The Eagles Prey

'Sir, Centurion Tullius sends his compliments, and says that Cordus and his men are in sight.'

Cato could not help smiling at the thinly veiled warning, and then he nodded to the messenger.'Thank him for me, and let Tullius know I am aware of the situation.'

The messenger frowned at the oddness of Cato's reply.'Sir?'

'Just tell him exactly what I said.'

'Yes, sir.' The legionary saluted and turned away, ru

As the tail end of the cohort crossed the brow of the hill Cato glanced ahead and saw the distant figures of Cordus and his men toiling away as they widened the ditch across the path that led right through the heart of the marsh. The acting centurion was wearing a red cloak to distinguish himself from his men, and Cato idly wondered if he had pilfered it from Macro's stores, slipping into the centurion's clothes as readily as he had assumed Macro's command. It was an unworthy thought and Cato was angry at himself for giving it expression. Cordus was merely obeying orders. The fact that he took great satisfaction in obeying the cohort commander was immaterial, Cato told himself.

The newly arrived centuries were deployed either side of the track before they were ordered to down shields and javelins and head over to the cart to be issued with picks and shovels.

Their officers set them to work at once on the ditch and rampart.

'Not your men, Cato,' Tullius called out as the Sixth Century marched up. 'I want you to advance ahead of the cohort. Take up position half a mile along the track. You may need to buy us time to finish the defences. As soon as you see the enemy, send a ru

'Yes, sir. How long should we hold them for?'

'As long as you can. If we complete the work before Caratacus arrives I'll send a ru

Cato nodded. Behind Tullius' shoulder he saw Cordus striding over towards them. As soon as the acting centurion recognised Cato he faltered for an instant.

'What the hell is he doing here?'

Tullius glanced round angrily. 'Is that question addressed to me?'

Cordus tore his gaze away from Cato and then noticed Macro beyond, as his former centurion began to bellow orders to the legionaries of the Fourth Century. Eyes narrowing suspiciously, Cordus turned back to Tullius. 'What's going on here? Where's Centurion Maximius, sir?'

Tullius nodded back in the direction of the fort.'He sent us ahead. Said he'd be along directly.'

'Oh really?' Cordus looked round at the other officers and caught the eye of Antonius. 'Where's Maximius?'

Antonius glanced at Tullius, for reassurance, before he replied. 'Like he said, back at the fort.'

'The fort…I see. So while we're about to take on a force many times our size, the commander of the cohort is attending to a few details back in the fort. Is that about it… sir?'

Cato could see that Antonius would help them no further, and that Tullius could not carry it off for much longer. So he stepped in front of Cordus, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

'You've got your orders, Cordus. Get back to work.'

The acting centurion eyed him with open contempt. 'I don't take orders from condemned men, let alone condemned boys.'

Cato stepped closer, drawing his sword at the same time, pressing the point into the armpit of the other man – all of it hidden from the surrounding legionaries by the folds of the two officers' capes. Cato's face was no more than a few inches from the pockmarked flesh of Cordus, and he could smell the rank acid stink of cheap wine on the older man's breath.

'Never speak that way to a superior officer again,' Cato said softly through clenched teeth, and prodded with the point of his sword. Cordus flinched and bit down on his pain as the blade pierced his flesh. Cato smiled, and whispered,'Next time you give me, or any of the other centurions, one word of insolence, I swear by all the gods, that I will gut you. Do you understand me? Don't talk, just nod.'

Cordus stared back, eyes burning with cold fury, then he dipped his head, once.

'Good.' Cato slowly withdrew his blade and gently pushed the other man back with his spare hand.'Now get back to your unit, and carry out your orders.'

Cordus reached under his armpit and winced as he glared at the young centurion. Cato stared back, then nodded his head towards the defences. Cordus took the hint.

'Very well, sir.'

'That's better. Now go.'

Cordus retreated a few paces before he turned and strode quickly towards the men of the Third Century. He did not look back, and Cato watched him long enough to make sure that Cordus did as he was told. Tense and trembling Cato turned towards Tullius and Antonius.

'Well done, lad.' A smile flickered across Tullius' worn features. 'That's him dealt with.'

'Only for now, sir,' Cato replied. 'We'll have to keep an eye on him. He could cause us problems. Which reminds me, where are Maximius' guards?'

'By the supply cart.'

Cato glanced over to the cart and saw the six men standing beside it, shields grounded and spears leaning against their shoulders. 'I'll take them with me, if you don't mind, sir.'

'What for?' Tullius frowned. 'We need every man here.'

'They've sworn an oath to protect the cohort commander. If Cordus gets close to them, he might persuade them to back him, next time he tries to confront us.'

'You think he will?' Antonius asked.

'If Caratacus doesn't arrive by the time we've finished our defences, then the men will have time on their hands, and they'll do what they normally do in such circumstances: talk. Given the presence of me and Macro, and the absence of Maximius, I should think we've given them plenty to talk about.'

Antonius looked down at his boots. 'We're fucked.'

'Any way you look at it,' Cato smiled. 'Now, sir, the guards?'

'You take them,' Tullius said. 'I don't need them. Now you and your men had better get down that track.'

The Sixth Century trudged through the posts of the gateway. On either side legionaries paused to watch them as they passed, and then hurriedly returned to work as their officers screamed at them for stopping. Macro was standing on top of the rampart and waved briefly to Cato as he directed his men to start pounding in the stakes of wood they had brought from the fort to act as a makeshift palisade. The gateway was set back from the rest of the rampart, which angled in towards it, so that any attackers would be subjected to fire from three sides if they made any attempt to assault the gate. As his century marched out from the lines of defence, the ground on either side of the track gave way to patches of mud, then still expanses of dark water from which the pale yellow stalks of clumps of rushes rose up, their feathered heads hanging motionless in the hot still air.

When they reached the first bend in the track Cato stopped to look back at the rest of the cohort and marked the distance to the gateway. It was essential that he was familiar with the topography. If the enemy came upon them before they were recalled by Tullius, then Cato and his men would be making a fighting withdrawal. The weight of their armour and equipment made it impossible for them to outpace the enemy, who would be thirsting for Roman blood in any case. They would have a short head start on Caratacus and the Britons, and then the Sixth Century would have to fight nearly every step of the way back to the cohort frantically struggling to complete the defences. It would be a close thing – if they made it. But if their sacrifice bought Tullius and the others enough time to complete the defences, the Third Cohort might be able to hold off Caratacus and his force. Long enough, at least, for Vespasian to march across the marsh and close the trap on the enemy and crush them.