Simon Scarrow - When the Eagle hunts

'Ready?'

Cato nodded.

., 'Let's go.'

The cheers and shouts from the fight reached an abrupt crescendo, then there wis a deep collective groan.

Prasutagus had floored their first champion. In the sudden quiet Macro held his hand out to stop Cato. The Iceni warrior bellowed another challenge..Someone replied, and the shouting rose again.

'Come on.' Macro crept forward, crouching low and using his spare hand for balance. They climbed a small lip of earth at the top of the bank and then pressed up against the back wall of the main hut. Lungs still aching from the effort of swimming the river, and shivering with cold, Macro eased himself along the wall. Behind him Cato strained his ears for any sound of an approaching tribesman. Macro caught sight of the corner of the log cabin and stopped, flattening himself against the wall. Above the low bark roof he could see the guard's spear tip, and below that the top of his bronze helmet. Macro bent low, barely breathing, and eased his way into the angle where the cabin leaned up against the hut. With his back to the cabin, he beckoned to Cato. For a moment they listened, but no noise came from the front of the cabin. Macro indicated that Cato should stay put, then he inched his way along the rough timber towards the corner.

Sword ready, he slowly peered round and saw the guard standing six feet away, outside the low entrance. Despite his spear, helmet and flowing black cape, he was little more than a boy. Macro moved his head back round the corner and with his eyes searched the ground by his feet. He picked up a hard clod of earth and stone and made ready to lob it.

Suddenly the guard started speaking. Macro froze.

Someone responded to the guard – a low voice close at hand, and with a start Cato realised it came from within the cabin. He jabbed his finger towards the wall of the cabin behind him and Macro nodded. Someone else must have been imprisoned with the general's family. Before the guard could reply, Macro threw the clod in a low arc across the roof of the cabin. The moment it landed with a soft clump, he rose and dived round the corner. As he had hoped, the guard had turned to investigate the sound, and before he could react to the soft pad of feet, Macro had clamped a hand over the guard's mouth. He yanked the guard's head back and rammed his sword through the black cape, the tip angled up under the Briton's ribcage into his heart. The guard jerked and thrashed a moment, powerless in the centurion's tight grip. The movements quickly became feeble, and then stopped. Macro held him a moment longer to make certain, and then quietly lifted the body round the corner of the cabin and laid it down against the wall of the hut.

The voice from inside the hut called out.

'We'd better put a stop to that,' whispered Macro. 'Before someone hears.'

Leading the way, Macro hurried to the bar locking the cabin door, slid it out and tossed it to the ground. With a powerful heave he pushed the Sturdy wooden door inwards.

The light from outside felFon the blinking face of another black-caped man. He had rais.d himself on one arm and now scrambled for the sword lying beside him. Macro lunged forward, smothering the Bffton with his body, and smashed the pommel of his sword into the side of the man's head. With a grunt the Briton went limp, knocked cold by the blow.

'Sir!' Cato called out, but before Macro could respond to the warning, a figure charged out of the gloom at the end of the cabin, spear held ready to. thrust into Macro's naked side. There was a sharp crack as Cato smashed his sword down on the shaft of the spear and the leaf-shaped blade bit into the hard-packed earth a few inches from Macro's heaving chest. As the Briton's momentum carried him forwards, Cato flicked his blade round and the man tumbled throat first onto the point. The blade penetrated his brain and the Briton died instantly.

'Shit! That was close!' Macro blinked at the spear embedded in the ground close to his chest. 'Thanks, lad!'

Cato nodded as he worked his sword free of the second man's skull. With a soft crunch the blade came out, stained with blood. Despite all the death he had seen in the brief time he had served with the eagles, Cato winced. He had killed before, in battle, but that was instinctive, and there was no time to reflect on the matter. Unlike now.

'Is there anyone here?' Macro called out, straining his eyes into the gloom of the cabin. There was no reply. One end was piled with split logs. At the other some indistinct shapes lay huddled on the ground around the pitcher and what was left of the loaves Macro had seen enter the cabin a while earlier.

'My lady?' Cato called out. 'Lady Pomponia?'

There was no movement, no sound, no sign of life in the cabin. Cato hefted his sword and slowly approached, a sick feeling of despair welling up in his guts. They were too late.

With the point of his sword he lifted the top layer of rags and swept them to one side. Underneath lay a pile of wool capes and fur skins. Bedding, not bodies. Cato frowned for a moment, then nodded.

'It's a trap,' he said.

'Eh?'

'The general's family were never here, sir. The Druids must have guessed we'd attempt a rescue, and wanted to divert us from where they're really keeping the prisoners.

So they spread a rumour that the captives were being held in this village. Prasutagus got word of it, and here we are. They set us up.'

'And we fell for it,' Macro replied, the instant relief he had felt at not finding bodies now turned just as quickly to an icy dread. 'We have to get out of here.'

'What about the others?'

'We can signal them when we get back to the hummock.'

'And if the Durotriges discover the bodies of their men before we can show the signal?'

'Then that's too bad.'

Macro pushed Cato out of the cabin, shut the door and hurriedly replaced the locling bar. Keeping low, they ran round the back of the hut and sJithered down the bank to the river. Cato retrieved his wine'skin float from the reeds at the water's edge and waded ia, gritting his teeth as the freezing water rose up his bare ch.st. Then he was kicking out, desperately trying to keep up with his centurion. The return crossing seemed to take longer. Cato listened for the first shouts indicating that the. enemy had discovered the bodies, but mercifully the cheering from the village gate continued unabated and at last, numb with cold, he waded after Macro into the reeds on the far bank.

Moments later they were s.itting by their equipment and clothing, each with their heavy wool cloaks clenched tightly about their shivering bodies. Macro turned towards the village where Prasutagus and his latest challenger were locked in an awkward stumbling hold. To one side, halfway up the rampart, stood Boudica.

'She's there. Make the signal,' Macro ordered. 'Quick as you can.'

Cato grabbed the holly bough and held it upright in the soft ground just below the top of the hummock. 'Has she seen it, sir?'

'I don't know… No. Oh shit.'

'What's happening, sir?'

'Someone's come back into the compound.'

As Macro watched, the black-cloaked figure passed the cabin without a glance and strode down the line of practise posts before turning into one of the smaller huts and disappearing from sight. Macro breathed deeply with relief, then turned his gaze back to the village gate. Boudica remained still, as if she was watching the fight. When Prasutagus brought his foe crashing to the ground, Boudica still did not react. Then suddenly she raised her hand to her hood and lifted it.

'She's seen it! Get that thing down now!'

Cato quickly lowered the branch and wriggled up to join his centurion. By the gates Prasutagus stood erect, his magnificent arrogance evident even at this distance. The villagers were clamouring for another challenger. When Boudica stepped up to Prasutagus's side and held out his tunic and cloak, the crowd's roar became angry. The warrior chief, black feathers adorning his helmet, confronted Prasutagus. The Icenian shook his head and held out his hand for the purse owed him for defeating his opponents.