The Eagle and the Wolves

'You all right, Macro?'

The centurion nodded, and blinked his eyes. 'I'll be fine. Just a bit dizzy. Some bastard whacked me right above that injury… Give us a hand.'

Cato grasped his arm and heaved the other man to his feet. He looked round the exhausted faces inside the gate. 'Where's Figulus?'

'He was knocked over back there.'

'Dead?'

'I didn't see.'

Cato nodded once, then turned towards the gate. 'Our friends have gone, for the moment.'

Macro nodded, then looked up at the sky. It was near sunset, and a brilliant orange spread across the horizon.

'It'll be dark soon.' Macro looked at Cato. 'We'd better get some torches lit. Somehow I don't think Tincommius and his pals are going to give us an easy night.'

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Thirty-Five

A strange silence settled over Calleva once night had fallen. In the royal enclosure Macro had ordered most of the men to rest. After the enemy had pulled back Macro had thrown his men into constructing an i

Once the work was complete Macro told his men to rest. They lay across the ground, dark shapes curled up by their weapons in the flickering glow of the torches that were ranged along the palisade. Verica's household slaves had been sent to bring the exhausted defenders food and drink from the royal kitchen, and the king's bodyguards were keeping watch for any signs of the enemy. Beyond the enclosure, the huddled mass of thatched roofs was silent, there were no cries for mercy, or the usual horrified shrieks that accompanied the fall of a town. Macro sat with his head cocked towards the burned-out remains of the town's gate. The only noises that rose up in the distance were the periodic choruses of dogs barking, and once in a while a shouted order from the enemy.

After a while Macro gave up and nudged Cato, who had fallen asleep shortly before.

'You hear anything?'

Cato struggled up on one elbow, blinking away the ache in his eyes, fearful that Macro had detected the approach of the enemy.

'What? What is it?'

'Shhh! Listen…'

Cato sat up and strained his ears, but all was quiet. 'I can't hear anything.'

'That's what I mean,' said Macro. 'There should be more noise. They've taken the town; they should be enjoying the spoils.'

Cato shook his head. 'They're trying to win the Atrebatans over. I doubt Tincommius is going to permit them even the smallest amount of rape and pillage. Not if he's as bright as he needs to be.'

Macro looked at Cato, his features barely visible in the dark. 'You admire him?'

'No. No, I don't. He's a fool. If he succeeds in turning the Atrebatans, one way or another they'll be slaughtered. That's the kind of king people really don't need.'

'No…' Macro looked away. 'There's something else that worries me.'

'Oh?'

'Tincommius said that Caratacus was coming.'

'Yes. So?' Cato rubbed his eyes. 'I doubt it'll make much difference. We're not going to be around that long.'

'Maybe. But what if Quintillus has found the legion?'

'I doubt the tribune made it. They must have caught him.'

'What if they didn't? What if he reached the legion and Vespasian sends a relief force?'

Cato was silent for a moment before he replied, 'We can only hope he didn't make it. Best lose a few hundred of us than a few thousand.'

'True. We can see that, but Vespasian can't. Far as he knows the only opposition he'll face is the force that ambushed us. Even that coward Quintillus will find it hard to overestimate their strength enough to keep the legate away. If Vespasian comes, he'll bring most of the legion with him, right into the path of Caratacus.'

Cato paused as he contemplated this awful possibility. He looked at Macro. 'Then we've got to warn him, assuming Tincommius was telling the truth.'

'How?' Macro responded sourly. 'We're surrounded. The moment anyone tries to make a break for it they'll be bagged and killed on the spot, if they're lucky.'

'Somebody has to try,' Cato said quietly. 'If there's a chance that the legate might attempt to save us.'

'No. It's pointless. We need every man right here.'

'What difference does it make?' Cato persisted. 'We're all dead in the end. Let me go.'

'No. You stay. That's an order. I'll not send any man on a bloody stupid suicide mission. As I said, there won't be a relief force sent to us. All that's left is to hold on, and take as many of the buggers with us as we can.'

'Or surrender and take our chances.'

'Some chances!' Macro laughed harshly. 'Oh, they might spare our native lads, and they might even let Verica live long enough to die from his wounds. But not us. They'll have something special sorted out for us. You can count on it.'

'All right then,' Cato conceded, 'but they might spare the Wolves, and Cadminius and his men. We could offer terms for their surrender and fight on ourselves.'

Macro stared at him, but in the dark Cato could not read his expression and he continued his line of argument. 'There's no point in more deaths than necessary. If the Wolves and the bodyguards are spared because we were seen to save them, it might count for something in the longer term. It might leave some sympathy for Rome.'

'It might. Then it might not. If they die with us, then their kin might blame the Durotrigans for their deaths. Better still, blame that bastard Tincommius.'

'I hadn't thought of that,' Cato replied quietly. He was silent for a moment. Then: 'Should we talk it over with Cadminius and the others?'

'No,' Macro said firmly. 'The moment we start giving in, the fight will go out of our lads. Think about it, Cato. Think about how you'd feel watching the natives marching out of here and leaving us to die. Not the best way of keeping your pecker up, is it? And what guarantee do we have that they'd let the native lads live? You'd trust their lives to Tincommius? He'd have their heads on the ends of stakes in a trice.'

'Which might well have a useful impact on the loyalty of the Atrebatans, from our point of view,' Cato replied coldly.

'Cynic!' Macro laughed, and slapped him on the shoulder.

Cato smiled. 'But you're right. We can't trust Tincommius with their lives. I guess they'll have to take their chances with us. I doubt they'll protest. The bodyguards aren't very fond of Tincommius – even the ones who think we might have had a hand in that attack on Verica.'

'They seriously believe that?'

Cato shrugged. 'Hard to say. I've heard some of them muttering about it, and I get the odd suspicious glance. Seems that Tincommius' words might have had some effect after all. The only one who can convince them of the truth is Verica.'

'Have you heard anything about him?'

'No. But I think we should find out. If there's a chance that he can recover enough to confirm that he was attacked by Tincommius, it might help.'

'All right then, you go and see. But don't be long. Our friends might try something.'

'Do you really think they will?'

'No… They must be as exhausted as we are. They'll want a rest. I doubt they'll be in any great hurry. We're bottled up in here with no way of escape, and they've got Caratacus and his whole bloody army on the way to help them out. I think they can wait until dawn before making the next move.'