‘Figulus! See to the horse as well!’ ordered Cato as he crept back from the flailing hooves of the stricken animal. The young legionary worked his way round to the head and opened an artery with a quick slash of his sword. Cato was back on his feet, glancing round to find a new enemy, but there were none. Most of the Britons were dead. A few of the wounded cried out, but they would be ignored until there was time to end their suffering with a merciful thrust. The rest had fled, running pell-mell through the remains of the settlement in a bid to escape the wicked blades of their attackers.

The legionaries were surprised at the speed with which they had overwhelmed the enemy, and for a moment they remained tense and crouched, ready to fight.

‘Sixth Century! Form up!’

Cato saw the squat form of his centurion march off to one side of the pile of bodies by the well.

‘Come on, lads! Form up! We’re not on a fucking exercise! Move!’

The well-disciplined men responded instantly, hurrying over to their centurion, forming a small column on the snowy ground. Macro saw no gaps in the ranks and nodded with satisfaction. The enemy had had too little time to injure more than a handful of the men in Macro’s century. He nodded a greeting at Cato as he took his place in front of the men.

‘All right, Optio?’

Cato nodded, breathing heavily.

‘Back towards the gate then, lads!’ Macro shouted. He clapped Figulus on the shoulder. ‘And don’t spare the horses!’

When The Eagle Hunts

Chapter Twelve

As the snow billowed softly about them, the legionaries moved down the track towards the remains of the gate, from where the wind-muted sounds of battle drifted back to them. Cato noticed that the wind had slackened a little. Silvery patches were opening up in the clouds above to admit the light of the stars and the dim crescent moon. In the baleful glow reflecting off the blanket of snow, the fleeing shapes of the Britons could be seen amongst the ruins. For a moment Cato felt a welling up of rage and frustration at the sight. They might yet escape before the legionaries’ thirst for revenge was slaked. Then Cato smiled grimly. Maybe he was the only one who desired to make the enemy pay for what he had seen in the well. Maybe the veterans marching down the track with him just saw the enemy in professional terms. A foe to be overcome and destroyed; no more, no less.