When the Eagle Hunts

'They won't talk. Believe me, Centurion, you'll learn nothing from them.'

'Maybe.' Hortensius shrugged. 'Maybe not. We've got some lads at headquarters trained in the art of loosening tongues.'

'They won't achieve anything.'

'Don't be so sure.'

'I'm telling you, they won't. Better to make an example of the Druids here and now. Kill them, mutilate them as they have mutilated others. Then we can leave their heads on stakes as a warning to their followers of what they can expect.'

'Nice idea,' Hortensius agreed. 'It might discourage their mates, but we can't do it. I've got orders concerning these lads. All Druids who fall into our hands are to be taken back for questioning. The legate needs 'em in good condition if he's thinking of trading them for that Roman family the Druids have got. Sorry, but there it is.'

Diomedes moved closer to the centurion. Hortensius raised his eyebrows in surprise but did not flinch or recoil at the fierce expression on the face now inches from his own.

'Let me kill them,' Diomedes said quietly through clenched teeth. 'I can't bear to live while those monsters still draw breath. They must die, Centurion. I must do it.'

'No. Now be a good fellow and calm down.'

Cato watched as Diomedes glared into the centurion's face, lips trembling as he tried to control his rage and frustration. Hortensius, by contrast, calmly returned the look with no hint of any emotion in his expression.

'I hope you won't live to regret your decision, Centurion.'

'I'm sure I won't.'

Diomedes's lips shifted into a thin smile. 'An ambiguous choice of words. Let's hope the gods are not tempted by your carelessness.'

'The gods will do as they please.' Centurion Hortensius shrugged, then turned to Cato. 'Get back to your century. Tell Macro to get his men ready to march as soon as possible.'

'After breakfast, sir?'

Hortensius stabbed a finger into Cato's chest. 'Did I say anything about fucking breakfast? Well, did I?'

'No, sir.'

'Right. Never interrupt an officer before he's finished giving orders,' Hortensius spoke in the low menacing tones of a drill instructor, and continued to stab his finger to emphasise his point. 'Do it again and I'll have your fucking balls for paperweights. Got that?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Now then, I want the cohort formed up outside the gate as soon as the sun has fully risen.'

'Yes, sir!' Cato saluted, turned and trotted away. He glanced back once, and saw Hortensius having one last quiet word with Diomedes.

'There you are, Optio!' Figulus gri

'Leave it,' Cato snapped. 'We're on the move.'

'But what about breakfast?'

For an instant Cato was sorely tempted to subject Figulus to the same roasting he had just had from Hortensius. But that would have been churlish, and against the odds the legionary had managed to get a fire started.

'Sorry, Figulus. No breakfast. Put the fire out and get ready to move.'

'Put the fire out?' Figulus's expression took on the kind of pained expression usually associated with the death of a cherished family pet. 'Put out my fire?'

Cato sighed, and then quickly used the side of his boot to scrape a small mound of snow over the heap of smouldering twigs. With a spit of steam and a hiss the tiny lick of flame was extinguished.

'There. Now get moving, soldier.'

Macro had only just awakened when Cato returned to the Sixth Century's billet. He nodded in response to the orders, and then stretched his shoulders with a deep growl before he turned to bellow at his men.

'Up, you idle bastards! On your feet! We're moving out!'

A low chorus of groans and complaints rippled round the ruins.

'What about breakfast?' someone piped up.

'Breakfast? Breakfast is for losers,' Macro replied irritably. 'Now move!'

As the men raised themselves and wearily pulled on their armour, Macro stamped around delivering encouraging kicks to those whose lack of haste was most obvious. Cato hurried back to his marching yoke. Once his mess tin and the rest of the field equipment was securely fastened to the yoke, Cato struggled into his chain mail vest and was fastening his sword belt when a man from one of the other centuries came ru

'Where's Macro?' the man panted.

'Centurion Macro is over there.' Cato pointed over the remains of a wall and the ru

'Wait!' Cato shouted. He was angry at the way some of the men of the other centuries were inclined to let their resentment of his youth override the respect due to his rank.

The man paused, then reluctantly turned round to face the optio and came to attention.

'That's better.' Cato nodded. 'You address me as Optio, or sir, next time you speak to me. Understand?'

'Yes, Optio.'

'Very well. You can carry on.'

The man disappeared round the end of the wall and Cato continued to put on his equipment. Moments later the ru

'What's the matter, sir?'

'It's that bloody fool Diomedes. He's done a ru

Cato smiled at the apparent foolishness of the statement. Where would the Greek run to? More importantly, why would he flee the safety of the cohort?

'That's not all,' Macro continued with a grim expression. 'He knocked out one of the lads guarding the Druids, and then gutted them before he disappeared.'

Chapter Fourteen

'Hmmm. Not a pretty sight,' Centurion Hortensius muttered. 'Diomedes made a pretty thorough job of it.'

The robes of the Druids had been wrenched aside and each man savagely slashed from groin to ribcage. A tangle of glistening guts and viscera lay in a pool of blood by each man. With a convulsive heave, vomit rose up in Cato's throat and he choked on the bitter taste of it. He turned away as Hortensius began to brief the other centurions.

'There's no sign of the Greek. Shame, that.' Hortensius's brow creased in anger. 'I'm looking forward to kicking seven shades out of him. No one kills my prisoners unless they've bought them off me first.'

The other officers grumbled their agreement. Prisoners who were to be sold as slaves were won at great personal risk, and were too infrequently come by to be wasted in such a profligate ma

He raised a hand to still the angry undertone. 'We're heading back to the legion with the other prisoners. There's too many of them to send back under guard – the cohort would be too weak. And without the Greek to speak for us, I doubt we'd get much of a welcome from the other Atrebate villages we're supposed to visit. So we go straight back.'

It was a breach of orders, but the situation merited it and Macro nodded with approval.

'Now then,' continued Hortensius. 'A few of those bastards and their mounts managed to slip away and you can be sure that they'll be ru

'What about the bodies, sir?'

'What about 'em, Macro?'

'Are we just going to leave them?'

'The Durotriges can look after their own. I've made arrangements for our dead and the locals. The cavalry squadron has orders to place our men in the well with the locals and fill it in before they set off after us. That's the best we can do. There's no time for any funeral pyres. Besides, I believe the local preference is for burial.'