The Eagles Prey

More enemy warriors burst in amongst the men of the Sixth Century, and Cato knew that any formation was no longer possible. He thrust himself forward into the dense brawl, pushed up against the back of one of his men and braced his legs to help heave the man forwards. But the pressure from the enemy warriors was irresistible, urged on by Caratacus, roaring his encouragement. Cato felt himself being forced back, step by step, until the century was astride the ditch and the ramparts loomed up behind him. The man in front of him shuddered, convulsed and then fell to the side, into the ditch and was impaled on the sharpened stakes lining the bottom. Then Cato was in the middle of the fight, crouching low, shield close and sword held horizontal, ready to thrust.

On either side of him legionaries and Celts were locked in a bitter and merciless struggle. The collapse of the Roman formation meant that both sides were pressed together in a tight pack where slashing weapons were useless and the short swords of the legions came into their own. The Britons knew they were outclassed and now punched and clawed at the Romans, fingers and fists scrabbling for purchase on any unprotected Roman flesh. With a shrill scream a young warrior hurled himself upon Cato, one hand clenched round the wrist of his sword arm, the other groping for his throat. For an instant Cato panicked, his muscles frozen in helpess terror, then the instinct for self-preservation made him release his grip on the shield, ball his spare hand into a fist and smash it into the cheek of the enemy warrior. The man just blinked and continued in his fanatical effort to throttle the Roman centurion. Cato tried once more, with no effect, then dropped his hand to the dagger at his waist. Snatching it out, he thrust it up and forwards, into the stomach of his attacker. The young man's look of hatred turned into one of surprise and pain. Cato thrust again with all his remaining strength, and felt his dagger rip sideways, and a sudden warm gush over his hand and forearm as the enemy went limp and slid away, but was still held up by the press of bodies around him.

'Run for it!' Cato shouted to the surviving men of his century. 'Run!'

There was a loosening of the melee as the legionaries backed away, or simply turned and dashed for the small opening in the crudely constructed gateway. It was now a ru

Cato sensed the gatepost at his shoulder and shoved the bearer inside. 'You too, Optio!'

'Sir!' Septimus began to protest, but Cato cut him short. 'That's an order.'

With his back to the gatepost, Cato wrenched up a fallen shield and faced the enemy. One by one his men fought their way past him, while the centurion thrust and hacked with his short sword to keep Caratacus' men at bay. At last, there seemed to be no more Romans alive in front of the defences, but Cato felt compelled to take a last look to be certain. A strong hand grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him inside the gate.

'Close it!' Macro shouted, and two squads of legionaries threw their weight behind the rough timber as the enemy warriors thrust against the far side, struggling to push it open. But the legionaries were better organised and quickly closed the gate and fastened the locking bar in place as the timbers shook under the impact.

'Let 'em have it!' Tullius shouted from the rampart, and Cato saw the legionaries throw volley after volley of javelins down into the tightly packed bodies on the far side of the gate. Screams rent the air and then the pounding on the gate stopped, and the shouts and cries of the enemy drew away.

Cato squatted on the ground, one hand resting on his shield, the other still clasped tightly about the handle of his short sword which he used to support his exhausted body.

'You all right, lad?'

Cato looked up, and shook his head at Macro. 'Could use a drink.'

'Sorry,' Macro smiled as he reached for his canteen.'All I've got is water.'

'That'll have to do.'

Cato gulped down several lukewarm mouthfuls, and passed the canteen back to Macro. Then he slowly rose to his feet and stared over Macro's shoulder.

'What's up?'

'Look.' Cato pointed. A thin trail of smoke was rising up from the direction of the fort.

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

'Now what?' Macro growled. 'They can't have got round us, surely?'

'No. That's not possible.'

'Why not?'

Cato nodded his head towards the marsh.'That's Caratacus' vanguard out there; the first of his men to reach us.'

'So who's that over at the fort?'

Before Cato could reply Centurion Tullius came ru

'Yes, sir,' Macro replied evenly. 'That's why we're facing in that direction.'

'They've got behind us. Right behind us.' Tullius' mind raced ahead. 'We've had it. Once they've finished at the fort, they'll attack here. We'll be caught between them and cut to pieces. We should never have left the fort. Maximius was right.' Tullius turned to face Cato.'It's all your fault. Your plan, and now it's a bloody disaster. I should never have listened to you.'

Cato kept his mouth shut, feeling first anger and then contempt for his superior, but conscious that he must let none of this show. Now was not the time to defend himself against such spineless accusations. He had to handle the situation carefully, before the old centurion panicked and made a rash, genuinely disastrous decision. Besides, Cato knew that Tullius was wrong.

'I must have been mad to listen to you,' Tullius continued bitterly. 'Mad. I should never have set you free. In fact, I think you should be relieved of your command.'

'Now hold on a moment, sir.' Macro stepped forward.'That ain't fair. We all agreed to the plan. The lad's not to blame.'

Tullius turned his bitter gaze to Macro. 'Perhaps I should have you both put in irons.'

'Sir,' Cato interrupted quietly, 'we shouldn't be doing this. Not in front of the men.'

Tullius glanced round, and saw that the nearest legionaries were looking at them curiously. 'Get back to your positions! Keep your bloody eyes on the enemy!'

The men glanced away and tried to look as if they had never been interested in the officers' confrontation in the first place. Tullius made sure that none of them was eavesdropping before he turned back to Cato and Macro.

'I'll deal with you two later. Right now I need every man who can hold a weapon. But I promise you, if by some miracle we get out of this alive, there will be a full accounting for this balls-up.'

Macro's nostrils flared as he took a deep breath and leaned forward to respond in kind. But Cato grasped his forearm and spoke before his friend could make a bad situation any worse.

'Yes, sir. We agree. But let's deal with the attack first. You can do what you like with us later.'

Centurion Tullius nodded.'Very well. We have to get out of this trap.'

'If we quit the rampart,' said Macro, 'while that lot are licking their wounds and working themselves up for another attempt, we might make it back to the fort before they can catch us. We'd stand a better chance there.'

'Assuming that the force sacking the fort is small enough for us to overcome,' Tullius replied. He stared at the smoke billowing up in the distance. 'In any case, we don't know how badly they've damaged the defences.'