The Eagles Conquest

Macro paused by one of the Batavian bodies which had a cut throat, and nudged it with his toe. Then he spoke in a voice loud enough to be heard by all his men.

'This is what you can expect if ever you feel the temptation to surrender to the natives. Make sure you all take a good long look, and thank the gods that it isn't you. Then swear you'll never die the same way. These Batavians were fools, and if I catch any of you being as foolish, I'll have my revenge in this life or the next. Count on it.' He glared round at the century, determined that they should be more afraid of their centurion than the enemy. 'Right, let's get this lot cleared up then! Cato, have our lads lined up alongside the Britons. Help yourself to anything you find on them.'

While the legionaries carried out the distasteful task, Macro posted a watch at each end of the clearing and then sat down on the grass, avoiding the areas still dark with blood. He undid the strap of his helmet and took it off, happy to be relieved of its weight. His hair, drenched with sweat, lay plastered to his scalp and rucked up in matted clumps when he tried to run his fingers through it. He looked up and saw Cato standing nearby. The optio was staring at the bodies of the Britons.

'Impressive-looking lot, aren't they'?'

Cato nodded. These were clearly not the ordinary rank and file of the enemy. They were men in their prime, well-muscled and tough. The finery of their dress and equipment indicated some special status. 'Someone's bodyguard'?'

'That'd be my guess,' agreed Macro. 'And judging from the rather unequal outcome in bodies, they're a pretty tough bunch. Hope there aren't too many of them out there.'

Cato glanced at the impenetrable gorse surrounding the clearing. 'Do you suppose they're still around, sir'?'

'I'm a centurion, lad, not a bloody soothsayer,' Macro responded sharply. And instantly regretted it. The young optio was merely giving voice to the fears of them all, but the heat and exhaustion of fighting through this tangled landscape exacerbated Macro's growing anxiety about being separated from the rest of the legion. 'Don't worry, Cato, there's more of our lot out there than there is of them.'

Cato nodded but was not convinced. Numbers didn't matter in a situation like this, only local knowledge. The thought of a large party of elite British warriors hunting down isolated units of Romans was terrifying, and he felt ashamed of the fear that the prospect aroused in him. What made it worse was the imminent approach of night. The idea of spending any time in this ghastly wilderness during the hours of darkness appalled him. Already the sun had passed beyond the dense horizon of foliage and the sky blazed in its molten bronze afterglow. Against this the dark shapes of swallows flitted through the air as they fed on the insects above the marsh. The insects in turn were looking for the warm decay of the dead and the blood of the living to feed on, and today the marsh was positively crawling with sustenance.

Cato slapped at his cheek and caught a knuckle on his cheek guard. 'Shit!'

'Nice to see the little buggers go for a younger vintage once in a while,' commented Macro and waved a swarm of midges away from his face. 'Won't be sorry to be shot of this lot and have a swim in that river.'

'Yes, sir,' replied Cato with feeling. He could think of nothing more he would like to do than cast off his heavy, uncomfortable equipment that chafed so badly on his weeping burns and plunge into the cool flowing current of a river. The image conjured up was so desirable that for a moment Cato was quite transported from his immediate troubles, and the mental return to them was that much more painful as a consequence. 'Should we try and reach the river tonight, sir?'

Macro rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands as he mentally debated the available courses of action. The prospect of staying put in this clearing overnight with the spirits of the newly dead creeping about the place made his flesh tingle with revulsion and terror. The river could not be that far, but in this marsh any progress along the narrow paths would be dangerous in the dark. A sudden thought struck him. 'Isn't there a moon tonight?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Right. Then we rest here until the moon rises enough to let us see where we're going. We'll take our chances on this path. It seems to be heading in the right direction. Detail two sentry watches and pass the word to the lads to try and get as much sleep as they can.'

'Yes, sir.' Cato saluted and strode off to give the orders. On his return he discovered his centurion lying on his back, eyes closed, snoring with the raucous grumble of a man deeply asleep. With an affectionate smile Cato slumped down on the opposite side of the path, removed his helmet and laid it with his other equipment. For a while he watched the sunset paint the sky in livid shades of orange, red, violet and finally indigo. Then, after he had changed the watch, he also lay down, and tried to surrender to his own exhaustion. But the pain down his side, the merciless whine of insects, the droning from the flies, the rumbling snores of the centurion and the prospect of encountering any comrades of the dead Britons opposite ruined any immediate prospect of sleep. And so Cato lay uncomfortable, exhausted and angry at himself for not sleeping. The snoring from nearby had long since ceased to have any endearing quality and the young optio could quite happily have smothered his centurion long before the moon made its first appearance amidst the scattered clouds of the night sky.

The Eagles Conquest

Chapter Twenty-Two

'Optio!' hissed a voice.

Cato's eyes flickered open. A dark shape loomed against the star pricked night sky. A hand was grasping his blistered arm, shaking him, and Cato nearly howled with agony but just managed to bite it off in time. He snapped upright, fully awake.

'What is it?' Cato whispered. 'What's happening?'

'Sentry reports movement.' The shape pointed to the end of the clearing near the track by which they had entered at dusk. 'Should we wake the centurion?'

Cato looked over towards the source of the snoring. 'I think we'd better. Just in case they hear us before we see them.'

As Cato hastily strapped his helmet on and picked up his equipment, the legionary woke Macro as quietly as he could. Not an easy task due to the depth of the centurion's slumber, and even when Macro came round he seemed to be breaking out of a fairly powerful dream.

'Because it's MY fucking tent!' grumbled the centurion. 'That's why!'

'Sir! Shhh!'

'W-what? What's up?' Macro jerked upright and immediately reached for his sword in a swift reflex action. 'Report!'

'We've got company, sir!' Cato called out softly as he crept over to the centurion. 'Sentry says he can hear movement.'

Macro was on his feet in an instant, his other hand automatically fastening his helmet strap. 'Get the lads formed up across the clearing, but keep' em as quiet as you can. We might want to avoid this one.'

'Yes, sir.'

Cato crept off towards the sleeping legionaries and Macro quietly lifted his shield and made his way past the line of bodies, grateful that the drone from the flies had diminished with the coming of night. He almost missed the sentry in the darkness as the man was standing to one side of the track, completely still, straining to detect sounds from further down the narrow path.

'Sir!' the sentry whispered so quietly that had Macro not been listening so intently he might have missed it. As it was, the sudden sound caused him to flinch in surprise. He recovered in an instant, and silently crouched down beside the sentry.

'What is it, laddie?'

'Please, sir, there's nothing now. But I swear I heard something just a moment ago.'