Centurion Page #4

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The army is still dispersed.

When it's dark, we go in.

Come.

Urgh!

Come on.

Brick, Bothos, with me.

The rest of you, watch the perimeter.

General.

- The Legion?

- Only myself and a small cohort remain.

Oh, f***.

Oh, sh*t.

Come on.

Leave me.

Shut up.

- We need an axe.

- Leave!

We will not abandon you, sir.

What's left of the Legion

is yours to command. Now go.

We have to leave.

Go now!

Get them home.

That's for the Ninth.

Where's Thax?

Had to take care of a small problem.

I've got the General's helmet.

Where is he?

We couldn't free him. Come on.

We came all this way for nothing!

F***.

See what you have done?

Before you die, know that the men

who did this will not live to tell your tale.

Well, let's get on with it, then.

Your Roman friends should have known

cold iron does not bend. It breaks.

Well, what are you waiting for?

Do you fear me?

No man brave enough?

Let's see what you're made of...

she-wolf.

Go!

Come on. We need to keep

moving while we have the lead.

- On foot, over this?

- Where they may hesitate, we must go.

We keep moving. North.

But our lines are to the south.

And that's where

they'll be looking for us.

Look... we can't outrun them.

So we have to outsmart them.

We head north, throw them off our trail,

then double back, west, then south.

It may take days, even weeks.

But we're so far behind enemy lines,

it's our only chance of getting home.

Come on!

You'll be needing this, then, Centurion.

When the Picts

come after you, they never stop.

They can run for hours, ride for days.

They barely eat and rarely sleep.

Etain, like the wolf,

has learned to hunt from birth.

It is part sense, part instinct.

She can read the terrain,

search for signs of passing,

run her quarry to ground

and close in for the kill.

Now she hunts Romans.

Now we are the prey.

Move! Keep moving!

Stop!

- Leo, we've got to keep moving!

- No. We need to rest.

- I can't go on, I'm too cold.

- Come, take him.

Brick, find shelter,

anywhere out of this wind.

Enough. Help me.

He's slowing us down. Just say the word

and I'll take care of it.

We live united or die divided...

starting with you.

You can stick this out if you want,

but first chance I get,

I'm taking care of myself.

It's your funeral.

When they paint their faces

in the blue woad,

it is more than just a decoration.

It is a sacred rite.

To the Picts,

it means they'd sooner die than fail.

It means for them...

there is no turning back.

These men are the best I've ever seen.

Am I worthy enough to lead them?

My father taught me that in life,

duty and honour matter above all things.

A man without his word

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