The Eagles Prey

'We'll rest and then go back,' he decided.

One of the men shook his head. 'But we haven't found anything to eat yet, sir.'

'Then we'll try again later, Metellus.' Cato forced himself to smile. Struggling through the marsh was a dispiriting business, but it least it kept his men occupied. 'This evening, perhaps.'

The legionary opened his mouth to protest further but he swallowed his words as Cato's smile fell and a gaunt, threatening determination glinted in the centurion's eyes. They stared at each other for an instant, and the other men watched, tense and expectant. Then Metellus looked down and nodded.

'Whatever you say, sir,' he muttered.

'Yes, that's right. Whatever I say… Now find some shade and get some rest. I'll keep watch. Then we'll head back to the camp. If we're lucky we might find something on the way.'

The others looked at him with doubtful and bitter expressions, and Cato shrugged wearily. 'Just get some rest then.'

Leaving his men to find some shelter from the sun Cato eased through some bushes, down to where the marsh began. He kneeled down, bent over the water and cupped some of the water in his palm. It had a brown tinge and a brackish smell. Some of the men back in camp had drunk from the marshes close to the dell and had had loose bowels ever since and were steadily weakening. Cato sniffed the water suspiciously, but his throat was parched and he ran a tacky tongue over his dry lips as he weighed up the risk. Then, feeling that death by thirst was no better than any other way, Cato drank the water and cupped his hand down for more, several times, until he was sated. He stood up and went back to join the others, slipping quietly through the gorse thicket. Three of his men were already asleep, one of them snoring loudly, and Proculus was sitting in the dappled shade of a bush, rocking gently.

Cato was about to offer him some words of comfort when Proculus froze, staring intently back down the path they had come along. Cato turned to look and saw a small deer craning its neck, delicate muzzle twitching in the air. As the centurion stood quite still and stared, the deer ambled on to the path and lowered its head, snuffling from side to side in the long grass. Proculus reached out towards Metellus but Cato raised a finger in warning. The instant Metellus awoke from sleep he was bound to scare the deer off.

So the two men remained quite still, staring wide-eyed and ravenous at the deer as it casually approached. Now Cato could hear the soft thud of its small hoofs on the dry earth and he tightened his grip on the shaft of the cavalry spear, taking up the full weight. The deer paused when it reached the open area, ears twitching at the snoring sound. It stamped one of its front hoofs, waited and stamped again. When nothing moved it waited a little longer and stepped into the space between Cato and Proculus. Then the deer stopped again and turned its finely profiled face away from Cato to stare intently at the frozen Proculus.

Cato eased his throwing arm up and back and sighted along the iron spearhead towards the tan body of the deer. Over the ridge of the animal's back he could see Proculus' face. With a sick feeling of suppressed rage Cato realised that the man was directly in the path of the spear. If the animal moved then Proculus would take the weapon right in the chest.

'Shit…' Cato mouthed.

The deer represented a few days of meat for his men. Without it they would starve, and soon be too weak to hunt. Then there would just be a slow lingering death. But if he threw and missed he would surely kill Proculus. Cato prayed to Diana to move the deer on. Just a couple of steps, that was all. But the deer was still as a statue. Only its flanks swelled and fell slightly as it breathed. Cato caught Proculus' despairing expression opposite him and the legionary nodded faintly.

With a grunt Cato hurled the spear forward in a swift flat trajectory. The explosive sound of his effort startled the deer and it jumped nervously into the air. There was a dull whack as the spear bit home, bursting through the hide, through muscle and lodging in the heavy bone beneath the animal's rump. With a shrill bleat of agony and terror the deer crashed down, but almost immediately started to struggle back to its feet.

'Get him!' Cato shouted, rushing forwards.

Proculus scrambled towards the deer with clawing outstretched hands. The other legionaries stirred from their sleep in alarm and snatched for their weapons.

'Get him!' Cato shouted again. 'Before he gets away!'

The deer had regained its feet and turned aside from Proculus and then crashed through the nearest gorse, trailing the spear from its rear end as blood, bright and hot, welled up from the wound. The shaft caught in the thicket and spun the animal's back legs round so that it nearly rolled over. But the deer managed to right itself and stumbled on in a desperate blind panic. Proculus was on his feet and threw himself after the beast, with Cato only a few paces behind. The other men were up now and eagerly joined the chase.

'Proculus! Don't let it get away, man!'

With a loud chorus of snapping and rustling the wounded deer thrust itself away from its pursuers, but the spear shaft snagged and held it back at every turn so that Proculus, scratched and bleeding, closed on the beast. Then the gorse parted, there was a short patch of grass and the ground gave way to a flat expanse of dark, cracked earth. The deer braced itself and leaped forward, arcing up and then crashing down with a soft thud ten feet away. Its hoofs sank through the cracked mud and it struggled forward another step and was stuck. Proculus saw his chance and leaped after the deer, landing in the mud, breaking through the crust and sinking almost knee-deep in the mire beneath. Grunting with effort he dragged one foot out, threw it forward and tried to lift the other, but the suction was too much for him. Ahead of him the deer flailed in a widening circle of foul-smelling mud and the shaft of the spear momentarily swung back, within reach of Proculus. At once he grabbed the shaft, held it firmly and wrenched it free, just as Cato and the others stumbled on to the grassy bank.

'Shit!' Metellus shouted. 'Shit, we've got it!'

The legionary started forward but Cato slapped his arm across the man's chest, stopping him. 'Wait!'

Metellus made to sweep his centurion's arm aside when Cato jabbed his other hand towards Proculus, floundering in the mud as he tried to steady himself for a spearthrust.

'Look!' Cato shouted. 'It's not safe. Just wait!'

Proculus, up to his knees in the glutinous filth, reached forward and thrust the spear into the deer's throat, wrenched the blade free and struck again. With one final terrified squeal the deer's head slumped down into the mud and its tongue lolled out. The ta

Proculus raised the spear over his head and whooped with triumph and delight, then turned towards his comrades with a wide grin, and then frowned as he saw their intent expressions.

'He's sinking,' Metellus said quietly.

Proculus looked down and saw that the black mud had now engulfed his thighs and dark water oozed around the bottom of his ragged tunic. With a huge effort he tried to lift one of his legs, but the effort only led to him sinking a little further into the mud. He turned to his comrades, the first trace of fear etched into his expression.

'Help me.'

'Your spear!' Cato gestured towards him.'Reach out for us.' Proculus grasped the shaft, just behind the iron head and stretched out, offering the base of the weapon towards his comrades. Cato extended his arm as far as it would go, fingers straining to reach the end of the shaft, but there was still a small gap.