Cato 03 - When the Eagle Hunts by Simon Scarrow Page B

that's for later. Keep an eye out for the enemy meanwhile.'
    'Yes, sir!'
    Cato left him and continued his rounds of the sector of the fort entrusted to him. Over the other side, Centurion Macro was supervising the rest of the century. Across the ranks of tent ridges basking in the glow of the rising sun, Cato could see the short powerful figure strutting along the opposite rampart, hands clasped behind his back, his head turned towards the distant Tamesis, and Camulodunum far beyond. Cato smiled as he imagined where his centurion's thoughts lay. In spite of his laddish, hard-drinking, womanising nature, Macro had let the statuesque Boudica get under his skin. It had never occurred to the centurion that a woman could be such a complete companion, one who equalled him in almost every sphere of manly behaviour, and the affection he had for her was all too apparent to his optio, and those other men who knew him best. While other centurions and optios winked at each other and joked in low voices about life lived under the thumb of such a woman, Cato was quietly pleased for his centurion.
    'Call out the guard!' cried a voice.
    Cato instantly turned in the direction of the shout and saw Figulus pointing away to the west, where a forest crept up the far end of the ridge. The angle of the rampart obscured Cato's view. He swore, and ran round the walkway to Figulus's position.
    'What's up?'
    'Men, sir! There!' Figulus jabbed his finger along the crest of the ridge towards the forest. Cato saw nothing unusual as his eyes swept the landscape.
    'Use your drill!' he shouted. 'Indicate the direction properly!'
    The recruit swung his javelin up and carefully sighted along it in the direction of the forest. 'There, sir.'
    Cato moved behind Figulus and looked along the javelin's length. Past the wavering point, amid the trees at the edge of the forest, dark figures on horseback slowly emerged from the sylvan shadows within and picked their way onto the snow-patched open ground before the legion's ramparts. There they halted; ten men on horse, clothed in black, heads hidden in great hoods.
    All around Cato the rest of the centuries from the stand-to cohort piled up onto the ramparts and dispersed along this side of the fortified camp, armed and ready to meet any sudden attack. A trumpet was blowing the signal for the cohort, and Macro sprinted along the walkway to join them.
    The distant horsemen parted, and from within the group a man on the ground staggered forward, his arms tightly bound behind him. A rope curved up from a halter round his neck and into the hand of the rider walking his beast alongside. The mounted man, like his companions, was thickly robed in black and wore a strange headpiece that bore an elaborate pair of antlers that made him look like a thin tree stripped for winter. The two figures approached the fort, the man on foot stumbling to retain his balance without choking on the tether held tightly by his captor.
    'What's going on?' Macro had arrived, breathing hard. 'Who are they?'
    'Don't know, sir.'
    'Who called out the guard?'
    'Figulus, sir.'
    Macro turned and looked for the recruit. 'Figulus! Over here! Smartly does it, lad!'
    Figulus doubled along the rampart and drew up in front of his centurion with a thud as he grounded his javelin and stood stiffly at attention. Macro surveyed him with a harsh expression. 'Did you call out the guard cohort?'
    'Yes, sir.' The legionary steeled himself for a stiff bollocking from his centurion. 'Sorry, sir.'
    'Sorry? What are you fucking sorry for, lad? You've done well. Now back to your position.'
    It took a moment for the slow-witted youngster to realise that he had been praised, and his face split into a gap-toothed grin.
    'Today, Figulus! Today!'
    'Oh, right, sir!' He turned and trotted away, leaving his centurion shaking his head in thin-lipped wonder at the quality of some of the men he had been forced to take into his century to bring it up to strength. Beyond Figulus he