Cato 01 - Under the Eagle by Simon Scarrow Page B

the argument was being forced to a conclusion as Vitellius waved his hand at the woman and two soldiers abruptly pinned her arms back. A squad forced their way into the large building, only to emerge a moment later with a large chest. Having deposited it by Vitellius they proceeded to the next building and forced an entry.
    'Seems like our man has got away,' Macro remarked, and yawned elaborately. 'The tribune shouldn't have wasted time on the woman.'
    'Unless she's the kind of woman the tribune takes a shine to,' the standard bearer muttered. 'You know what Vitellius is like with women, can't resist the impulse to chat 'em up.'
    'He should do it on his own time then. Not the army's. And certainly not mine. And not on a bloody cold day like this.'
    'Sir!' Cato interrupted. 'Look there! The gate!'
    For some reason the gate was slowly being closed and, as Macro watched, the small drawbridge began to rise. A cold feeling of dread, far colder than the trickle of sweat on a winter day, etched its way down his spine. He shifted his gaze to the centre of the village, but Vitellius and his men seemed unconcerned and continued with the house raids. Beyond the far wall of the village a faint movement attracted his gaze. A shadow was emerging from the forest, as if the sun was setting sooner than it should. Then he realised it couldn't be, the sun was behind the cohort.
    'Cato! Your eyes are younger than mine. What's happening over there — at the edge of the forest there!' He pointed urgently.
    For a moment Cato wasn't sure, a sight haze had risen over the low ground and partially obscured the view. But a moment later the blurry shadow distilled into distinct shapes. 'I think… I'm sure, it's a body of men. Coming out of the forest, this way.'
    He looked at Macro wide-eyed. 'Germans?'
    'What else?' Macro replied dryly.
    'But what about the others in the village?' Cato said in alarm. 'They can't see.'
    'I know, boy. I know.'
    More of the men saw the approaching danger and pointed it out to their comrades. An anxious murmuring swept up and down the line.
    'Quiet, there!' Macro bellowed. 'Shut your mouths and stand still!'
    The legionaries obeyed instantly the moment discipline was invoked. Puffing down the line came Centurion Quadratus of the Second — the senior officer present.
    'Macro! You see 'em?'
    'Yes.'
    'We'd better get down there and join the others.'
    'We were ordered to remain here,' Macro replied firmly. 'Unless Vitellius signalled us to move.'
    'But he can't see them.' Quadratus jabbed a finger towards the approaching Germans, in their thousands now as they poured out of the forest towards the village.
    'If we go down there, then we'll all be caught in the trap,' said Macro. 'I suggest we try and attract their attention instead.'
    Quadratus stared at Macro a moment and then nodded. He turned to face down the line and cupped his hands to his mouth. 'Standards! Signal recall!'
    The remaining five standard bearers raised their standards high and began slowly circling the hanging pendants. Macro looked down at the village where the soldiers of the First century carried on seizing portable items of value, oblivious to the approaching catastrophe.
    'Come on, come on!' Quadratus muttered. 'Someone look up… this way.'
    Finally they saw a soldier gesture towards them with his javelin and Vitellius turned in his saddle. For a moment he sat motionless on his horse, then turned and frantically waved an arm. The soldier who had seen them rushed from the clearing and shortly after reappeared at the top of one of the gate towers. Even as he did so, figures emerged in the spaces between the village buildings surrounding Vitellius and his men. The century quickly formed up in close order and backed out of the clearing towards the gate. Some of the villagers ran forward and threw stones and lumps of wood at the retreating Romans. A sudden shower of javelins from the rearmost ranks rained down on the villagers, leaving half a dozen