‘I’ve had enough of your orders,’ Artax sneered, and took a step towards Cato. Then he paused and glanced round anxiously. ‘Where’s Tincommius?’

Cato launched himself at the man and both fell clear of the still form of Verica. Cato was on his feet first and swung his boot into Artax’s face. There was a crunch as the iron studs connected with the bridge of the other man’s nose and Artax cried out in surprise and pain. Then he too rolled to his feet and swung his club at the centurion. Cato ducked the blow and crouched low, preparing to spring forward again. Where the hell was Tincommius? And Macro?

Artax’s teeth clenched in a snarl. ‘You’ll pay for that, Roman! I warn you, get back!’

Cato jumped forward. This time Artax was prepared and stepped to one side as he swung the club down across Cato’s shoulders. The centurion crashed to the ground, utterly winded by the blow. He saw Artax nod his satisfaction and waited for the killer blow to land that would dash his brains out. Instead, Artax turned and walked back towards the king. But he never reached him. There was a dull thud and Artax grunted under the impact of Tincommius’ hunting spear. The blow toppled him sideways and he fell to the earth, the dark shaft of the spear angling up towards the sky. Tincommius staggered over to the body, grasped the shaft and placed his foot close to the wound. With a great wrench he tore the barbed point out of Artax’s chest and blood gushed from the gaping wound. Artax’s body shuddered for a moment and he seemed to be trying to rise up. Tincommius kicked him to the ground and just before he died Artax reached a hand out to his king and clenched a fold of Verica’s tunic.

‘My lord! . . . Verica . . .’

Then he was still.

Cato was still too winded to rise. The blow had left his arms and shoulders numb and they refused to move. So he could only watch as Tincommius kneeled down beside his king, bloody spear in hand, checking for signs of life.

With a great snapping of branches Macro rode into the clearing, spear raised, ready to thrust it into the first enemy he came across. He looked round in confusion and reined in his horse before sliding off its back. He ran to Cato and turned him over.

‘You all right?’

‘Will be, in a moment.’

Macro nodded, then looked to where Artax lay dead, his hand still clutching his king’s tunic. Tincommius turned and met his gaze coldly.

‘What the fuck’s been going on here?’

‘Artax,’ Cato mumbled. ‘He tried to kill Verica.’

‘The king,’ Macro called across to Tincommius, ‘is he alive?’

Tincommius nodded. ‘Just.’

‘Oh great!’ Macro muttered. ‘Now what?’

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Twenty-Five

‘How’s the old man?’ asked Macro. ‘Any improvement?’