She looked up at Cato. ‘He’s dying. Like these people and the others outside. So many dead . . . My fault . . .’
‘You’re ill,’ said Cato. ‘Is it the sickness?’
She nodded and tried to speak, but her tongue made a dry clicking noise as she mumbled incoherently. Frustrated, she raised her hand and pointed. Cato turned and saw a waterskin hanging from an iron hook close to the door of the pen. He padded over to fetch it and pulled the stopper, offering the mouthpiece up to Claudia’s lips. She managed a few sips and swallowed, a dribble trickling from the corner of her mouth.
‘That’s better.’ She smiled weakly. ‘It was me who brought the pestilence here. After I nursed you. All these people dead because of me.’ Her eyes moistened. ‘Because of me.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ he insisted. ‘They took you hostage.’
She closed her eyes and sighed, then frowned and reached a quivering hand up to his face. ‘What happened to your eye?’
‘I’ll tell you later,’ Cato said urgently as he heard the sounds of fighting more distinctly now. Closer. ‘Listen. We’re here to save you. My men are fighting their way into the valley. They’ll reach us soon. But the brigands may try to use you to escape, or kill you. We must stop them. Me and Apollonius.’ He pressed the waterskin into her hand, cupped her cheek and nodded to the boy. ‘Look after him.’
He turned, drew his dagger and took up his position on the opposite side of the entrance to Apollonius. Both of them waited, listening intently to the swelling sounds of shouting and the clatter of weapons. They heard footsteps padding by at a run, women and children crying in alarm, and the unmistakable sound of the studded boots of the auxiliaries further off. As Apollonius opened his mouth to call out, Cato shook his head desperately and hissed, ‘No!’
It was too late: a strangled cry blurted from the agent’s lips. He snarled at himself for his stupidity and raised his dagger, ready to strike. There was a quick exchange outside, then the sound of a group of men approaching, and an order was shouted to open the pen. Cato flattened himself against the posts and kept still in case any movement betrayed him through the chinks in the fence. A chain rattled, and an instant later the door, no more than four feet high, swung outwards.
‘Kill them,’ a voice ordered. ‘Kill all the hostages.’
A brigand armed with a spear ducked his head down and stepped across the threshold. Apollonius drove his dagger between the man’s shoulder blades and he dropped to his knees like an ox felled with a spiked hammer. Cato snatched the spear from his hands and flipped it round so the point was now facing towards the open doorway. He glimpsed a couple of figures crouching to see what had happened to their comrade and thrust the spear at them, feeling it strike home, then snatched it back before any of the brigands could grab the shaft.
A moment later, a wide-leaf spearhead darted towards him, and he just had time to step aside and dodge the strike. He stabbed again as he saw a leg to the side of the doorway, but the man jumped back out of reach. There was a hurried exchange outside, too quiet to be heard over the other sounds raging across the settlement, then a shield appeared at the opening. An oval auxiliary pattern, presumably looted from the body of a Roman. Cato stabbed at it, driving it back. The brigand came on again, and this time Cato’s spear glanced off the shield. A sword shot out from behind it and hacked at the spear shaft, driving it down and almost tearing it from Cato’s grasp. By the time he had recovered it, his opponent had rushed inside the pen, where Apollonius was lying in wait for him.
The agent grasped the rim of the shield near the top with his left hand and ripped it towards him, levering the bottom to strike the brigand across his knees. At the same time he raised his dagger and plunged it diagonally into the notch at the base of the man’s throat. Hot gore welled up and the man slumped to his knees, dropping his shield and sword and clamping his hands over the wound in a futile attempt to stem the flow. Apollonius kicked him in the chest to send him sprawling back into the opening, then snatched up his shield and sword. Immediately another brigand wielding an axe charged inside and hacked at the shield with savage blows that splintered the trim and split the surface halfway to the boss and the handle behind it.
‘Cato!’
Cato turned and saw Claudia pointing to the rear of the pen. A man was climbing over, using the log that the Romans had put in place. He dropped down and drew his sword as Cato swung his spear round to confront him. There was no chance to support Apollonius as he tried to hold his ground against the furious onslaught of the axeman. All Cato’s attention was on the new threat. Already a second man was pulling himself up over the fence posts. Cato let out a throaty roar and jabbed at the swordsman’s chest. His opponent raised his weapon to parry the strike and easily deflected it before hacking at Cato’s leading hand. He had no choice but to let go of the spear. The point dropped to the ground and the sword glanced off it before Cato pulled it back swiftly with his other hand and struck again.
This time the brigand’s parry was rushed and the point of the spear deflected down and caught him in the thigh, tearing through muscle and grating on the bone. He let out a gasp and then cried out as Cato worked the spear around to open the wound before tearing the point free and turning to confront the second man. But before he could bring his weapon to bear, the brigand had leaped from his position on top of the posts. The impact smashed Cato off his feet and he slammed back across one of the dead bodies, the crushing weight of his foe driving the air from his lungs and cracking a rib.
The agony was instant, and he strained to breathe as the brigand swung a fist at the side of his head, landing a glancing blow, then reached for Cato’s throat, his thumbs feeling for the Roman officer’s windpipe. Cato grabbed the brigand’s wrist with his right hand and tried to loosen his grip. His left groped down the man’s side, over his sheepskin jerkin, closing on the handle of the sword. With a desperate effort he drew the blade and made a clumsy cut at the back of the man’s head. The blade made contact, but barely hard enough to draw blood. He struck again, with more power this time, and felt the edge connect with his enemy’s skull. Above him the brigand’s face twisted with agony, and his grip loosened enough for Cato to tear the hand away from his throat. He twisted and bucked under his attacker and then struck again. This time it was hard enough to knock the man out, and he slumped aside, dazed. Cato heaved him off and scrambled towards his dagger lying nearby.
He snatched it up and leaped at the man, aiming a series of savage blows at his stomach, then, as the brigand lowered his hands to protect his torso, switching to his face, stabbing into his jaw, cheeks, eyes and mouth in a frenzied attack. His opponent had no chance of warding off the blows, and his hands flailed as blood splattered around them.
‘Cato!’ Apollonius shouted. ‘They’re after the woman.’
Looking up, Cato saw that the man with the wounded thigh was dragging himself towards Claudia. The boy she was cradling was coughing violently, gasping for air to stave off his inevitable death. The brigand shortened his agony with a sword thrust under his ribcage into his heart, then turned his attention to Claudia, sitting weak and helpless against the side of the pen. There was no time to think. Cato launched himself onto the man’s back and flattened him against the ground.
Wounded or not, the brigand was strong and fit, and he shrugged Cato off, then rose, feet braced, and drew his sword back to strike Claudia. Cato, despairing that he could not intervene to save her, threw out his hand, fingers splayed in a beseeching gesture. The surprised brigand hesitated for a beat, and in that moment, Apollonius hurled his sword across the pen. It flew end over end in a blur before the point caught the man in the midriff, piercing his vital organs. The impact knocked him back, and he hit the posts and slid down, the sword protruding from his chest as he bled out. Outside there were shouts and a brief clash of weapons, then they heard Massimilianus’s voice.
‘Keep after ’em, lads. Let none escape. If any refuse to surrender, kill ’em!’<
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‘In here!’ Apollonius shouted. ‘Prefect Cato’s in here, with the hostages.’
A moment later, Massimilianus cautiously entered the pen. A medical orderly hurried in after him and retrieved the end of the dressing he had started to wind around the centurion’s wounded arm. Massimilianus smiled in relieved delight when he saw Cato, Apollonius and Claudia. His smile faded briefly as he looked at the bodies of the other hostages. Then he turned back to Cato and saluted.
‘Beg to report, sir, the Sixth Gallic Cohort has taken the enemy fortifications and their settlement. My men are mopping up the last of the enemy warriors and taking the rest of their people captive.’
‘Good job, Centurion,’ Cato managed, still short of breath. ‘Have the orderly tend to Claudia Acte when he’s tied that dressing.’
‘What about you, sir.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘You don’t look it. You look like shit, sir.’ Massimilianus frowned and wrinkled his nose. ‘And by all that’s holy, you stink of shit too.’
There was a beat, and Apollonius laughed, then Cato joined in too, as nervous relief flooded through him.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Rome, a month later
As Claudia’s eyes opened and she glanced around the sleeping chamber, Cato leaned over and kissed her. She did not resist, but neither did she respond, so he drew back and propped himself up on his elbow, looking down on her face framed by the soft gleam of her hair spread over the bolster.
‘How do you feel this morning?’ he asked.
She hesitated before answering. ‘Better . . . A lot better. I think I’m getting my strength back.’
‘It’ll take some time before you fully recover, as I know all too well. Rest as much as you can meanwhile.’
She smiled. ‘I will.’
They did not talk for a moment and she became conscious of the muted sounds of the city drifting in through the shuttered window.
‘I never thought I’d return to Rome.’ She frowned. ‘I’m not sure how safe it is for me to be here.’
‘The only people who know you are here have been sworn to secrecy,’ Cato reminded her. ‘As far as anyone else is concerned, you fell sick and died along with the other hostages in the brigands’ camp. That’s what I’ll be saying when I make my report at the palace later on.’
Claudia regarded him anxiously. ‘What if they don’t believe you?’
‘Why wouldn’t they? By the time the pestilence had run its course in that part of the island, most of the brigands were dead, along with nearly a third of the cohort. There’s no reason to doubt you would not have been amongst them.’
‘I might as well have been. The brigands destroyed my property, and killed, freed or carried off most of my slaves. They left me with nothing.’ She reached her hand up and stroked his cheek. ‘If it hadn’t been for you, I would be dead. Thank you.’
Cato chuckled and shifted his mouth to kiss her palm softly. ‘We’ve moved on rather more than a polite thank you, wouldn’t you say?’
She put her hand on his shoulder and drew him down so she could kiss him on the lips, and Cato closed his eyes in bliss. When the kiss ended, he resumed his position at her side.
‘You’re taking a big risk, Cato. You can’t keep me hidden in your house for ever. Someone will recognise me. Someone will talk, and Nero and his advisers will know I have broken the terms of my exile. The consequences will be . . . severe.’
‘We’ll find a solution. Something that keeps us both safe. I promise. You shouldn’t be worrying about that. Concentrate on getting your strength back for now.’
‘What about the people in your household?’
‘Only my steward and Apollonius know you are here. I’ve told him that the sleeping quarters are out of bounds to everyone for the present. The only people in this wing are the two of us and Apollonius.’
‘What about your son?’
Cato laughed. ‘What sane parent sleeps within earshot of an over-exuberant child if he can avoid it? Lucius has a room on the ground floor, next to his nanny. But I’ll introduce you at some point. I think you’ll like him.’
‘If he’s your son, then I am sure I will.’
Cato clicked his tongue. ‘Best to reserve judgement, in my experience. And then there’s the dog, of course.’
‘Dog? You haven’t mentioned a dog before.’
‘Didn’t want to put you off. Cassius is an ugly beast, but he has a loyal heart. I picked him up on campaign in Armenia.’
‘Seems you make a habit of rescuing creatures in need.’
‘I suppose I do.’ Cato shrugged. ‘Hadn’t really thought about it. I hope you settle in as well as the dog has . . .’
‘Oh, you!’ She dug her elbow into his ribs and they kissed again.
Another moment of silent reflection passed between them before she asked him what he was thinking.
‘About the campaign,’ Cato responded. ‘About the men I came to know, the men I already knew and came to know better. About the men who died . . .’
They had entered the city the previous evening, Cato and Apollonius seated on the driver’s bench of the rented cart, with Claudia lying on two bedrolls under the shelter of the leather canopy. The surviving volunteers from the Praetorian cohort had marched behind, leading the mules that carried their kit and the shrouded body of Plancinus. The group had parted ways as they reached the Forum. After Cato had ordered one of his men to inform the palace of their return, and that he would make his report the next morning, the Praetorians made for the camp on the city wall, while Cato and the others headed for his home. It had been a sad parting, all the more so following Plancinus’s death soon after the ship had put to sea, leaving Sardinia behind. The centurion had survived his terrible wound for several days, alternating between unconsciousness and progressively worse bouts of deranged screaming. He had refused food and water and grown weaker all the while before he finally lapsed into a deep sleep, his breathing shallow and laboured, until at length it gave out. He had been a fine officer, and a popular one, and there would be many in the ranks of the Praetorian Guard who would grieve at the news of his death.
By the time the wagon entered the stable yard at the rear of Cato’s home, the sun had set and Lucius had already gone to bed. Cato ordered a meal to be prepared and served to himself, Apollonius and Claudia by the steward in person once the other slaves had been sent to their quarters for the night. None of them had seen Claudia enter the house. She would be safe as long as she remained out of sight. But she could not live that way for long. Sooner or later she would be seen. A slave would gossip. Word that Cato was keeping a woman hidden in his home would reach the ears of someone at the palace and questions would be asked. If the answers were not satisfactory, a squad of Praetorians would turn up at his door with orders to search his house, and Cato and Claudia Acte would be taken before the emperor and asked to account for the presence of a person exiled from Rome on pain of death.
Cato sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his back to Claudia. ‘I have to wash and get dressed. I need to see Lucius before heading to the palace.’
‘Of course you must. Go. I’ll be fine here.’
He glanced over his shoulder and looked at her sadly. He felt the burden of pain that came to those who had found a new love, only for the wider world to threaten to crush it at the outset. The feeling was true enough for him to know already that he would fight for it come what may, even if they were doomed. In that event, all that remained was to ensure that Lucius was safe. He had distant relatives on his mother’s side who could raise him.
Cato stood up and stretched his shoulders until he felt the muscles crack, then crossed the room to his clothes chest to put on a loincloth and tunic. When he was dressed, he came back to the bed and bent down to kiss Claudia one last time.
‘I’ll return as soon as I can.’
‘May Fortuna watch over you.’
‘She has so far,’ Cato smiled.<
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He made his way down to the water trough at the end of the landing. It was fed by a pipe that ran to the nearest feeder block, which was in turn fed by the Claudian aqueduct. The water that flowed into the trough had run down from the hills during the night and was cool and invigorating as Cato doused his face and sponged off the grime that he had missed the night before. As he was completing his ablutions, he was interrupted by the sound of Lucius shouting, and he made his way around the landing to the covered walkway overlooking the garden. His son was throwing a stick for the dog as the steward sat close by offering encouragement. As yet, Lucius’s arms were not sufficiently developed to hurl the stick more than a short distance, and the dog only had to lope a few paces before snatching it up and bounding back to him. Rather than dropping it, Cassius stood, forepaws apart, tail wagging, until Lucius tried to grab it. Then he would twist aside, run round the boy and stop to tease him again. Each time Lucius laughed and pretended to scold the animal.
Cato hurried down the steps and out into the garden. At the sound of his footsteps, Cassius raised his nose and sniffed, then dropped the stick and charged towards him, jumping up, his paws resting on Cato’s chest as his muzzle stretched and his long pink tongue licked his master’s face.
‘Daddy!’ Lucius cried, and came running as the steward stood and hurried after him. The boy slowed as he took in the eye patch. ‘What’s happened to your eye, Daddy?’
‘I lost it,’ Cato said simply, suppressing the memory of the attack on the outpost. He forced a smile. ‘So I’ll be able to pass as a Cyclops from now on.’
He thrust the dog off, and scooped Lucius up, holding him high as he examined him. ‘By the gods, have you grown another inch already since I’ve been away?’
Lucius nodded vigorously. ‘I’m a big boy now.’
‘And getting bigger all the time!’ Cato set him down and affected a stern look. ‘And have you been a good student in my absence?’
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