Cato 03 - When the Eagle Hunts (36 page)

A few moments later the Druids caught sight of the wagon and called out. When there was no reply, they called out again. The silence made them cautious. A hundred paces away they reined in their horses, muttering to each other.

'Shit!' Macro hissed. 'They're not going to buy it.'

The centurion made to rise, but Cato did the unthinkable and reached out a hand to restrain his superior.

'Wait, sir. Just a moment.'

Macro was so startled by his optio's effrontery that he froze for just long enough to hear the Druids' soft laughter. Then the riders continued forward. Cato tightened his grip on the handle of his sword and tensed, ready to spring up behind Macro and throw himself upon the enemy. Through the uneven mesh of the lowest branches Cato could see the approaching Druids, riding in line, strung out along the track. Beside him Macro cursed; the three of them could not spread out now without attracting attention.

'Leave the last one to me,' he whispered.

The first of the Druids passed their position, and shouted to the driver, apparently poking fun at him. Prasutagus grinned widely at the man's remark and Macro nudged him fiercely.

The second Druid passed them, just as the leader shouted out again, much louder this time. One of the ponies started at the noise and tried to back away. The wagon swivelled slightly, and as the ambushers watched, the body of the driver slowly toppled to one side and fell onto the track.

'Now!' bellowed Macro and sprang out of the shadows, screaming his war cry. Cato did the same as he threw himself at the second Druid. To his right, Prasutagus swung his long sword in a dull grey arc into the head of his Druid. The blow landed with a sickening crunch and the man slumped in his saddle. Armed with a short sword, Cato did as he had been trained and rammed it home into the side of his target. The impact drove the breath out of the Druid with an explosive gasp. Cato grasped his black cloak and savagely hauled him to the ground, where he wrestled the blade free and quickly slit the Druid's throat.

Ignoring the gurgling sound of the man's dying breaths, Cato looked round, sword held ready. Prasutagus was moving towards the leader. Having survived the immediate rush, the first Druid had drawn his sword and turned his horse. Kicking in his heels he rode straight at the Iceni warrior. Prasutagus was forced to dive to one side, ducking the sword swipe that followed. The Druid cursed, kicked his heels in again and galloped towards Cato. The optio stood his ground, sword raised. The Druid snarled savagely at the temerity of the man who faced a mounted foe wielding a long blade, armed only with the short sword of the legions.

Blood pounding in his ears, Cato watched the horse surging towards him, its rider raising his sword arm high for the killing blow. Just as he felt a warm snort of air from the horse's nostrils, Cato snapped his blade up and smashed it down across the horse's eyes, then rolled away. The horse screamed, blinded in one eye and in agony from the smashed bone across the width of its head. It reared up, front hooves flailing, and threw its rider before bolting across the plain, head shaking from side to side, flinging dark drops of blood. Back on his feet, Cato sprinted the short distance to the rider, who desperately tried to raise his weapon. With a sharp ring of blade on blade, Cato parried it to one side and buried his sword in the Druid's chest. Terrified by the attack, the two riderless horses bolted into the dusk.

Cato turned to see how Macro was coping with the last Druid. Thirty paces away, an uneven duel was being fought. The Druid had recovered from the surprise of the attack before Macro could reach him. With his long sword drawn he now slashed and chopped at the stocky centurion who had worked his way round to block the route back to the bridge.

'Could do with some help here!' Macro shouted as he threw his sword up to block another ringing blow.

Prasutagus was already up and running to his aid, and Cato sprinted after him. Before either man reached the centurion, he tripped and fell. The Druid seized his chance and slashed down with his sword, leaning right over the centurion to make sure of his blow. The blade connected with a dull thud and glanced off Macro's skull. Without a sound, Macro pitched forward, and for an instant Cato just stared, frozen in horror. A howl of rage from Prasutagus brought him back to his senses and Cato turned on the Druid, determined to have his blood. But the Druid had more sense than to take on two enemies at once and he knew he must summon help. He wheeled his horse about and galloped back up the track towards the hill fort, shouting for his comrades.

Sheathing his bloody sword, Cato fell to his knees beside Macro's still form.

'Sir!' Cato grabbed Macro's shoulder and pulled the centurion onto his back, wincing at the savage wound to the side of his head. The Druid's sword had cut through to the bone, shearing off a large flap of scalp. Blood covered Macro's lifeless face. Cato thrust his hand inside his tunic. The centurion's heart was still beating. Prasutagus was kneeling beside him, shaking his head in pity.

'Come on! Take his feet. Get him to the wagon.'

They were struggling back with the limp centurion when Boudica emerged from the trees, leading the children by either hand. She stopped as she saw Macro's body. Beside her the young girl flinched at the sight.

'Oh no…'

'He's alive,' grunted Cato.

They laid Macro gently in the back of the wagon while Boudica retrieved a waterskin from under the driver's bench. She blanched at her first clear look at the centurion's wound and then removed the stopper from the skin and poured water over the bloody mangle of skin and hair.

'Give me your neck cloth,' she ordered Cato, and he quickly untied it and handed her the length of material. Grimacing, Boudica eased the strip of scalp back into place over Macro's skull and tied the neck cloth firmly round the wound. Then she removed Macro's neck cloth, already stained with his blood, and tied that on as well. The centurion did not regain consciousness, and Cato heard him breathing in shallow gasps.

'He's going to die.'

'No!' Boudica said fiercely. 'No. Your hear me? We have to get him out of here.'

Cato turned to Lady Pomponia. 'We can't leave. Not without you and your children.'

'Optio,' Lady Pomponia said gently, 'take your centurion, and my children, and go now. Before the Druids come back.'

'No.' Cato shook his head. 'We all go.'

She raised her chained foot. 'I can't. But you must get my children away. I beg you. There's nothing you can do for me. Save them.'

Cato forced himself to look into her face and saw the desperate pleading in her eyes.

'We have to go, Cato,' Boudica muttered at his side. 'We must go. The Druid that got away will fetch the others. There's no time. We have to go.'

Cato's heart sank into a pit of black despair. Boudica was right. Short of hacking off Lady Pomponia's foot, there was no way she could be released before the Druids returned in strength.

'You could make it easier for me,' said Lady Pomponia, with a cautious nod in the direction of her children. 'But get them away from here first.'

Cato's blood chilled in his veins. 'You're not serious?'

'Of course I am. It's that or be burned alive.'

'No… I can't do it.'

'Please,' she whispered. 'I beg you. For pity's sake.'

'We go!' Prasutagus interrupted loudly. 'They come! Quick, quick!'

Instinctively Cato drew his sword, and lowered the tip towards Lady Pomponia's chest. She clenched her eyes.

Boudica knocked the blade down. 'Not in front of the children! Let me get them mounted first.'

But it was too late. The boy had grasped what was going on, and his eyes widened in horror. Before Boudica or Cato could react, he had scrambled into the back of the wagon and threw his arms tightly round his mother. Boudica grabbed the arm of Pomponia's daughter before she could follow her brother.

'Leave her alone!' he screamed, tears coursing down his dirty cheeks. 'Don't touch her! I won't let you hurt my mummy!'

Cato lowered his sword, muttering, 'I can't do this.'

'You have to,' Lady Pomponia hissed over the head of her son. 'Take him, now!'

'No!' the boy screamed, and he locked his hands tightly about her arm. 'I won't leave you, Mummy! Please, Mummy, please don't make me go!'

Above the boy's crying, Cato heard another sound: faint shouts from the direction of the hill fort. The Druid who had escaped the ambush must have reached his comrades. There was very little time.

'I won't do it,' Cato said firmly. 'I promise I will find another way'

'What other way?' Lady Pomponia wailed, finally losing her patrician self-control. 'They're going to burn me alive!'

'No they're not. I swear it. On my life. I will set you free. I swear it.'

Lady Pomponia shook her head hopelessly.

'Now, hand me your son.'

'No!' the boy screamed, squirming away from Cato.

'The Druids come!' Prasutagus shouted, and all of them could hear the distant drumming of hooves.

'Take the girl and go!' Cato ordered Boudica.

'Go where?'

Cato thought quickly, mentally reconstructing the lie of the land from his memory of the day's travel.

'That wood we passed four, maybe five miles back. Head there. Now!'

Boudica nodded, grasped the arm of the girl and headed into the trees where she untied their horses. Cato called Prasutagus over and indicated Macro's still form.

'You take him. Follow Boudica.'

The Iceni warrior nodded, and lifted Macro easily into his arms.

'Gently!'

'Trust me, Roman.' Prasutagus looked once at Cato, then turned and headed towards the horses with his burden, leaving Cato standing alone at the back of the wagon.

Lady Pomponia grasped her son by the wrists. 'Aelius, you must go now. Be a good boy. Do what I say. I'll be all right. But you must go.'

'I shan't,' sobbed the little boy. 'I won't leave you, Mummy!'

'You have to.' She forced his wrists away from her and towards Cato. Aelius struggled frantically to break her grip. Cato took hold of his middle and pulled him gently out of the wagon. His mother watched with tears in her eyes, knowing she would never see her small son again. Aelius wailed and writhed in Cato's grip. A little way off, hooves pounded on wood as the Druids reached the trestle bridge. Boudica and Prasutagus were waiting, mounted, by the edge of the trees. The girl sat mute and silent in front of Boudica. Prasutagus, with one hand firmly holding the centurion's body, held out the reins of the last horse and Cato thrust the boy up on its back before he swung into the saddle, himself.

'Go!' he ordered the others, and they set off along the track away from the hill fort. Cato took one last look at the wagon, consumed with guilt and despair, and then dug his heels in.

As the horse jolted into a trot, Aelius wriggled free and slipped from Cato's grasp. He rolled away from the horse, stood up and ran back to the wagon as fast as his little legs could carry him.

'Mummy!'

'Aelius! No! Go back! For pity's sake!'

'Aelius!' Cato shouted. 'Come here!'

But it was no use. The boy reached the wagon, scrambled up and hurled himself into the arms of his sobbing mother. For an instant Cato turned his horse towards the wagon, but he could see movement down the track beyond it.

He cursed, then jerked the reins and galloped his horse after Boudica and Prasutagus.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Cato felt more wretched than he had ever felt in his entire life. The four of them, and the girl, Julia, were sitting deep in a wood they had passed earlier that day. Night had fallen when they had found the crumbling remains of an old silver mine and stopped in the diggings to rest and let their blown horses recover from their double burden. Julia was crying softly to herself. Macro lay under his and Cato's cloaks, still unconscious, his breath shallow and rasping.

The Druids had tried to track them down, fanning out across the countryside and calling to each other every time they thought they saw something. Twice they heard the sounds of pursuit, distant cries muffled by the trees, but nothing for some hours now. Even so, they kept quiet.

The young optio was in torment over the fate of Lady Pomponia and her son. The Druids had taken too many lives in recent months, and Cato would not let them have these last two. Yet how could he possibly honour his vow to rescue them? Lady Pomponia and Aelius were even now imprisoned in that vast hill fort, with its massive ramparts, high palisade and watchful garrison. Their rescue was the kind of deed that only mythic heroes could carry out successfully, and Cato's bitter self-analysis was that he was too weak and scared to have even the remotest chance of carrying it off. Had Macro not been injured, he might have felt more optimistic. What little Macro lacked in foresight and strategic initiative he more than made up for with courage and strength. The worse the odds, the more determined the centurion became to overcome them. That was the key quality of the man who had become his friend and mentor, and Cato knew it was precisely that quality he lacked. Now, more than ever, he needed Macro at his side, but the centurion lay at his feet, on the verge of death, it seemed. The wound would have killed a weaker man outright, but Macro's thick skull and physical resilience were keeping him on this side of the Styx, but only just.