‘Patrol!’ Macro’s parade-ground shout carried clearly to Cato, and the men either side of him tensed up, sword hands immediately reaching for their weapons. Macro’s mouth opened wide and the sound reached them an instant later. ‘Advance!’

The patrol tramped forward towards the concealed men, and Caratacus glanced towards the man still holding the knife at Cato’s throat.

‘When I say . . . kill him.’

The patrol marched up to a small hut, turned round it and began to head off down the track that led away from the farmstead. Caratacus let out a sibilant breath of relief and the warriors’ tension eased off as the Roman patrol marched away. Cato could only stare at the backs of the legionaries with a terrible longing.

As they reached the edge of the farm, Macro stopped out of line and let his men file past as he gazed back towards the silent huts one last time. Then he turned away, and moments later the scarlet horse-hair crest of his helmet dipped out of sight behind a thicket of gorse. Cato lowered his head on to his arms and shut his eyes, fighting back waves of black emotions that threatened to engulf him and shame him in front of these barbarians.

A shadow came between him and the sunlit farmland beyond the copse.

‘Get up!’ Caratacus snapped. ‘Back to the camp. I’ve got something special in mind for you and your men.’

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

‘ So they’re still around, then?’ mused Centurion Maximius. He looked past Macro, through the tent flap and into the dusk beyond. The sun had just set and he pulled one of the parchment maps across the desk and smoothed it out between himself and Macro. ‘This farmstead you were taken to was about . . . here.’

Macro looked down at the spot the cohort commander indicated and nodded.

‘Right. Then we can assume they’re somewhere close by. No more than half a day’s march, I’d say.’

‘Why’s that, sir?’ asked Macro. He waved his hand across the map in a broad sweep around the tiny sketch that marked the farm’s location. ‘They could be anywhere.’

‘That’s true, but not likely.’ Maximius smiled. ‘Think about it. They’re hiding. They won’t venture too far simply because they want to avoid natives and Romans alike. They have no access to guides, so they won’t be familiar with the paths, and will fear getting themselves lost, or cut off from each other. They’ll return to their lair each night, so we can narrow the search to the area around this farm. Assuming it was them who massacred the farmers.’

‘Had to be, sir. Injuries were almost certainly caused by short swords. In any case, it’s hardly likely that Caratacus and his men would go round bumping off their own people.’