Simon Scarrow - When the Eagle hunts

If they've any sense they'rd already safely tucked up back where they came from.'

'Even so, sir, the lad might have a point,' said Macro.

'We ought to post a watch' o some high ground.'

'Macro, I wasn't born ysterday. It's taken care of. The cavalry scouts are screening the approa.ches to the village. If anyone comes, they'll be spotted long before they threaten us. Not that I believe the raiders are still out there.'

He had barely stopped speaking when a thrumming of hooves sounded in the dusk. The three officers turned, and moments later a scout galloped his horse into the centre of the settlement. He reined his beast in and slipped from its side. 'Where's Centurion Hortensius?'

'Over here. Make your report!'

The man ran over, saluted and took a deep breath.

'Column of men approaching] sir! Two miles off.'

'Which direction?'

The scout turned and pointed towards the east, beyond a dip between two hills, where a track wound its way along the coast.

'How many?'

'Two hundred, maybe more.'

'Right. What's your decurion doing?'

'He's pulled the squadron back into the trees on the nearest hill. Except for two men, unmounted. They're keeping an eye on the column.'

'Good.' Hortensius nodded with satisfaction and dismissed the scout. 'Off you go. Tell the decurion to stay under cover. I'll send a runner with orders as soon as I can.'

The scout ran back to his mount and Hortensius turned to his officers. He forced himself to smile slightly.

'Well, young Cato. Seems you might be right. And if you are, then those Druids and their friends are in for a great big fucking surprise.'

'And just for a change it's snowing,' grumbled Cato as he looked up into the first flurry descending from the night sky. A cold wind was blowilag in from the sea and brought a swirling mass of white flakes down on the men of the Fourth Cohort as they lay hiddenin and around the ruined settlement.

The clear weather of he last few days had left the ground dry and the snow bgan to settle at once, speckling the dark cloaks and shields 0fthe legionaries as they shivered in silence.

'Won't last long, Optio,' Figulus whispered. 'Look there!'

He indicated a clear patch of sky to one side of the dark looming clouds. Stars, and the dim crescent of a half-moon, glimmered faintly in an almost black sky.

It seemed a long time since night had fallen, and the tense anticipation of the men harpened their senses as they waited for the raiders to fall into the trap. The Sixth Century was concealed in the ruins around the centre of the settlement.

Peering over the waist-high stonework of a hut, Cato could not see any of the other men of the century but their presence was palpable. As was the presence of the dead piled up in the well close by. The image of the dead boy came unbidden into Cato's mind and his bitter appetite to exact a terrible revenge on the Druids and their followers was given a new edge.

'Where the hell are those bloody British bastards?' he muttered, then immediately clenched his jaw, furious with himself for displaying his impatience in front of his men.

With the exception of Figulus, they had sat in silence, according to their orders. Most of them were seasoned veterans who had been posted to the Second Legion the previous autumn to bring the unit up to strength. Vespasian's unit had suffered grievous losses in the early battles of the campaign and had been fortunate enough to have first pick of the replacements from the reserves shipped in from Gaul.

'Want me to go and look, sir?' Figulus asked.

'No!' snapped Cato. 'Sit still, damn you. Not another sound.'

'Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.'

As the recruit shuffled off a short distance, Cato shook his head in despair. Left to his own devices that idiot would wreck the hurriedly laid plans of Centurion Hortensius. In the short time before the enemy column came within sight of the settlement, two centuries had been deployed in the settlement itself, the other four hidden in the defensive ditch, ready to close the circle that would snare the raiders. The cavalry scouts were concealed along the fringes of a nearby wood and had been detailed to emerge as soon as the signal to attack was given. They would then watch for and chase down any of the Britons that managed to escape from settlement. Not that Cato intended to give them much of that.

The charred remains of the settlement were disappearing under a thin mantle of snow. As Cato for the enemy, the loom of the fallen snow reminded him of the finest white silk, and suddenly he was Lavinia – young, fresh and filled with an infectious enthu,,-'i asm for life. Too soon the image faded and was replaced by her startled expression in death. Cato forced the vision fro his mind and tried to focus on something else. Anythi else. He was surprised, then, to find himself thinking abo Boudica – her face fixedtwith one arched eyebrow in the gently mocking expression he had become peculiarly fond of. Cato smiled.

'Sir!' Figulus hissed,,ha'lf rising to his feet. The other men of the section glared at him.

'What?' Cato looked rund. 'Thought I told you to still your tongue.'

'Something's. happening!' Figulus jabbed his finger towards the opposite side of the settlement.

'Shut your mouth!' Cato growled through clenched teeth, raising a fist to emphasise the order. 'Get down!'

Figulus squatted back under cover. Then, as cautiously as he could, Cato looked out on the open space before the well.

His eyes strained for any sign of movement. The low moan of the wind frustrated his hearing, and so it was that in spite of the darkness he saw the eriemy before he heard them. The dark outline of one of theruins opposite shifted its shape, then a shadow slowly emerged from between two stone walls. A horseman. On the threshold of the open space he reined in, and sat quite still on his mount, as if sniffing the air for signs of danger. At length the horse whinnied and raised a hoof, scraping a dark gash through the snow. Then, with a clearly audible click of the tongue, the Briton urged his beast forward, towards the well. The dark shape moved slowly through the speckled swirl and Cato got a clear sense that the man's eyes were scouring the silent ruins. He hunched down behind the wall as far as he could go and still see over the blackened stonework. As the horseman reached the well, he reined in again, then edged alongside the rim for a better view down the well shaft. Cato's hand tightened on the handle of his sword, and for a moment the temptation to draw the weapon was almost unbearable. Then he forced himself to release his grip. The men around him were tense enough to jump into action at the slightest hint that he was preparing to rush into the attack. They must wait for the trumpet. Hortensius was watching from the top of a burial mound outside the settlement and would only give the signal to spring the trap when all the raiders had passed inside the ruins of the main gate. The orders were clear: no man must move an inch until the signal was given. Cato turned towards his men, silently waving them down. From the way they were crouched and holding their shields and javelins ready, he could see that they were ready to move.

By the well, the horseman casually leaned to the side, hawked up some phlegm and spat down the shaft. The cold ache for revenge inside Cato was momentarily fanned into a terrible burning rage that set the blood pounding his veins. He fought back against the impulse, fists so tightly that he could feel the fingernails painfully into his palms. The Durotrigan seemed satisfietl that no danger threatened him or his companions casually turned his horse and trotted out of the settlemet centre back towards the main gate. Cato faced his men.

'The signal will be coming soon,' he told them, his Voie low. 'Once that scout gives the all-clear, the their mates will march in through the gate. They're retrieve their loot and probably intend to spend the night here. They'll be tired aad longing to get some rest. That'll make 'em careless.' Catot drew his sword and pointed it towards his men. 'Remember, lads…'