Cato 05 - The Eagles Prey by Simon Scarrow

do.’ Cato made himself smile, then turned towards his men.
    Macro watched his friend drop into line alongside Figulus, then the Sixth Century tramped by and as the rear of the last rank moved off round the hill Macro ordered his men up the slope. Apart from the steady chink and jingle of the men’s equipment the only sound was the raw grating cry of the crows fighting over the fresh corpses in the fort.

CHAPTER NINE
    Nearly an hour later the cohort caught up with the Britons. A compact mass of infantry was marching quickly upriver, towards the ford that the cohort had been ordered to defend. From the outset it was clear that they would not reach the ford first, but their leader was a game individual who would at least give it a try and drove his men on as the Romans remorselessly closed in at a tangent. Then the Britons changed their minds and abruptly reversed their direction, heading away from the ford as they made a last desperate bid to escape their pursuers. Maximius gave orders to the decurion in charge of the scouts to skirmish ahead of the enemy column and slow it down.
    So the scouts started to dart in, throwing a few of their light javelins at the leading ranks of the Britons, and then galloping back to safety. When this minor distraction failed to have much effect on the enemy’s pace the decurion drew up his men and feigned a few charges, forcing the Britons to halt momentarily to brace themselves for the impact. It did not take long for the enemy to see through the feint and they ignored the third charge, forcing the scouts to quickly break off and scurry away to safety. Even so, some time had been bought for Maximius and his men. A little more than an hour after the cohort had left the fort behind them the Britons turned to face their pursuers.
    ‘Cohort . . . halt!’ Maximius bellowed. ‘Deploy into line!’
    While the five centuries moved quietly into position the Britons formed up into a crude wedge, two hundred paces away, with their backs to the broad sweep of the river. At once they began to beat their weapons against their shields and raised their voices in a cacophony of jeers, contempt and challenges as they worked themselves up into a frenzy. Most of the legionaries had seen this performance many times in the last year and yet the din and the mad capering of their enemies still worked on their nerves as the Romans braced themselves for the ‘Celtic rush’ that seemed to be the tribes’ only tactical manoeuvre.
    Cato walked slowly along in front of his men. The Sixth Century was on the left of the Roman line. Some of the younger faces, and a few of the veterans, wore eloquent expressions of doubt and fear, and needed some form of distraction. Cato stopped and turned his back to the enemy.
    ‘I wouldn’t worry about that lot!’ He had to shout to be heard clearly above the rising roar of the enemy’s battle cries. ‘In a moment they’ll charge us. All we have to do is stand firm, give ‘em six inches of the short sword and they’ll break in no time. Most of us have been here before and know the form. For the rest of you, once it’s all over, you’ll wonder what you were ever worried about.’ Cato grinned.’Trust me, I’m a centurion!’
    A few men laughed, and Cato was glad to see a release of the nervous tension he had marked in some of those faces an instant before.
    ‘You tell ‘em, boy!’ a voice cried out from somewhere amongst the rear ranks.
    Figulus spun round. ‘Who said that? Who the fuck said that?’ The optio thrust his way through the front line. ‘Which one of you pricks just signed his own death warrant?’
    ‘Optio!’ Cato called out. ‘Get back to your post!’
    ‘Yes, sir!’ Figulus glowered at the men around him before shoving back through the broad shields to take his place alongside the century’s standard bearer. Cato met his eyes and gave him a slight nod of approval; the optio’s intervention had forestalled any wider breach of discipline. Very