‘Your advice is noted, Centurion,’ Cato said curtly. He turned to Macro. He had made his decision. ‘Pass the word for the rest of the garrison to stand to.’
Macro nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
He crossed to the ladder and clambered down before trotting off towards the barrack blocks. Cato turned to the sentry. ‘Give us some privacy, soldier.’
The veteran lifted his shield and moved to the opposite corner of the gatehouse platform. Once he was sure the man was out of earshot, Cato rounded on the Thracian.
‘I will not have you question my orders again.’
‘As I said, I was offering advice.’
‘There’s a world of difference between offering advice and the insolent, insubordinate comments you have grown accustomed to. That comes to an end now.’ Cato spoke softly through gritted teeth, his face no more than a foot away from the Thracian’s. Despite his earlier intention to play his hand carefully, something had snapped inside him and a cold, ruthless anger flowed through his veins. ‘I have seen all I need to see of the fort, the men, the officers and the way you have been waging your campaign against the enemy. This is not the way of Rome. This is not the way of the Roman army. This is not my way. I am in command here and my orders will be obeyed without question from now on. If you overstep the mark again, Centurion Quertus, I will have you arrested and charges brought. Do you understand?’
The Thracian put his hands on his hips. ‘Finally . . . I wondered how long it would be before it came to this. I was starting to doubt that you had any backbone at all. Just like that fool, Prefect Albius. Now, I’ll have my say. I know your type. Young men who have caught the eye of a legate or governor and been promoted far beyond what they deserve. I was a fighting man while you were still sucking at your mother’s tit. Sure, you’ve had your share of campaigns and battles, but you, and all the other stuck-up Roman officers, have been fighting to subdue Britannia for nearly ten years now. And the enemy are still out there, laughing at you.’ He leaned closer and slapped his chest. ‘They mock you but they fear me. I know how to break their will to fight. Your methods have failed. Mine are succeeding. And you’d do well to keep your nose out of it and leave the command of the garrison to me . . . sir.’ He uttered the last word with undisguised irony and contempt.
Cato stared levelly back at him. ‘Your methods? I don’t see any method to what you have done here. The heads on pikes, the impaled bodies, the burned villages, the slaughtered women and children. There is no method in that. Just the bloodthirsty cruelty of a barbarian.’
‘A barbarian who knows his enemy as intimately as his own men.’
‘Oh?’
Quertus was quiet for a moment before he continued in a flat tone. ‘You think me a barbarian . . . well, I learned my ways at the hands of the enemy. The enemy are a cruel people. Cruelty is the only language they understand, so I resolved to pay them back in kind, and with interest. And now it is their will that is breaking. I know what I am doing, Prefect. And I can do it with or without you. Understand that and perhaps you’ll survive to return to Rome one day.’
Before Cato could respond, the sentry thrust his arm out. ‘Sir! Down there!’
Cato turned and followed the direction indicated by the veteran. It took a moment for his eyes to catch the movement and then he saw a figure emerging from the gloom, a man on horseback steadily picking his way across the uneven ground to the avenue of heads before turning his mount up the track towards the gate. Any fleeting satisfaction that Cato felt over Quertus’s misjudgement of the sentry vanished as he scrutinised the approaching rider. Then, when the man was no more than a hundred feet from the ditch, the moon finally broke free of the thin bank of clouds and bathed the night-time landscape in a thin wash of grey light. It was enough to make out some of the details of the approaching rider, and more men moving across the parade ground. Cato felt his heart lurch at the sight of the latter. Then his attention was drawn to the rider again as he reined in and raised something to his lips. A sharp note from a horn split the quiet of the night. The note was repeated again before the rider came on, having alerted the garrison of his intention to talk rather than spring a surprise.
Quertus chuckled and turned to the sentry. ‘Soon as he gets in range, try him with your weapon.’
‘No,’ Cato intervened. ‘He’s played by the rules, so will we. Put aside your javelin.’
The sentry grounded the butt and turned his attention back to the rider.
‘Rules?’ Quertus breathed in deeply.
Cato ignored him and glanced back over the fort. The garrison was fully roused now and light glowed in the doors of the barrack blocks, illuminating men spilling out as they made adjustments to their kits on the way to their assigned stations. Small flames flared as men ran to light the braziers at the foot of each tower to prepare fires to light the tarred bundles of wood that would be thrown out to illuminate the approaches to the fort.
‘You, in the fort!’ a voice called out and Cato fixed his eyes on the rider, approaching the earth-covered trestle bridge that spanned the ditch.
Cato cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘That’s close enough! Stop there!’
The rider obediently reined in and sat tall in his saddle, staring up at the dark outlines of the men atop the gatehouse, black against the backdrop of the stars. Behind and below him, a torch flickered into life close to the parade ground. As the flame caught, other torches were lit and Cato could see a thin line of men stretching out across the ground facing the fort.
‘Who are you and what do you want?’ Cato called down.
There was a pause before the rider replied in a deep voice that carried the length of the wall on each side of the gate. ‘I am King Caratacus, warlord of the free tribes of Britannia.’
Cato felt his blood chill. He leaned forward across the rail the better to make out the rider. In the torchlight the man’s face was clear enough to prove the truth of his words.
‘I have come to claim back what is mine,’ he continued clearly in fluent Latin. ‘You have my brother. I command you to give him up to me, if he still lives.’
Cato’s mind was racing with surprise and the implications for the wider campaign now that the enemy leader was before him. If Caratacus had word of his brother’s capture and rushed south to negotiate his release then the enemy army was without its commander. It presented a fine opportunity for Governor Ostorius to strike. The ladder creaked and a moment later Macro climbed on to the platform, breathing heavily from his exertions.
‘You heard?’ Cato asked him.
‘Yes. Bastard has a fine pair of lungs on him. Doubt there’s a man in the fort who doesn’t know he’s right on our doorstep.’ Macro glanced over the breastwork and shook his head admiringly. ‘Whatever else you say about him, the lad’s got balls.’
‘We should kill him. Now,’ Quertus growled. ‘Before the fool rides away.’
Macro sucked his teeth. ‘He’s right. Kill him.’
‘No,’ Cato replied decisively.
The enemy commander called up to them again. ‘I asked if you had my brother, Maridius. Centurion Quertus, speak up and answer me!’
Before the Thracian could respond, Cato leaned forward. ‘I am in command at Bruccium. Prefect of the Thracian Cohort.’
‘Prefect? What happened to that vile cur Quertus?’
Cato answered as loudly as he could, so that the garrison would hear him. ‘He serves me now.’
‘And who are you, Roman? What is your name?’
There seemed no advantage to be gained from not answering and Cato drew a deep breath. ‘Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato.’
‘Prefect Cato . . .’ There was a brief pause. ‘Is my brother alive?’
‘He is.’
‘Good. Then I demand his release.’
‘Demand?’ Macro gave a light, dry laugh. ‘The cheeky sod. Tell him to fuck off, sir.’
‘Kill him,’ Quertus muttered. ‘Before it’s too late.’
Cato ignore
d them both. ‘Maridius is my prisoner. Why should I release him?’
Caratacus was silent for a moment. ‘Because, if you do not, then I shall take this fort, and I swear by all the gods of my tribe that I will kill you and every man you command. Just as you have killed my allies. Every man taken alive will be impaled on the ramparts of Bruccium, and your heads will line the road from here to Gobannium . . . Release Maridius, and you have my word that I will spare the garrison, on the condition that you abandon the fort and march back to Glevum.’
‘He’s having a laugh,’ Macro said softly to Cato. ‘How is he going to take the fort? He’d need an army for the job.’
A cold sensation gripped Cato’s guts as he replied to his enemy. ‘I will not give up the fort, just as I will not give up Maridius, or any other prisoner.’
Caratacus sat silently in his saddle for a moment. ‘So be it.’
Then he twisted round and called down into the valley in his native tongue and the men with the torches ran forward.
Macro craned his head and strained his eyes. ‘What are they up to?’
‘They’re heading for the haystacks, I think.’
The warriors’ torches cast a red glow over the haystacks as the men approached, then the first of the torches arced brightly through the air before landing on a haystack. More torches were thrust into the other haystacks and flames licked up from each, spreading quickly until they blazed in the darkness, casting great pools of light across the surrounding landscape. And revealing the dense ranks of warriors stretching across the floor of the valley where they stood in silence, by the thousand.
‘By the gods . . .’ the sentry muttered, staring out at the host.
Cato and the other officers said nothing as they grimly surveyed the enemy army. The earlier prospect of Ostorius taking advantage of the situation returned to mock Cato and he smiled bitterly at himself. The enemy commander had brought his enemy with him.
‘Romans!’ Caratacus called up to them. ‘You see? I have more than enough men to crush Bruccium several times over. And I will. Unless you surrender Maridius and the others and throw down your weapons. You have until first light to decide.’
He turned his horse and rode back down between the rows of decaying heads. Behind him, the garrison of the fort looked down at the silent horde of warriors, bathed in the blood-red glow of the burning haystacks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
After Caratacus had ridden away to rejoin his army, Cato watched the blazing haystacks for a while, and the army waiting beyond, but there was no sign of any preparation for an immediate assault. He gave the order for the garrison to stand down while Severus and his century took the first watch. The rest of the men were permitted to rest at the foot of the rampart in case they were needed at short notice.
Once the orders were given, the senior officers were summoned to headquarters. No one talked as they waited for the last of the officers to arrive. Macro had given orders to Decimus to fetch food and watered wine and settled himself on a bench to one side of the hall while Quertus and his officers sat opposite. Cato paced slowly up and down between them while he waited for Severus and his fellow centurion, Petillius. The two legionary officers had stationed their men along the front wall, which was most at risk. The Thracians were assigned to the remaining three walls, which were protected by the river and the crags leading down from the fort.
Decimus arrived with a small cauldron of barley and lamb stew, mess tins and spoons, together with two jugs and Samian ware cups for the officers. As he set them down, the two legionary centurions arrived and took their place at Macro’s side. Cato nodded to his servant.
‘Serve the food, then draw some kit from stores and join Severus’s century on the wall.’
Once Decimus had completed his duties and left, Cato began to address his officers as they supped on their stew. ‘Enjoy it. I expect there will be little chance for a regular meal for the next few days. By now you will all be aware of the situation. It seems that we have discovered the whereabouts of the army that Governor Ostorius has been trying to pin down for the last two years. Whether we live long enough to report that fact to him is another matter.’ Cato paused, but there was no reaction to his attempt to lighten the sombre mood. He took a weary breath and continued to address his officers. ‘Caratacus has demanded that we surrender the fort and hand over our prisoners. Of course, there is only one of them that really matters to him, his brother Maridius. If we concede then he gives us his word that we will be allowed to march back to Glevum unharmed.’
‘His word?’ Quertus interrupted. ‘That’s worth nothing. He’s just like the rest of the savages who live in these mountains. He does not know the meaning of honour. We can’t trust him.’
Cato nodded. ‘And even if we could, I doubt very much whether the word of Caratacus would be enough to sway the hearts of the Silurians who follow him. After all the fine work that you have been doing in the valleys that surround Bruccium, they will be thirsting for revenge on you, your men, and the rest of us here in the fort. Whatever their commander says, they will not be satisfied unless every last Roman soldier is dead.’
‘What goes round, comes round,’ said Macro. He raised his cup to Quertus. ‘A fine mess you’ve dropped us into, my friend.’
The Thracian scowled and one of his officers made to stand, his hand reaching for his sword until Quertus swept out an arm and thrust him back on to the bench. There was a brief, tense silence before Centurion Severus spoke up.
‘What if we offered them Quertus, on the understanding the rest of us are permitted to leave the valley?’
Quertus glared at the legionary officer. ‘Coward.’
Severus shook his head and answered angrily, ‘It’s because of you, playing the barbarian, that we’re in this bloody situation. It’s you the enemy want. Like Macro says, you’re to blame and now you can reap what you sow.’
Macro turned to him. ‘Now hang on, Severus. I was joking. There’s no way we’re handing one of our own over to those Silurian dogs to tear apart. Not even him.’
Severus glanced round at the others, and then fixed his gaze on Cato. ‘Why should we give our lives for him, sir?’
‘Because we are Roman officers. If you sacrifice Quertus to the enemy, then that will be a stain on your honour that will never fade. And not just you. It would be a stain on the honour of the legion, forever. I will not let that happen. In any case, I have made my decision. We defend the fort. That is our duty. It also happens to be our only chance of survival, Centurion Severus.’
The legionary officer opened his mouth to protest and then saw the cold expression on his commander’s face and the mixed looks of contempt and anger on the faces of the other men and slumped back against the wall. ‘Then we’re all dead men,’ he muttered despairingly.
‘Not yet,’ said Cato. ‘First, Caratacus and his warriors have to get into the fort. It’s our job to see that we keep them out. Bruccium is finely positioned. There’s only one front they can attack us on easily and even though they greatly outnumber us, they’ll not be able to throw their full weight at us at any one time. As long as we have enough men to fully man the gate and the wall on either side, we can hold the fort.’
‘And how long do you think we can do that for, sir?’
‘As long as necessary,’ Cato replied, ‘until we are relieved, or the enemy gives up their attempt to take the fort.’
Severus gave a mirthless laugh. ‘We aren’t going to be relieved. The fort is too far from any help.’
‘Not true,’ Macro chided his subordinate. ‘As soon as there’s enough light, we can put a flame to the signal fire. If the weather is good, the smoke will be seen from Gobannium. They’ll raise the alarm and Legate Quintatus will send out a column. You’ll see.’
‘We can’t use the signal fire,’ said Cato.
Macro frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘Think about it. As far as Quintatus knows, the enemy is several days’ march to the north, clos
e to Ostorius and his army. Once the smoke from our signal fire is spotted and reported to him, he’ll send out a relief column all right, and it’ll march straight into a trap. Caratacus will pick his ground carefully and he has more than enough men to annihilate a detached force from the Fourteenth.’ Cato shrugged. ‘We daren’t light the fire and lure our comrades to their deaths. Better that we fight it out, or find some way of getting a message through to the legate before he sends us any help.’ As he concluded, Cato felt a sudden cold stab of horror. ‘Shit . . .’
Macro cocked an eyebrow anxiously. ‘What is it, sir?’
‘The reinforcement column. They may already be on the road to Bruccium. If they arrive while Caratacus is still here . . .’
Every man in the room understood the danger well enough, and it was Macro who spoke up first. ‘If they see the smoke from the alarm beacon, they’ll know we’re under attack and turn back.’
‘Assuming the sky remains clear enough for them to see it.’
Macro pursed his lips. ‘Either way, we have to warn them, sir. We have to get a message to the legate.’
‘How?’ asked Cato. ‘Even now, I suspect that Caratacus has already closed the noose around us. It’d be a brave man who dared to try and find his way through the enemy lines. I’ll not send a man to certain death.’
‘Even if he volunteers?’ Severus asked hopefully.
‘Even if he is volunteered.’
Macro shook his head. ‘Sir, it’s a risk we have to take. Not just to save our necks. Ostorius needs to know what the situation is. If he learns that Caratacus and his army are here then he can march on Bruccium at once. It’s the opportunity he’s been waiting for. The chance to catch and destroy the enemy once and for all.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ Cato replied tersely. ‘However, it would take several days to get a message to the governor, even if a man could find his way past the enemy and reach Glevum. By then, it’s likely that the siege will have ended, one way or another.’ Cato glanced round the room. ‘Gentlemen, I’ve given you our situation as fully as I can. The blunt truth is we must make our stand here and hold Caratacus off for as long as possible.’
Roman 12 - The Blood Crows Page 27