The Eagles Prey

As the evening wore on the enemy camp took on the spirit of celebration. The warriors feasted, and from the sounds of their revelry it soon became evident that they were drinking themselves into a raging frenzy. The air was thick with slurred singing, punctuated by roars of laughter. The prisoners in the pen listened sullenly to the drunken din, and Cato wondered if they were being saved to provide some bloody entertainment later on. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled with icy terror at the recollection of the men he had once seen thrown alive to hunting dogs at the court of King Verica of the Atrebatan tribe. Was that preferable to being imprisoned in a wicker cage and roasted over a fire? That had been the fate, so Cato had heard, of some other prisoners who had fallen into enemy hands. There would be little mercy for Romans amongst the tribesmen who had suffered such grievous losses against the legions in battle.

'Bastard Romans…' A voice muttered in Celtic just the other side of the wicker wall.'Why have we got to guard them all night?'

'Yes,' someone else chimed in. 'Why us?'

'Why us?' a voice mimicked him. An older man from the sound of it, Cato decided. 'Because you're little boys, and I'm stuck here to make sure that you don't create any mischief, when I should be over there with the rest of the lads getting a skinful.'

There was clear resentment in the man's tone. Cato felt a racing light-headedness as his mind grasped at a plan that formed even as the older guard finished his grumbling and fell silent.

He drew a breath and called out in Celtic, 'Hey, Guard! Guard!'

'Shut your mouth, Roman!' the older man snapped back.

'What's the party for?'

There was a low chuckle.'The party? Why, that's being held in honour of all the Roman heads our warriors are going to take tomorrow!'

'Oh, right… So only your warriors are feasting then. Not your women, or your children… not you.'

'Shut your mouth, Roman!' the older guard shouted. 'Before I come in there and shut it for you. For ever!'

There was a pause before one of the youths continued, 'Why can't we have a drink?'

'You want a drink, eh?' the older warrior replied.'You really want a drink?'

'Yes.'

'Think you can handle it?'

'Of course I can!' the youth shot back indignantly.

'Me too,' his friend added.

'Well then,' the warrior lowered his voice into a conspiratorial tone. 'You two stay here, and I'll go over and see what I can find for us.'

'What about the prisoners?'

'Them? They're quiet enough. Just keep a close eye on them until I get back.'

'How long'll you be?'

'Long as it takes,' the warrior chuckled, as he turned and strode away towards the raucous festivities.

Inside the pen Cato felt his pulse quicken, and he twisted round, groping with his tied hands for a small gap in the wicker weave behind his head. He thrust his fingers in and gently prised two thick lengths apart, just wide enough for him to see outside. A short distance away the warrior was just disappearing behind a hut. Beyond him the gently sloping thatched roofs of the surrounding huts were rimmed with a bright glow from the fires, and here and there sparks swirled up into the night. Cato strained his neck and pressed his face closer to the gap. To one side he could just see the two boys who had been left on guard. They were armed with war spears and stood close to the pen, their features sketched in by soft strokes of light from the loom of the fires. Boys they may be, but they looked quite capable of killing a man if they needed to. Cato turned back and grasped his optio's arm.

Figulus had not been asleep, but lost in thought and he stirred anxiously. 'What? What is it?'

'Shhh!' Cato tightened his grip.'Be quiet. One of the guards has gone.'

'So?'

'Now's our chance. Now, or never.'

'What you going to do about these?' Figulus raised his hands and nodded at the leather thongs binding his wrists.

Cato ignored him and, reaching down, he pulled up the hem of his tunic and started groping around inside his soiled loincloth. Figulus looked at him and shrugged. 'Well, I suppose there's always time for one last-'

'Quiet!' Cato struggled for a moment and then withdrew his hands, and opened one palm to reveal a small flint with a sharp edge chipped on to one side. 'Give me your hands.'

Figulus reached over and Cato at once started to saw on the tough leather thongs.

'Where did you get that, sir?'

'The farm. Thought it might come in useful. Now, keep still.'

'You had it hidden there all the way back?' Figulus gri

'You can't imagine… Now shut up and hold still.'

Cato concentrated on cutting through the optio's bonds, fingers gripped tightly round the smooth side of the flint as the sharp edge snagged and tore at the twisted strips of leather. He worked fast, conscious that the older warrior might return at any moment, despite the lure of drink and food. The first thong parted and Cato concentrated on the remaining two. The second went soon after, with a sharp cry of pain from Figulus as the flint slipped and cut into his skin.

'What's that?' Cato heard one of the guards say.

'What?'

'Sounded like someone in there's hurt.'

His companion gave a nasty chuckle. 'If that's what they sound like now, I can hardly wait to hear them once the druid gets his hands on them. Sit down, get some rest. You'll need it tomorrow.'

'Right.'

Cato breathed deeply and continued, taking care this time not to harm his comrade as he worked away at the last strip. As the flint bit into the leather, Figulus strained his muscles to part the thong, and the bone-hard tension in the strip of leather made Cato's work far easier. A moment later the optio's wrists flew apart as the thong snapped.

'Now me,' Cato whispered, passing him the flint.'Be quick!'

Figulus worked at the bonds in a frenzied blur of movement and soon Cato's hands and feet were free. As he rubbed at his sore wrists Cato nodded to the others and the optio crept round the pen to the next man and began work. Once the circulation had eased and he felt his hands would not betray him when he went into action, Cato turned round and peered through the gap in the wicker wall again. The two remaining guards were squatting on the ground just outside the entrance to the pen, staring wistfully towards the sounds of the distant revelry.

When the last of the men was free Cato beckoned to them. There were only twelve of them left, and one of those was so racked and weakened by diarrhoea that he could barely stand up.

'There's no time for details, men,' Cato whispered urgently. 'We must have a go at the two sentries outside. As soon as we get the gate open we rush 'em. After that, we'll make for the edge of the village.'

'And go where?' Metellus interrupted. 'Place is surrounded by water. There's only one way out.'

'There's a few boats over that way.' Cato pointed to the southern side of the camp. 'I saw them when we approached the entrance to this place. We'll take those.'

'Then what, sir?'

Cato looked at him directly. 'We have to warn the cohort, and get a message to Vespasian.'

For a moment Cato feared that Metellus would protest, but the legionary gave a faint nod of acceptance.

'Right then, let's move. When the gate opens, you move – fast.'

Cato turned, and worked his way over the puddles and heaps of filth towards the inside of the gate. It was fastened by a stout wooden bolt on the outside, a short distance from the top. While the others crouched down, silent and tense and ready to spring, Cato slowly rose up to the full extent of his height, peering over the gate at the dark backs of the two guards. He reached a hand over the top of the wooden frame and groped down for the peg that fastened the gate. While his eyes remained fixed on the guards Cato's fingers crept down the rough surface of the wood until his arm was fully extended. Then he took a breath and rose up on the tips of his toes. This time the very tips of his fingers brushed the top of the peg. Cato strained to reach further but could gain no purchase on the wood shaft, and finally he withdrew and slumped back behind the gate with a sharp intake of breath.