato shuffled himself deeper inside his cloak and stared into the unlit fire, wishing he could make himself disappear.

  'I'm only being careful,' Macro explained. 'I expect your man will be back soon enough. You don't have to worry about him. So sit still.'

  'Sorry, I need a shit. Can't wait any longer. So, if you won't let me go somewhere discreet, I'll have to do it here.'

  Macro went red with embarrassment and anger, knowing it would be foolish to accuse her of lying. In frustration he balled his hands into fists.

  'Go on then! But don't go far and come straight back.'

  'I'll be as long as it takes,' she spat back and stamped off into the shadows of the forest.

  'Bloody women!' mumbled Macro. 'Bloody liabilities, all of 'em. Want a word of advice, lad? Never have anything to do with them. They're just trouble.'

  'Yes, sir. Shall I get the fire started?'

  'What? Oh, yes. Good idea.'

  As Cato struck the flints in his tinder pan, Macro continued to watch for the return of Boudica and Prasutagus.

  A small lick of orange flame caught the dry shreds of moss in the pan and Cato carefully transferred it to the fire, taking care to shield the delicate flame from the wind with his body. The kindling caught quickly and soon he was warming his hands in front of a crackling blaze as the fire got to work on the larger pieces of wood he had fed into the flames. A faint orange glow wavered on the surrounding trees as night began to close in.

  Boudica did not reappear and Cato began to wonder if anything had happened to the two Britons. Even if nothing had happened, would Boudica be able to find her way back to them in the dark? What if they had been captured by the Durotriges? Would they be tortured for information about accomplices? Were the Durotriges already looking for him and his centurion? 'Sir?'

  Macro turned his face away from the dark woods. 'What?'

  'Do you think anything's happened to them?'

  'How should I know?' snapped Macro. 'They might have gone off to negotiate a price for us with the locals as far as I know.'

  It was a foolish thing to say, and Macro regretted it almost immediately. He spoke out of anxiety for Boudica, and concern for what would happen to them if Prasutagus never returned. The prospects were not hopeful for two Roman legionaries stranded in a dark forest in the middle of enemy territory., 'He seemed trustwort,:hy enough to me,' Cato said anxiously. 'Don't you trus him, sir?'

  'He's a Briton. These Durotriges may be from a different tribe to our man but he has far more in common with them than he does with us,' Macro paused. 'I've seen people sell out their countrymen to Rome On almost every frontier I've served. I tell you, Cato, you've seen nothing until you've served in Judaea. They'd sell their own mothers if they thought it might help them score the smallest point against some rival or other., This lot aren't much better. Look how many of those exiled British nobles have done a deal with Rome in order to regain their kingdoms. They'd prostitute themselves to anyone in exchange for a bit of power and

  influence. Prasutagus and Boudica are no different. They'll stay loyal to Rome only as long as it's in their interests to do so. Then you'll see their true value as friends and allies. You mark my words.'

  Cato frowned. 'You really think so?'

  'Maybe.' Macro's weathered face suddenly broke into a good-humoured grin. 'But I'd be more than happy to be wrong!'

  A twig snapped nearby. The Romans were on their feet, swords drawn, in an instant.

  'Who's there?' Macro called out. 'Boudica?'

  With a rustling of dead leaves and further cr
acking of twigs, two figures emerged from the dark shadows and into the wavering amber glow of the fire. Macro relaxed and lowered his sword.

  'Where the bloody hell have you two been?'

  Prasutagus was grinning, and he talked excitedly as he strode up to the fire and clapped Macro on the shoulder.

  True to form he had brought some meat with him – a butchered suckling pig hung from a thong on his belt.

  Prasutagus flung the carcass down by the fire and continued talking. Boudica translated as quickly as she could.

  'He says he's found them – the general's family!'

  'What? Is he sure?'

  She nodded. 'He got talking to the local chief. They're being held in another village only a few miles away. The chief of that village is one of the Druids' most loyal followers. He trains their personal bodyguard. Recruits the most promising of the young boys from all the outlying settlements, then trains them to be fanatically loyal to their new masters. By the time he's finished with them. they'd rather die than disappoint the chief. A few days ago he was in the village Prasutagus just visited. He'd come to claim his quota of new recruits. He was drinking with the local warriors, and that's when he let slip that he was guarding some important hostages.'

  Prasutagus nodded his head, eyes blazing with excitement at the prospect of action. He put a broad hand on Macro's shoulder.

  'Is good, Roman! Yes?'

  For a moment Macro stared up into the Iceni warrior's beaming face, and all the discomfort of the last few days was swept away in a wave:of relief that their mission had achieved its first goal. The 'next step would be far more perilous. But for the moment Macro was content and he returned Prasutagus's excite,.d expression with a warm smile.

  '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.