The Eagle and the Wolves

'I suppose we'll just have to hold on until some relief arrives. Quintillus should reach the legion by the end of the day. Take them a little while to get here. We'll just have to hold them off until then.'

Macro turned and studied Cato's expression for a moment. 'That's more like it, lad. Never say die, eh? Goes with the job.'

'Some job.'

'Oh, come on! It's not so bad. Good pay, decent quarters, first dibs on the booty and a chance to shout all you like. Who could ask for more?'

Cato laughed despite himself, and was profoundly grateful that Macro was here at his side. Nothing ever seemed to shake him. Only women, Cato reminded himself with a faint grin.

'What's so bloody fu

'Nothing. Really, nothing.'

'Then wipe that stupid look off your face. Tincommius and his mates won't be coming for a while yet. Tell our lads to stand down. Then go and tell your native chums to do the same. And get some rest yourself. You look done in.'

Cato paused on the ladder at the back of the watchtower. 'What about you?'

'I'll rest when it's all over.'

'When do you think they'll attack?'

'How should I know?' Macro glanced round the enemy lines. 'But when they do, they'll rush us from several directions at once. Most of the attacks will be feints, trying to commit all our men before the real assault goes in. We'll have to watch for that.'

Macro stared across the plain towards the scene of the previous day's disaster. The two hills on either side of the vale rose clear of the mist, like islands on a pearly sea. It was fortunate that the mist covered the hundreds of Atrebatan bodies and concealed them from the men on the ramparts, whose spirits were low enough already. When the mist cleared they would see their fallen comrades scattered across the plain. They would also see the size of the force opposed to them, and Macro knew there would be even more desertions once the natives had had a chance to weigh the odds. There were few enough men as it was. He turned towards the rows of thatched roofs behind the town's defences. Not a soul had stirred from the huts.

'Shame we can't persuade a few more of the locals to fight for us.'

'Can you blame them?' Cato replied. 'They're not stupid. They know we don't have much hope.'

The young centurion realised that he was trembling in the cool dawn air and remembered that he had not eaten since the previous dawn, nor had he rested properly for days. He crossed his arms and rubbed his shoulders.

Macro eyed him curiously. 'Afraid?'

For a moment Cato thought about denying it, then realised he would not fool Macro, and simply nodded.

Macro smiled wearily. 'Me too.'

Once the mutual admission had been made there was an awkward silence before Cato spoke again.

'You know, it's possible that the tribune might get help to us in time.'

'Possible? Only if we can hold out for a few days yet.'

'We might.'

'No,' Macro replied, lowering his voice to make quite sure that he was not overheard by any of his men. 'Once they get over the wall – and they will – then we'll have to fall back on the depot. And once they break into the depot it's all over… Just hope I get a chance to take that bastard Tincommius with me before I'm finished…' Macro's vengeful train of thought was interrupted by a loud rumble from his stomach. '… Which reminds me, I'm hungry. I sent Silva to the depot to draw some rations. Should have been back long ago.'

'I don't think I can eat anything right now.'

'Course you can. You'd better,' Macro said seriously. 'Make sure the men see you eat. You let them know how nervous you really are and they'll lose what little heart they have left for this fight. You'll eat your full ration and like it. Understand?'

'What if I'm sick?' The mental image of himself, pale and puking in front of his men filled Cato with dread and shame.

Macro's eyes narrowed. 'The moment you throw up, I'll chuck you over the palisade. I mean it.'

For an instant Cato wondered if his friend was serious, and then the cold, hard expression told him Macro was in deadly earnest. Before Cato could respond, the groaning squeak of a poorly greased axle a

'Come on.' Macro nudged Cato. 'Let's eat.'

The two officers joined the legionaries gathering round the cart as Silva hoisted himself up beside the wine jars.

'Easy now, lads. There's plenty for everyone.'

'What about my men?' asked Cato.

'Them?' Silva replied with a trace of disapproval. 'They can take their turn after our boys have finished.'

'They'll have theirs now. Detail some of these men to see to it.'

An expression of distaste flitted across Silva's face before he nodded reluctantly. 'Yes, sir.'

While Silva carried out the order Macro pushed his way through to the cart, and used his dagger to hack off two chunks of cured pork. He tossed one to Cato, and the younger centurion nearly fumbled the catch. Macro laughed, tore off a strip of the meat with his teeth and began to chew.

'Come on, Centurion Cato,' he spluttered. 'Eat up! Might be the last meal you ever eat in this world!'

Cato's stomach still felt tight and twisted, and the prospect of eating the cold meat made the bile rise in his throat. He grimaced, but Macro shot him a warning glance and Cato raised the meat to his lips and bared his teeth.

A distant brass note sounded beyond the ramparts. At once it was taken up by several other war horns. Macro threw his meat down into the churned mud at the rear of the cart, and spat out the half-chewed pork.

'Get to your positions!' he roared. 'They're coming!'

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Thirty-One

'Sir!' Figulus shouted from the watchtower as he saw Macro and Cato rushing up the ramp. 'Enemy's on the move!'

'Keep an eye on them!'

As they reached the palisade Cato put on his helmet and tied the straps. Macro glanced over the approaches to the main gate, straining to pick out the details in the rapidly thi

'Figulus! What are they up to?'

'Looks like a frontal attack on the gate, sir.'

Cato rubbed his tired eyes as the enemy began to appear. The Durotrigans were advancing behind a long line of crude wicker screens that rippled forward over the flattened grass. Looking round, Cato could not see any sign of movement towards any other section of the town wall.

'Shall I get some of the Wolves to reinforce the gate?'

Macro's gaze followed the route Cato's had just taken and he scratched the stubble on his chin, making a faint rasping noise under his dirty nails. He shook his head. 'We're too thinly spread as it is. I'll have to make do with our lads here. You get back to your standard.'

'Can't I fight here?'

'No.'

Cato thought about protesting, and then nodded. Macro was right. One more Roman on the gate was not going to make much of a difference. He should stay with the natives and keep them ready for any new surprises the Durotrigans might have pla

'See you later, Macro,' Cato muttered.