Cato raised his head and opened his mouth to cry for help, but he was too winded to sum up more than a terrified wheeze. Then he saw the spear tip, glistening close to his feet. He reached for the shaft and snatched the spear up, spinning back towards his horse. It lay on its side, front hoofs thrashing at the ground, rear legs strangely limp, and Cato realised its back must be broken. There was a sickening thud as the boar charged home again and Cato, circled round the rear of the horse, crouching low, the blade of the spear poised for a thrust.
'Cato!' Macro's voice sounded anxious now. 'What's happening?'
As the other side of his mount came into view Cato saw the boar toss back its head, its tusks goring their way deep into the belly of the horse. With a savage wrench the long snout came clear, glistening with blood as a length of intestine was torn away on the tip of one tusk. The boar's wild red eyes widened as it caught sight of Cato and at once it turned and charged.
'Oh shit!' Cato grunted, diving back round the rear of the horse. The boar swept through the space he had been an instant before and then swerved and charged after him. With a terrified glance over his shoulder Cato ran, spear in hand, away to the right where the forest floor was clear. The boar came after him, like a battering ram, screeching for his blood. Any moment now his legs would be swept from under him and his back would be torn open by those tusks.
Ahead there was a thick tree trunk, an ancient oak that had fallen many years earlier and was now covered with a verdant moss, glistening in the rain. Bracing his legs, Cato leaped over it and sprawled on the far side. There was no chance of escape now. He rolled on to his back, and with the butt of the spear braced against the earth he raised the point towards the tree trunk. There was a scuffle as the boar prepared itself for the leap on the far side and then there it was, huge, bloody-faced and horrifying, sharp teeth gleaming in its open maw. It threw itself forward at Cato and its chest slammed into the broad point of the hunting spear. The boar's flesh swallowed up the point of the spear as it plunged deep into the animal's vital organs. The impact wrenched the shaft from Cato's grip and the length of the spear carried the huge beast clear over Cato before the shaft snapped with a sharp splintering crack.
The boar crashed to the ground with a grunt, squealing in agony as it struggled to regain its feet. The spear had broken near to the blade and the splintered shaft protruded from a bloody wound just below the boar's neck. Blood was gushing out and spattered the surrounding moss and the ferns as the beast tried to shake the spear tip free. Cato snatched up the broken shaft and drove the splintered end into the animal's side, thrusting his full weight behind the length of wood. The squealing intensified and Cato felt his legs battered by the scrabbling trotters of the boar. He ignored the pain and pressed the spear shaft home, wrenching it from side to side as he leaned his weight on it. Slowly the creature's efforts became weaker, and then ever more feeble, and Cato thrust harder with gritted teeth, hissing at the beast, 'Just die, you bastard! Die!'
The trotters were no longer lashing at his leg, but hung limp and still. For a moment longer the boar's breath came in short, snatched gasps. At last, with a final sighing wheeze, it was dead.
Cato slowly relaxed his white-knuckled grip on the spear shaft and slumped to his knees, shaking with relief and excitement. He'd done it, he'd made his kill and he was alive and uninjured. His heart pounded as he looked over the boar. Now that it was dead it seemed smaller, somehow. Not much, but smaller all the same. Looking down at the head Cato saw the jaws hanging slightly open, with a blood-flecked tongue protruding between the sharp teeth. He shivered and rose to his feet.
'Cato!' Macro called from nearby, from the direction of the mortally wounded horse. There was no mistaking the anxiety in Macro's voice.
'Over here!'
'Hold on, lad! I'm coming.'
As Cato rose to his feet there was a shout from close by, from the direction of the king. As he held his breath and strained his ears the voice cried out again.
'Help! Help! Murder!'
Cato recognised Verica's voice now, and turned to shout over his shoulder, 'Macro! This way! Quick!'
Then he was running towards the shouts, crashing through beds of ferns and being lashed by branches as he sprinted in the direction of the king's voice. Behind him he heard Macro calling out his name.
'This way!' he shouted back over his shoulder as he ran. His feet struck an object and he went flying forwards, arms instinctively raised to protect his face as he landed. He hit the ground hard, and rolled over before scrambling back to his feet. There was Tincommius, lying on the ground clutching his head. Blood oozed from between his fingers and his eyes flickered in a daze. His spear lay across his chest.
'Tincommius! Where's the king?'
'What?' The Briton shook his head, dazed.
'The king?'
Tincommius' eyes cleared and he rolled on to his side, his arm raised as he pointed down a narrow track. 'That way. Quick! Artax is after him.'
'Artax?'
'I tried to stop him. Go! Get some help! I'll follow Artax!'
Cato ignored him, and ran along the track. Looking down, he saw bright crimson drops on the ground and smeared on the ferns that he passed. The path suddenly opened out into a small glade. Twenty feet away was the thick trunk of an oak tree. At its base Verica lay crumpled on the ground. His white hair was matted with blood from a deep gash on the top of his head. Standing over him was Artax, a thick length of wood in one hand. As Cato crashed out of the undergrowth lining the path Artax looked up and bared his teeth in a grim smile.
'Cato! Good! Come here, boy!'
'Drop the club,' said Cato. 'Drop it!'
'I've had enough of your orders,' Artax sneered, and took a step towards Cato. Then he paused and glanced round anxiously. 'Where's Tincommius?'
Cato launched himself at the man and both fell clear of the still form of Verica. Cato was on his feet first and swung his boot into Artax's face. There was a crunch as the iron studs connected with the bridge of the other man's nose and Artax cried out in surprise and pain. Then he too rolled to his feet and swung his club at the centurion. Cato ducked the blow and crouched low, preparing to spring forward again. Where the hell was Tincommius? And Macro?
Artax's teeth clenched in a snarl. 'You'll pay for that, Roman! I warn you, get back!'
Cato jumped forward. This time Artax was prepared and stepped to one side as he swung the club down across Cato's shoulders. The centurion crashed to the ground, utterly winded by the blow. He saw Artax nod his satisfaction and waited for the killer blow to land that would dash his brains out. Instead, Artax turned and walked back towards the king. But he never reached him. There was a dull thud and Artax grunted under the impact of Tincommius' hunting spear. The blow toppled him sideways and he fell to the earth, the dark shaft of the spear angling up towards the sky. Tincommius staggered over to the body, grasped the shaft and placed his foot close to the wound. With a great wrench he tore the barbed point out of Artax's chest and blood gushed from the gaping wound. Artax's body shuddered for a moment and he seemed to be trying to rise up. Tincommius kicked him to the ground and just before he died Artax reached a hand out to his king and clenched a fold of Verica's tunic.
'My lord!… Verica…'
Then he was still.
Cato was still too winded to rise. The blow had left his arms and shoulders numb and they refused to move. So he could only watch as Tincommius kneeled down beside his king, bloody spear in hand, checking for signs of life.
With a great snapping of branches Macro rode into the clearing, spear raised, ready to thrust it into the first enemy he came across. He looked round in confusion and reined in his horse before sliding off its back. He ran to Cato and turned him over.