The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER EIGHT

Centurion Maximius swung round. 'Cohort! Form up. Close order!'

As the men shuffled together and raised their shields Maximius ordered his centurions to rejoin their units. Up by the fort the scouts had spread out across the track and the decurion took three of his men and slowly approached the gate. They paused by the corpse for a moment and had disappeared inside by the time Cato ran up to Figulus at the head of the Sixth Century.

'What's happening, sir?'

'You've got eyes, Optio,' Cato snapped back at him. 'See for yourself.'

While Figulus shaded his brow with his hand and squinted towards the gateway, Cato became aware of several muted exchanges from the men behind him. He shot an angry look over his shoulder.

'Shut your mouths!'

Cato saw one man mutter something to his neighbour and turned round and strode over to him, pointing.

'You! Yes, you! You're on a charge. What's your name?'

'Titus Velius, sir!'

'What the fuck are you doing, talking after I've told you to be silent?' Cato stopped in front of him and leaned forward, glaring into the legionary's face. Velius was a little shorter than Cato, several years older and much more heavily built. He stared over the shoulder of his centurion, expressionless.

'Well?'

'Just saying we're in trouble, sir.' He met Cato's eyes briefly. 'That's all.' Then his gaze reverted to a fixed forward stare.

Cato's nostrils flared as he exhaled angrily. 'Optio!'

'Sir?' Figulus trotted over towards him.

'Put Velius on a charge. Ten days' latrines.'

'Yes, sir.'

Cato stepped back and looked round at his men. 'Next loudmouth I catch speaking out of turn pulls twenty days in the shit!'

He turned away and scanned the fort once again. The gate had fetched up against the wall of the gatehouse and the man hung motionless. There was no sign of any life beyond the gate and only the slowly wheeling crows broke the awful stillness that hung over the silent ramparts. Cato scanned the surrounding landscape, but not a soul moved in any direction. No enemies, no auxiliary troops and none of the local natives.

At length the decurion of the scouts emerged from the shadows of the gatehouse and trotted his horse down towards Centurion Maximius, who had advanced a short distance in front of his cohort, impatient to discover what had happened to the garrison of the fort.

'Well?'

The decurion looked badly shaken. 'They're all dead, sir.'

'All? The entire unit?'

'I suppose so, sir. Didn't count 'em but there must be over a hundred bodies in there. Most don't look like they died quickly.'

Maximius looked towards the fort for a moment before he gave his orders to the decurion. 'Take your men. Find the tracks of whoever did this. Find out where they went and report back to me at once.'

The decurion saluted, wheeled his horse about and trotted back towards his men, ordering them to form up. Maximius marched steadily towards the gate and entered the fort.

Once the scouts had galloped off to the north, on the trail of the enemy, the men of the cohort waited quietly in the baking sunshine, watching anxiously for the cohort commander to reappear. A long time passed, maybe a quarter of an hour, by Cato's estimate, and at length he slapped his thigh in frustration.

'Think something's happened to him, sir?' Figulus asked quietly.

'I hope not. But he'd better get out of there soon. We can't afford to be delayed. He's got his orders.'

'Shouldn't someone go and check on him?'

Cato looked along the column, picking out the other centurions. Macro was looking his way and raised his hands in a gesture of frustration.

'You're right,' Cato replied. 'Someone has to find him. Stay here.'

Cato trotted forward. Felix and Antonius eyed him with surprised expressions as he passed by. He stopped when he reached Macro.

'Taking his bloody time!' Macro grumbled.

'I know. We have to get moving.'

'We need the trenching tools from the fort.'

'Then we should be getting them and moving on to the ford. Someone has to go up there…'

While Macro scratched his chin and considered the situation, they were joined by Centurion Tullius, an anxious expression on his weathered features.

'What do you think we should do?'

Macro looked at Tullius in surprise. As the senior officer present Tullius should be making decisions, not asking for advice, or worse still, opinions. The old centurion looked hopefully at the other two officers, waiting for them to say something.

'Someone has to go up there,' Cato said, at length.

'He told us to stay with our centuries.'

'Look,' said Macro, 'we can't fuck about here all day. We've got to get to that ford. Someone has to fetch Maximius. Right now.'

'Yes. But who?'

'Who cares?' Macro replied. 'You go.'

'Me?' Tullius looked frightened by the idea. He shook his head. 'No. I'd better stay with the cohort. If it's a trap I'll be needed here. You go, Cato. You'd better double up there right away.'

Cato didn't wait to show an expression of distaste, but turned towards the fort and began to run up the slope. Almost at once a figure emerged from the gate and Maximius came striding down the track. He saw the gathering of centurions at once and started towards them angrily. The three centurions steeled themselves for his wrath.

'What the hell is this? Who told you to leave your units?'

'Sir,' Cato protested, 'we were concerned for your safety.'

'And we're running behind schedule,' added Macro. 'We should be heading for the ford by now, sir.'

Maximius instantly rounded on him and stabbed a finger at his chest. 'Don't you dare presume to tell me my duty, Centurion!'

'Sir, I only meant to remind-'

'Shut up!' Maximius screamed down into Macro's face. For a moment the two officers glared at each other, as the men surrounding them looked on in astonishment.

Cato coughed. 'Sir?'

'What?'

'Were there any survivors?'

'None.'

'Any sign of Centurion Porcinus?'

Maximius winced at the mention of his friend's name.'Oh, I found him all right. In fact I kept finding him.'

'I don't understand.'

'Want me to draw you a fucking picture? If I ever catch the bastards who did this, I swear on my family name they'll spend all day dying.'

The distant pounding of hoofs drew the men's attention to the slope below the fort; one of the scouts was galloping towards them. He reined in a short distance from the officers and his mount sprayed them with clods of earth. The scout dropped to the ground at once and breathlessly saluted Maximius.

'Make your report!'

'Sir, we've found them!' The scout jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, north towards the Tamesis. 'Infantry. Heading west along the river, two miles away.'

'How many?' Cato asked.

'Three, maybe four hundred, sir.'

Maximius shot Cato a withering glance before he addressed the scout. 'You're reporting to me, boy.'

'Yes, sir.' The scout was flustered. 'Of course. Sorry, sir.'

The cohort commander nodded sternly. 'Right. Let's have them. Get back to your decurion. I want them followed. Any change of direction, he's to let me know at once. Understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then go.' Maximius waved him away and turned back to the other officers. As the scout threw himself back over the saddlecloth of his mount and spurred it away, Maximius briefly collected his thoughts. 'It's most likely to be a raiding party.'

'Raiding party?' Cato wondered.

'What else?'

Cato was surprised. 'Well, it's obvious.'

Macro winced at his friend's unusually blunt response.

'Is it? Well, Centurion, do please share your tactical insight with us mere mortals.'

'They must be scouting ahead of Caratacus' army. He's sent them to check the fords.'

'Why attack the fort?'

'Because they might have spotted the scouting force. Maybe Caratacus didn't want anyone left alive to make any report on his movements.'

'Why kill them like they did? Why did they do that then?'

'They're barbarians,' Cato shrugged. 'They can't help themselves.'

'Bollocks! They're murderers… butchers! That's all. And now they'll pay for it.'

'Sir,' Macro intervened, 'what about our orders?'

Maximius ignored him and turned towards the column, filling his lungs. 'Cohort! Prepare to advance!'

'If we leave the ford uncovered and Caratacus makes for it-'

Maximius turned to him with a forced smile. 'Macro, there's time enough to deal with our friends and then secure the ford. Trust me.'

'But the entrenching tools are in the fort, sir.'

'We can return for those afterwards…'

'If we have to come back for them-'

'Damn you, Macro!' Maximius shouted, hands balling into fists. 'Take your century, then. Get the bloody tools and I'll see you at the ford.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Cohort!' Maximius raised his arm and then swept it forward. 'Advance!'

'Third Century!' Macro shouted. 'Fall out of line!'

Macro's men shuffled off the track and the rest of the cohort followed Centurion Maximius as he quick marched across the slope towards the Tamesis. With a brief glance at the back of the cohort commander Macro grasped Cato by the arm.

'Look here. Things are turning to shit. Maximius has lost it. If he tries anything that puts you and the rest of the lads in any danger…'

Cato nodded slowly. 'I'll do what I have to, if it comes to that. See you at the ford.'

'Right. Watch yourself, lad.'

'I always do.' Cato made himself smile, then turned towards his men.

Macro watched his friend drop into line alongside Figulus, then the Sixth Century tramped by and as the rear of the last rank moved off round the hill Macro ordered his men up the slope. Apart from the steady chink and jingle of the men's equipment the only sound was the raw grating cry of the crows fighting over the fresh corpses in the fort.

05 The Eagles Prey