For a moment Macro stared up into the Iceni warrior’s beaming face, and all the discomfort of the last few days was swept away in a wave of relief that their mission had achieved its first goal. The next step would be far more perilous. But for the moment Macro was content and he returned Prasutagus’s excited expression with a warm smile.

‘Is good!’

When The Eagle Hunts

Chapter Twenty-Four

Cato gently eased the tall reeds apart and crept forward, making for the low hummock where he had left Macro earlier in the day. Around him, the cold damp air was thick with the smell of rotting vegetation. His feet squelched through dark mud, staining his calves black as he progressed as quietly as he could, dragging the cut bough of a holly bush behind him. At last the ground became firm underfoot, and he crouched low, picking his way up the bank, eyes and ears straining for any sign of his centurion.

‘Pssst! Over here.’

A hand reached through the reeds at the top of the hummock and beckoned. Cato eased himself forward, taking care not to disturb the reeds, in case anyone in the village was looking their way. Just beyond was the small patch they had quietly cut before dawn. Macro was lying on a bed of rushes, peering through the dried brown remains of the previous summer’s growth. Cato dropped the end of the holly branch and stretched out on the ground beside him. On the other side of the hummock, the reeds stretched out along a slowly flowing river that curled round a Durotrigan village and provided it with a natural defence. On the opposite side of the village rose a high rampart topped with a stout palisade that crossed a narrow gateway. The village itself was the usual dismal affair that seemed to be the best the more rustic of the Celts could construct. A loose muddle of round wattle and daub huts topped with a thatch of rushes cut from the river bank. From the slight elevation of the hummock Macro and Cato had a good view over the village.