Simon Scarrow - When the Eagle hunts

'Any sign of the hostages, sir?'

'No. But if they're anywhere in the village, that hut looks like our best bet. Saw someone take a jug and some bread in there not long ago.'

Macro turned away from the village and eased himself back on the rustling mass of cut reeds.

'Everything sorted?'

'Yes, sir. Our horses are safe in that dell Prasutagus showed us. I've agreed a signal with Boudica in case there's any trouble.' Cato indicated the holly bough.

'If they leave it much longer it'll be dark before we get started,' said Macro quietly.

'Prasutagus said he'd give me enough time to get back to you and then they would move.'

'You left them in the dell?'

'Yes, sir.'

'I see.' Macro frowned, then heaved himself back into position to continue watching over the village. 'Then I expect we'll have to wait a while longer before they turn up.'

Even though the winter months had nearly come to an end, it was still cold and the steady light drizzle had thoroughly penetrated their clothes. After a little while Cato's teeth were chattering and his body trembled. He tightened his muscles to try and fight offthe sengation. These last few days had been the most uncomfortable of his life. Apart from the physical discomforts they had endured, the constant fear of discovery, and terror of the consequences, had made every moment a nervous torment. Now, as he lay on a damp river bank, legs caked in foul-smelling muck, chilled to the bone and starving for a decent warm meal, he began to fantasise about fixing himself an honourable discharge.from the legion. It was not the first time the thought of quitting the army had come to his mind. Not the first by a long way.

The train of thought was familiar and primarily focused on the task of discovering a means by which he could quickly acquire a pensioned discharge without sustaining a disabling injury. Unfortunately teams of sharp-minded imperial clerks had pored over the regulations long before Cato was born and had managed to close nearly every loophole. But somewhere, some way, there had to be a means by which he. could beat the system.

Macro suddenly grunted. Here they come. Must have satisfied himself with a quickie.'.

.'Pardon?'

'Nothing, lad. There they are, on the track in front of the gate.',:

Cato looked beyond the.village and saw two tiny grey shapes on horseback emerging from the forest. As they boldly trotted down the track towards the village, the watchman above the gate turred and called down to a small knot of men huddled round a glow.ing fire. They responded to his summons at once and scrambled up the crude wooden steps inside the rampart.. Prasutagus and Boudica disappeared from sight as they rode up to the gate.

Watching the villagers on the palisade brandishing their weapons, Cato felt a momentary pang of concern. But a moment later the gates swung inwards and the two Iceni entered.

At once they were surrounded and the reins of their mounts seized. Even from across the river Macro and Cato could hear Prasutagus bellow in outraged indignation and issue his challenge in his role as itinerant wrestler. One of the villagers ran off, disappearing among the huts before he burst into the compound surrounding the largest hut. He hurried inside and quickly re-emerged in the company of a tall erect figure whose black cloak was fastened at the shoulder with a large gold brooch. In an unhurried manner he followed the watchman back to the main gate. Meanwhile Prasutagus continued to shout his challenge to the villagers in his deep booming voice and by the time the village chief appeared, a large crowd had gathered at the foot of the rampart. The chief pushed his way through and strode up to the visitors, who were still on horseback. Prasutagus showed just the right amount of arrogance by folding his arms and staying put for a moment. Then he casually flung his leg across his beast and slipped to the ground. He still towered over the chief, and lifted his chin to emphasise his contemptuous gaze.

Prasutagus made his challenge again. This time he undid the clasp of his cloak and tossed it to Boudica, who had also dismounted and stood with the horses, having seized the reins back from the villagers. The Iceni warribr pulled his tunic off and stood bare-chested, arms raised and fists clenched, bunching his muscles for the delectation of the crowd.

'Bloody show-off!' muttered Macro. 'Poncing around like some rich old tart's gladiator playmate! One more of those poses and I'll puke.'

'Easy, sir. It's all part of the plan. Look there, at the compound.'

The men training at the sword posts had stopped, and were hurriedly sheathing their swords and pulling on their black cloaks. As they left the compound, the guard on the door of the cabin took a few steps towards them and called out. The response was a harsh shout and with a sullen expression the guard went back to his post at the door of the cabin.

'Now's our chance!' Macro slipped back down from the crest of the hummock and started to pull offhis clothing. He glanced at Cato. 'Come on, lad! Let's be having you.'

With a resigned sigh, Cato sithered down over the rushes and began to strip..Off came: the cloak, the harness and chain mail, and lastly his under tunic. As he peeled the last layer of wet material from his body, the cold air brought his skin up in tight goose pimpl.es and he shivered terribly.

Macro looked over his thin frame with disapproval.

'You'd better get some decent food inside you and do some fitness training when we get back to the legion. You look like shit.'

'Th-thank you, sir.'

'Come on, boots off. The only thing you need is your sword, and your float.'

Cato's swimming skills were rudimentary at best, the result of lack of practice and a deep-rooted fear and hatred of water. Macro passed him an inflated wineskin. 'Cost me the last drop of the decent stuff, that did.'

'You didn't throw it away?'

'Course not. It was Massic. Can't be throwing that away, so I finished it off. Helps to keep the cold out. Anyway, here. Take it, and don't bloody drown on me.'

'Yes, sir.'

Cato fastened his leather scabbard belt tightly round his waist and followed Macro down the far side of the hummock, careful not to disturb the reeds as he passed. He took a last glance towards the village gate where Prasutagus and one of the villagers were already squaring up. Then they rushed at each other and the villagers let out an excited roar.

'Fucking move yourself!' Macro hissed at Cato.

The still and stagnant water amongst the reeds was bitterly cold and Cato gasped as he squatted down beside Macro. The freezing water stung his skin, almost as if it was burning him. The two Romans rustled through the reeds to the edge of the river. As the far bank came into sight, they lowered themselves into the water until just their heads were exposed. Under the surface Cato's arms were wrapped tightly about the inflated wineskin.

'Right, offwe go,' whispered Macro. 'Keep it as quiet as you can. Not one splash or we're dead.'

The centurion eased himself out into the slow current and gently stroked through the water. With a deep breath, Cato pushed himself away from thebank and followed Macro, using his legs to propel himself after his centurion.

The river was perhaps fifty paces wide at this point, but for Cato the distance seemed insurmountable. He felt certain that either the wineskin would deflate and he would drown, or that the terrible aching cold would freeze him to death.

The danger of being spotted by the enemy and being killed by a spear was the least of his concerns. It would bring an end to the awful misery of being up to his neck in this icy current.

They paddled towards the back of the large hut, the maddening slowness of their progress a necessary agony if they were not to be discovered. By the time they emerged from the water, Cato's fingers and toes had become quite numb. Macro, too, was suffering and shivered uncontrollably as he helped Cato up onto the river bank and then rubbed his optio's limbs vigorously, trying to restore some sensation in them. Then they made their way up the bank and round the hut to the cabin. Macro hodded to Cato to make ready, but Cato could not stop shakiag and had barely enough feeling in his hands to draw his sword and hold it with a firm grip.