Simon Scarrow4_ - The Eagle and the Wolves

'What are you up to?' asked Macro. 'What did you say?'

'I'm going to try to get Tincommius if I can. Then return here as fast as possible.'

'You're quite mad,' said Macro, but made no attempt to stop him when Cato climbed down from the gate, snatched up his helmet and shield and turned to the legionaries positioned there. 'When I give the order I want the gate opened as fast as you can.'

His heart was beating fast with the anticipation of renewed action, and all the exhaustion of earlier had disappeared as Cato's senses quickened. As soon as Mandrax and his party were ready, Cato drew a breath and shouted, 'Open the gate!'

The legionaries slipped the restraining bar to one side and dragged the gate back.

'Follow me!' Cato called over his shoulder and ran out into the street. He made towards the men clustered around Tincommius, and resisted the impulse to draw his sword; it was vital that he did not look as if he was about to attack them. Tincommius turned towards the enclosure and thrust his arm out towards Cato.

'Get them!'

'Wolves! Boars!' Cato called out. 'Hold him. Hold Tincommius!'

For a horrible instant, Tincommius' men turned towards Cato and the centurion was sure they would fight, that he had badly misjudged their mood. But they simply stood their ground and watched as Cato and his men quickly covered the short distance from the gate. Tincommius looked round at his men with a terrified expression and then he turned and ran.

'Stop that traitor!' shouted Cato. But it was too late. Tincommius had burst through the ring of men and was sprinting towards the corner, and the safety of his Durotrigan allies. He might have made good his escape, but the man with the club hurled it after the prince and struck him on the back of the knee. The club was deflected between his legs and Tincommius tumbled headlong into the small huddle of the remaining Roman prisoners. With savage cries of rage they fell on him, beating him with their tethered hands. Cato stopped by the ring of men, who stared at him with uncertain expressions as they held their weapons ready. Cato immediately turned to the crippled men lying in the street and snapped out his orders.

'Get the live ones inside the enclosure! Move! The Durotrigans will be here any moment!'

Whatever authority and urgency there was in his tone, it had its effect. The men hurried towards the Romans on the ground, and began dragging them up the street, the need for speed making them ignore the renewed screams from their former prisoners.

Cato swung round to Mandrax. 'Get the rest of the prisoners up! Make sure you don't leave behind whatever's left of Tincommius!'

Mandrax grinned. 'Yes, Centurion.'

Leaving the men to carry out his orders, Cato trotted further down the street, round the corner that led towards Calleva's main gate. Then he stopped. Thirty paces away, and stretching all the way down the street were the Durotrigans, resting quietly between the huts that lined the streets. Hundreds of them. Almost at once there was a cry of alarm and one of the warriors jumped to his feet, pointing towards Cato. Others sprang up, reaching for their weapons.

'Whoops!' Cato muttered. He spun round and started sprinting back towards the royal enclosure, as the savage cries of his pursuers rang out. The centurion raced round the corner, and saw that most of his men, the prisoners and the surviving victims of the morning's horror had nearly reached the gate.

'Move yourselves!' he screamed. 'They're coming!'

The growing roar from down the street was all his men needed to hear, and they rushed the remaining distance up to the enclosure and through the gate, heedless of the added agony they caused the injured men they were dragging. Then it was just Cato left, running towards the safety of the gate, already being swung back into place by its defenders. Not again, he thought wryly. Cato glanced over his shoulder, just as the Durotrigans burst round the corner no more than twenty paces behind, shrieking for his blood. Weighed down by his armour Cato could not hope to outrun them, and threw down his shield as he pounded towards the narrowing gap. Above the gate Macro and the others leaned over, shouting desperate encouragement. Cato jumped over the prone forms of the prisoners who had died from their injuries, head ducked low, nailed boots pounding on the hard packed earth of the street. A dark shadow whipped past his head and a dozen feet ahead, a spear thudded into the ground.

'Come on, Cato!' bellowed Macro. 'They're right behind you!'

He looked up, saw the gate directly ahead of him, then sensed danger at his shoulder and dodged to one side. A sword blade swished through the air and bit down into the earth as the man who wielded it hissed a curse. Cato threw himself forward through the gap left for him and rolled over inside the gate. Immediately the legionaries heaved it into place, but caught, between the gate and the stout timber of the support post, the shoulder and head of the man who had tried to cut Cato down with his sword. With a dull crack the man's skull was crushed, a legionary thrust the misshapen mass back through the gap and the gate was barred once more. The thud and clatter of the enemy on the far side testified to their rage and frustration as Cato strained to catch his breath on all fours.

'Cato!' Macro called down to him. 'You all right?'

Cato waved a hand.

'Good! Then you'd better get up here and deal with this bloody wasps' nest you've gone and stirred up!'

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

'Get the wounded into the hall!' Cato ordered, heaving himself up the ladder to join Macro. Verica's bodyguards thrust themselves in front of the king as Cadminius eased the old man back on to his litter.

'What about him, sir?' asked Mandrax, nodding towards the bloody and bruised Atrebatan prince groaning on the ground at the foot of the Wolf standard.

Cato glanced over his shoulder. 'Take Tincommius into the hall. Make sure he's tied up. He's not to be harmed, understand?'

Mandrax, looking disappointed, prodded Tincommius with the end of the standard. 'On your feet, you.'

Cato spared the traitor no more thought as he pushed his way past the bodyguards to the palisade. On either side legionaries and natives from the Wolf Cohort were hurling anything to hand on to the Durotrigans packed into the street below. There were only a few missiles thrown in return as the heaving mass of warriors made it difficult for any man trying to cast a spear or stone back at the defenders, and far more men were being struck down before the gateway than on it.

'They never learn,' Macro shouted into his ear.

'Yes they do,' Cato replied breathlessly, still blown from his run back to the gate. He raised his arm and pointed. 'Look there!'

A short distance down the street were a number of small alleys leading off into the maze of huts clustered about the royal enclosure. The Durotrigans were streaming into the alleys and disappearing from view. Macro turned to Cato. 'I'll take care of things here. You find out where those alleys lead and make sure that you cover any approaches to the wall.'

'Yes, sir!' Cato turned round and grabbed the nearest native warrior. 'Do any alleys pass close to the walls of the enclosure?'

'Some might do, sir.'

'Might?' Cato eyed him coldly, biting back on his temper. 'All right, then, get some men, anyone who's not on the gate, and send them up on to the wall. I want them evenly spaced. There must be no blind spots. Understand?'

'I – I think so, sir.' The man was exhausted.

Cato grabbed him by the shoulders and shouted into his face. 'Do you understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Go!'

As the warrior ran off to carry out his orders, Cato turned and pushed his way along the narrow walkway until he was clear of the gate and began to run round the circumference of the enclosure. He had walked the perimeter a few hours earlier, as a diversion from Tincommius' display, to ensure that his sentries were alert to any dangers. An indirect approach to the walls of the enclosure was no mere possibility; it was a certainty. Now that Tincommius' final effort to achieve a quick surrender had failed the Durotrigans had no choice but to launch a bloody assault. Somewhere amongst the tangled outlines of thatched roofs the enemy was groping for a way through to the wall.