Cato 03 - When the Eagle Hunts (35 page)

'Oh, that's good! Mind if I quote you some day? You idiot!'

Cato had the grace to flush with embarrassment at his precocious remark, and Macro nodded with satisfaction. Didn't do to let these youngsters get too full of themselves. Up ahead Prasutagus had wheeled his horse round and now raised his arm to point at the hill fort. He was grandly illuminated by a halo of bright sunshine against the blue sky as he spoke.

'The Great Fortress…'

'No, really?' Macro growled. 'Thanks for letting us know.'

Despite his sarcastic response, Macro was still running a professional eye over the structure and wondering if it might yet be taken, once the Second Legion set to it. Despite the clever layout of the approach route through the ramparts, there was no sign that the fortress was designed to withstand the attentions of a well-equipped modern army.

'Sir!' Cato interrupted his line of thought and Macro raised an angry eyebrow. 'Sir, look there!'

Cato was pointing away from the Great Fortress, back towards the Druids and the small covered wagon they were escorting. Only they weren't escorting it any more. In sight of their haven, the Druids had urged their mounts into a trot and already the column of horsemen had drawn well ahead of the wagon. They were making straight for the nearest gate in the ramparts. In front of them the track curved round a small forest towards a narrow trestle bridge that spanned the river. Cato's excitement rose as he quickly estimated the relative speeds of the mounted Druids, the wagon and themselves. He nodded. 'We could do it.'

'There's our chance!' Macro barked. 'Prasutagus! Look there!'

The Iceni warrior quickly grasped the situation and nodded vigorously. 'We go.'

'What about Boudica?' asked Cato.

'What about her?' Macro snapped. 'What're we waiting for? Come on!'

Macro kicked his heels into the flanks of his horse and headed down the slope in the direction of the wagon.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

As they charged down the grassy slope, the wind roared in Cato's ears and his heart thudded against his chest. Only shortly before, they had been quietly picking their way along a little-used path. Now fate had thrown them a slim chance to rescue the general's family and Cato felt the mad exhilarating terror of imminent action. Looking ahead he saw that the hill fort was now hidden behind the trees that ran alongside the track. Barely half a mile away trundled the wagon on its solid wooden wheels, drawn by a pair of shaggy ponies. The two Druids on the driver's bench were not yet aware of the riders' approach and sat upright, craning their heads forward for the first glimpse of the ramparts of the Great Fortress. Behind them, over the axle, a leather cover hid their prisoners from view. As hooves pounded the ground beneath him it seemed impossible to Cato that they had not been noticed, and he prayed to any god that would hear him that they remain undetected a moment longer. Long enough to prevent the Druids whipping their ponies into a trot and buying them just enough time to alert their companions who had gone ahead.

But the gods were either ignorant of this tiny human drama or cruelly conspiring with the Druids. The driver's companion suddenly glanced back, and shot up from the bench, shouting and pointing at the approaching Romans. With a sharp crack that carried clearly across the open ground, the driver lashed out at the broad rumps of his ponies and the wagon lurched ponderously forward, axle groaning in protest. The other Druid fell back on the bench, then cupped his hands and shouted for help, but his comrades were screened from sight by the curve of the treeline and his cries went unheeded.

Cato was now close enough to make out each Druid's features over the flapping mane of his horse, and saw that the driver was grey-haired and overweight, while his companion was a sallow youth, thin and pinch-faced. The fight would be over very quickly. With luck they would release the hostages and be racing away from the hill fort well before the mounted Druids began to wonder at the time the wagon was taking to catch up with them. Under the frantic urgings of the driver, the wagon rumbled forward at an ever increasing pace, bumping and jolting violently along the rutted track as it headed round the curve of the trees towards the bridge. Their pursuers were only a short distance away from them, kicking in their heels and urging their foam-flecked mounts on.

There was a sharp squeal of panic from behind him, and Cato glanced back to see Boudica's horse tumble headlong, rear legs flailing at the sky before crashing over the horse's neck. Boudica was flung forwards and instinctively ducked her head and curled her body just before hitting the ground. She bounced over the grassy hummocks with a scream. Her companions reined in. The horse lay twisted, its back broken, its forelegs struggling vainly to raise the rear half of its body. Boudica had fetched up in a puddle and was rising uncertainly to her feet.

'Leave her!' Macro shouted, spurring his horse on. 'Get the fucking wagon before it's too late!'

The Druids had gained valuable distance from their pursuers. The wagon was rumbling wildly, a scant few hundred paces from the bridge; soon it would emerge in full view of the hill fort, and the Druid horsemen not far beyond. With a savage dig into the flanks of his mount, Cato raced after his centurion, with Prasutagus at his side. They were galloping parallel to the track, keeping clear of its treacherous ruts, and ahead of them they could see the tied leather flaps at the rear of the wagon. The younger Druid glanced back at them, his face filled with fear.

Round the bend in the track appeared the massive earthworks of the hill fort, and Cato spurred his horse into one last desperate effort and rapidly closed on the wagon. The huge wheels of solid oak flung clods of mud into his face. He blinked, grasped the handle of his sword and drew it, the blade rasping as it came free. Ahead of him, Macro raced past the driver and swerved his horse across the path of the ponies. With terrified whinnies they tried to halt but were pushed forward in their harnesses by the momentum of the wagon bumping along behind them. Cato held his sword low to one side, ready to thrust. As he drew up beside the driver's bench, there was a dark blur of movement and the young Druid crashed into him. Both tumbled to the ground. The impact smashed the breath out of Cato and there was a blinding flash as his head hit the earth. His vision cleared, and he found himself staring into the young Druid's snarling face, inches from his own. Then, as the spittle dripped from his stained teeth, the Druid gasped, eyes wide with surprise, and he slumped forward.

Cato thrust the limp body away from him, and saw the handguard of his sword pressed into the dark cloth of the Druid's cloak. There was no sign of the blade, only a spreading stain around the guard. The blade had been driven right up through the Druid's guts into the vital organs under his ribcage. Grimacing, Cato rolled to his feet and heaved on the handle. With a sickening sucking noise the blade reluctantly came free. The optio quickly looked round for the other Druid.

He was already dead, slumped back against the leather cover, blood pumping from a gaping wound in his throat where Prasutagus had hacked with his long Celtic sword. The Iceni warrior was off his horse and tearing at the ties binding the rear of the cover. From inside the wagon a child's muffled shriek reached their ears. The last of the ties came undone and Prasutagus swept the flaps apart and stuck his head inside. Fresh screams split the air.

'It's all right!' shouted Boudica in Latin, running up the track. She spoke angrily to Prasutagus in their native tongue and pushed him to one side. 'It's all right. We're here to rescue you. Cato! Come here! They need to see a Roman face.'

Ducking her head back into the wagon, Boudica tried to sound calm. 'There are two Roman officers with us. You're safe.'

Cato reached the back of the wagon and looked into the gloomy interior. A woman sat hunched, with her arms round the shoulders of a small boy and a slightly older girl, both whimpering in wide-eyed terror. The clothes they wore had once been of fine quality but were now soiled and torn. They looked like common street beggars, huddled and frightened.

'Lady Pomponia,' Cato tried to sound reassuring. 'I'm an optio of the Second Legion. Your husband sent us to find you. Here's my centurion.'

Cato stepped to one side as Macro joined them. The centurion motioned to Prasutagus to keep watch up the track towards the hill fort.

'All in one piece then?' Macro glanced at the woman and two children. 'Good! Let's get moving. Before those bastards come back.'

'I can't,' replied Lady Pomponia, lifting the tattered hem of her cloak. Her bare foot was chained at the ankle to an iron ringbolt in the bed of the cart.

'The children?'

Lady Pomponia shook her head.

'All right then, kids, get out of the cart, so I can get to work on your mum's chain.'

They pressed still more closely to their mother.

'Go on, do as he says,' Lady Pomponia said gently. "These people are here to help us and take us back to your father.'

The girl hesitantly shuffled over the grimy boards to the rear of the wagon and slid off the end, into Boudica's arms. The boy buried his face against his mother and clenched his little fists tightly in the folds of her cloak. Macro frowned.

'Look here, lad, there's no time for this nonsense. Get out now!'

'That's not going to do any good,' Boudica muttered. 'The boy's scared enough as it is.'

Holding the girl on one hip, she reached a hand out to the child. With a gentle push from his mother, the boy reluctantly allowed himself to be lifted down from the wagon. He clutched at Boudica's leg and anxiously watched Cato and Macro.

The centurion hauled himself into the bed of the wagon and examined the chain where it was attached to an ankle fetter.

'Shit! It's been iron pegged — there's no lock.'

The stout metal peg that fastened the manacle needed a special spiked tool to remove it. Macro drew his sword and carefully applied the point to one end of the pin. Lady Pomponia looked on in alarm, instinctively flinching.

'You'll need to keep still.'

'I'll try. Be careful, Centurion.'

Macro nodded, and gradually pushed the end of the iron pin. When it refused to budge, he applied more pressure, taking care to keep the point of his sword on the end of the pin. The muscles in his arms bunched and he gritted his teeth as he strained to set the woman free. The blade slipped and thudded down into the wagon bed, just missing the grimy skin of Lady Pomponia's foot.

'Sorry. I'll try that again.'

'Please hurry.'

A cry from Prasutagus made Cato glance up. The Iceni warrior was trotting back down the track to the wagon, speaking quickly. Boudica nodded.

'He says they're coming. Four of them. Walking their horses back this way.'

'How far off?' asked Cato.

'Quarter of a mile from the bridge.'

'Not much time then.'

'I'm trying to get her out as fast as I can.' Macro grunted as he applied his sword to the pin once again. 'There! I'm sure it shifted a bit.'

Cato hurried to the front of the wagon. He pulled the body of the fat Druid upright and wedged the whip between the dead man's legs. Then he gestured to Prasutagus to carry the younger Druid into the treeline. Prasutagus reached down for the body and effortlessly heaved it onto his shoulder. He trotted round the front of the cart's ponies and flung the body into the shadows at the edge of the forest.

'Get our horses out of sight! Where's Boudica's?'

'She's finished,' Boudica called out. 'The fall broke her back. I had to leave her behind.'

'Three horses…' Cold dread gripped Cato. 'There are seven of us. We could get two on a horse, but three?'

'We'll have to try,' Boudica said firmly, giving a reassuring squeeze to the two children. 'No one's being left behind. How's that chain coming, Macro?'

'It bloody isn't! Pin's too small.' Macro slid off the back of the wagon. 'Wait there, my lady. I'll be back in a moment. Now then…' He glanced up the track, squinting in the failing light. Four dark shapes were heading towards the narrow trestle bridge. 'We'll have to take on that lot first. Then have another go at the chain. I'll cut the bloody bolt out if I have to. Into the forest everyone. This way.'

Macro herded Boudica and the children away from the wagon and into the shadow of the trees. They stepped over the sprawled form of the younger Druid and crouched down close by the horses Prasutagus had tethered to a pine trunk.

'Swords out,' said Macro quietly. 'Follow me.'

He led Cato and Prasutagus to a position fifty feet on from the front of the wagon and they squatted down, waiting for the Druids to appear. The ponies harnessed to the front of the wagon stood as still and quiet as the body of their master on his bench. The three men lay in wait, senses straining for the first sounds of the Druids' approach. Then it came, the rumbling of hooves on the boards of the trestle bridge.

'Wait for me to make the first move,' whispered Macro. He raised his eyes at Prasutagus's quizzical expression and tried a simpler phrase. 'Me fight first, then you come. Got that?'

Prasutagus nodded, and Macro turned to Cato.

'Right, make it short and make it bloody. We've got to get 'em all. No one must be allowed to escape and give the alarm.'