The Eagles Prey

'Keep still!' the centurion hissed furiously. 'Keep still!'

'Leave him, sir!' Cato whispered. 'Just leave him.'

Macro glared at the man for a moment and then eased himself up into a standing position, turning towards Cato. 'He can't be left behind. He might tell them that I was involved. You'll have to take him.'

Cato nodded, and Macro quietly sheathed his sword. 'Get him up then.'

'Sir, you'd better get out of here.'

'As soon as you're away. Come on, let's head for the palisade.'

'But that'll bring us out opposite the main camp.'

'Better than having to pick your way across our tent lines. You're bound to be noticed, especially with this worthless piece of shit.' Macro jabbed his toe into the man whimpering at their feet. Cato looked down and for a moment took pity on the man racked by terror. He reached over and gently shook the legionary's shoulder.

'What's your name, soldier?'

The man turned his head towards the voice and Cato caught a dim glimpse of jagged teeth in a coarsely shaped mouth. 'Proculus… Proculus Secundus.'

'You call me "sir" when we talk, Proculus. Understand?'

'Y-yes, sir.'

'You have to get on your feet.' Cato spoke in a low voice, trying to inject as much iron into his words as possible. 'We're not leaving anyone behind to die. Now, up.'

He firmly pulled the man's forearm and helped him to his feet, handing Proculus the sword Macro had dropped by his side a moment ago. 'There. Now hold it steady… Better?'

'Yes, sir. I guess so.'

'Good.' Cato patted the heavily muscled shoulder. 'Now let's go.'

The newly liberated men rose up from the ground and followed Macro as the centurion padded over the ground towards the rampart. Cato glanced left and right, but saw no sign of anyone along the length of the small rampart.

Macro pointed to the base of the rampart. 'You should be able to get over the palisade and ditch without anyone noticing. Anyone in this camp, at least.'

They crept up the i

'Optio, you first. Get down into the ditch and head towards the corner of the camp. Stay low.'

Figulus nodded, and then eased himself through the gap, dropping at once on to his stomach and crawling down the steep incline into the defence ditch. Cato thrust the next man forward, and one by one they crept through and down, and then spread out along the ditch. Cato was the last man to leave. He turned towards Macro and they clasped hands clumsily. Cato realised that there was every chance that he would not live to see his friend again, and the thought of not having the reassuringly powerful and weathered figure of Macro at his side filled him with anxiety. But he had to be strong. Whatever future this small band of fugitives had, they would be depending upon him. Cato forced himself to smile at the dark, glistening features squatting opposite.

'Thank you, sir.'

Macro nodded, and then gently thrust Cato into the gap. 'Get going. You must be as far away from here as possible before they discover you've escaped.'

'Right.'

Cato slithered down the muddy slope. He glanced back at the palisade, but Macro had gone. Cato eased himself forward and crawled along the line of men lying in the ditch, smeared with mud. All around them the rain hissed into the grass and drops struck the water pooling in the ditch with tiny explosions. At length Cato drew up alongside Figulus and pointed towards the corner of the cohort's fortifications. With the centurion in the lead the condemned men slithered along. When Cato reached the corner he slowly raised his head and looked around carefully, straining his eyes to pick up any signs of the sentries on the walls of the main camp. A few indistinct shapes moved slowly along the ramparts, but he felt sure that it was dark enough that they would not be detected if they moved slowly and carefully. The only danger was Proculus. The man might well panic and give his comrades away. Cato glanced over his shoulder at Figulus.

'We'll head out this way. The grass is long enough to give us some cover. Pass the word for everyone to follow me and stay low.'

'Yes, sir.'

'I want you to stick with Proculus.' Cato lowered his voice so that there was no chance the other men would hear him.'If he panics, silence him.'

'Silence him?'

'Do whatever you have to. Understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

Cato turned away, took a last look along the ramparts, then fixed his gaze on the large copse of oak trees he had noticed earlier in the day when foraging parties had set out to find firewood. Then he eased himself forward into the grass and slowly advanced on hands and knees, ears and eyes straining for any sign of danger. Behind him, the first of the legionaries emerged from the ditch and crept after him. One by one the condemned men followed on as stealthily as possible, hearts pounding. Figulus brought up the rear, thrusting Proculus ahead of him. The latter was terrified and stopped at the slightest threatening sound, dropping down to hug the earth in his trembling embrace before a swift prod from Figulus' swordpoint started him forward again.

Cato had covered nearly two-thirds of the distance to the copse when he paused and raised his head to look back towards the camp of the Second Legion. Still no alarm. He was about to move forward again when he sensed a vibration beneath his splayed fingers.

'Stop!' he hissed. 'Get down!'

The men stilled as the order was passed back and then Cato strained his ears to discover the source of the vibrations, growing ever stronger. Around him the rain pattered down steadily and the low wind made a faint roar in his ears as it ruffled the tips of the long blades of grass. Then a dark shape appeared around the edge of the copse they were making for. Another joined it, quickly followed by a steady stream of other shapes. The sound of a horse whi

'Shit!' he hissed, hand instantly going to the handle of the sword he had stuck in his belt. Then he realised they couldn't have been spotted by the horsemen. It was far too dark for that. Nevertheless… 'Stay down! Pass it on. Stay down, but have your swords ready to hand. No one makes a move before I do.'

The legionaries flattened, hugging the earth, as the order was hurriedly whispered back down the thin column. Cato turned back towards the horsemen, no more than two hundred paces away. At least two squadrons of scouts, he calculated. More than enough to wipe them out. And still they came on, heading for the camp, wholly unaware of the presence of the escaped prisoners – for the next few moments at least, Cato thought bitterly, as he pressed himself down, his cheek juddering from the growing vibration as horses' hoofs pounded closer.

At the rear of the column Figulus thrust his hand forwards and grabbed a fold of Proculus' tunic.