Vitellius scrambled to his feet, jumped on to his horse’s back and snatched the reins back from the legionary who stood at the beast’s side. Without any delay he kicked his heels in and raced up the track, past the cart, and disappeared into the night.

‘Right then! Let’s move. If he’s told us the truth, there’s no time to waste. Let’s go!’

‘Of course he’s not telling the truth!’ Pyrax snorted.

‘You questioning my decision?’ Macro asked coldly.

‘I’m telling you, we should have killed him.’

‘You call me sir when you address me, legionary!’

‘Quiet!’ Cato raised his hand. ‘Listen!’

The small party froze, every ear straining in the direction Cato pointed. For a moment there was nothing to disturb the soft sounds of the night. Then came a distant whinny, then another, accompanied by the unmistakable crack of a whip as someone shouted a Celtic curse.

From somewhere on the track not far behind them.

Under The Eagle

Chapter Thirty-six

It was clear that the Britons would be upon them before they even made the ridge. There was no hope of outrunning the enemy, that much was evident to Macro as he frantically scanned the immediate area, and found a faint possibility of hope.

‘Over there!’ He thrust his arm out to one of the larger folds in the land away to the left of the track. In the dim light of a new moon the mist forming in the dip had a cold luminosity that was far from welcoming, but it offered the only hope of quick concealment. ‘Get the cart off the track, quick as you fucking can!’

As the men turned the horses into the long grass and hurried across the slope towards the hollow, Macro followed and tried to conceal the worst of the grooves the cart had crushed into the wet grass. Praying that the marks would be missed in the dark, and fearing that the Britons might march into view at any moment, Macro dashed after the cart which had reached the rim of the dip and was being man-handled down the reverse slope. The thrumming of shod hooves in the near distance spurred him on and when he reached the dip he threw himself down and lay there for a moment, panting.

The slope was steep and the cart was well below the level of the mist that covered the ground in a thick unbroken layer. Ordering the others to stay with the wagon and make sure the animals and the injured remained silent, Cato scrambled up the slope to join the centurion.

‘We were lucky there, sir. Wagon nearly went over when we came down this.’ He thumped the slope.

‘Really?’ Macro said, and yawned before he could help it. Then he flipped himself over and propped his chin up with his hands. ‘Keep down, and do nothing… absolutely nothing. On my orders only’

Cato nodded and lay as still as he could, waiting nervously for the enemy to emerge from the swamp. And then, suddenly, a small column of cavalry trotted into the dim moonlight barely a hundred paces away, a blend of man and horse in the dark shadows. Cato was surprised to see British cavalry since Caesar had claimed that they preferred to use their animals for chariots. Either the Great General was wrong or the Britons had finally discovered the value of cavalry. The horsemen fanned out on either side of the track and trotted up towards the ridge. The left-flank scout passed within twenty paces of their hiding place and Macro and his optio pressed themselves into the ground, hardly daring to breathe. Their tired eyes strained to detect any sign that the passage of their cart across the slope had been discovered. But the scout passed by without breaking his pace.