The Eagle and the Wolves

As soon as Verica had finished his speech the troops spontaneously roared their approval, drawing their swords and thrusting them up to the sky so that Cato looked upon a thicket of blades shimmering above the two cohorts.

'And now the standards, if you please,' Verica called over his shoulder.

'Give them here!' Macro snapped, realising how foolish it would look for Tincommius to hand him the standards only for one of them to be handed straight back to him. Tincommius did as he was told and moved to one side as Macro handed the stout shaft with boar's head to the Atrebatan king with as much formality as he could. Verica grasped the shaft and thrust it into the air, prompting his men to cheer even louder than before. As the cheering subsided Tincommius stepped forward and bowed his head to his uncle, before stretching out his hand. The cheering died away and the men watched expectantly. Then their king solemnly passed the standard to his nephew and, grasping Tincommius by the shoulders, kissed him fondly on each cheek. Holding the standard tightly in both hands Tincommius turned and marched over to take his place in front of the Boar Cohort.

Macro handed the wolf's head standard to the king as Cato barked out, 'Bedriacus! To the front!'

There was a moment's stillness before the man behind Bedriacus gave the hunter a gentle prod. Bedriacus started forward, marching as stiffly as he could as he approached his king. Even so, the moment the standard passed into his care, his face split into a wide smile and the craggy teeth glinted in the sunlight. He turned back to the Wolf Cohort, and impulsively raised the standard high over his head, thrusting it up and down. The air was split with a fresh wave of cheering as Bedriacus capered over to his comrades.

'Sure he was a wise choice?' Macro grumbled.

'As I said, keeps him out of the way. And now he's got that thing I think someone's going to have to kill the man before they get it off him.'

'Fair enough.'

Cato was suddenly aware of a mud-spattered warrior pushing his way through the nobles towards the king. When he reached Verica, he leaned forward to be heard above the cheering. Verica listened intently, and as soon as the man had finished speaking he waved him away. He turned to the two centurions, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

'Seems you'll discover the mettle of my men sooner than we thought.'

Macro had guessed the nature of the message and couldn't conceal his excitement. 'The Durotrigans are out!'

Verica nodded. 'That scout saw a column a day's ride to the south. They're almost certainly after the next convoy.'

'You can bet on it.' The prospect of action instantly erased any sense of decorum. 'How many?'

'He says no more than five hundred. Mostly infantry, with horse and a few chariots.'

'Marvellous!' Macro smacked his hands together. 'Bloody marvellous!'

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Eleven

'Don't think I've ever seen a better spot for an ambush,' said Macro, hands on hips, as he surveyed the terrain around the ford. 'And there's just enough of the day left to make a clean sweep of it.'

'Thought you'd approve, sir,' smiled Cato.

They were standing with Tincommius on the edge of a small forested hill. Below them the ground sloped down to the track along which the Durotrigans would advance to ambush the convoy. Beyond the track the ground became soft as it fell away into a loop in the river. Half a mile to their right the river came close to the track before gently curving away, creating a natural bottleneck. To their left was the ford, and on the far side the track rose up towards a small ridge. The last century of Cato's cohort was just cresting the ridge and was soon out of sight. Cato had ordered them to cross a short distance down-river so that they would leave no trace of their passage on the far side of the ford. Macro's cohort was hidden along the treeline, with the scouts and their horses tucked down behind the forest, ready to charge round the base of the hill and close the trap. The mounted scouts had been given the pick of Verica's stables and would be able to run down any survivors with ease.

'The only way those bastards are going to get out of this is by swimming away,' Macro grinned, and turned to Cato. 'Of course, please don't feel obliged to attempt a pursuit down-river. '

Cato coloured. 'I just haven't had the time to learn properly. You know I haven't.'

'I'm just wondering if you'll ever find the time. I've seen cats with more affection for being dunked in water.'

'One day, Macro, I swear it.'

'You can't swim?' Tincommius was surprised. 'I thought all you legionaries could.'

Cato gave him a thin smile. 'Meet the exception that proves the rule.'

'Heads up!' Macro craned his neck to the right. A mounted scout had emerged round the corner of the hill and was galloping along the track, bent low over the flying mane of his horse. As he approached, Macro and the others trotted down the slope to intercept him. The man reined in, slewing his horse to a stop. He spoke very quickly, snatching for breath as the Celtic words tumbled from his lips. When he had finished, Tincommius asked him a brief question and then directed him to the cover of the forest. The scout dismounted and led his horse up the slope and out of sight.

'Well?' asked Macro.

'They're two miles down the track, marching in one column with a couple of riders a few hundred paces ahead of the main body. As we were told, about five hundred men.'

'Cato, you're going to have to bag those riders before they can raise the alarm.'

'That'll be tricky.'

'Let me deal with them.' Tincommius patted the handle of his dagger.

'You?' Cato asked. 'Why?'

'I want to strike the first blow for my people.'

'No.' Macro shook his head. 'You're not trained for it. You'd probably just give the game away. Besides, I need you close to me, to translate.'

Tincommius looked down and shrugged. 'As you wish, sir.'

'Right then, Cato,' Macro slapped him on the shoulder, 'back to your men. You know what to do. Just make sure we catch them both sides of the ford. See you later.'

Cato smiled, and then turned to jog down the track towards the ford, while the others climbed back up to their hiding place. Since he had begun to exercise again the pain in his side had become ever more pronounced, and the quick cross-country march of the last two days to intercept the Durotrigans had made it even worse.

Cato splashed down into the shallows at the edge of the ford and waded across the river. He emerged, dripping, on the far bank and ran up the track towards the brow of the low hill that followed the line of the river on each side. In the long grass on the reverse slope the centuries were already formed up in a line parallel to the river, in accordance with his orders.

'Lie down!' he shouted in Celtic, and the Atrebatans dropped out of sight into the grass.

'Bedriacus! On me!'

The wolf's head standard rose up from the ground, followed moments later by the grinning features of the hunter. He trotted over to the centurion and Cato indicated that they crouch down, before scurrying back up towards the crest of the ridge. As he reached the top, he moved to the side of the track and dropped on to his stomach. Bedriacus got down beside him, carefully laying the standard in the grass. Cato unstrapped his crested helmet and put it to one side as he propped himself up on his elbows and fixed his eyes on the track on the other side of the ford. For a moment his eyes wandered along the treeline where Macro's cohort was concealed but Cato saw no sign of movement. Everything was set, and the scene looked peaceful enough to allay the suspicions of the Durotrigans when they appeared.