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'Cato!' Macro called out from twenty paces away. Macro pointed towards the trees. 'Listen!'
Cato cocked his head towards the forest. At first all he could make out was the steady rhythm of rain falling on leaves. Then he heard it: the long-drawn-out note of a horn, faintly in the distance. Other men looked up at the sound, grasped the shafts of their spears and made ready to move. King Verica turned his head and nodded towards the captain of his bodyguard. Raising his own horn, Cadminius drew a deep breath and blew a single powerful note. The line of horsemen walked forwards into the trees, out of view of the king's bodyguard and the handful of slaves who had accompanied the hunting party with cases of fresh spears.
Inside the forest the dimness of the day was accentuated by the thick leaf canopy, and Cato found that he had to squint to see clearly. Through the tall ferns and saplings to his left rode Macro. To his right was Tincommius. Beyond him the king was already out of sight and beyond the king rode Artax. In a short space of time the dense patches of undergrowth separated the huntsmen. Cato could hear them well enough: a constant cracking of branches and the occasional curse from some rider struggling through a tangled thicket.
To Cato's front the horns of the beaters were much clearer now, and he could hear faint shouts passing up and down the line. Somewhere between himself and the beaters lay the prey they had come to hunt. Besides boar there might be deer or even wolves, wild and terrified by the unaccustomed sound of the beaters. But it was the boars that caused Cato most anxiety. Besides the captured beast at Verica's feast, he had seen the animals at the games in Rome. Imported from Sardinia, these great brutes had had brown bristling hair and long snouts from which wicked tusks curved. Nor were the tusks their only weapon. Mouths filled with razor-sharp teeth had made short work of the condemned prisoners in the arena that day. Cato had seen one boar close its jaws on a woman's arm, and shake its huge head from side to side until it had ripped the limb away. The vivid memory made him shudder, and Cato prayed to the goddess Diana that the British boars were wholly unlike their terrifying Sardinian cousins.
The sound of something rustling through a bed of ferns ahead made Cato rein in his horse. He lowered the tip of his hunting spear and guided the point towards the sound. An instant later a ripple of moving fronds revealed the passage of some beast and Cato gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the spear shaft. A fox burst out of the ferns on to the bare forest floor and stopped the instant it saw the horse. Crouching low, and quite still, it stared at Cato for a moment. Then it was gone, before Cato could even decide if it was worth a prod. He laughed at the release of tension and tapped his heels into the side of his pony. Further down the line, away to his left, there was an excited shout as one of the hunters came upon his prey and there was a brief mad confusion of cries, a piercing whi
'Cato!' Macro called out. 'You hear that?'
'Yes! Sounds like someone's had some luck.'
His head was turned towards Macro when the beast broke cover. So he heard it before he saw it and instinctively tightened his grip on the horse's reins. The horse, spooked by the sudden appearance of the animal, and responding to the sharp tug on the reins, reared up. Cato threw himself forward, against its neck, to avoid falling off and the boar charged beneath the belly of the horse and crashed into its groin. A shriek of agony burst from the horse's foaming muzzle as it tumbled back and to the side. Cato saw the ground rushing up towards him and just had time to throw himself clear. He landed heavily and the breath was driven from his lungs with an explosive grunt of pain. He was aware of the horse thrashing on the ground nearby, and there was an enraged squeal from the boar as it turned on the horse once again, its short powerful legs kicking up dead leaves as it charged. Cato forced himself to his feet, gasping for air and frantically scrabbling through the bed of ferns for his spear.
'Cato!'
Cato raised his head and opened his mouth to cry for help, but he was too winded to sum up more than a terrified wheeze. Then he saw the spear tip, glistening close to his feet. He reached for the shaft and snatched the spear up, spi
'Cato!' Macro's voice sounded anxious now. 'What's happening?'
As the other side of his mount came into view Cato saw the boar toss back its head, its tusks goring their way deep into the belly of the horse. With a savage wrench the long snout came clear, glistening with blood as a length of intestine was torn away on the tip of one tusk. The boar's wild red eyes widened as it caught sight of Cato and at once it turned and charged.
'Oh shit!' Cato grunted, diving back round the rear of the horse. The boar swept through the space he had been an instant before and then swerved and charged after him. With a terrified glance over his shoulder Cato ran, spear in hand, away to the right where the forest floor was clear. The boar came after him, like a battering ram, screeching for his blood. Any moment now his legs would be swept from under him and his back would be torn open by those tusks.
Ahead there was a thick tree trunk, an ancient oak that had fallen many years earlier and was now covered with a verdant moss, glistening in the rain. Bracing his legs, Cato leaped over it and sprawled on the far side. There was no chance of escape now. He rolled on to his back, and with the butt of the spear braced against the earth he raised the point towards the tree trunk. There was a scuffle as the boar prepared itself for the leap on the far side and then there it was, huge, bloody-faced and horrifying, sharp teeth gleaming in its open maw. It threw itself forward at Cato and its chest slammed into the broad point of the hunting spear. The boar's flesh swallowed up the point of the spear as it plunged deep into the animal's vital organs. The impact wrenched the shaft from Cato's grip and the length of the spear carried the huge beast clear over Cato before the shaft snapped with a sharp splintering crack.
The boar crashed to the ground with a grunt, squealing in agony as it struggled to regain its feet. The spear had broken near to the blade and the splintered shaft protruded from a bloody wound just below the boar's neck. Blood was gushing out and spattered the surrounding moss and the ferns as the beast tried to shake the spear tip free. Cato snatched up the broken shaft and drove the splintered end into the animal's side, thrusting his full weight behind the length of wood. The squealing intensified and Cato felt his legs battered by the scrabbling trotters of the boar. He ignored the pain and pressed the spear shaft home, wrenching it from side to side as he leaned his weight on it. Slowly the creature's efforts became weaker, and then ever more feeble, and Cato thrust harder with gritted teeth, hissing at the beast, 'Just die, you bastard! Die!'
The trotters were no longer lashing at his leg, but hung limp and still. For a moment longer the boar's breath came in short, snatched gasps. At last, with a final sighing wheeze, it was dead.
Cato slowly relaxed his white-knuckled grip on the spear shaft and slumped to his knees, shaking with relief and excitement. He'd done it, he'd made his kill and he was alive and uninjured. His heart pounded as he looked over the boar. Now that it was dead it seemed smaller, somehow. Not much, but smaller all the same. Looking down at the head Cato saw the jaws hanging slightly open, with a blood-flecked tongue protruding between the sharp teeth. He shivered and rose to his feet.