Simon Scarrow - When the Eagle hunts

Julia refused to move, and stared silently at the looming shadow of the horse. Boudica was suddenly struck by a nasty thought.

'You can ride, can't you?'

'No… A little.'

There was a sttmned silence as Boudica took this in.

Every Celt, male or female, could ride a horse almost before they could run. It was as natural as breathing. She turned towards Cato.

'Do you people really have an empire?'

'Of course.'

'Then how the hell do.'you get around it? Surely you don't walk?'

'Some of us ride,' Cato replied sourly. 'No more talk. Get going.'

Prasutagus lifted the girl onto the horse and pressed the reins into her uncertain hands. When Boudica was mounted, she took the reins of Macro's horse and clicked her tongue.

Her mount was still tired and required a sharp dig from her heels before it moved.

'Take care of my centurion!' Cato called after her.

'I will,' she replied softly 'And you take care of my betrothed.'

Cato looked round at the looming hulk of Prasutagus and wondered what he could possibly require by way of care.

'Don't let him do anything stupid,' Boudica added before the horses disappeared into the gloom.

'Oh, fight.'

The two of them stood side by side until the last sounds of the horses' passage through the forest had faded. Then Cato coughed and turned to the Iceni warrior, not quite certain how to impress upon Prasutagus the fact that he was now in charge.

'We must rest now.'

'Yes, rest.' Prasutagus nodded. 'Good.'

They settled back down on the soft bed of pine needles covering the forest floor. Cato pulled his cloak tightly around him and curled up, resting his head on an arm. Above him, in small gaps in the foliage, the stars twinkled through the swirling steam of his breath. Another time he would have wondered at the beauty of this sylvan setting, but tonight the stars looked as hard and cold as. ice. Despite his weariness, Cato could not sleep. The memory of his enforced abandonment of Lady Pomponia and her terrified son played over and over in his mind, tormenting him with his powerlessness.

When that image faded, it was replaced by the dreadful vision of Macro's wound, and much as he might pray to the gods to spare Macro's life, he had been in the army long enough to know that the Wound was almost certainly fatal. It was a coldly clinical assessment, but in his heart Cato could not bring himself to believe that his centurion would die. Not Macro. Hadn't he survived that final stand in the marshes by the River Tamesis the previous summer? If he could come back from that, then surely he could survive this wound. Nearby, in the darkness, Prasutagus stirred.

'Cato.'

'Yes?'

'Tomorrow we kill Druids. Yes?'

'No. Tomorrow we watch Druids. Now get some rest.'

'Huh!' Prasutagus grunted, and gradually slipped into the deep regular breathing of sleep.

Cato sighed. Macro was gone, and now he was saddled with this mad Celt. He couldn't deny the man was good in a fight, but although he had the physique of an ox he had the brains of a mouse. Life, the optio decided, had a funny way of making an impossible situation effortlessly worse.

Early the next morning Cato and Prasutagus crept to the edge of the forest, crawling through the cold wet grass at its fringe. The trees sprawled over a gently sloping hill, and, looking down towards the track in the vale, they saw no signs of any of the Druids who had pursued them into the darkness. On the far side of the track the land sloped up to another forested hill. Beyond that, Cato knew, lay the site of the abortive rescue attempt on the wagon. A wave of anguish rushed over him at the recollection, but he swiftly pushed the thought aside and concentrated on his memory of the landscape. From the farther hill they should have a good view of the massive ramparts of the Great Fortress. Cato motioned to Prasutagus and indicated a shallow defile in the side of the hill, overgrown with gorse bushes and occasional patches of blackberry. It would provide good cover all the way down the slope. From there they would have to chance a quick dash across to the forest on the far side of the track.

Although the sky was clear, it was still early spring and the sun gave little warmth at this time of day. The exertion of creeping through the thorny bushes, and the anxiety of being discovered, kept Cat0 from shivering, but as soon as they stopped at the foot of the hill, his body trembled with cold. Worried that Prasutagus might construe his shaking as fear, Cato fought to control his body's instincts and just managed to still his limbs. Keeping his head low, he scanned the surrounding landscape. Aside from a light breeze rippling the grass, no living thing moved. Beside him Prasutagus drummed his fingers impatiently on the ground and inclined his head towards the trees beyond the track.

Cato nodded his assent, and both of them bolted across the open ground, over the track and into the welcome shadows of the trees. They dulzked down and Cato listened for any sign that they had been spotted but the pounding of blood in his ears drowned out ariything he might have heard.

He dragged Prasutagus further into the trees, through a dense tangle of undergrowth. The gr,.ound sloped upwards until it eventually levelled out on the.crest. Both men slumped down on a fallen tree trunk, covered with the moss and lichen of ages. Breathing heavily, Cato suddenly felt very dizzy and braced himself with both hands to stop himself tumbling to the ground. Prasutagus reached over to Cato's shoulder to steady him.

'You rest, Roman.'

'No. I'm not tired,' Cato lied. He was exhausted, but more pressing than that was his hunger. He had not eaten properly for days, and the effects were becoming apparent.

'Food. We must have food,' he said.

Prasutagus nodded. 'You stay here. I find.'

'All right. But be careful. No one must see you. Understand?'

'Sa!' Prasutagus frowned at the unnecessary warning.

'Offyou go then,' muttered Cato. 'Don't be long.'

Prasutagus waved a farewell and disappeared through the trees along the crest. Cato eased himself onto the ground and leaned back against the soft moss on the tree trunk. His eyes closed and he breathed in the forest-scented air deeply.

For a while his mind was clear and he rested peacefully, indulging his senses as he listened to the different bird calls from the branches above. Now and then he was jarred by the sound of other animals making their way across the forest floor, but there were no voices and the sounds receded quickly enough. It was strange to be alone for the first time in months, to savour the peculiar serenity that comes from having no other person nearby. The euphoric feeling quickly faded as his mind started working on the wider situation he found himself in. Macro was gone, so was Boudica. All that remained was himself and Prasutagus. The Iceni warrior's knowledge of the area and the customs of the Druids was vital. He even claimed to have some familiarity with the hill fort where Lady Pomponia and her son were imprisoned.

The image of the terrified boy running to his mother plagued him. Cato cursed himself for not going back for Aelius, even though the Druids were only moments away, pounding down the track towards the wagon. Cato and the boy might have got away. He doubted it, but it was still a possibility. A possibility that Vespasian and Plautius would not overlook if he ever returned to the legion to tell the tale. His harsh self-judgement was burden enough, without the sidelong scorn of the men who would question his courage.

Hours passed and, as the sun began to dip from its midday position, Cato decided he had rested enough. There was still no sign of Prasutagus, and Cato felt a pang of concern. But there was nothing he could do to speed the man's return; he could only hope that he had not fallen into the hands of the Druids, and that he had found food.