The Eagle In The Sand by Simon Scarrow Read Free Book Online Page B

propelling himself around, finding that the best way was to stay on his back and use his arms like oars. Cato followed his example, whooping like a small boy.
    They were splashing about so much that they did not hear the warning shouted from the walls of the fort until it was far too late. Cato was aware of the sound of hooves first. He craned his neck round and saw a small party of horsemen, five of them, racing along the track that ran along the shore of the Dead Sea.
    ‘Macro! Get out!’
    ‘Eh?’
    Cato pointed to the horsemen, now less than three hundred paces away. At once they stroked back towards the pebbly beach and as soon as their feet gained purchase on the stony bottom they surged ashore.Already the horsemen had closed the distance and Cato could see the glint of the swords they had drawn. There was no time to run back for their daggers.
    ‘Forget the clothes! Make for the fort!’
    They ran awkwardly across the rocks, wincing as the rough surface jabbed and cut into the soles of their feet. Then they reached the track and sprinted across it and started up the slope towards the gateway. The sentry on watch was shouting down into the courtyard and moments later two men emerged from the fort, stared at the approaching horsemen and then started down the slope towards the two officers. Cato risked a glance back along the track and was horrified to see the horsemen no more than a hundred paces behind, closing fast as they bent forward along the sides of their horses’ necks, urging their mounts on as they prepared to strike with their swords. Cato knew that he and Macro would be run down before they could reach the fort, long before the first of the auxiliaries could reach them.
    ‘Keep going!’ Macro shouted, scrambling up the slope beside him. ‘The bastards are almost on us.’
    Cato ran on, head hunched down into his shoulders as if that would somehow make him a more difficult target for the horsemen’s swords. He was barely aware of the pain from his torn feet as he focused on the gateway and ran towards it with all his might. The pounding of hooves from behind was deafening and at the last moment he risked a look back over his shoulder.
    ‘Shit!’ he cried out, as the leading man loomed high above him, sword raised ready to slash down with a killing blow. Cato saw the triumphant glint in the man’s dark eyes and the teeth clenched in a feral grin. Then Cato stumbled and sprawled painfully on the ground. Instinctively he rolled over and raised his arm. The man was as before, only now his eyes were wild with surprise. The shaft of an arrow protruded from his chest. His sword slipped from his hand and clattered on to the track beside Cato. Then he slipped from the saddle and fell to the ground with a heavy thud that drove the wind from his lungs in an explosive grunt of agony. Cato snatched up the weapon and rose into a crouch. The other horsemen were only an instant away, already swerving round the riderless horse. Cato glanced at Macro, who had stopped several paces further on and turned towards him.
    ‘Run, Macro! Don’t stop!’
    ‘Fuck that.’
    Macro took a step towards Cato but the latter shouted, ‘There’s nothing you can do. Go!’
    Momentarily torn, Macro delayed for a fatal instant and the next horseman clattered forward, his mount knocking Macro flat on his back. But before the man could strike an arrow thudded into his stomach, doubling him over in the saddle before he rolled off to one side. The men behind, confused and frightened by the unerring accuracy of the bowman, reined in and looked up towards the fort. A third arrow tore through the throat of the nearest rider and he toppled from his saddle clutching at his neck with a strained gurgling noise as the blood poured from his wound.Then one of his comrades shouted something and the two survivors wheeled their mounts round and galloped back down the track, bent flat over their horses, not daring to look back. Cato watched them for a