Decimus, keep your ears open. If they sound like they’re getting closer, tell me at once. We’ll look for cover as we go. We can’t be too far from Bruccium now. Might even run into a patrol. Let’s go.’
The continued along the track, with Cato and Macro keeping watch on their flanks and the way ahead while Decimus nervously glanced over his shoulder every few breaths. The horsemen behind them seemed to make no attempt to draw any closer and aside from the odd soft whinny or the faint clatter of hoofs on stone, it was hard to believe they were not alone in this ethereal, menacing landscape of cold, damp and shadows. A half mile further on Macro edged his mount alongside Cato and spoke softly.
‘There’s more of ’em off to the left.’
Cato nodded. ‘I noticed them a few moments ago.’
‘And you didn’t say anything?’
‘Didn’t want to scare you.’
‘Ha. . ha. .’ Macro intoned, deadpan, as they both faced ahead but swivelled their eyes to the left. The ground was more even now, as the valley spread out on either side in the thinning mist. A quarter of a mile to their left was the edge of a forest. Moving along the trees was a line of horsemen, ten of them. They were too distant to make out in any detail. With a sudden inkling Cato glanced to his right. A similar distance away another party of riders was tracking them.
‘I fear we have walked, ridden I should say, into a trap, Macro. Look there.’ He gestured subtly and Macro turned, and swore under his breath.
‘Why don’t they attack?’ Macro asked. ‘Surely they can see they have the drop on us?’
Cato was thinking swiftly. There was no way out but to continue forwards. Half a mile further on the route entered a wood that sprawled a good way across the valley floor. If they could reach the trees far enough ahead of their pursuers they might be able to turn off the track and hide amongst the trees.
‘Sir!’ Decimus called softly. ‘Have you seen, they’re all around us!’
‘I see ’em,’ Cato replied calmly. ‘Just ignore them. Until I give the word.’
‘What are you thinking?’ asked Macro.
Cato did not answer. He calculated the distance remaining, and the angle the pursuers would have to take to continue following them into the wood. They would have to abandon the mules. The small beasts were too slow. Cato, as was his way, briefly considered all the alternatives, even ruthlessly abandoning Decimus to his fate in order to give himself and Macro a chance to escape. Just as typically, he instantly abandoned the notion. Whatever logic dictated, there was a code of conduct that embraced those entrusted with command, and it would be unthinkable to sacrifice Decimus.
Slowing his horse so that he dropped back towards his servant, Cato spoke quietly. ‘When I give the word, Decimus, you get off the mule and climb up behind me.’
‘What about the prisoner?’ asked Macro.
‘We’ll leave him behind with the mules. If those are his people, hopefully they’ll stop to set him free, and that’ll buy us a little more time.’
‘What are you planning, lad?’
‘We’ll ride hard for the treeline. They’ll be forced to angle across country to follow us, and lose a bit of ground. If we reach the cover of the trees sufficiently far ahead of them, we can leave the track and lose them in the wood.’
‘That’s madness,’ Decimus protested. ‘They’ll hunt us down.’
‘Maybe. But with two on my horse, they’ll catch us quickly in open country. We’ll stand a better chance of getting away from them in the wood.’
Decimus clenched his jaw and said bitterly, ‘I should have stayed in Londinium.’
Macro spat to one side. ‘Beginning to wish the same thing.’
‘Quiet!’ Cato ordered. ‘Just be ready when I give the signal.’
They were no more than a quarter of a mile from the edge of the wood when Cato noticed that the men on either side were moving closer. The time to act had come, he decided. Taking a deep breath, he reined in and spoke steadily to Decimus.
‘Now is the time. Up you get!’
Decimus slipped from the saddle of his mule and Cato offered a hand to help him scramble up behind the saddle. As soon as the man had a firm grip on the rear saddle horns, Cato spurred Hannibal forward.
‘Go, Macro! As fast as you can! I’ll follow!’
The centurion slapped his hand on the rump of his mount before leaning forward and urging it on towards the distant trees. The mules, spooked by the sudden action, brayed and trotted after the horses for a short way before the burden of the baggage and the prisoner slowed them to a halt and they stood uncertainly, strung out along the route, abandoned.
As soon as they realised what their prey was up to, the riders on either flank gave chase, making for an opening in the trees where the track entered the wood in an attempt to cut the Romans off. Macro had already drawn a short distance ahead and Cato was tempted to call out to him so that he would not leave his companions behind. It was an unworthy thought and Cato banished it in an instant as he gritted his teeth and dug his heels in, forcing his mount to rush headlong down the track, kicking up small stones and divots of turf in its wake. The cold and chill of the day were lost in the anxious hot thrill of the chase and the details of the world around him were leaping before his eyes as the powerful muscles of the horse galloped for the safety of the trees.
‘Come on, Cato!’ Macro shouted over his shoulder. ‘Keep up!’
The other men were close enough now for their shouts to be heard even above the din of the hoofs thrumming on the ground beneath Cato. But he could not make out the words, and leaned slightly further forward in his saddle as he and Decimus galloped on. Then the trees rushed up on either side and the track passed into the wood. Ahead, the route continued more or less straight, before bending around a clump of tall oaks and out of sight.
‘Macro!’ The driving impact of the horse made it hard for Cato to call out his instruction. ‘Once we get — past those oaks — get off the track — to the right!’
Macro nodded and the two horses pounded down the narrow route. Risking a glance back, Cato could not see their pursuers. Then, a short distance from the bend, he heard an excited cry and saw that the first of their pursuers had already reached the forest track, barely a hundred paces away. They still had enough of a lead for his plan to work, Cato thought desperately, and urged his horse on. Ahead, there was a short distance to the bend, and already Macro was swerving round the fallen branches and brambles at the foot of the ancient oaks and disappearing from sight. Cato could feel the flanks of his horse swelling and falling like bellows against his calves as the beast struggled under the weight of two men. It was already slowing down, despite his desperate urging. Then they reached the oaks and Cato leaned to the side as the horse galloped round the bend. He saw Macro no more than ten feet in front of him, sword in hand, facing down the track while his horse snorted and pawed at the ground. Cato pulled hard on his reins and his horse swerved to the left and glanced off the rear quarter of the other animal with a frightened whinny. Decimus was thrown forward by the abrupt halt and knocked Cato so that the coarse hair of the horse’s mane brushed his face.
He straightened up at once. ‘Macro, what the-’
Then he saw them. No more than fifty feet ahead, the track was blocked by more riders, sitting silently in their saddles, staring at the Romans. They wore dark cloaks and their hair straggled on to their shoulders. Each man carried a spear and an oval shield. That was as much as Cato took in before his attention was drawn to the sound of hoofs rapidly approaching from behind.
‘We’re fucked,’ Decimus groaned as Cato reached down and drew his sword.
‘Shut up!’ the prefect snapped, drawing his horse up alongside Macro.
‘So much for the plan.’ Macro smiled grimly. ‘What now? Cut our way through?’
Cato nodded. ‘That’s all we can do. Ready?’
Both men tightened their grip on their sword handles and pressed their legs against the sides of their mounts as they prepared to charge. Cato heard a dull scrape as Decimus drew his blade.
Behind them there was a sudden rumble of hoofs and cries of alarm as their pursuers reached the bend, saw the confrontation ahead of them and drew up in confusion. This was the moment to strike, Cato decided, while at least some of their opponents were disrupted. He drew his breath, ready to let out his battle cry, when a deep voice bellowed through the air. A figure emerged from the ranks of the men blocking the way ahead. He
