Simon Scarrow - When the Eagle hunts

'No more nonsense. Let's go.'

With Macro at their head, the three men strode across the clearing and started down the track. With the torch flickering before them, they could see the gnarled thinks of oak trees lining the route on either side. '

'How far to the grove?' asked Macro.

'Near,' Prasutagus whispered, keeping close to the flickering torch

The trees were silent all about them; nothing stirred, not an owl or any other creature of the night. It was as if the island was under some kind of spell, Cato decided. Then he realised the smell of decay was back again. With every step along the track, the scent of death and putrid sweetness grew stronger.

'What was that?' Macro stopped abruptly.

'What was what, sir?'

'Shut up! Listen!'

The three of them paused, ears straining to hear anything above the unnaturally loud crackle and hiss of the torch.

Then Cato heard it: a low moan that rose and fell to a whimper. Then a voice muttered something. Strange words that he could not quite make out.

'Draw swords' Macro ordered quietly, and the three men eased the blades from their scabbards.

Macro stepped forward, and his companions followed nervously, senses straining for any sign of the source of the noise. Ahead of them, the track began to widen, and out of the darkness loomed a stake with a lumpen shape jammed on top. As they approached, the light of the torch illuminated the dark stains rtmning down its length, and the head impaled on the end.

'Shit!' muttered the centurion. 'I wigh the Celts wouldn't do that.'

They came upon more stakes, each bearing a head, in varying stages of decay. All of them were arranged to face the track so that the three trespassers were walking under the gaze of the dead. Once again the air felt colder than it should to Cato, and he was about to comment on it when a fresh moan broke the silence. It came from the far side of the grove, beyond the wavering pool of light cast by the torch. This time the moan increased in intensity, and became a piercing wail of agony that tore through the darkness and froze the blood of the three mortals.

'We go!' Prasutagus whispered. 'We go now! Cruach comes! '

'Bollocks!' replied Macro. 'No god makes a sound like that. Come on, you bastard! Don't chicken out now.'

He half dragged the Briton towards the sound and Cato followed reluctantly. In truth, he would have gladly turned and run from the grove, but that would have meant leaving the security of the glow cast b.y the torch. The thought of being lost and alone in this terrible dark world of the Druids made him stick as close to the others as possible. Another cry rose through the night, mttch closer now, and ahead of them loomed the flat stone ofan altar, and beyond it the being giving voice to the c/ies of agony that seemed so much a part of this dreadful place.

'What the hell is that?' Macro cried out.

No more than fifteen paces away, on the far side of the altar, the figure of a man slowly writhed. He was suspended from a wooden beam, his forearms lashed to its rough surface. From below he was impaled on a long shaft of wood which entered his body jUSt behind his testicles. As they watched, the man tried to raise himself, straining at the ropes that bound his arms. Astonishingly he managed to do this for a moment, before his strength gave out and he slid down again, causing him to let loose another terrible wail of agony and despair. The inhuman noise subsided into prayers and curses, in a language that was almost as familiar to Cato as his own Latin.

'That's Greek he's speaking!'

'Greek? That's not possible… Unless…' Macro strode closer to the man, raising the torch as he approached. 'It's Diomedes…'

The Greek stirred at the sound of his name, and forced his eyelids to open. He stared down at them with a desperate glint in his eyes.

'Help me!' he mumbled in Latin through tightly clenched teeth. 'For pity's sake, help me!'

Macro looked round at his comrades. 'Cato! Get up that beam and cut him free. Prasutagus! Keep his weight offthat stake!'

The Briton tore his gaze from the terrible spectacle and stared blankly at Macro who quickly mimed a lifting action with his spare hand and pointed at Diomedes. Prasutagus nodded and hurried over. He grasped the Greek's legs and eased him up, bearing Diomedes's full weight in his powerful arms without difficulty. Meanwhile Cato, never terribly athletic, was struggling to shin up one of the supporting posts. With a sigh of impatience, Macro came over and stood with his back to the post.

'Use my shoulders to get up!'

Up on the crossbeam Cato crawled along to the first binding. His sword cut through the coarse rope with some difficulty before the Greek's left arm came free, flopping down to his side. Cato reached over to the other binding and a moment later the other arm was freed. The optio dropped down from the crossbeam.

'Now then, let's get him off the stake. Lift him up, you idiot!'

Prasutagus understood, and with straining arms he began to raise the Greek up the stake that penetrated deep into his body. There was a wet sucking sound from the wound, then a muffled grating of bone. Diomedes threw his head back and shrieked to the heavens.

'Shift Be careful, you fool!'

With a heave Prasutagus lifted the Greek clear of the point and gently set him down on the altar. A dark gush of blood spilled out of the gaping wound where Diomedes's anus had once been and Cato winced at the sight. The Greek trembled fitfully and his eyes roiled in their sockets as he fought the terrible, mortal agony. He was very close to death.

Macro leaned close to the Greek's ear. 'Diomedes. You're dying. Nothing can stop that! But you can help us. Help us get back at the bastards who did this to you.'

'Druids,' Diomedes gasped…'Tried to… make them pay.. Tried to find them.'

'You found 'em all right.'

'No Caught me first, lrought me here and did this.'

'Did you see any of the other prisoners?'

A spasm of pain twisted his features. When it subsided a ' little, he nodded. 'The general's family…

'Yes! You saw them?'

Diomedes clenched his teeth.:They were.., here.'

'Where are they now? Where have they been taken?'

'They've gone… Heard someone say… they'd take shelter in… the Great Fortress. They call it Mai Dun… Only safe place… once they found out they'd been… betrayed by a Druid.'

'The Great Fortress?' Macro frowned. 'When was this?'

'This morning… I think,' Diomedes whispered. His strength was fading fast as his blood pumped from the open wound. He convulsed as another spasm of agony tipped through his body. One of his hands grabbed the centurion's tunic.

'For pity's sake.., kill me… now,' he hissed through his teeth.

Macro stared down into the wild eyes for a moment and then replied gently, 'All tight. I'll make it quick.'

Diomedes nodded his gratitude and clenched his eyes shut.

'Hold the torch,' Macro ordered and passed it to Cato. Then he lifted the Greek's left arm to one side, exposing the armpit, and looked into Diomedes's face.

'Know this, Diomedes. I swear by all the gods that I'll get revenge for you and your family. The Druids will pay for all they've done.'

As the Greek's expression softened, Macro thrust his sword deep into his armpit and through to his heart with an animal grunt of effort. Diomedes's body tensed for an instant and his mouth opened with a gasp as the impact of the blow drove the dying breath from his lungs. Then his body went limp, and his head rolled to one side, eyes glazed in death.

No one spoke for a moment. Macro wrenched the blade free, and wiped it on the dirty remnants of the Greek's tunic.

He raised his eyes to look at Prasutagus.

'He said the Great Fortress. Do you know it?'