When the Eagle Hunts

'Shit! That was close!' Macro blinked at the spear embedded in the ground close to his chest. 'Thanks, lad!'

Cato nodded as he worked his sword free of the second man's skull. With a soft crunch the blade came out, stained with blood. Despite all the death he had seen in the brief time he had served with the eagles, Cato winced. He had killed before, in battle, but that was instinctive, and there was no time to reflect on the matter. Unlike now.

'Is there anyone here?' Macro called out, straining his eyes into the gloom of the cabin. There was no reply. One end was piled with split logs. At the other some indistinct shapes lay huddled on the ground around the pitcher and what was left of the loaves Macro had seen enter the cabin a while earlier.

'My lady?' Cato called out. 'Lady Pomponia?'

There was no movement, no sound, no sign of life in the cabin. Cato hefted his sword and slowly approached, a sick feeling of despair welling up in his guts. They were too late. With the point of his sword he lifted the top layer of rags and swept them to one side. Underneath lay a pile of wool capes and fur skins. Bedding, not bodies. Cato frowned for a moment, then nodded.

'It's a trap,' he said.

'Eh?'

'The general's family were never here, sir. The Druids must have guessed we'd attempt a rescue, and wanted to divert us from where they're really keeping the prisoners. So they spread a rumour that the captives were being held in this village. Prasutagus got word of it, and here we are. They set us up.'

'And we fell for it,' Macro replied, the instant relief he had felt at not finding bodies now turned just as quickly to an icy dread. 'We have to get out of here.'

'What about the others?'

'We can signal them when we get back to the hummock.'

'And if the Durotriges discover the bodies of their men before we can show the signal?'

'Then that's too bad.'

Macro pushed Cato out of the cabin, shut the door and hurriedly replaced the locking bar. Keeping low, they ran round the back of the hut and slithered down the bank to the river. Cato retrieved his wineskin float from the reeds at the water's edge and waded in, gritting his teeth as the freezing water rose up his bare chest. Then he was kicking out, desperately trying to keep up with his centurion. The return crossing seemed to take longer. Cato listened for the first shouts indicating that the enemy had discovered the bodies, but mercifully the cheering from the village gate continued unabated and at last, numb with cold, he waded after Macro into the reeds on the far bank.

Moments later they were sitting by their equipment and clothing, each with their heavy wool cloaks clenched tightly about their shivering bodies. Macro turned towards the village where Prasutagus and his latest challenger were locked in an awkward stumbling hold. To one side, halfway up the rampart, stood Boudica.

'She's there. Make the signal,' Macro ordered. 'Quick as you can.'

Cato grabbed the holly bough and held it upright in the soft ground just below the top of the hummock. 'Has she seen it, sir?'

'I don't know… No. Oh shit.'

'What's happening, sir?'

'Someone's come back into the compound.'

As Macro watched, the black-cloaked figure passed the cabin without a glance and strode down the line of practise posts before turning into one of the smaller huts and disappearing from sight. Macro breathed deeply with relief, then turned his gaze back to the village gate. Boudica remained still, as if she was watching the fight. When Prasutagus brought his foe crashing to the ground, Boudica still did not react. Then suddenly she raised her hand to her hood and lifted it.

'She's seen it! Get that thing down now!'

Cato quickly lowered the branch and wriggled up to join his centurion. By the gates Prasutagus stood erect, his magnificent arrogance evident even at this distance. The villagers were clamouring for another challenger. When Boudica stepped up to Prasutagus's side and held out his tunic and cloak, the crowd's roar became angry. The warrior chief, black feathers adorning his helmet, confronted Prasutagus. The Icenian shook his head and held out his hand for the purse owed him for defeating his opponents. 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!'

In the compound the Durotrigan warrior had reached the cabin. He called out again, angrily this time, hands on hips, cloak swept back behind his 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 his 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 cape. The crowd shouted their 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.

Chapter Twenty-Five

'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 begi

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.'