Simon Scarrow - When the Eagle hunts

'This was your idea, remember? Bloody well should have let you go on your own after all.'

'Yes, sir.'

The river bed gradually sloped up to the far bank, and the horses eagerly emerged from the freezing water. Looking back across the disturbed surface they could see almost nothing of the far side, their last sight of friendly land. In case Cato's suspicion of Vellocatus was justified, they first went upriver, away from the strongholds of the Durotriges, and increased their pace to a quick trot so that the sound of their hoofbeats on the beaten track would carry across the water back to the farmer, if he was waiting and listening beneath the willows.

A mile down the track, they halted, turned southwest, and quietly walked their horses through the cold wetland until they rejoined the track leading inland from the ford. As the first light of day began to filter through the darkness, Prasutagus quickened the pace, anxious not to be caught in the open once dawn had broken. At a gentle canter they followed the track until the surrounding land became more firm and the wetlands gave way to meadows, and then clumps of more substantial trees. Before long they had entered a small forest. Prasutagus followed the trail short distance and then branched off along a twisting side path that led deep into an area where pine trees grew, evergreen and straight-trunked. As the lower branches closed in on either side, they had to dismount and lead their horses on foot. At length, the narrow path opened out into a small clearing. Cato was surprised to see a small timber hut faced with turf to one side. All around it stood bare wooden frames.

Above the lintel over the hut's door hung the skull of a stag with a spectacular set of antlers. Nothing moved.

'I thought we were supposed to be avoiding the locals,'

Macro hissed at Boudica. t 'We are,' she relayed the. answer back. 'This is a Druid hunting lodge. We'll spend 'the day here, resting. We'll continue along the main track at dusk.'

Once the horses had been relieved of their baggage and tethered, Prasutagus pushed, aside the heavy leather flap that served as a door to the hut and they went inside. There was the usual beaten earth floor and a framework of pine branches held up the tightly Packed thatch of the roof. A rich scent of pine and mustiness filled their nostrils. A small hearth stood at one end below an opening in the roof, and a line of simple wooden cots lined the rear wall. The bracken in the cots was slightly damp iut serviceable.

'Seems comfortable enough,' said Macro. 'But how safe are we here?'

'We're safe,' Boudica replied. 'The Druids only use the lodge in summer, and most of the Durotriges are too scared of the Druids to venture anywhere near this place.'

Macro tested one of the cots with a hand, then stretched out on the rustling bracken. 'Ahhh! Now that's what I call comfortable.'

'Better get as much rest as you can. We've quite a way to go when it gets dark.'

'Fair enough.'

Cato eased himself into the next cot, eyes already heavy at the prospect of slumber. A nagging anxiety over the trustworthiness of Vellocatus had robbed him of sleep the night before and his mind was dull with exhaustion. He lay back and pulled his cloak tightly about him. His aching eyes closed and his mind quickly drifted away from the harsh discomforts of the real world.

Prasutagus regarded the Romans with a faint look of contempt, then turned back towards the low doorway. Macro quickly propped himself up.

'Where do you think you're going?'

Prasutagus made a quick gesture towards his mouth. 'Find food.'

Macro stared at the Briton, wondering how far he could be relied on.

Prasutagus held his gaze for a moment then turned and ducked out of the lodge. A flash ofpearl3 daylight filled the interior before the leather curtain fell back across the doorway and all was still and silent in the lodge. With his veteran's instinct to snatch whatever rest he could, Macro fell asleep almost at once.

He awoke with a start, eyes snapping open, perplexed by the tangle of pine branches above his head. Then a sense of location returned and Macro remembered he was in the lodge. From the pale quality of the light filtering in from a narrow slit in the wall it was clear that dusk was approaching.

He had been asleep for almost the entire day then. A snapping crackle of twigs sounded from the end of the lodge and Macro twisted his head round. Boudica was squatting down next to the hearth with a pile of kindling at her side.

She reached for another handful as he watched. There was no sign of Prasutagus, and no sound from outside. Cato was still deeply asleep and lay with his mouth open, his breathing accompanied by an occasiohal clicking at the back of his throat.

'It's time we talked,' said Macro quietly.

Boudica appeared not tO have heard him, and continued snapping twigs, arranging tl.m in a nest around the clump of dry bracken she had pulled from one of the cots.

'Boudica, I said it's tim we talked.'

'I heard you,' she replied without turning round. 'But what's the point? It's over between us.'

' Since when?'

'Since I was betrothed to Prasutagus. We're to be wed as soon as we return to Camulod.unum.'

Macro sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot.

'Married? To him? When was all this decided? It's been less than a month since we last saw each other. You couldn't stand the sight of him then. At least, that's how you behaved.

So what are you playing at, woman?'

'Playing?' Boudica repeated the word with a faint smile.

Then she turned and faced him. 'There are no more games for me, Macro. I am a woman now, and I'm expected to behave like one. That's what they told me.'

'Who told you?'

'My family. After they finished beating me.' Her eyes fell to the floor. 'Seems that I caused them some embarrassment after that last night we had in the inn. When I got home to my uncle's house they were all waiting for me. Somehow, they'd found out. My uncle took me out to his stable and whipped me. He kept shouting that I had shamed him, shamed my family and shamed my tribe. And all the time he whipped me.

I-I've never known a person could feel such pain…'

Macro had been beaten a few times in his younger days – at the hands of a centurion wielding a vine staffwith all the brutality the officer could muster. He remembered the agony well enough, and understood what she must have endured.

Rage and pity welled up inside him. He rose from the cot and went to sit beside her.

'I thought he was going to kill me,' whispered Boudica.

Macro put his arm round her shoulder and gave her a comforting squeeze. He felt her body flinch at his touch.

'Don't, Macro. For pity's sake don't touch me. I can't bear it.'

The chilling despair of rejection turned Macro's guts to ice. He frowned, angry with himself for having let this woman work her way into his heart so completely. He could imagine the other centurions laughing contemptuously into their cups if they ever got wind of his infatuation with some native girl.

Screwing them was one thing; forming an emotional attachment was quite another. It was just the sort of pathetic behaviour he himself had once been so critical of. He recalled the jibes he had given Cato when the lad had fallen for the slave girl Lavinia. But that had been a harmless teenage fling; just the kind of thing to be expected of youngsters before the harsh demands of adulthood closed down such experimentation with all that life had to offer. Macro was thirty-five, nearly ten years older than Boudica. True, there were relationships with greater differences in age, but they were rightly derided by most people. The gap in age that had charmed him so utterly a few months earlier now mocked him. The centurion felt like one of the 15athetic old gropers who haunted the Circus Maximus, trying thefir hand with women young enough to be their grandchildren. The comparison made him burn with shame. He stirred uncomfortably.