Simon Scarrow - When the Eagle hunts

The chief shouted angrily, and stripped off his cape, challenging Prasutagus in person.

'Don't you fucking dare[' Macro hissed.

'Sir!' Cato pointed at the compound. The man they had seen earlier had re-emerged from his hut and was walking towards the compound gate, a purse swinging from his hand.

Just before he turned into the narrow gateway he stopped and looked over towards the cabin. He shouted something, waited, and shouted again. When there was no response, he headed over towards the cabin, tying the purse to his belt.

Macro switched his gaze back to the village gate, where Prasutagus still stood, head raised haughtily, apparently considering the chief's challenge. Macro thumped his fist down on the ground.

'Get moving, you fool!' f In the compound the Durotrigan warrior had reached the cabin. He called out again, angrily this time, hands on hips, cloak swept back behind this elbows. Then he happened to glance down at the ground..An instant later he was crouching, fingers probing something by his feet. He looked up, and his hand went for hi sword. Rising to his feet, the Durotrigan cautiously crept round the cabin. He stopped when he saw the body wedged into the corner by the hut.

'That's done it,' muttered Cato.

Back by the village gate, Prasutagus finally gave way and pulled on his tunic and cpe. The crowd shouted theft contempt. The chief turned to his people and punched his fists into the air triumphantly, now that his. foe had backed down. In the compound, the Durotrigan unbarred the cabin door and went inside. A moment later he burst out and ran towards the compound gate, shouting for all he was worth.

'Prasutagus, you bastard, get moving!' Macro growled.

The Icenian, swung up onto the back of the horse Boudica held ready for him. Then, amid jeers from the villagers, the two of them rode out through the village gates, trying not to look too hurried. They were fifty paces down the track towards the forest when the Durotrigan warrior sprinted into the crowd and pushed his way through to the chief. Moments later the chief was bellowing out orders. The crowd fell silent. Men hurried towards the compound and the chief strode after them, then halted, whipped round and pointed through the gate after Prasutagus and Boudica. Whatever he shouted, it was heard by the Icenians and immediately they kicked their heels and galloped for their lives into the forest.

'Someone bloody well told them!' Macro snapped. 'I mean, it's not the kind of trap you set up on the off chance. And if it's him, I'll have his balls! for breakfast.' He jabbed his finger at Prasutagus, who'was sitting on a fallen tree, chewing a strip of dried beef.'

Macro glared at Boudica. 'Tell him.'

She raised her eyes in,:weary frustration. 'Tell him yourself. You really want a fight? With him?'

'Fight?' Prasutagus stopped chewing and his right hand casually slipped down to his sword belt. 'You fight me, Roman?'

'You're beginning to get your tiny little mind round the world's greatest language, aren't you, sunshine?'

Prasutagus shrugged. 'You want fight?'

Macro thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head. 'It can wait.'

'It doesn't make any sense;' said Cato. 'Prasutagus is in as much danger as the rest of us. If anyone told the Durotriges that we were coming, it has to be someone else.

That farmer, for instance. Vellocatus.'

'It's possible,' admitted Macro. 'He was a shifty looking sod. So what now? The enemy knows what we're up to.

They'll be on their guard everywhere we go. Numbskull here won't be able to go anywhere near any of the locals to pick up news of the general's family. I'd say that we've almost no chance of finding them now. Mounting a rescue is out of the question.'

Cato had to agree. The rational side of his mind knew they should abandon the mission and return to the Second Legion. Cato was confident that Vespasian possessed enough intelligence to see that they had done all they could before turning back. It would be foolhardy to continue while the Durotriges were hunting for them. As things stood, it would be dangerous enough trying to make it back into friendly territory. But as the thought of danger sidled into his consciousness, Cato could not help thinking of the vastly greater danger the general's family was in. Cursed with a vivid imagination, he could picture Plautius's wife and children living in daily terror at the prospect of being tied up inside one of those giant wicker effigies the Druids liked to construct. There they would be burned alive, and the mental image of their screaming faces struck Cato with such sharpness that he flinched. The general's son, whom he had never met, assumed the features of the blond child he had seen in the well…

No. He couldn't let that happen. To turn back and live with the knowledge that he had not acted to prevent the child's death would be unbearable. This was the irreducible truth of the situation. No matter how much he chided himself for being prey to his emotions, for being too sentimental to act according to objective reasoning, he could not swerve from the course of action demanded by some perverse instinct so deep inside him that it evaded any kind of analysis.

Cato turned towards Macro. 'Are you saying we should turn back, sir?'

'Makes sense. What do you reckon, Boudica? You and him.9'

The Icenians exchanged a few words. Prasutagus did not appear very interested in the centurion's proposal, and only Boudica seemed to have a point of view, apparently urging him towards one course of action. At length she gave up, and looked down into her lap'.

'Well? What's the opinion o'f our resident Druid?'

'He doesn't care either way. It's your people we're supposed to be saving. Makes no difference to him if they live or die. If you want to leave them to burn then that's up to you. Says it'll be an interesting test of character.'

'Test of character, eh?' Macro stared coldly at the Icenian warrior. 'Unlike you lot, we Romans can make difficult decisions. We don't just charge, in and die out of sheer stupidity. Look where your dumb heroics have got you Celts over the years. We've done what we can here. Now we get some rest and start marching back to the legion once night falls.'

Macro looked towards Cato. The optio returned his gaze without expression. It unsettled Macro.

'What is it, lad?'

'Sir?' Cato stirred, as if from some kind of trance, and Macro recalled that they had had little sleep over the past few days. That must be it. 'I was just thinking…'

Macro felt a heavy weight drag his spirits down; when Cato started sharing his thoughts, he had a tendency towards complication that made it very wearing for those trying to keep up with him. Why the hell Cato refused to see the world as plainly as it appeared to other men was one of the great frustrations Macro had to suffer in his dealings with his optio.

'You were thinking what, exactly?'

'That you're right, sir. Best thing for us to do is turn tail and get as far away from those Druids as possible. No sense in taking any unnecessary risks.'

'No. There isn't.'

'The general's sure to understand your line of thinking, sir. He'll make sure no one accuses you of lacking – how can I put it? – lacking moral fibre.'

'Lacking moral fibre?' Macro didn't like the sound of the phrase. Made him sound like some civvy idler. Macro was the kind of man who resented being described as lacking anything, and he glared accusingly at his optio. 'None of your high-flown nonsense now, lad. Just speak your mind nice and clear. You say we might be accused of cowardice once we get back to the legion? Is that it?'

'We might be. It'd be an understandable mistake, of course. Some people might say we had one near scrape and that was enough for us. Naturally the general will appreciate the implications of having Prasutagus's cover story blown.