The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER TEN

The ford was situated at a point where the Tamesis narrowed to less than half its usual width. In the middle of the river was a small island with a handful of willows growing either side of the track. The end of their long branches dipped down into the current and provided a green glimmering shade. Centurion Macro looked longingly at the shade as he mopped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hairy forearm. In a fleeting moment of fancy Macro imagined himself resting on his back under the willow, boots off and feet trailing in the cool water of the Tamesis. It was tempting… too tempting. He frowned and strode across the tiny island towards the north bank of the river. There was a shallow stretch of shingle over which the current swept, its disturbed surface glittering in the sunlight.

As soon as the Third Century had reached the ford, Macro had waded across to test the depth. The water came up to his waist when he reached the deepest part between the small island and each bank. Although his footing was firm enough the current was strong and might easily sweep away anyone who was careless as they crossed. Macro posted one section on the far bank to keep watch for the enemy and immediately set about preparing his defences. It was, perhaps, a hundred paces to the far bank and the width of the ford was no more than ten paces. Either side of the shingle bar the depth increased quickly and the riverbed was soft and covered with long reeds that slowly waved like hair beneath the surface of the river.

Macro had ordered half of his century to seed the ford with small sharpened stakes, and the men had hacked lengths of wood from the trees growing on the river banks and were busy driving them into the shingle, struggling against the pull of the current as they thrust the stakes in, angled towards the enemy shore. If the Britons were forced to use this ford the stakes would not stop them crossing, but might at least injure a few and slow down the rest.

Macro's next line of defence was the small island, on which twenty men toiled to construct a rough barricade at the water's edge. A dense tangle of branches and gorse had been dragged across from the south bank and piled up across the track in a line that extended either side of the shallows. Stout timbers had been pounded into the earth to brace the tangle, and other branches had been trimmed and sharpened and thrust in amongst the gorse to deter any attackers. It wasn't much to look at, Macro decided, but it was the best they could do with the time and materials available.

He had not discovered many trenching tools back in the sacked auxiliary fort. The Britons had been almost as thorough in their destruction of material as they had been of the garrison. A smouldering pyre of shields, slings, javelins and other equipment had been discovered inside the headquarters courtyard. Some of the tools at the periphery of the fire were salvageable, and a quick search through the timber barrack blocks had revealed some more picks and shovels, but Macro had come away with barely enough to equip half his century, let alone the rest of the cohort. Macro hoped that the cohort commander's thirst for revenge had been quickly satisfied. The Third Century would not be able to defend the crossing alone should the enemy appear in force.

Besides, Macro thought angrily, Maximius had no bloody business chasing the small raiding party down in the first place. It was not in his orders. The protection of the ford should have been his priority. The cohort needed to be in position shortly after noon, yet three hours later still only Macro and his century were preparing to defend the crossing. The enemy might appear at any moment, and if they did then the crossing must fall into their hands.

Macro glanced back over his shoulder, sca

'Come on… come on, you bastard.' Macro slapped his hand against his thigh. 'Where the fuck are you?'

A faint shout from the northern bank drew his attention and Macro turned round. One of the men carrying a bundle of freshly cut stakes was waving to attract his attention.

'What is it?'

'There, sir. Up there!' The man pointed behind him. On the far side of the river the track rose up from the edge of the ford and disappeared over the hill. Standing on the crest was a small figure, waving his javelin to and fro – the signal that the enemy had been sighted.

At once Macro brushed through the gap that had been left in the barricade and splashed down into the ford. He kept to the right, still unseeded with stakes to allow the defenders access to the crossing. The water closed around him, dragging at his legs as Macro thrust his way across to the far bank, throwing up sparkling cascades of spray as he emerged. A number of his men paused in their labours, distracted by the alarm.

'Get back to work!' Macro shouted. 'You keep at it until I tell you otherwise!'

He didn't pause but ran on, puffing up the slope to where his lookout was watching the landscape to the north. By the time that he had reached the man the centurion was exhausted and was fighting for breath as he followed the direction of the lookout's javelin.

'There, sir.'

Macro squinted. Just over two miles away the track led into the dense greenery of a forest. Emerging from the trees was a screen of mounted scouts, and a few chariots. They were fa

'Is that Caratacus then, sir?'

Macro glanced at the legionary, recalling that the young man was one of the raw recruits who had only just been posted to the legion. He looked tense and excited. Perhaps too excited, Macro thought.

'Too early to say for certain, lad.'

'Should we get back to the others, sir?'

'It's Lentulus, isn't it?'

'Yes, sir.' The legionary seemed surprised that his centurion knew his name and was mildly flattered to be individually addressed by someone as august as a centurion.

'Keep a cool head, Lentulus. You're supposed to observe and keep track of events, not worry yourself about them. A lookout has to be calm. That's why I picked you for this duty.' It was a bald lie. Macro could have chosen anyone for the job, but the recruit was green enough to take the comment at face value. It helped him to take a firm grip on his nerves and he drew himself up.

'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'

'Just do your job, lad.'

Lentulus nodded and then turned back to keep watch on the enemy. They stood in silence for a while and Macro raised a hand to shade his eyes. More and more men spilled out of the forest. At length he was satisfied that this had to be the main column of the enemy.

'Looks like you're right,' Macro said quietly. 'Looks like Caratacus is making a run for our crossing.'

'Oh, shit…'

'And we're shortly going to be right up to our necks in it.' Macro lowered his hand and punched the recruit on the shoulder. 'Bet you didn't think it would ever be as exciting as this!'

'Well, no, sir.'

'I want you to stay here for as long as it's safe. I'm assuming the enemy will come straight down the track towards us. But if he doesn't, if he turns off and heads away, I want to know at once. And keep an eye out for any sign of General Plautius following them up. Understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Right. Then keep watching them. Stay low; there's no point in attracting attention to yourself.' Macro pointed a finger at him. 'And no heroics. Give yourself plenty of time to get back to the century.'

Lentulus nodded and squatted down, keeping his eyes on the approaching enemy. The centurion turned and walked a few paces back down towards the ford, and stopped to scan the south bank of the Tamesis. There was no sign of life close to the track on the far side and nothing to be seen as he sca