‘Sir, what’s that?’ asked Cato, and raised an arm to point at the gatehouse.

The gate had continued to inch open and was now swinging out from the shadows. Something had been fixed to the inside of the gate.

‘Oh, shit,’ Centurion Felix whispered.

No one replied. They could see it clearly now and for a moment no one spoke. It was the body of a man, nailed to the timbers with a spike through both his palms. He was stripped and had been disembowelled, and his guts hung down over his legs, red and grey and glistening.

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER EIGHT

Centurion Maximius swung round. ‘Cohort! Form up. Close order!’

As the men shuffled together and raised their shields Maximius ordered his centurions to rejoin their units. Up by the fort the scouts had spread out across the track and the decurion took three of his men and slowly approached the gate. They paused by the corpse for a moment and had disappeared inside by the time Cato ran up to Figulus at the head of the Sixth Century.

‘What’s happening, sir?’

‘You’ve got eyes, Optio,’ Cato snapped back at him. ‘See for yourself.’

While Figulus shaded his brow with his hand and squinted towards the gateway, Cato became aware of several muted exchanges from the men behind him. He shot an angry look over his shoulder.

‘Shut your mouths!’

Cato saw one man mutter something to his neighbour and turned round and strode over to him, pointing.

‘You! Yes, you! You’re on a charge. What’s your name?’

‘Titus Velius, sir!’

‘What the fuck are you doing, talking after I’ve told you to be silent?’ Cato stopped in front of him and leaned forward, glaring into the legionary’s face. Velius was a little shorter than Cato, several years older and much more heavily built. He stared over the shoulder of his centurion, expressionless.

‘Well?’

‘Just saying we’re in trouble, sir.’ He met Cato’s eyes briefly. ‘That’s all.’ Then his gaze reverted to a fixed forward stare.

Cato’s nostrils flared as he exhaled angrily. ‘Optio!’

‘Sir?’ Figulus trotted over towards him.

‘Put Velius on a charge. Ten days’ latrines.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cato stepped back and looked round at his men. ‘Next loudmouth I catch speaking out of turn pulls twenty days in the shit!’

He turned away and scanned the fort once again. The gate had fetched up against the wall of the gatehouse and the man hung motionless. There was no sign of any life beyond the gate and only the slowly wheeling crows broke the awful stillness that hung over the silent ramparts. Cato scanned the surrounding landscape, but not a soul moved in any direction. No enemies, no auxiliary troops and none of the local natives.