The Eagles Prey

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The men were begi

'That explains our find,' the optio whispered. 'Now, if only one or two more get it into their heads to go and explore the wide world, we can eat like kings.'

'Don't get your hopes up. They'll miss that pig soon. We'd better get out of here.'

As Cato made to shuffle back his optio grasped him on the shoulder.

'Wait… sir.'

Cato turned to give his companion a cold look. 'Get your hand off me.'

'Yes, sir.'

'That's better. What is it?'

Figulus nodded towards the farmer and his family, just as the eldest child's laughter shrilled out in the warm afternoon air. 'There's only one man there.'

'Only the one we can see,' Cato agreed cautiously.

'All right then, sir. Even if there's another inside the hut, we can still take 'em.'

'No.'

'Kill them, hide the bodies and take our pick of the animals.' The optio fixed his gaze on the sow, grunting contentedly in her pen. 'That lot could feed us for a week, sir.'

'I said no. We can't risk it. Now let's go.'

'What risk?'

'The moment anyone comes visiting and finds the place deserted, they'll raise the alarm. The locals will be all over us. So, we don't take the risk. Understand me, Optio?'

There was no mistaking the centurion's tone, and Figulus nodded and carefully crawled back, away from the small farmstead into the reeds. When they rejoined the small party of hunters Cato had brought along, the piglet had already been gutted and impaled on one of the spears for the march back to the camp. At the sound of their approach Cato was glad to see them stop gloating over their kill and snatch up their weapons. The tense expressions relaxed as their officers emerged from the marsh and stood, dripping, on the narrow track. Metellus looked at him hopefully.

'Any sign of more of these, sir?'

'More than you can imagine,' Figulus smiled.'There's a nice little-'

Cato instantly whirled round on his subordinate.'Shut your mouth! There's nothing there that concerns us. Got it? Nothing

… Now let's get this back and eat.'

The men looked on curiously until Cato snapped at them to pick up their kill and sent one man forward and left one behind to make sure they were not followed. They marched back to the camp in silence, stopping only to cover up any blood that dripped from the swaying carcass of the piglet that might lead the farmer after them, once he discovered that one of his pigs had slipped out of its pen.

As soon as the last skeins of pink light had faded from the horizon, Cato gave permission for Metellus to light a small fire. The rest of his band sat in wide-eyed hunger, impatiently waiting for the fire to die down enough to allow them to roast the splayed pig over the red glow and grey ashes of the embers. Soon the rich aroma of cooking meat and the sharper tang of the fat fizzing down into the fire filled the men's nostrils, and they moistened their lips in expectation. At the earliest possible moment Cato ordered Metellus to remove the meat from the fire and start cutting portions for the men. The legionary eagerly sawed away at the tough skin and then sliced through the meat, which oozed red juices as the blade cut it away from the bones underneath. Then, one by one, the men sat round the fire, hot meat cupped in their filthy hands as they tore at it with their teeth. Only now and then would they meet each other's gaze and exchange a contented smile or wink as the warm pork quickly filled their stomachs.

Cato waited until the last man had taken his share, then nodded to Metellus. 'You first.'

The legionary nodded and hacked off a length of loin he had been saving for himself and then moved aside for his centurion. As he pulled out his knife Cato saw that the best cuts had gone and he had to content himself with a chunk of flesh sawn off from around the back of the piglet's neck. Then he sat with the others and lifted the meat to his mouth. At once, the aroma was irresistible and he sank his teeth in with all the eagerness of a street beggar tearing at the scraps fallen from a rich man's feast. He smiled at the thought. Right now Cato would be more than happy to change places with the meanest pauper on the streets of Rome. They at least were not living in perpetual fear of being hunted down and killed like dogs.

As the fire slowly died down the men finished their first hunks of meat and returned to the rapidly cooling carcass to pick at what was left. For a moment Cato considered ordering them to leave the meat alone. There was no telling when the next meal would come their way, and once the effects of gorging themselves had worn off, the men would soon return to the bitter agony of hunger clawing at their guts. But there was an expression of desperation in the faces of the men crouched around the body of the pig, worrying away at it with the points of their knives and the scrabbling tips of their fingers. Looking at them Cato decided that any order to restrain their appetite might be the last order he would ever give. It made good sense to save the food, to make it last a few more days at least. But hunger had driven the men beyond good sense and he must handle them more carefully than ever if they were to have any hope of survival. So the last of the small pig was greedily consumed and next morning all that was left below the faintly gri

That was two days ago, Cato thought as he woke up, and winced at the ache in his empty belly. He was lying on his side in the shade of one of the trees that ringed their spartan camp.

He turned on to his back and glanced up, squinting as the sun shimmered through the softly rustling leaves above. It was well past noon, and Cato wished that he had slept for longer, having spent the night on watch. After all, there was not much to be awake for. Just the long wait for the scout patrols to come back, and the brief moment of eager anticipation, once they were sighted, that they might have found some food. Followed swiftly by the despairing knowledge that their bellies would remain empty for another night.

Besides being empty-handed, the scouts brought no news of Caratacus and his warriors, also concealed in this marsh. It was as if the depressing miasma had simply swallowed up the remnants of the native army, as it had Proculus.

Cato hastily put aside that memory and turned his thoughts back to the plan he had hoped might win them a reprieve and send them back to their comrades in the Second Legion. He had clearly envisaged the scene: the motley column of bedraggled legionaries marching proudly back towards their astonished legate, who would listen in rapt attention as Cato told him where to find Caratacus and his warriors, pinpointed on one of the maps spread across Vespasian's campaign desk. A sweet fantasy, that. He smiled bitterly to himself. Any comfort that vision had once offered him now seemed quite hollow, and the vision mocked him as he lay on his back staring unfocused at the sky above.