As they charged down the grassy slope, the wind roared in Cato's ears and his heart thudded against his chest. Only shortly before, they had been quietly picking their way along a little-used path. Now fate had thrown them a slim chance to rescue the general's family and Cato felt the mad exhilarating terror of imminent action. Looking ahead he saw that the hill fort was now hidden behind the trees that ran alongside the track. Barely half a mile away trundled the wagon on its solid wooden wheels, drawn by a pair of shaggy ponies. The two Druids on the driver's bench were not yet aware of the riders' approach and sat upright, craning their heads forward for the first glimpse of the ramparts of the Great Fortress. Behind them, over the axle, a leather cover hid their prisoners from view. As hooves pounded the ground beneath him it seemed impossible to Cato that they had not been noticed, and he prayed to any god that would hear him that they remain undetected a moment longer. Long enough to prevent the Druids whipping their ponies into a trot and buying them just enough time to alert their companions who had gone ahead.
But the gods were either ignorant of this tiny human drama or cruelly conspiring with the Druids. The driver's companion suddenly glanced back, and shot up from the bench, shouting and pointing at the approaching Romans. With a sharp crack that carried clearly across the open ground, the driver lashed out at the broad rumps of his ponies and the wagon lurched ponderously forward, axle groaning in protest. The other Druid fell back on the bench, then cupped his hands and shouted for help, but his comrades were screened from sight by the curve of the treeline and his cries went unheeded.
Cato was now close enough to make out each Druid's features over the flapping mane of his horse, and saw that the driver was grey-haired and overweight, while his companion was a sallow youth, thin and pinch-faced. The fight would be over very quickly. With luck they would release the hostages and be racing away from the hill fort well before the mounted Druids began to wonder at the time the wagon was taking to catch up with them. Under the frantic urgings of the driver, the wagon rumbled forward at an ever increasing pace, bumping and jolting violently along the rutted track as it headed round the curve of the trees towards the bridge. Their pursuers were only a short distance away from them, kicking in their heels and urging their foam-flecked mounts on.
There was a sharp squeal of panic from behind him, and Cato glanced back to see Boudica's horse tumble headlong, rear legs flailing at the sky before crashing over the horse's neck. Boudica was flung forwards and instinctively ducked her head and curled her body just before hitting the ground. She bounced over the grassy hummocks with a scream. Her companions reined in. The horse lay twisted, its back broken, its forelegs struggling vainly to raise the rear half of its body. Boudica had fetched up in a puddle and was rising uncertainly to her feet.
'Leave her!' Macro shouted, spurring his horse on. 'Get the fucking wagon before it's too late!'
The Druids had gained valuable distance from their pursuers. The wagon was rumbling wildly, a scant few hundred paces from the bridge; soon it would emerge in full view of the hill fort, and the Druid horsemen not far beyond. With a savage dig into the flanks of his mount, Cato raced after his centurion, with Prasutagus at his side. They were galloping parallel to the track, keeping clear of its treacherous ruts, and ahead of them they could see the tied leather flaps at the rear of the wagon. The younger Druid glanced back at them, his face filled with fear.
Round the bend in the track appeared the massive earthworks of the hill fort, and Cato spurred his horse into one last desperate effort and rapidly closed on the wagon. The huge wheels of solid oak flung clods of mud into his face. He blinked, grasped the handle of his sword and drew it, the blade rasping as it came free. Ahead of him, Macro raced past the driver and swerved his horse across the path of the ponies. With terrified whinnies they tried to halt but were pushed forward in their harnesses by the momentum of the wagon bumping along behind them. Cato held his sword low to one side, ready to thrust. As he drew up beside the driver's bench, there was a dark blur of movement and the young Druid crashed into him. Both tumbled to the ground. The impact smashed the breath out of Cato and there was a blinding flash as his head hit the earth. His vision cleared, and he found himself staring into the young Druid's snarling face, inches from his own. Then, as the spittle dripped from his stained teeth, the Druid gasped, eyes wide with surprise, and he slumped forward.
Cato thrust the limp body away from him, and saw the handguard of his sword pressed into the dark cloth of the Druid's cloak. There was no sign of the blade, only a spreading stain around the guard. The blade had been driven right up through the Druid's guts into the vital organs under his ribcage. Grimacing, Cato rolled to his feet and heaved on the handle. With a sickening sucking noise the blade reluctantly came free. The optio quickly looked round for the other Druid.
He was already dead, slumped back against the leather cover, blood pumping from a gaping wound in his throat where Prasutagus had hacked with his long Celtic sword. The Iceni warrior was off his horse and tearing at the ties binding the rear of the cover. From inside the wagon a child's muffled shriek reached their ears. The last of the ties came undone and Prasutagus swept the flaps apart and stuck his head inside. Fresh screams split the air.
'It's all right!' shouted Boudica in Latin, running up the track. She spoke angrily to Prasutagus in their native tongue and pushed him to one side. 'It's all right. We're here to rescue you. Cato! Come here! They need to see a Roman face.'
Ducking her head back into the wagon, Boudica tried to sound calm. 'There are two Roman officers with us. You're safe.'
Cato reached the back of the wagon and looked into the gloomy interior. A woman sat hunched, with her arms round the shoulders of a small boy and a slightly older girl, both whimpering in wide-eyed terror. The clothes they wore had once been of fine quality but were now soiled and torn. They looked like common street beggars, huddled and frightened.
'Lady Pomponia,' Cato tried to sound reassuring. 'I'm an optio of the Second Legion. Your husband sent us to find you. Here's my centurion.'
Cato stepped to one side as Macro joined them. The centurion motioned to Prasutagus to keep watch up the track towards the hill fort.
'All in one piece then?' Macro glanced at the woman and two children. 'Good! Let's get moving. Before those bastards come back.'
'I can't,' replied Lady Pomponia, lifting the tattered hem of her cloak. Her bare foot was chained at the ankle to an iron ringbolt in the bed of the cart.
'The children?'
Lady Pomponia shook her head.
'All right then, kids, get out of the cart, so I can get to work on your mum's chain.'
They pressed still more closely to their mother.
'Go on, do as he says,' Lady Pomponia said gently. "These people are here to help us and take us back to your father.'
The girl hesitantly shuffled over the grimy boards to the rear of the wagon and slid off the end, into Boudica's arms. The boy buried his face against his mother and clenched his little fists tightly in the folds of her cloak. Macro frowned.
'Look here, lad, there's no time for this nonsense. Get out now!'
'That's not going to do any good,' Boudica muttered. 'The boy's scared enough as it is.'
Holding the girl on one hip, she reached a hand out to the child. With a gentle push from his mother, the boy reluctantly allowed himself to be lifted down from the wagon. He clutched at Boudica's leg and anxiously watched Cato and Macro.
The centurion hauled himself into the bed of the wagon and examined the chain where it was attached to an ankle fetter.
'Shit! It's been iron pegged – there's no lock.'
The stout metal peg that fastened the manacle needed a special spiked tool to remove it. Macro drew his sword and carefully applied the point to one end of the pin. Lady Pomponia looked on in alarm, instinctively flinching.
'You'll need to keep still.'
'I'll try. Be careful, Centurion.'
Macro nodded, and gradually pushed the end of the iron pin. When it refused to budge, he applied more pressure, taking care to keep the point of his sword on the end of the pin. The muscles in his arms bunched and he gritted his teeth as he strained to set the woman free. The blade slipped and thudded down into the wagon bed, just missing the grimy skin of Lady Pomponia's foot.
'Sorry. I'll try that again.'
'Please hurry.'
A cry from Prasutagus made Cato glance up. The Iceni warrior was trotting back down the track to the wagon, speaking quickly. Boudica nodded.
'He says they're coming. Four of them. Walking their horses back this way.'
'How far off?' asked Cato.
'Quarter of a mile from the bridge.'
'Not much time then.'
'I'm trying to get her out as fast as I can.' Macro grunted as he applied his sword to the pin once again. 'There! I'm sure it shifted a bit.'
Cato hurried to the front of the wagon. He pulled the body of the fat Druid upright and wedged the whip between the dead man's legs. Then he gestured to Prasutagus to carry the younger Druid into the treeline. Prasutagus reached down for the body and effortlessly heaved it onto his shoulder. He trotted round the front of the cart's ponies and flung the body into the shadows at the edge of the forest.
'Get our horses out of sight! Where's Boudica's?'
'She's finished,' Boudica called out. 'The fall broke her back. I had to leave her behind.'
'Three horses…' Cold dread gripped Cato. 'There are seven of us. We could get two on a horse, but three?'
'We'll have to try,' Boudica said firmly, giving a reassuring squeeze to the two children. 'No one's being left behind. How's that chain coming, Macro?'
'It bloody isn't! Pin's too small.' Macro slid off the back of the wagon. 'Wait there, my lady. I'll be back in a moment. Now then…' He glanced up the track, squinting in the failing light. Four dark shapes were heading towards the narrow trestle bridge. 'We'll have to take on that lot first. Then have another go at the chain. I'll cut the bloody bolt out if I have to. Into the forest everyone. This way.'
Macro herded Boudica and the children away from the wagon and into the shadow of the trees. They stepped over the sprawled form of the younger Druid and crouched down close by the horses Prasutagus had tethered to a pine trunk.
'Swords out,' said Macro quietly. 'Follow me.'
He led Cato and Prasutagus to a position fifty feet on from the front of the wagon and they squatted down, waiting for the Druids to appear. The ponies harnessed to the front of the wagon stood as still and quiet as the body of their master on his bench. The three men lay in wait, senses straining for the first sounds of the Druids' approach. Then it came, the rumbling of hooves on the boards of the trestle bridge.
'Wait for me to make the first move,' whispered Macro. He raised his eyes at Prasutagus's quizzical expression and tried a simpler phrase. 'Me fight first, then you come. Got that?'
Prasutagus nodded, and Macro turned to Cato.
'Right, make it short and make it bloody. We've got to get ' em all. No one must be allowed to escape and give the alarm.'
A few moments later the Druids caught sight of the wagon and called out. When there was no reply, they called out again. The silence made them cautious. A hundred paces away they reined in their horses, muttering to each other.
'Shit!' Macro hissed. 'They're not going to buy it.'
The centurion made to rise, but Cato did the unthinkable and reached out a hand to restrain his superior.
'Wait, sir. Just a moment.'
Macro was so startled by his optio's effrontery that he froze for just long enough to hear the Druids' soft laughter. Then the riders continued forward. Cato tightened his grip on the handle of his sword and tensed, ready to spring up behind Macro and throw himself upon the enemy. Through the uneven mesh of the lowest branches Cato could see the approaching Druids, riding in line, strung out along the track. Beside him Macro cursed; the three of them could not spread out now without attracting attention.
'Leave the last one to me,' he whispered.
The first of the Druids passed their position, and shouted to the driver, apparently poking fun at him. Prasutagus grinned widely at the man's remark and Macro nudged him fiercely.
The second Druid passed them, just as the leader shouted out again, much louder this time. One of the ponies started at the noise and tried to back away. The wagon swivelled slightly, and as the ambushers watched, the body of the driver slowly toppled to one side and fell onto the track.
'Now!' bellowed Macro and sprang out of the shadows, screaming his war cry. Cato did the same as he threw himself at the second Druid. To his right, Prasutagus swung his long sword in a dull grey arc into the head of his Druid. The blow landed with a sickening crunch and the man slumped in his saddle. Armed with a short sword, Cato did as he had been trained and rammed it home into the side of his target. The impact drove the breath out of the Druid with an explosive gasp. Cato grasped his black cloak and savagely hauled him to the ground, where he wrestled the blade free and quickly slit the Druid's throat.
Ignoring the gurgling sound of the man's dying breaths, Cato looked round, sword held ready. Prasutagus was moving towards the leader. Having survived the immediate rush, the first Druid had drawn his sword and turned his horse. Kicking in his heels he rode straight at the Iceni warrior. Prasutagus was forced to dive to one side, ducking the sword swipe that followed. The Druid cursed, kicked his heels in again and galloped towards Cato. The optio stood his ground, sword raised. The Druid snarled savagely at the temerity of the man who faced a mounted foe wielding a long blade, armed only with the short sword of the legions.
Blood pounding in his ears, Cato watched the horse surging towards him, its rider raising his sword arm high for the killing blow. Just as he felt a warm snort of air from the horse's nostrils, Cato snapped his blade up and smashed it down across the horse's eyes, then rolled away. The horse screamed, blinded in one eye and in agony from the smashed bone across the width of its head. It reared up, front hooves flailing, and threw its rider before bolting across the plain, head shaking from side to side, flinging dark drops of blood. Back on his feet, Cato sprinted the short distance to the rider, who desperately tried to raise his weapon. With a sharp ring of blade on blade, Cato parried it to one side and buried his sword in the Druid's chest. Terrified by the attack, the two riderless horses bolted into the dusk.
Cato turned to see how Macro was coping with the last Druid. Thirty paces away, an uneven duel was being fought. The Druid had recovered from the surprise of the attack before Macro could reach him. With his long sword drawn he now slashed and chopped at the stocky centurion who had worked his way round to block the route back to the bridge.
'Could do with some help here!' Macro shouted as he threw his sword up to block another ringing blow.
Prasutagus was already up and running to his aid, and Cato sprinted after him. Before either man reached the centurion, he tripped and fell. The Druid seized his chance and slashed down with his sword, leaning right over the centurion to make sure of his blow. The blade connected with a dull thud and glanced off Macro's skull. Without a sound, Macro pitched forward, and for an instant Cato just stared, frozen in horror. A howl of rage from Prasutagus brought him back to his senses and Cato turned on the Druid, determined to have his blood. But the Druid had more sense than to take on two enemies at once and he knew he must summon help. He wheeled his horse about and galloped back up the track towards the hill fort, shouting for his comrades.
Sheathing his bloody sword, Cato fell to his knees beside Macro's still form.
'Sir!' Cato grabbed Macro's shoulder and pulled the centurion onto his back, wincing at the savage wound to the side of his head. The Druid's sword had cut through to the bone, shearing off a large flap of scalp. Blood covered Macro's lifeless face. Cato thrust his hand inside his tunic. The centurion's heart was still beating. Prasutagus was kneeling beside him, shaking his head in pity.
'Come on! Take his feet. Get him to the wagon.'
They were struggling back with the limp centurion when Boudica emerged from the trees, leading the children by either hand. She stopped as she saw Macro's body. Beside her the young girl flinched at the sight.
'Oh no…'
'He's alive,' grunted Cato.
They laid Macro gently in the back of the wagon while Boudica retrieved a waterskin from under the driver's bench. She blanched at her first clear look at the centurion's wound and then removed the stopper from the skin and poured water over the bloody mangle of skin and hair.
'Give me your neck cloth,' she ordered Cato, and he quickly untied it and handed her the length of material. Grimacing, Boudica eased the strip of scalp back into place over Macro's skull and tied the neck cloth firmly round the wound. Then she removed Macro's neck cloth, already stained with his blood, and tied that on as well. The centurion did not regain consciousness, and Cato heard him breathing in shallow gasps.
'He's going to die.'
'No!' Boudica said fiercely. 'No. Your hear me? We have to get him out of here.'
Cato turned to Lady Pomponia. 'We can't leave. Not without you and your children.'
'Optio,' Lady Pomponia said gently, 'take your centurion, and my children, and go now. Before the Druids come back.'
'No.' Cato shook his head. 'We all go.'
She raised her chained foot. 'I can't. But you must get my children away. I beg you. There's nothing you can do for me. Save them.'
Cato forced himself to look into her face and saw the desperate pleading in her eyes.
'We have to go, Cato,' Boudica muttered at his side. 'We must go. The Druid that got away will fetch the others. There's no time. We have to go.'
Cato's heart sank into a pit of black despair. Boudica was right. Short of hacking off Lady Pomponia's foot, there was no way she could be released before the Druids returned in strength.
'You could make it easier for me,' said Lady Pomponia, with a cautious nod in the direction of her children. 'But get them away from here first.'
Cato's blood chilled in his veins. 'You're not serious?'
'Of course I am. It's that or be burned alive.'
'No… I can't do it.'
'Please,' she whispered. 'I beg you. For pity's sake.'
'We go!' Prasutagus interrupted loudly. 'They come! Quick, quick!'
Instinctively Cato drew his sword, and lowered the tip towards Lady Pomponia's chest. She clenched her eyes.
Boudica knocked the blade down. 'Not in front of the children! Let me get them mounted first.'
But it was too late. The boy had grasped what was going on, and his eyes widened in horror. Before Boudica or Cato could react, he had scrambled into the back of the wagon and threw his arms tightly round his mother. Boudica grabbed the arm of Pomponia's daughter before she could follow her brother.
'Leave her alone!' he screamed, tears coursing down his dirty cheeks. 'Don't touch her! I won't let you hurt my mummy!'
Cato lowered his sword, muttering, 'I can't do this.'
'You have to,' Lady Pomponia hissed over the head of her son. 'Take him, now!'
'No!' the boy screamed, and he locked his hands tightly about her arm. 'I won't leave you, Mummy! Please, Mummy, please don't make me go!'
Above the boy's crying, Cato heard another sound: faint shouts from the direction of the hill fort. The Druid who had escaped the ambush must have reached his comrades. There was very little time.
'I won't do it,' Cato said firmly. 'I promise I will find another way'
'What other way?' Lady Pomponia wailed, finally losing her patrician self-control. 'They're going to burn me alive!'
'No they're not. I swear it. On my life. I will set you free. I swear it.'
Lady Pomponia shook her head hopelessly.
'Now, hand me your son.'
'No!' the boy screamed, squirming away from Cato.
'The Druids come!' Prasutagus shouted, and all of them could hear the distant drumming of hooves.
'Take the girl and go!' Cato ordered Boudica.
'Go where?'
Cato thought quickly, mentally reconstructing the lie of the land from his memory of the day's travel.
'That wood we passed four, maybe five miles back. Head there. Now!'
Boudica nodded, grasped the arm of the girl and headed into the trees where she untied their horses. Cato called Prasutagus over and indicated Macro's still form.
'You take him. Follow Boudica.'
The Iceni warrior nodded, and lifted Macro easily into his arms.
'Gently!'
'Trust me, Roman.' Prasutagus looked once at Cato, then turned and headed towards the horses with his burden, leaving Cato standing alone at the back of the wagon.
Lady Pomponia grasped her son by the wrists. 'Aelius, you must go now. Be a good boy. Do what I say. I'll be all right. But you must go.'
'I shan't,' sobbed the little boy. 'I won't leave you, Mummy!'
'You have to.' She forced his wrists away from her and towards Cato. Aelius struggled frantically to break her grip. Cato took hold of his middle and pulled him gently out of the wagon. His mother watched with tears in her eyes, knowing she would never see her small son again. Aelius wailed and writhed in Cato's grip. A little way off, hooves pounded on wood as the Druids reached the trestle bridge. Boudica and Prasutagus were waiting, mounted, by the edge of the trees. The girl sat mute and silent in front of Boudica. Prasutagus, with one hand firmly holding the centurion's body, held out the reins of the last horse and Cato thrust the boy up on its back before he swung into the saddle, himself.
'Go!' he ordered the others, and they set off along the track away from the hill fort. Cato took one last look at the wagon, consumed with guilt and despair, and then dug his heels in.
As the horse jolted into a trot, Aelius wriggled free and slipped from Cato's grasp. He rolled away from the horse, stood up and ran back to the wagon as fast as his little legs could carry him.
'Mummy!'
'Aelius! No! Go back! For pity's sake!'
'Aelius!' Cato shouted. 'Come here!'
But it was no use. The boy reached the wagon, scrambled up and hurled himself into the arms of his sobbing mother. For an instant Cato turned his horse towards the wagon, but he could see movement down the track beyond it.
He cursed, then jerked the reins and galloped his horse after Boudica and Prasutagus.