The Eagles Prey

'Sir!' the lookout shouted towards the defenders.'It's Nepos.' Tullius turned to seek Cato out. 'Centurion Cato, come with me.'

They climbed down and marched towards Nepos as the legionary covered the last stretch of the slope leading down from the hill.

Tullius drew up in front of him. 'Make your report! What happened at the fort?'

Nepos struggled for breath and, licking his lips, he glanced quickly at Cato.

'Tell him what happened,' said Cato.

'The villagers, sir, they ransacked the place… set it on fire… I left the tent to see… to see what was happening. They saw me; gave chase… I tried to get back to the headquarters tent… but some of 'em had got there before me.'

Tullius shot a horrified look at Cato before turning back to the legionary. 'And Maximius? Felix?'

Nepos lowered his head, struggling for breath.

'What happened?' Tullius grabbed his arm. 'Tell me!'

'They're dead, sir. Nothing I could do to save them. The villagers went after me. I had to run…'

The man was spent and had nothing further to add. Tullius released his grip and stared back towards the diffused column of smoke hanging over the valley.

'Poor bastards.'

'Yes, sir.' Cato nodded. 'But how could we know the villagers would attack the fort?'

'We should never have left them there.'

'Sir, we weren't to know. And we had to deal with the threat from Caratacus.' Cato spoke calmly, and with direct emphasis. 'No one is to blame. Fortunes of war. Nothing we can do about it now, sir.'

Centurion Tullius looked at him, and was silent for a moment. 'No. Nothing.'

'And now, sir,' Cato continued,'the enemy's building up for another attack. We should get back on the wall. Nepos?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Take some equipment from one of the casualties, then join me on the rampart.'

'Yes, sir.'

Tullius watched the man trot across to one of the bodies and help himself to a sword, helmet and shield. 'I hope he's telling the truth.'

'Of course he is, sir. After what Maximius has been doing to the locals recently, I'd be surprised if they didn't take the chance to get their revenge at the first opportunity. Wouldn't you? Wouldn't anyone else?'

Tullius turned to look at Cato, fixing him with a searching stare. 'There's nothing you want to tell me?'

Cato raised his eyebrows.'I'm afraid I don't understand, sir.'

'What did you-'

Before Centurion Tullius could ask his question there was a cry from the palisade.

'Enemy's on the move!'

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER FORTY

This time the enemy was more cautious. Caratacus had managed to rein his warriors in, and the head of the column approaching along the narrow track was composed of men carrying shields. Instead of the usual Celtic rush, the enemy advanced slowly, struggling to keep in the unfamiliar formation as a number of them held shields overhead. It was crudely handled but clearly based on the model they had deployed when Caratacus had forced the crossing of the Tamesis. If barbarians continued picking up more tricks of the trade from the legions, Cato reflected, Rome was going to have its hands full in a few more years.

Septimus gave his centurion a wry look.'Much more of this and we might as well sign them on as an auxiliary cohort.'

'Give me an ally rather than an enemy every time,' Cato muttered. He glanced beyond the approaching shield wall and saw Caratacus directing the operation from further down the track, well out of javelin and slingshot range. The enemy leader stood on his chariot, while an attendant was busy tying a rough dressing around his shoulder. When the front rank of the enemy column was no more than fifty paces from the Roman defences Caratacus cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted an order for them to halt. The warriors shuffled to a stop, adjusted their line, and began to spread out each side of the track, to the very fringes of the marsh. When the line was ready the men holding the upper tier of shields moved forward, into position, and then all fell still. Caratacus turned to a compact group of men standing beside his chariot and waved them up the track. Cato saw that they carried no swords or shields,just heavy haversacks hanging across their chests, and something that flickered like thin snakes drooping from their hands.

'Slingers…' He drew a deep breath and called a warning out to his men. 'Prepare to receive slingshot! Shields up.'

All along the palisade the men lifted the rims of their shields and hunched down behind them as they braced for the fusillade of missiles that were far more deadly than arrows, and the supply of which would take a lot longer to exhaust than javelins. Cato, poised to duck down as soon as the enemy loosed the first volley, kept watch over his shield. The slingers ran down to the shield wall, then spread out to give themselves room to swing the leather cords that stretched out to the pouches containing the shot. A low whirring began to build up as the first slingers prepared to unleash their missiles.

'Here it comes!' Septimus bellowed. 'Heads down!'

The whirring peaked and then suddenly the air was filled with a thwipping noise an instant before the shot struck home with a series of sharp cracks all along the palisade. With a loud ringing one clattered against Cato's shield boss, knocking it in so that as Cato loosened his grip he felt the dented metal brush against the back of his knuckles. A lucky shot, Cato smiled ruefully, and of course it had to strike his shield. An instant later one of the slingers was even more lucky. A heavy round stone passed clear through a gap in the crude palisade and smashed into the ankle of a legionary just to one side of Cato. The man cried out as his bones were pulverised by the impact and he crumpled to one side, clutching at his ankle, and starting to howl in agony.

Cato turned towards his optio. 'Septimus! Get him off the rampart!'

Under the cover of his shield the optio clambered over to the injured man, grabbed him by the forearm and dragged him bodily down the rear of the rampart to where the rest of the injured lay along the base of the defences. No one could be spared to attend to their wounds while the cohort was under attack, and they lay in the afternoon sun, some crying out, but most of them still, biting back on their pain. Those who could, saw to their own injuries and then tried to help the men around them. Septimus hauled his casualty over to the end of the row of injured and then scurried back into position on the palisade.

As the rattling fusillade continued, more shots found their targets and took a slow steady toll of dead and wounded, even as they continued to batter and splinter the broad shields that lined the top of the rampart. Time was on the Romans' side, Cato comforted himself as he hunched down and gritted his teeth as another slingshot cracked against the surface of his shield. The longer Caratacus kept this up, the closer Vespasian came to closing the trap. But there was no sense in the Third Cohort exposing themselves to more damage than necessary.

'Stay down!' Cato called to his men as he dropped back out of line and scrambled along the rampart to where Tullius sheltered behind his shield.

'Sir!' Cato called. Tullius glanced round.

'Sir, shouldn't we pull the men back on to the reverse slope, out of the line of fire?'

Tullius shook his head. 'They can take it. Besides, we don't want the enemy thinking we'll duck a fight.'

'This isn't a fight, sir.' Cato waved his hand to the growing line of casualties below the rampart. 'It's just a waste of good men.'

'I'll be the judge of that, Centurion!' Tullius snapped at him. 'Now return to your position.'

Cato considered protesting, but the glint in Tullius' eyes showed that the veteran was in no mood to listen. He'd clearly had enough of Cato's advice and it would be dangerous to push him any further.