The Eagle and the Wolves

Macro nodded, without turning his gaze from the approaching enemy, and Cato strode back along the rampart towards his men. He had a headache and the throbbing in his head was so painful that he was sure that he would throw up, and worse, he realised he had a terrible thirst and cursed himself for not taking a canteen of water from Silva's supply wagon before heading up on to the rampart. His tongue felt thick and rough and the sensation made the nausea unbearable. Cato bit down on his lip and forced himself to try to think of something else. Anything.

'Macro!' a voice cried out, and Cato stopped to look back towards the gate. The Durotrigans had stopped just beyond javelin range, and a small gap had opened in the centre of the line. Tincommius stepped forward cautiously, both hands cupped to his mouth as he called on Macro again.

'What do you want?' the centurion shouted back. 'Come to surrender?'

Cato smiled at Macro's defiant tone. Tincommius lowered his head for a moment, and even at this distance Cato could read the disappointment in the man's posture.

The Atrebatan prince looked up and called out in Latin, 'You can't hold out much longer, and you know it. I'm afraid I have even more bad news for you. Caratacus is coming in person to seize Calleva. We've had word that he'll be here in two days, with his whole army. Then Calleva must fall.'

'So why the hurry to take us now? Scared you'll miss out on the glory? Or is it just that you need something to present to your new master?'

Tincommius shook his head. 'Don't be a fool, Centurion. You, your men and those of my people still foolish enough to stand by you are all going to die… unless you surrender the town to me.'

'You want the town? Come and get it, you wanker!' Macro cupped his hands and blew a loud raspberry to make sure the Durotrigans and the Atrebatan traitors got the point. The legionaries inside the gate cheered the centurion.

Tincommius listened a moment, then waved a hand dismissively as he stepped back behind the wicker screens. The gap closed, an order was shouted and the line moved forward towards the gate.

Cato turned away from the gate and hurried back to the Wolf standard.

'What did the traitor want, sir?' asked Mandrax.

'Told us to surrender. He'll let the Romans leave unharmed if we let him have Calleva.'

'What did Centurion Macro say?'

'You heard him.' Cato blew a loud raspberry and the men around him roared with laughter. One even went as far as slapping the young centurion on the back. Cato indulged their mood for a moment before he gave his orders. He took a quick glance at the small knots of men dispersed along the ramparts and made a quick calculation.

'I want one man every thirty paces. When the main gate falls, everyone makes for the depot. Macro wants us all there. That's where we'll make a stand.'

'Our last stand?' asked one of the warriors, an older man. Cato noticed the wedding torc on the man's wrist and guessed that he must have family.

'I hope not. The tribune has gone for help. We may have to hold out a few days before a relief force arrives.' Cato nodded. 'We can do it.'

The man gave him an uncertain smile, then looked down and gently stroked his torc. Cato stared at him a moment, moved by the gesture.

'I don't recognise you. You must have been with the Boars. What's your name?'

'Veragus, sir.'

'You don't want to fight with us, Veragus?'

The man looked round at his comrades, searching their expressions for any sign of contempt, then he slowly nodded. Cato gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Although he needed every man who could hold a weapon to the enemy, he also needed to be sure that any man who fought at his side would stay there, and not run.

'All right then, go and join your family. There's no place here for any man whose heart is not in this. We may well be dead before the day is over, and I don't want any more blood on my hands than is necessary. Mandrax!'

'Sir?'

'Pass the message on. Volunteers only back at the depot. Any more like Veragus can drop their weapons and equipment and get back to their families. Tell them they have my permission and wish them luck. They'll need it soon enough if Tincommius seizes the throne.'

Mandrax trotted off along the rampart to pass Cato's orders on. There was an awkward silence as the remaining men and their centurion faced Veragus. The Briton fought back tears of shame and thrust his hand out towards Cato. The centurion took the man's hand and grasped it firmly.

'It's all right,' Cato said softly. 'I understand. Now go. Take what time is left to you.'

Veragus nodded, released his grip and laid his spear and shield down on the rampart. He fumbled with the strap of his auxiliary helmet and then placed that with the rest of the equipment he had been issued only weeks before. He stared at the gear briefly, nodded to Cato and then scrambled down the inside of the rampart and ran off into the maze of thatched huts. Cato looked round the remaining men.

'Anyone else?'

No one moved.

'Fine. Then pass the word to the rest of the cohort. Mandrax, you're with me.'

As the centurion watched his men spread out along the rampart he could hear Macro bellowing orders from the main gate. Cato glanced back and saw the legionaries hurling more javelins down on the enemy force renewing their assault on the entrance to Calleva. But this time there was the distinct thud of the battering ram striking home as the enemy tried to smash their way in, under the shelter of their wicker screens.

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Thirty-Two

The palisade above the gate was suddenly deluged with slingshot and arrows; the slingshot striking the timbers with sharp smacks, punctuating the splintering thuds of arrow strikes. Above this din came the cries and screams as some of the missiles found their targets amongst Macro's small command. As he looked round there were already six men sprawled on the walkway. Still their comrades hurled javelins down on to the wicker screens below, desperately trying to pierce them and reach the enemy sheltering beneath, or at least make them unwieldy under the weight of the javelins embedded in the tight weave of willow. They were having little effect, Macro decided as yet another man fell back from the palisade, clutching at an arrow shaft that had pierced his throwing arm.

'Take cover!' Macro shouted. 'Get down!'

The legionaries heeded the order at once, crouching behind the palisade. Silva and his clerks scurried up the rampart and bent double as they carried away the injured. The fusillade of enemy missiles quickly subsided as the Durotrigans saw that there were no targets for them. But when Macro rose to take a quick look at the enemy, he drew an immediate response and ducked down as half a dozen arrows whirred over the palisade and arced down amongst the thatched roofs beyond. There was nothing for it but to keep down. He had seen a number of ladders in the enemy ranks, so some men would be needed on the palisade. The rest would have to defend the entrance the moment the gates gave way. Every so often the gateway shook with the impact of the ram, and the dust and earth shimmied amongst the timbers as small pieces of grit, shaken loose, pattered down under the walkway.

'First two sections, stay here! Rest of you, follow me!'

Macro, bent over, scurried to the ramp and, followed by the remainder of his force, made his way down to the open area behind the gate. As he reached the street another blow landed on the gates, and a small fissure opened between two timbers, letting a shaft of light filter through into the dust falling from the walkway.

'Silva!' Macro bellowed.

'Sir?'

'You and your men, off the wagon now!'