When the Eagle hunts c-3

by Simon Scarrow

  Prasutagus was already up and running to his aid, and Cato sprinted after him. Before either man reached the centurion, he tripped and fell., The Druid seized his chance and slashed down with his. sword, leaning right over the centurion to make sure ofhi blow. The blade connected with a dull thud and glanced off Macro's skull. Without a sound, Macro pitched forward, andfor, an instant Cato just stared, frozen in horror. A howl of rage from Prasutagus brought him back to his senses and Cato turned on the Druid, determined to have his blood. But the Druid had more sense than to take on two enemies at once and he knew he must summon help.

  He wheeled his horse about and galloped back up the track towards the hill fort, shouting for his comrades.

  Sheathing his bloody sword, Cato fell to his knees beside Macro's still form.

  'Sir!' Cato grabbed Macro's shoulder and pulled the centurion onto his back, wincing at the savage wound to the side of his head. The Druid's sword had cut through to the bone, shearing offa large flap of scalp. Blood covered Macro's lifeless face. Cato thrust his hand inside his tunic.

  The centurion's heart was still beating. Prasutagus was kneeling beside him, shaking his head in pity.

  'Come on! Take his feet. Get him to the wagon.'

  They were struggling back with the limp centurion when Boudica emerged from the trees, leading the children by either hand. She stopped as she saw Macro's body. Beside her the young girl flinched at the sight.

  'Oh no…'

  'He's alive,' grunted Cato.

  They laid Macro gently in the back of the wagon while Boudica retrieved a waterskin from under the driver's bench. She blanched at her first clear look at the centurion's wound and then removed the stopper from the skin and poured water over the bloody mangle of skin and hair.

  'Give me your neck cloth,' she ordered Cato, and he quickly untied it and handed her the length of material.

  Grimacing, Boudica eased the strip of scalp back into place over Macro's skull and tied the neck clbth firmly round the wound. Then she removed Macro's neck cloth, already stained with his blood, and tied that on as well. The centurion did not regain consciousness, and Cato heard him breathing in shallow gasps.

  'He's going to die.'

  'No!' Boudica said fiercely. 'No. Your hear me? We have to get him out of here.'

  Cato turned to Lady Pomponia. 'We can't leave. Not without you and your children.'

  'Optio,' Lady Pomponia said gently, 'take your centurion, and my children, and go now. Before the Druids come back.'

  'No.' Cato shook his head. 'We all go.'

  She raised her chained foot. 'I can't. But you must get my children away. I beg you. There's nothing you can do for me. Save them.'

  Cato forced himself to look into her face and saw the desperate pleading in her eye, s.

  'We have to go, Cato,' Botdica muttered at his side. 'We must go. The Druid that got away will fetch the others.

  There's no time. We have to gb.'

  Cato's heart sank into a lit of black despair. Boudica was right. Short of hacking offLaO, y Pomponia's foot, there was no way she could be releaset before the Druids returned in strength.

  'You could make it easier for me,' said Lady Pomponia, with a cautious nod in the direction of her children. 'But get them away from here first.'

  Cato's blood chilled in his veins. 'You're not serious?'

  'Of course I am. It's that or b.e burned alive.'

  'No… I can't do it.'

  'Please,' she whispered. 'I beg you. For pity's sake.'

  'We go!' Prasutagus interrupted loudly. 'They come!

  Quick, quick!'

  Instinctively Cato drew his sword, and lowered the tip towards Lady Pomponia's chest. She clenched her eyes.

  Boudica knocked the blade down. 'Not in front of the children! Let me get them mounted first.'

  But it was too late. The boy had grasped what was going on, and his eyes widened in horror. Before Boudica or Cato could react, he had scrambled into the back of the wagon and threw his arms tightly round his mother. Boudica grabbed the arm of Pomponia's daughter before she could follow her brother.

  'Leave her alone!' he screamed, tears coursing down his dirty cheeks. 'Don't touch her! I won't let you hurt my mummy!'

  Cato lowered his sword, muttering, 'I can't do this.'

  'You have to,' Lady Pomponia hissed over the head of her son. 'Take him, now!'

  'No!' the boy screamed, and he locked his hands tightly about her arm. 'I won't leave you, Mummy! Please, Mummy, please don't make me go!'

  Above the boy's crying, Cato heard another sound: faint shouts from the direction of the hill fort. The Druid who had escaped the ambush must have reached his comrades. There was very little time.

  'I won't do it,' Cato saidfirmly. 'I promise I will find another way.'

  'What other way?' Lady Pomponia wailed, finally losing her patrician self-control. 'They're going to burn me alive!'

  'No they're not. I swear it. On my life. I will set you free.

  I swear it.'

  Lady Pomponia shook her head hopelessly.

  'Now, hand me your son.'

  'No!' the boy screamed, squirming away from Cato.

  'The Druids come!' Prasutagus shouted, and all of them could hear the distant drumming of hooves.

  'Take the girl and go!' Cato ordered Boudica.

  'Go where?'

  Cato thought quickly, mentally reconstructing the lie of the land from his memory of the day's travel.

  'That wood we passed four, maybe five miles back. Head there. Now!'

  Boudica nodded, grasped the arm of the girl and headed into the trees where she untied their horses. Cato called Prasutagus over and indicated Macro's still form.

  'You take him. Follow Boudica.'

  The Iceni warrior nodded, ad lifted Macro easily into his arms.

  'Gently!'

  'Trust me, Roman.' Prasutgus looked once at Cato, then turned and headed towardg the horses with his burden, leaving Cato standing alone at the back of the wagon.

  Lady Pomponia grasped her son by the wrists. 'Aelius, you must go now. Be a good boy, Do what I say. I'll be all right. But you must go.'

  'I shan't,' sobbed the little boy. 'I won't leave you, Mummy!'

  'You have to.' She forced his wrists away from her and towards Cato. Aelius struggled frantically to break her grip.

  Cato took hold of his middle and pulled him gently out of the wagon. His mother watched with tears in her eyes, knowing she would never see her small son again. Aelius wailed and writhed in Cato's grip. A little way off, hooves pounded on wood as the Druids reached the trestle bridge.

  Boudica and Prasutagus were waiting, mounted, by the edge of the trees. The girl sat mute and silent in front of Boudica.

  Prasutagus, with one hand firmly holding the centurion's body, held out the reins of the last horse and Cato thrust the boy up on its back before he swung into the saddle, himself.

  'Go!' he ordered the others, and they set off along the track away from the hill fort. Cato took one last look at the wagon, consumed with guilt and despair, and then dug his heels in.

  As the horse jolted into a trot, Aelius wriggled free and slipped from Cato's grasp. He rolled away from the horse, stood up and ran back to the wagon as fast as his little legs could carry him.

  'Mummy!'

  'Aelius! No! Go back! For pity's sake!'

  'Aelius!' Cato shouted. 'Come here!'

  But it was no use. The boy reached the wagon, scrambled up and hurled himself into the arms of his sobbing mother.

  For an instant Cato turned his horse towards the wagon, but he could see movement down the track beyond it.

  He cursed, then jerked the reins and galloped his horse after Boudica and Prasutagus.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Cato felt more wretched than he had ever felt in his entire life. The four of them, and the girl, Julia, were sitting deep in a wood they had passed earlier that day. Night had fallen when they had found the crum.bling rema
ins of an old silver mine and stopped in the diggings to rest and let their blown horses recover from their double burden. Julia was crying softly to herself. Macro lay under his and Cato's cloaks, still unconscious, his breath shallow and rasping.

  The Druids had tried to'track them down, fanning out across the countryside and'calling to each other every time they thought they saw something. Twice they heard the sounds of pursuit, distant cries.muffled by the trees, but nothing for some hours now. Even so, they kept quiet.

  The young optio was in torment over the fate of Lady Pomponia and her son. The Druids had taken too many lives in recent months, and Cato would not let them have these last two. Yet how could he possibly honour his vow to rescue them? Lady Pomponia and Aelius were even now imprisoned in that vast hill fort, with its massive ramparts, high palisade and watchful garrison. Their rescue was the kind of deed that only mythic heroes could carry out successfully, and Cato's bitter self-analysis was that he was too weak and scared to have even the remotest chance of carrying it off. Had Macro not been injured, he might have felt more optimistic. What little Macro lacked in foresight and strategic initiative he more than made up for with courage and strength. The worse the odds, the more determined the centurion became to overcome them. That was the key quality of the man who had become his friend and mentor, and Cato knew it was precisely that quality he lacked. Now, more than ever, he needed Macro at his side, but the centurion lay at his feet, on the verge of death, it seemed.

  The wound would have killed a weaker man outright, but Macro's thick skull and physical resilience were keeping him on this side of the Styx, but only just.

  'What now?' Boudica whispered. 'We must decide.'

  'I know,' Cato replied irritably. 'I'm thinking.'

  'Thinking's not good enough. We have to do something.

  He's not going to live long without proper attention.'

  The emotion in her voice was barely hidden, and reminded Cato of her personal interest in Macro. He coughed to clear his throat and ease the emotion in his own voice.

  'I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking.'

  Boudica laughed briefly. 'That's my boy! Now then, let's talk. We have to get Macro back to the legion ifhe's to stand any chance of surviving. We need to get the girl out of here too.'

  'We can't all go back. The horses aren't up to it. In any case, I need to be here, close to the hill fort, where I can keep an eye on things and see if there's any chance to rescue Lady Pomponia and the boy.'

  'What can you do alone?' Boudica asked wearily.

  'Nothing. That's what. We've done our best, Cato. We came very close to doing what we set out to do. It didn't work out.

  That's all there is to it. No point in throw.ing your life away.'

  She laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Really. That's how it is. No one could have done more.'

  'Maybe not,' he agreed reluctantly. 'But it's not over yet.'

  'What can you do now? Be honest.'

  'I don't know… I don't know. But I'm not giving up. I gave my word.'

  For a moment Boudica stared at the barely visible features of the optio's face.

  'Cato…'

  'What?'

  'Be careful,' Boudica sid softly. 'Promise me that at least.'

  'I can't.'.

  'Very well. But you should know that I'd consider the world a poorer place without you in it. Don't go ahead of your time.'

  'who says this isn't my time?' Cato replied in a grim tone. 'And this isn't the moment to philosophise about it.'

  Boudica regarded him with a sad, resigned expression.

  'We'll tie Macro to one of the horses,' Cato went on.

  'You and the girl take the other two. Leave the forest on the opposite side we came in from – that should keep you clear of the Druids. Go east, and don't stop until you reach Atrebate territory. If Prasutagus is fight, that should take you no more than a day. Get back to the legion as soon as possible and tell Vespasian everything. Tell him I'm still here with Prasutagus and that we'll try to rescue Lady Pomponia if there's a chance.'

  'What then?'

  'Then? I imagine Vespasian will have some instructions for me. Prasutagus and I will use this forest as our base. If there's any message for us, it's to come here. You'd better make a mental map of the route on your way back so Vespasian's man can find us.'

  'If there's a message, I'll bring it.'

  'No. You've risked yourself enough already.'

  'True, but I doubt a Roman would be intelligent enough to follow my directions back here.'

  'Look, Boudica. This is dangerous. I choose to stay here.

  I wouldn't want your life on my conscience as well. Please.'

  'I'll be back as soon as I can.'

  Cato sighed. There was no arguing with the bloody woman, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. 'As you wish.'

  'Right then, let's get Macro in the saddle.'

  With Prasutagus's help, Macro was gently lifted from the ground and onto the horse, where he was bound securely to the high horns of the saddle. His heavily bandaged head drooped, and for the first time since he had been injured he mumbled incoherently.

  Haven't heard him speak like that since the last time we went drinking,' muttered Boudica. Then she turned to Julia and gently steered the girl towards another horse. 'Up you go.'

  Julia refused to move, and stared silently at the looming shadow of the horse. Boudica was suddenly struck by a nasty thought.

  'You can ride, can't you?'

  'No… A little.'

  There was a sttmned silence as Boudica took this in.

  Every Celt, male or female, could ride a horse almost before they could run. It was as natural as breathing. She turned towards Cato.

  'Do you people really have an empire?'

  'Of course.'

  'Then how the hell do.'you get around it? Surely you don't walk?'

  'Some of us ride,' Cato replied sourly. 'No more talk. Get going.'

  Prasutagus lifted the girl onto the horse and pressed the reins into her uncertain hands. When Boudica was mounted, she took the reins of Macro's horse and clicked her tongue.

  Her mount was still tired and required a sharp dig from her heels before it moved.

  'Take care of my centurion!' Cato called after her.

  'I will,' she replied softly 'And you take care of my betrothed.'

  Cato looked round at the looming hulk of Prasutagus and wondered what he could possibly require by way of care.

  'Don't let him do anything stupid,' Boudica added before the horses disappeared into the gloom.

  'Oh, fight.'

  The two of them stood side by side until the last sounds of the horses' passage through the forest had faded. Then Cato coughed and turned to the Iceni warrior, not quite certain how to impress upon Prasutagus the fact that he was now in charge.

  'We must rest now.'

  'Yes, rest.' Prasutagus nodded. 'Good.'

  They settled back down on the soft bed of pine needles covering the forest floor. Cato pulled his cloak tightly around him and curled up, resting his head on an arm. Above him, in small gaps in the foliage, the stars twinkled through the swirling steam of his breath. Another time he would have wondered at the beauty of this sylvan setting, but tonight the stars looked as hard and cold as. ice. Despite his weariness, Cato could not sleep. The memory of his enforced abandonment of Lady Pomponia and her terrified son played over and over in his mind, tormenting him with his powerlessness.

  When that image faded, it was replaced by the dreadful vision of Macro's wound, and much as he might pray to the gods to spare Macro's life, he had been in the army long enough to know that the Wound was almost certainly fatal. It was a coldly clinical assessment, but in his heart Cato could not bring himself to believe that his centurion would die. Not Macro. Hadn't he survived that final stand in the marshes by the River Tamesis the previous summer? If he could come back from that, then surely he could survive this wound. Nearby, in the darkness, Prasutagus stirred. />
  'Cato.'

  'Yes?'

  'Tomorrow we kill Druids. Yes?'

  'No. Tomorrow we watch Druids. Now get some rest.'

  'Huh!' Prasutagus grunted, and gradually slipped into the deep regular breathing of sleep.

  Cato sighed. Macro was gone, and now he was saddled with this mad Celt. He couldn't deny the man was good in a fight, but although he had the physique of an ox he had the brains of a mouse. Life, the optio decided, had a funny way of making an impossible situation effortlessly worse.

  Chapter Thirty

  Early the next morning Cato and Prasutagus crept to the edge of the forest, crawling through the cold wet grass at its fringe. The trees sprawled over a gently sloping hill, and, looking down towards the track in the vale, they saw no signs of any of the Druids who had pursued them into the darkness. On the far side of the track the land sloped up to another forested hill. Beyond that, Cato knew, lay the site of the abortive rescue attempt on the wagon. A wave of anguish rushed over him at the recollection, but he swiftly pushed the thought aside and concentrated on his memory of the landscape. From the farther hill they should have a good view of the massive ramparts of the Great Fortress. Cato motioned to Prasutagus and indicated a shallow defile in the side of the hill, overgrown with gorse bushes and occasional patches of blackberry. It would provide good cover all the way down the slope. From there they would have to chance a quick dash across to the forest on the far side of the track.

  Although the sky was clear, it was still early spring and the sun gave little warmth at this time of day. The exertion of creeping through the thorny bushes, and the anxiety of being discovered, kept Cat0 from shivering, but as soon as they stopped at the foot of the hill, his body trembled with cold. Worried that Prasutagus might construe his shaking as fear, Cato fought to control his body's instincts and just managed to still his limbs. Keeping his head low, he scanned the surrounding landscape. Aside from a light breeze rippling the grass, no living thing moved. Beside him Prasutagus drummed his fingers impatiently on the ground and inclined his head towards the trees beyond the track.