'Pardon me, sir.'

Macro glanced round and saw the man he had detailed to report on the number of men in the cohort's camp.

'Yes?'

'There's only one man unaccounted for. That's Optio Figulus. All the rest of the legionaries and slaves are here in the camp.'

'You're sure?' Macro raised his dark eyebrows.

'Yes, sir. That's not all. We found some of the quartermaster's assistants tied up in the equipment tent. Some weapons are missing, sir.'

'Very well, you can go.'

Macro swapped a quick look of dismay with Centurion Maximius.

'Problem, Centurion Macro?' asked Vespasian. 'That is to say, yet one more problem to add to the catalogue of cock-ups for this morning?'

Macro nodded. 'Yes, sir. It appears that only Figulus has deserted with the others. But our sentries claim that they were jumped by two men. Seems that the second man is still in the camp.'

'He'd better be found then,' Vespasian said quietly. 'I think that General Plautius will want someone's head in compensation. Rather this accomplice than one of your heads, wouldn't you agree, gentlemen?'

There was no reply to that and the centurions faced their legate with drained and despairing expressions. Behind them Tullius was leading a squad of men through the gap that had been torn in the palisade, and fully armed they slithered in an ungainly fashion down into the ditch on the far side and followed the marks left by the prisoners that led towards the corner of the camp.

Vespasian shook his head. 'This is a sorry state of affairs, Centurion Maximius. Not only are you in the deepest shit for this complete and utter balls-up, you've dragged me into it as well… Thanks.'

There was nothing Maximius could say. What use was an apology, and to even utter one would worsen the burden of shame that lay on his shoulders. So he stared mutely back at his legate until the latter wearily turned round and mounted his horse. Vespasian looked down at the centurions with a sneer on his lips.

'I'm going to break the news to the general, before he can march the cohorts from the other legions across the river to witness punishment. I somehow doubt that Aulus Plautius is going to take the bad news in his stride. You'd better make sure your affairs are in order.'

Vespasian swung his horse away, and urged it back through the gate and down the muddy track towards the main camp. His escort of staff officers set off after him. As they rounded the corner of the legion's camp a squadron of the mounted scouts came galloping the other way. They slewed round and rode along the gap between the two camps, towards the place where Tullius and his men were following the passage of the escapees through the long grass towards the copse of oak trees. A distant movement on a slight rise visible beyond the main camp drew Macro's eye and he saw the dark shapes of another squadron galloping up the slope, fanning out as they scouted the land to the west.

'We'd better hope they find Cato and the others quickly,' Centurion Felix muttered. 'Which direction do you think they've gone?'

'West,' Antonius said with certainty.'Or south-west. It's the only direction that makes sense.'

'Right into the heart of enemy territory?' Felix shook his head. 'Are you mad?'

'Where else can they go? If they go east they'll be picked up by our lads at some point. If not, they'll be seen and reported by our allied tribes. West is their only chance. Besides, there's that bloody great marsh in that direction. Best place to hide out.'

'Bollocks! They'd be throwing themselves right into the hands of Caratacus, and you know what that lot do to any Romans they capture.'

'I still say it's their best chance,' Antonius said firmly, then turned to Macro. 'What do you reckon?'

Macro stared at him in silence, then made himself look casually towards the horsemen disappearing over the crest of the hill beyond the main camp. He cleared his throat, so as not to give away the terrible anxiety that gnawed away at him from inside. 'West. Like you say, it's their best chance. Their only chance.'

Felix sniffed his contempt at this judgement, and turned towards Maximius. 'What about you, sir. What do you think?'

'Think?' Maximius looked round with a distant expression, and frowned. 'What do I think? I think that it doesn't bloody matter what direction they've gone. The damage is done and we've all had it. Every officer in this cohort will have this on their record like a scar. That's what I think.'

He glared at the three centurions with a bitter curl of his lips. His eyes fixed on Macro last of all. 'I tell you what else I think. If I ever find out who helped those bastards to escape, then I'll have the cunt skinned alive. In fact, I'll do it myself.'

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

'We'll have to leave him,' Cato said quietly. Figulus shook his head.'We can't. If they catch him, they'll make him talk. And then they'll execute him.'

The optio paused and looked over his shoulder at the legionary sitting on a rock beside the stream, nursing his ankle. It was the same rock the man had fallen off a short while before; glistening and slippery in the rain. A too-hurried step and the exhausted soldier had tumbled over. The landing had wrenched his ankle so badly he had cried out in agony the moment he had attempted to put any weight back on the joint. There was no question of him continuing on foot. Daylight had found them little more than eight miles from the camp, by Cato's calculation, with the edge of the marsh still as much as six miles away. The legate would be sure to send out the scouts to hunt them down the instant there was enough light to track them by. They would have to run for it if they were to make good their escape. There was no way the injured man could be carried, not without slowing them down, at the risk of all their lives.

Cato fixed the optio with his eyes. 'We're not taking him with us. We can't afford to. He has to look after himself now, understand?'

'It's not right, sir,' Figulus replied. 'I'll not be party to his death.'

'He was dead anyway. You and Macro bought him a few more hours of life. I've made my decision, Optio. Now don't question my orders again.'

Figulus returned his gaze in silence for a moment. 'Orders? We're not soldiers any more, sir. We're deserters. What makes you think I have to obey-'

'Shut your mouth!' Cato snapped back at him. 'You'll do as I say, Optio! Whatever happens I'm still the ranking officer here. Don't you forget it, or I'll kill you where you stand.'

Figulus stared at him in astonishment, before he nodded. 'Yes, sir. Of course.'

Cato realised that his heart was beating wildly and his fists were clenched. He must look like a complete fool, he chided himself. Exhaustion and the dread of being caught and dragged back to the camp and executed had worn his nerves to shreds. He had to be strong if he was going to survive this ordeal, and bring these men through it with him. He already had a plan half formed in his mind, albeit one that was wildly ambitious and optimistic. But then men clinging on to life, as if from a precipitous cliff, are wont to embrace even the most unrealistic chance of salvation. The metaphor had jumped into Cato's mind and the idea that the hand of a god would pluck them all to safety almost made him laugh at himself with scorn. The temptation was almost irresistible and in that temptation he recognised the danger of a paralysing hysteria that would kill them all if he surrendered to it.

Cato rubbed his eyes and then squeezed his optio's shoulder. 'I'm sorry, Figulus. I owe my life to you and Macro. We all do. I'm sorry you've been dragged into this mess. You don't deserve it.'

'It's all right, sir. I understand,' Figulus smiled weakly.'Truth is, I'm having a hard time coming to terms with it myself. If I'd known it'd work out like this… What are we going to do about him?'