Simon Scarrow - When the Eagle hunts

Once again he tried to get to sleep, banishing all thought from his mind, and once again the subtle wiles of insomnia nudged his mind back to the previous night's encounter.

Surprise at seeing Boudica and her dangerous cousin was mirrored in the faces of General Plautius and Vespasian as they realised that the new arrivals were known to the centurion and his optio.

'I see you're already acquainted.' Plautius smiled. 'That should make things easier all round.'

'I'm not so sure, sir,' rrplied Macro, warily sizing up the British warrior towering over him. 'Last time we met, Prasutagus here didn't seem to have much affection,for Romans.': 'Really?' Plautius looked, steadily at Macro. 'Not much affection for Romans, or not much for you?'

'Sir?…

'You should know, Centurion, that this man volunteered to help in any way that he 6ould. Once I made known to the Icenian elders that my family was being held, this man came forward and volunteered to do all in his power to help me recover them.'

'Do you trust him, sir?'

'I have to. What other choice do I have? And you will work closely with him. That'san order.'

'I thought we'd volunteered, sir.'

'You have, and now that you have, you'll obey my orders.

You're to co-operate fully with Prasutagus. He knows the country and customs of the Durotriges, and a great deal about the practices and secret places of the Dark Moon Druids. He's the best chance we have. So look after him, and pay close heed to what he tells you – or rather to what the lady here translates for you. You appear to have met her before as well.'

'You might say that, sir,' Macro replied quietly, and nodded his head formally at Boudica.

'Centurion Macro,' she acknowledged him. 'And your charming optio.'

'Ma'am.' Cato swallowed nervously.

Prasutagus glared at Macro for a moment, and then helped himself to a goblet of the legate's wine which he drank so fast that from either side of the rim drops of red liquid spilled down the thick blond hair of his ornate moustache.

'How quaint,' Vespasian muttered, eyebrows rising anxiously as the Briton went back to the glass jug for a third goblet.

'Since you seem to approve…' Boudica joined Prasutagus and poured herselfa goblet, filling it to the brim.

'To a safe return.'

She raised the goblet to her lips and drank until the last drop had been drained, then thumped the goblet down.

Boudica grinned at the scandalised expressions of the general and his legate. This was a world away from the prim codes ofbehaviour they were used to among the better class of Roman women.

Prasutagus muttered something and nudged Boudiea to translate.

'He says the wine's not bad.'

Vespasian gave a tight-lipped smile and sat down.

'Well then, enough of the formalities. We haven't much time. Centurion, I will brief your team as fully as I can, and then you need to rest. I'll have some horses, provisions and weapons made ready so that you can leave the camp before dawn. It's important that your party is not seen leaving the legion. You'll be travelling by night mostly, and laying up during the day. If you happen to run into anyone you'll need a cover story. Your best chance is to pretend to be travelling entertainers. Prasutagus ўўill play the part of a wrestler, offering to take on all-comers, for a fee. She will pose ashis wife. You two are going to' be a pair of Greek slaves, ex soldiers bought to provide protection in this wild land. The southern tribes of Britain e used to the comings and goings of merchants, traders and.entertainers.'

An image of the slauglrtered victims of the burned village flickered into Cato's mind. 'Excuse me, sir, given the way they treat the Atrebates, What makes you think they won't just kill us out of hand?'

'It's a tribal convention; you don't piss on your ovra doorstep. By all means raid other tribes, but you don't want to discourage trade from outside. That's how it works with all the tribes on the edges of the empire. However, you're right to be cautious. The Druids are an unknown element in this. We don't know what the Durotriges will do under their influence. Prasutagus is best placed to deal with any situations you encounter. Watch him carefully, and follow his lead.'

'I'll be watching carefully right enough,' Macro said quietly.

'You really think that'll work, sir?' asked Cato. 'Aren't the Durotriges going to be just a little suspicious of strangers, now that there's a Roman army camping on their doorstep?'

'I admit it won't stand up to much scrutiny, but it might buy you time, should you need it. Prasutagus may be remembered in some parts, which should count for something.

You and the optio should stay out of sight as far as possible and let Prasutagus and Boudica approach the Durotriges or any settlements you come across. They'll listen for news of my family. Follow up any leads for as long as it takes, and find them.'

'I thought we only had twenty odd days left, sir. Before the Druids' deal is off.'

Plautius answered him. 'Yes, that's right. But once the deadline has passed and.., and if the worst has happened, I'd like to be able to give them a decent funeral. Even if all that's left is ash and bone.'

A hand grasped Cato's shoulder and shook him roughly. His eyes flickered open and his body, stiffened at the sudden waking.

'Shhh!' Macro hissed from the darkness. 'Keep it quiet!

It's time to go. Got your equipment?'

Cato nodded, then realised that it was still too dark for Macro to see him. 'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Then let's go.'

Still tired, and reluctant to quit the relative warmth of the tent, Cato shivered as he quietly crept outside, dragging the bundle he had prepared before going to sleep. Wrapped inside a spare tunic was his mail armour and leather harness, together with sword and dagger. Helmet, shield and everything else would be collected by the headquarters staff and kept safe from pilfering until they returned. Cato had little doubt that they would become someone else's property in the near future.

As he followed Macro through the dark lines of tents towards the stables, fear of what lay ahead began to unravel his determination to see the fiaission through. It was tempting to make himself trip over a guy rope and fake a twisted ankle. In the darkness it might pass for a credible excuse.

But he could imagine thecontemptuous doubt that Macro and the legate would be su.e to feel, if not express. This shaming prospect made him dismiss the plan and tread more warily in case the accident happened for real. Besides, he couldn't let Macro go blundering about in the depths of enemy territory with only Prasutagus and Boudica for company. It would be all too easy for the Iceni warrior to slit:

Macro's throat while he slept. But not so easy if they took turns to watch over each other..There really was no way out of this, he concluded glumly. If only Macro hadn't been so rude to the general, then he wouldn't have had to intervene.

Now they were both for the chop, thanks to Macro.

Grumbling silently to himself, Cato forgot to pay attention to where he was putting his feet. The guy rope caught his shin and he tumbled head first with a sharp cry. Macro whipped round.

'Quiet! You want to wake up everyone in the fucking camp?'

'Sorry, sir,' Cato whispered as he struggled back to his feet, the heavy bundle in both arms.

'Don't tell me, you've gone and twisted your ankle.'

'No, sir! Of course not!'

Someone stirred inside the tent. 'Who's there?'

'No one,' snapped Macro. 'Get back to sleep… Come on, lad, and watch your step.'

Beside the horse pen, a dim light glimmered inside the large tent where the riding tack and cavalry weapons were stored. Cato followed Macro through the flap into the dull glow of a hanging oil lamp. Prasutagus, Boudica and Vespasian stood waiting.