It all depended on Vespasian.

The Eagles Conquest

Small ripples glimmered outwards from where the horse's muzzle dipped into the river. It was a small horse but sturdy and well cared for, as the sheen on its flanks indicated. A thick woven saddlecloth lay strapped across its back, and on its far side the rim of a shield was visible.

Cato turned back to his men and waved his hand down to keep them quite still. Then he slowly rose, hidden behind the huge bulk of the oak tree's trunk, and peered over towards the horse. Holding his breath, as if it might be audible, he scanned the surrounding scene for any further signs of life. But there was none, only the horse. Cato cursed silently; where was its rider? The horse was tethered. He had to be nearby. Cato tightened his grip on the shaft of his javelin.

From no more than a few feet away someone coughed, and before a startled Cato could react, a man stood up on the other side of the tree trunk, facing away from him and pulling up his coarse woollen breeches. 'Oh shit!' Cato went to raise his spear.

The man spun round, eyes glaring, teeth bared under a red moustache.

His lime-washed hair bristled in matted spikes beneath a bronze helmet. For an instant both men were still, staring at each other in numbed surprise. The Briton reacted first. He grabbed Cato by the shoulder straps, and with one powerful heave dragged him bodily across the trunk and threw him down on the loose shingle of the river bank. The impact drove the air from Cato's lungs. Suddenly a fist smashed into his mouth, and the world went blinding white. There were shouts, vision returned and he saw the Briton standing over him, sword half drawn, glaring back across the tree trunk. Then the man was gone, shingle rattling in his wake as friendly hands hauled Cato up.

'You all right?'

'Don't let him get away!' gasped Cato. 'Stop him!'

Pyrax abruptly dropped his optio and ran off in pursuit, followed by the rest of the section as they scrambled across the tree trunk.

By the time Cato had recovered enough to stand up, it was all over.

The Briton lay face down at the river's edge ten feet from his horse, a pair of javelins protruding from his back. The horse had jerked its reins free of the tether, and backed off. Now it was eyeing the newcomers uncertainly as it waited in vain for the reassurance of its master's return.

'Someone get the horse,' ordered Cato. The last thing he needed now was for the animal to run off and be discovered by some other British scouts. One of the men unstrapped his shield and helmet and moved quietly towards the horse.

'Make a noise like a carrot,' Pyrax suggested unhelpfully before he took his optio's arm. 'All right, Cato?' 'I'll live.'

'Nearly dropped yourself right in it!' Pyrax nodded at the trunk. 'Not funny.' Cato felt his jaw, throbbing from the blow, and saw blood on his hand from a split lip. 'Bastard!'

'Be grateful it wasn't worse. He had you bang to rights there.' 'I couldn't see him.' Cato began to blush.

'No shame, Optio. I'm just glad you were leading from the front.' 'Thanks,' Cato grumbled. He sent one man on to the next bend in the river to keep watch while he considered the situation. The body and horse had to be disposed of. The body was simple enough, and the patrol quickly bundled it under the trunk and piled up loose shingle and branches to hide it from view. The horse would be more of a challenge. With the beast securely tied to a stump, Cato drew the ivory-handled sword Bestia had left to him and gingerly approached. He was not looking forward to the task and the job was made no easier by the bright gleaming eyes and twitching muzzle that were raised towards him.

'Come on, horsey,' he said softly. 'Let's make this nice and quick.' Raising the blade, he stepped to the side of the horse and looked for a point to strike.

'Optio!'

Cato glanced round and saw Pyrax gesturing downriver. The man on point was crouched down and waving frantically to get their attention. Cato waved back and the man dropped to the ground.

'Wait here. Keep the horse quiet.'

Cato hurried forward, crouching low for the last few paces before he lay down beside the point man. Round the bend of the river was a small weir, part natural obstacles and part manmade to act as a crossing point. The sound of the water tumbling down the far side in a muffled roar reached their ears. But what had attracted the point man's attention was the group of horsemen well beyond the weir. As they watched, one of the Britons detached himself from the group and headed upriver directly towards them, hands cupped as he shouted something barely audible above the din of the weir.

'They're looking for our man,' Cato decided. 'Checking if he's seen anything.'

'And if they don't find him?'

'Then they'll get suspicious and start searching. We can't let that happen.'

The point man glanced towards the Britons. 'We can't take that lot on. Too many.'

'Of course we can't take them on. In any case, I doubt they'd fight.

They're doing the same job as us. Find the enemy and report in, nothing more. But we mustn't let them start worrying about one of their scouts.' Cato watched as the Briton slowly walked his horse nearer, still calling out. 'Wait here, and stay out of sight.'

Cato scrambled back to the rest of the patrol. He examined the dead

Briton and then looked round at his men. 'Pyrax! Can you ride a horse?' 'Yes, Optio.'

'Right then, get this man's cloak and helmet on, quick as you can.' Pyrax looked puzzled.

'Don't think, just do it!'

Pulling the javelins out of the corpse, the patrol hastily stripped off his cloak and leggings and passed them to Pyrax. With grim distaste the veteran pulled on the Briton's crude garments and tied the straps of the bronze helmet. Then he climbed onto the horse. The animal shied about a bit at first, but a firm hand on the reins and a steadying pressure to its flanks somewhat reassured the beast.

'Now get down to the river bend and wait there.' 'Then what?'

'Then you do exactly as I say.'

The patrol followed as Pyrax walked the horse downriver, and then they ducked into the undergrowth along the bank. From his vantage point Pyrax could see the Briton approaching, calling out for his comrade no more than a hundred and fifty paces away, almost level with the weir.

'What do I do?' he asked quietly.

'Just wave your arm and make out that you haven't seen anything.' 'How do I do that?' Pyrax asked.

'How should I know? I'm not a bloody theatre director! Improvise.' 'And if that doesn't satisfy him?'

'Then the legion gets into battle a bit earlier than we bargained for.' 'He's seen me!' Pyrax stiffened nervously, before he remembered to raise an arm in greeting.

Cato eased himself forward until he could glimpse the approaching Briton through the sun-dappled ferns and stinging nettles. The man had reached the weir and reined in his horse. He called out again, the words still indistinct above the faint roar of tumbling water. Pyrax waved his hand again, and followed it with a slow, elaborate shake of the head. The Briton turned downriver and shouted something to his comrades, a short distance beyond. After a brief exchange the Briton dug his heels into his horse and continued approaching the river bend.

'What now?' Pyrax asked softly.

'When I say "now" you beckon him and steer the horse back round the bend until you are out of sight of the others. We'll jump him.' 'Great. And then?'

'One thing at a time.'

As Cato continued to watch from cover, the horseman walked his mount closer, his demeanour casual and unconcerned as he enjoyed the early summer morning. Cato wriggled back a short way and gently drew his sword. Taking his cue, the other men braced themselves to spring once the Briton had passed beyond them. Then when the man was no more than a hundred feet away, close enough for Cato to see beneath his helmet he was just a youngster, the shrill cry of a Celtic war horn carried up the river. The Briton checked his horse and turned back towards the band of horsemen. They were wheeling round, arms waving frantically, gesturing for him to come at once. With a final shout towards Pyrax, the young Briton turned his horse and kicked it into a trot towards his comrades who were already surging up the slope in the direction of the fortified river crossing.