Simon Scarrow4_ - The Eagle and the Wolves

'Think about what I said,' Cato said softly.

Tincommius nodded and turned his gaze away, fixing his eye on the stooped figure at the front of the column. Then he clicked his tongue and urged his mount forward.

'What the hell are you playing at?' Macro whispered. 'You trying to plant ideas in his head?'

'I don't trust Artax,' said Cato.

'I don't trust anyone,' Macro replied in a furious undertone. 'Not Artax. Not Tincommius and certainly not that oily shit of a tribune. You start messing with the likes of them and you'll get us both killed.'

When the hunting party reached the edge of the forest the horsemen spread out along the tree line. Cadminius found Macro and Cato and told them to take up position close to the king, along with Artax, Tincommius and Cadminius himself.

'Why?' asked Macro.

'He needs men around him he can trust,' Cadminius replied quietly.

'What about them?' Macro nodded towards the king's bodyguards, who hung back behind the hunting party and formed a screen a short distance from the tree line.

'They'll make far too much noise if they stick close to the king. Scare all the boars away.'

'Doesn't he think that's a bit risky?' asked Cato.

Cadminius shook his head wearily. 'You've seen how he is these last few months. He's growing old and he knows it. He wants to get as much out of what's left of his life as he can. You can't blame him.'

'I might not, but his people might.'

Cadminius shrugged as he turned his horse away. 'We're his people, Centurion. He can do as he likes.'

Once the hunting party was settled in position they waited for the first sounds of the beaters. The horses lowered their heads and grazed on the wet grass while their riders sat quietly on their backs, spears resting across their thighs. The rain continued to patter a gentle drizzle on the leaves of the trees and soaked through the clothes of the hunting party. Cato's hair was soon plastered across his scalp and irritating rivulets began to trickle down his nose. With a muttered curse he pulled the cold mutton from his haversack, placed the bag on his head and sat there miserably chewing on the stringy meat waiting for the hunt to begin. As he sat, he wondered about the wisdom of having Artax so close to the king. Chosen successor he might be, but given the man's impatient and impetuous nature would Artax be willing to wait for his benefactor to die a natural death? It was as well that Macro, himself, Cadminius and Tincommius were close at hand, and Cato resolved to stay near to the king in the coming hunt.

'Cato!' Macro called out from twenty paces away. Macro pointed towards the trees. 'Listen!'

Cato cocked his head towards the forest. At first all he could make out was the steady rhythm of rain falling on leaves. Then he heard it: the long-drawn-out note of a horn, faintly in the distance. Other men looked up at the sound, grasped the shafts of their spears and made ready to move. King Verica turned his head and nodded towards the captain of his bodyguard. Raising his own horn, Cadminius drew a deep breath and blew a single powerful note. The line of horsemen walked forwards into the trees, out of view of the king's bodyguard and the handful of slaves who had accompanied the hunting party with cases of fresh spears.

Inside the forest the dimness of the day was accentuated by the thick leaf canopy, and Cato found that he had to squint to see clearly. Through the tall ferns and saplings to his left rode Macro. To his right was Tincommius. Beyond him the king was already out of sight and beyond the king rode Artax. In a short space of time the dense patches of undergrowth separated the huntsmen. Cato could hear them well enough: a constant cracking of branches and the occasional curse from some rider struggling through a tangled thicket.

To Cato's front the horns of the beaters were much clearer now, and he could hear faint shouts passing up and down the line. Somewhere between himself and the beaters lay the prey they had come to hunt. Besides boar there might be deer or even wolves, wild and terrified by the unaccustomed sound of the beaters. But it was the boars that caused Cato most anxiety. Besides the captured beast at Verica's feast, he had seen the animals at the games in Rome. Imported from Sardinia, these great brutes had had brown bristling hair and long snouts from which wicked tusks curved. Nor were the tusks their only weapon. Mouths filled with razor-sharp teeth had made short work of the condemned prisoners in the arena that day. Cato had seen one boar close its jaws on a woman's arm, and shake its huge head from side to side until it had ripped the limb away. The vivid memory made him shudder, and Cato prayed to the goddess Diana that the British boars were wholly unlike their terrifying Sardinian cousins.

The sound of something rustling through a bed of ferns ahead made Cato rein in his horse. He lowered the tip of his hunting spear and guided the point towards the sound. An instant later a ripple of moving fronds revealed the passage of some beast and Cato gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the spear shaft. A fox burst out of the ferns on to the bare forest floor and stopped the instant it saw the horse. Crouching low, and quite still, it stared at Cato for a moment. Then it was gone, before Cato could even decide if it was worth a prod. He laughed at the release of tension and tapped his heels into the side of his pony. Further down the line, away to his left, there was an excited shout as one of the hunters came upon his prey and there was a brief mad confusion of cries, a piercing whinny then the long grating squeal of an injured boar.

'Cato!' Macro called out. 'You hear that?'

'Yes! Sounds like someone's had some luck.'

His head was turned towards Macro when the beast broke cover. So he heard it before he saw it and instinctively tightened his grip on the horse's reins. The horse, spooked by the sudden appearance of the animal, and responding to the sharp tug on the reins, reared up. Cato threw himself forward, against its neck, to avoid falling off and the boar charged beneath the belly of the horse and crashed into its groin. A shriek of agony burst from the horse's foaming muzzle as it tumbled back and to the side. Cato saw the ground rushing up towards him and just had time to throw himself clear. He landed heavily and the breath was driven from his lungs with an explosive grunt of pain. He was aware of the horse thrashing on the ground nearby, and there was an enraged squeal from the boar as it turned on the horse once again, its short powerful legs kicking up dead leaves as it charged. Cato forced himself to his feet, gasping for air and frantically scrabbling through the bed of ferns for his spear.

'Cato!'

Cato raised his head and opened his mouth to cry for help, but he was too winded to sum up more than a terrified wheeze. Then he saw the spear tip, glistening close to his feet. He reached for the shaft and snatched the spear up, spinning back towards his horse. It lay on its side, front hoofs thrashing at the ground, rear legs strangely limp, and Cato realised its back must be broken. There was a sickening thud as the boar charged home again and Cato, circled round the rear of the horse, crouching low, the blade of the spear poised for a thrust.

'Cato!' Macro's voice sounded anxious now. 'What's happening?'

As the other side of his mount came into view Cato saw the boar toss back its head, its tusks goring their way deep into the belly of the horse. With a savage wrench the long snout came clear, glistening with blood as a length of intestine was torn away on the tip of one tusk. The boar's wild red eyes widened as it caught sight of Cato and at once it turned and charged.

'Oh shit!' Cato grunted, diving back round the rear of the horse. The boar swept through the space he had been an instant before and then swerved and charged after him. With a terrified glance over his shoulder Cato ran, spear in hand, away to the right where the forest floor was clear. The boar came after him, like a battering ram, screeching for his blood. Any moment now his legs would be swept from under him and his back would be torn open by those tusks.