The Eagles Prey c-5

by Simon Scarrow

  'I'll see you in hell first!' Maximius spat, and bolted to his feet. 'Antonius! Felix! Draw your swords!'

  'Stay where you are.' Macro leaped forward and raised the tip of his sword, close to Felix's throat.'Don't even think about moving. Tullius! You watch him.' Macro nodded at the cohort commander. But it was too late. Maximius was on his feet, sword drawn, almost as soon as Macro had spoken. Tullius faltered, looking from Maximius to Macro with a helpless expression.

  Cato turned to the flap leading to the cohort commander's sleeping quarters. 'Nepos! Get in here!'

  The legionary rushed in, and stood poised with Maximius' sword raised and ready to strike. For a moment Cato stared nervously as the cohort commander's muscles trembled in readiness to spring. Maximius' eyes narrowed briefly and he concentrated his piercing gaze on the legionary.

  'Drop that weapon! That's an order!'

  The tip of Nepos' sword dipped slightly and Cato stepped in between them, breaking Maximius' line of sight to the legionary.

  'Obey him, and you're a dead man. Understand?'

  Nepos slowly nodded and Cato turned round to face the cohort commander. 'Put your sword down, sir.'

  Maximius was still for an instant, then the tension around his eyes eased off and he managed a smile. 'You have the advantage, Cato. For now.'

  'The sword, sir… put it down.'

  Maximius relaxed his arm and let his blade fall to his side.

  'Drop the sword, sir,' Cato said firmly. 'I won't warn you again.'

  'And let your man strike me down? I don't think so.'

  No one spoke as Cato reached out his hand towards the cohort commander. Cato felt his heart pounding in his chest, and his throat tightened as he tried to conquer his fear. For a moment it seemed that Maximius had seen through him, and a contemptuous smile slowly formed on the older man's lips. Cato tilted his head forward and refused to let his gaze waver.

  Eventually Maximius nodded and sheathed his sword. 'All right, boy. Let's hear you out.' Maximius casually turned his back on Cato and stepped towards his desk,'Tell me about this attack.'

  Cato saw Tullius' cheeks puff out as he breathed in relief. But Cato knew it wasn't over yet. He quickly moved up behind Maximius, shot out a hand and snatched the cohort commander's sword from its scabbard with a sharp rasping noise. He stepped back and raised the blade towards the spine of his superior. Maximius froze.

  'You'd better replace that, before it's too late,' he said.

  'It's already too late,' Cato replied.

  Tullius started forwards.'What the hell are you doing, Cato?'

  'Sir, we can't trust him. He'll pretend to hear us out and the moment we leave this tent he'd have us arrested, or killed on the spot. Nepos?'

  'Sir?'

  'Tie him up.'

  'What about him?' Macro prodded his sword at Centurion Felix. 'This one won't rise against his master.'

  'Yes, Felix as well. We have to be quick.'

  While the two officers were held at the point of a sword, Nepos hurriedly undid their bootlaces and used the tough leather thongs to bind their wrists and ankles. Tullius and Antonius looked on in mounting horror.

  'You can't do this,' Tullius muttered. 'This is mutiny. Shit, you'll get us killed.'

  'It's too late now, sir,' Cato said gently. 'We're all involved. Me, Macro, you and Antonius. If we let them go now, we'll all be executed.'

  Maximius shook his head. 'It's not too late for you, Tullius. Or you, Antonius. Stop these madmen and you have my word, you'll not stand trial.'

  Cato glanced at Tullius and saw that the old man was wavering.'Tullius! You set me free. You arranged for Macro to be armed and brought here. There'll be no mercy for you now, sir. There's more at stake than our lives. He's not fit to command this cohort. Not when we're about to be attacked by Caratacus. Sir, hold your nerve. Your men need you.'

  Tullius looked from Cato to Maximius and back again and rubbed his face. 'Damn you, Cato! You'll be the death of me.'

  'We're all dead in the end, sir. All that matters is to make certain your death isn't pointless. If we release him now, Maximius will have us killed like dogs. If he saves us for trial, then we'll just die in chains when Caratacus gets here. But if we – you – take command, then there's a chance some of us will survive the attack. Better still, we might even be able to cripple Caratacus's force. If that happens then it's possible General Plautius will overlook this.'

  'Fucking fat chance of that!' Maximius snorted.

  Cato ignored him, concentrating his attention on Tullius. 'Sir, you change your mind now and you're dead. Stick with our plan, and we may live. That's all the choice there is.'

  Tullius bit his lip, caught in an agony of indecision. At last he nodded his assent.

  'Good!' Macro clapped him on the shoulder, then turned to Antonius. 'And you? Are you with us?'

  'Yes…but if it comes to a trial I want it understood that I was obeying your orders.'

  Macro snorted. 'Thanks for the loyal support.'

  'Loyalty?' Antonius arched an eyebrow. 'That's in rather short supply at present. I just want to live. If the choice is as Cato has described it, then going along with you is simply the best bet.'

  'Fine by me,' said Cato. 'Nepos, take these two through to Maximius' sleeping quarters and tie them to the bed. Gag them as well. They have to be kept silent.'

  'There's a better way of keeping 'em quiet,' Macro added.

  'No, sir. That's not necessary. Not yet.'

  While Nepos dragged the two bound officers away, the rest gathered round the large desk in the centre of the tent. For a moment there was an uneasy silence before Cato cleared his throat and turned to Tullius.

  'Sir, what are your orders?'

  'Orders?' The veteran looked confused.

  'You're the senior officer present,' Cato prompted.'We have to make sure the cohort is ready to defend itself. The plan, sir?'

  'The plan? Oh, yes.' Tullius gathered his thoughts, looked over the desk for the map of the surrounding marsh that Maximius had drafted, based on reports from the patrols, and any information the local villagers had been persuaded to divulge. The sketched marks of small tracks crisscrossed the outline of the marsh. A broader line marked the main route through the marsh, leading north towards the upper reaches of the Tamesis. Tullius placed his finger on the map.

  'If Cato is right, that's where Caratacus and his force will be coming from. There are a handful of other tracks that could be used to enter the valley, but they're not suitable for large bodies of men. So, we're counting on him coming down the main track. That's where we'll have to hold him. Build up the existing gateway and hope we can hold it.'

  Antonius looked up.'Leave the fort? But that's madness, sir. If he outnumbers us why not fight him from proper defences? It's our best chance.'

  'No, it's not,' Cato interrupted. 'Centurion Tullius is right. We have to try and hold him back, stop him breaking out of the marsh and into the valley.'

  'Why?'

  'When I escaped from his camp-'

  'His camp?' Antonius looked astonished.'How on earth-'

  Cato raised a hand to silence him.'I'll explain it to you later, sir. The thing is, I sent my optio north with a message for Vespasian. He should have reached him by now. So Vespasian will know about the location of Caratacus' camp. He'll also know that he intends to attack the Third Cohort and which route he is likely to take. If I know the legate, he'll see this as an opportunity to finish Caratacus off. If he takes the legion and advances down that track, he'll be able to fall upon the rear of the enemy force. Caratacus will be caught between Vespasian and the Third Cohort and cut to pieces, provided we can contain him in the marsh. And that means leaving the fort and taking up position across the track. If we stay in the fort, then Caratacus will be able to escape south the moment he spots Vespasian's forces.'

  'That's a lot of ifs,' Antonius remarked quietly.'I'll add a few of my own: what if Figulus doesn't make it? What if Vespasian doesn't believe hi
m? What if you're wrong? What if Vespasian doesn't act?'

  'It's true, Figulus might not reach the legion,' Cato admitted. 'We have to hope that he did. The fact that he's risking execution by returning to the legion must carry some weight. We have to count on the legate seeing the opportunity to end this campaign once and for all.'

  'And if he doesn't?'

  'Then we'll hold Caratacus off, for a while at least. If we cause enough damage then maybe they'll pull back long enough for us to try and get back to the fort. Otherwise,' Cato shrugged, 'otherwise they'll eventually roll over us and cut the cohort to pieces.'

  'Thanks.' Antonius clicked his tongue. 'Most inspiring briefing I've ever had.'

  'The thing is,' Cato continued.'We have to get into position as fast as we can, and prepare the defences. Sir?' He turned to Tullius. 'We're ready for your orders.'

  'Just a moment,' Antonius interrupted and jabbed his thumb towards the cohort commander's sleeping quarters. 'But what are we going to do about those two?'

  'I suggest we leave them here, sir.'

  'And how are we going to explain Maximius' absence to the men? Him and Felix?'

  'We're not. Tullius can give all the orders as if they're from Maximius. He's the adjutant. Who would question him?'

  'If Maximius fails to put in an appearance, they might.'

  Cato smiled. 'By then, they'll have other things on their minds.'

  Then he heard the rhythmic tramp of marching boots, approaching the tent. He glanced at Tullius.

  'Someone's coming.'

  The older centurion hurried to the tent flap, looked outside briefly, then turned to the others.

  'It's Cordus, and he's got Maximius' guards with him.'

  05 The Eagles Prey

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Macro grabbed Tullius by the shoulder.'Get out there and deal with him.'

  'What shall I say?'

  'Anything. Just don't let him get inside the tent. If he does, it's all over for us.'

  Tullius swallowed nervously, then steadied himself for an instant and ducked outside.

  'Cordus! There you are. What the hell kept you?'

  'I-I was in the village, sir.' The tone was aggrieved, verging on insolent.'Like you ordered. The natives have started on the ditch, sir.'

  'Good job. Well done. Now we've got work to do. The cohort's on the move. Your orders are to pass the word for all units to assemble, fully equipped.'

  'All the men, sir?'

  'That's what Maximius said.'

  'Who's going to oversee the natives?'

  'Send them back to the village, and release all the hostages.'

  'Release the-' Cordus' voice started to rise, before he took control of his frustration. 'Yes, sir. I'll see to it.'

  'Good. Once that's done, take your century down to the track that leads into the marsh. Start work on strengthening the existing gateway. We need to prepare it for an attack in strength. I want the rampart higher and the ditch dug deeper, and wider. We have to be able to defend it.'

  'Defend it from who, sir?'

  'The enemy. Who else? It seems that Caratacus plans to attack after all. Now carry out your orders.'

  'Yes, sir…But first, I must report to Centurion Maximius. Excuse me, sir.'

  Inside the tent Macro and Cato exchanged anxious glances, and Cato tightened his grip on the cohort commander's sword.

  'Make your report later!' Tullius snapped. 'Carry out your orders, or I'll have you on a bloody charge.'

  'I don't think so, sir,' Cordus replied quietly. 'We'll see what Maximius has to say about this.'

  'On whose authority do you think I give these orders?' Tullius shouted back. 'Get out of my sight, you jumped-up little prick! Go, before I have you for gross insubordination.'

  There was a pause, during which Cato and Macro stood quite still, tense and strained. Then Cordus gave way.

  'Yes, sir.'

  'And take these guards with you. Maximius wants every man at work on the defences as soon as they're kitted up. Better find a cart and take all the entrenching tools you can carry with you.'

  'Yes, sir… as Centurion Maximius commands.'

  'That's right. Now get moving.'

  Cordus called the guards to attention, ordered them to turn about, and then marched towards the main gate. The leather flaps were swept aside and Centurion Tullius walked unsteadily into the headquarters tent. He slumped down in a chair to one side of the desk.

  'Well done, sir,' Cato said with a smile.'A fine performance. He'll be out of the way when we make our move. Are there any other officers who might give us problems?'

  'No.' Tullius puffed out his cheeks. 'Maximius has really pissed most of them off. He's been playing up to the men for weeks now, and undermining our authority over them. The optios would be glad to see the back of him. But they'd never support a mutiny.'

  'Then we won't give them one, sir,' Cato smiled encouragingly. 'If we can keep them busy, it'll all be over, one way or another, before they ever know the cohort is under a new commander.'

  Trumpets began to sound the assembly across the fort and from outside the tent came the muffled sounds of the men gathering their equipment and bundling out of their tents to run to the assembly point just inside the main gate.

  Cato leaned towards Tullius. 'You'd better go and take charge, sir.'

  'Yes, yes, of course. Antonius, come with me.' The old centurion looked up at Cato. 'I'll send for you and Macro as soon as Cordus has left the fort.'

  Macro shifted uneasily. 'If anyone asks, and they will, then you'd better have a good reason for reinstating us. At least, you'd better be able to convince the men that it was Maximius' idea.'

  'Tell them the truth, sir,' Cato added. 'Tell them that Caratacus is coming and that the cohort requires every available man under arms to fight the enemy. And that's the only reason Maximius has agreed to release us, temporarily.'

  'Right…' Tullius looked doubtful.'Come on, Antonius.'

  Macro waited until the two centurions had left the tent before he turned to Cato. 'Doesn't exactly make you feel hopeful, does it?'

  Cato shrugged.'With the odds that I've faced in recent days, right now I feel like I'm well ahead of the game.'

  'Ever the bloody optimist,' Macro grunted.

  'All the same, there's one last thing I need to sort out before Tullius sends for us.'

  'What's that?'

  'We need Nepos to stay here and keep an eye on Maximius and Felix. If you keep watch for a moment, sir, I'll give him his orders.'

  'All right.' Macro crept over to the tent flap and peered cautiously outside. There was no one close at hand, just distant figures visible through the gaps in the lines of tents. They were forming up, making ready to march out of the fort. Macro glanced back towards Cato and saw his young friend talking earnestly with Nepos, speaking quietly. Macro could not catch what was being said. The legionary seemed to be listening intently and shook his head.

  'You have to!' Cato snapped at him, then glanced quickly at Macro. He turned back to the legionary and dropped his voice as he continued. Eventually Nepos nodded slowly when Cato had finished issuing his orders. The centurion patted Nepos on the arm and gave him a few last words of encouragement before he turned and made his way quietly across the tent to join Macro.

  'Nepos doesn't look happy.'

  Cato shot him a searching glance and then shrugged. 'He's not keen on staying behind.'

  'So I noticed.'

  'Hardly surprising,' Cato smiled.'Being left alone when the rest of the cohort is leaving the fort.

  'Frankly,' Macro muttered, 'I'm not sure who's going to have the better deal. Any possibility that Nepos might want to swap duties?'

  Cato gave a dry laugh as he glanced back towards Nepos, ducking quietly back into the cohort commander's sleeping quarters. 'Oh, I should think there's every possibility of that.'

  Once the cohort had formed up behind the main gate, Centurion Tullius passed on the orders from the cohort
commander and told the men that Centurion Felix had volunteered to find the legate and inform him of the Third Cohort's situation. Tullius explained that since the cohort was well under strength, Maximius had decided that every available man should be readied for the coming fight. Accordingly, Macro had been given command of the Fourth Century, Felix's unit, and Cato would be once again marching at the head of the Sixth Century. On cue, the two officers emerged from between the lines of tents behind Tullius and were presented to the men of the cohort. The astonishment of the legionaries was short-lived as Tullius gave the order to march at once and, century by century, the men of the cohort tramped out of the fort and headed towards the track leading into the marsh.

  Optio Septimus, who Maximius had appointed to replace Figulus, kept pace alongside Cato. From time to time he glanced at his centurion with a surly and hostile expression that Cato could well understand. He had been enjoying his first taste of command, and had relinquished it with a barely tolerable show of bad feeling. Cato decided that the best way of dealing with the resentment was to keep the man occupied.

  'The men are straggling, Septimus! Close 'em up!'

  The optio dropped out of line and started to scream abuse at the men marching past him, striking out with his staff at any legionary who permitted a gap to open up between himself and the man ahead of him. The blows were unnecessarily savage, but Cato forced himself not to intervene. The last thing the century needed now was a confrontation between its officers. He would have to let Septimus vent his frustration and anger on the men for now. As long as they hated Septimus, they might be inclined towards a better relationship with their newly reappointed centurion.

  It felt strange to Cato to be once again commanding the men he had led into battle at the crossing on the Tamesis. Last time they had failed to hold the enemy back and Cato had suffered decimation as a result. This time failure would lead to the death of them all. And if they survived the coming hours? Cato smiled grimly to himself. However things turned out, he was still a condemned man and faced execution, or, if he was spared, it was most likely that he would still be disgraced and dismissed from the army. With a stab of anger he cast thought of the future aside. He must keep his mind on the present.