Cato narrowed his eyes shrewdly. ‘And is your side winning at the moment?’
‘My side?’ Septimus looked surprised. ‘You mean our side?’
‘I mean what I say.’
‘Prefect, whether you two like it or not, your fate is tied to that of my father, just as mine is. If Pallas wins the day, then we are all dead men. You may not even last that long. For whatever reason he may have, Pallas is especially keen to remove you now. My father thinks you know something that may endanger him. Any idea what that might be?’
Macro knew all too well. He had witnessed Pallas locked in a coital embrace with the Emperor’s wife, Agrippina. If that was ever revealed then Claudius would be sure to have the imperial freedman executed. To be swiftly followed by the execution of Agrippina, or exile if she was lucky. Her son, Nero, the adopted heir of the Emperor, would also suffer, leaving the path open for Britannicus. But it was a dangerous secret to reveal. If Pallas and Agrippina bluffed their way out of the situation, a task made somewhat easier by the failing mind of the old Emperor, then their accusers would face the full wrath of Claudius instead.
‘No,’ Cato answered for them both. ‘We don’t know. We can’t help you.’
‘A pity. But it changes nothing. Pallas still wants you dead.’
‘We can look after ourselves.’
‘I’m sure you can. To a degree. But you are used to dangers that are out in the open. You will not see this one coming. Not until it is too late. Trust no one.’
Macro sniffed. ‘Except you, and your father, of course.’
‘Your enemy’s enemy is your friend, Macro. You might not like it, but that’s how it is. Our interests coincide. Narcissus needs whatever help you can give him. In return he does what he can to protect you.’
‘That’s the kind of protection I need like a sword in the guts.’
‘As you will.’ Septimus opened his hands in a brief gesture of helplessness. ‘But if you won’t help him for your own sakes, then do it out of a sense of duty to Rome.’
‘Duty to Rome? You think Narcissus selflessly serves the interests of Rome?’ Macro shook his head and gave a dry laugh. ‘He’s looking after himself, no matter how many of us he buries along the way.’
For the first time Septimus’s composure appeared to slip. He rounded angrily on the centurion and stabbed his finger at him. ‘My father has given his life to serving Rome! The emperors come and go but he has remained constant. He serves the empire and does all he can to protect it from enemies without and within.’
‘I bet that’s just what Pallas claims.’
‘Pallas has no interest in Rome,’ Septimus countered. ‘He wants power and wealth for himself.’
Cato intervened. ‘It hasn’t escaped my attention that Narcissus has done pretty well out of serving Rome. Rumour has it that he’s one of the wealthiest men in the city. In fact, I’ve heard that he has loaned considerable fortunes to some of the client kings here in Britannia. Is that true?’
Septimus looked down briefly and nodded. ‘It’s true. But then, so have many other wealthy men.’
‘Including Pallas?’
‘Not him. Not any more at least. He sold his loans to other parties at the end of last year. And there’s a good reason behind that decision.’ Septimus looked up at Cato. ‘He’s plotting against our interests here in Britannia. He’s committing treason.’
‘That’s a serious accusation. You’d better explain yourself.’
Septimus folded his hands together before he continued in a quiet, earnest tone. ‘You may have heard the story of how Claudius became Emperor. When his predecessor was butchered by Cassius Chaereas and his co-conspirators, that was supposed to be the end of the imperial line. Rome was to become a republic again. Only the Praetorian Guards realised that meant they would be out of a job. Without an emperor to protect they would be sent to join the legions. No more generous pay and perks. So they plucked Claudius out from the survivors of the imperial family and made him Emperor. And who were the Senate to argue with ten thousand Praetorians armed to the teeth? So he became Emperor Claudius.
‘But it was hardly a popular choice. He needed to prove himself worthy of the title. He needed a great victory to ram down the throats of the Senate and to show the people of Rome that he could give them a victory. That’s why he invaded Britannia. It gave legitimacy to his reign. Claudius had conquered the island that even Julius Caesar failed to humble. No one was going to argue with that. And that’s why he has poured men and resources into Britannia ever since. The conquest must be completed. Britannia must become a settled province of the empire. If we fail here, then Claudius’s regime is utterly discredited. His enemies will take heart and make ready to strike at him again. If they succeed, Rome will be plunged into strife again. Is that what you want?’
‘If I recall,’ said Cato, ‘Narcissus was one of those who encouraged Claudius to invade Britannia.’
‘So?’
‘So this is as much about the safety of your father’s position, and his finances, as it is about Claudius and the future of Rome.’
‘What of it? It comes to the same thing in the end.’
‘I’m glad we’ve established that. Saves you insulting us any further with appeals to our sense of duty,’ Cato said harshly. ‘What is it that you suspect Pallas is up to?’
Septimus took a deep breath and spoke calmly. ‘It is my father’s belief that Pallas wants nothing less than the collapse of this province. And he’s prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure that end. He has agents on the island who seek to conspire with Caratacus to unite the most powerful tribes against Rome. If there is an alliance between the mountain tribes and the Brigantians or the Iceni, they will be strong enough to overwhelm our forces. Our legions will be driven back into the sea. Our towns and settlements will be burned to the ground and their inhabitants slaughtered. Rome will be utterly humiliated. Claudius will be shamed, and broken. He will be deposed, one way or another, and even if Rome is fortunate enough to escape the disaster of a new civil war, then Pallas will place Nero on the throne, with Agrippina at his side, and Pallas pulling the strings from the shadows.’
‘Instead of Narcissus,’ Macro said pointedly. ‘A new emperor and a new imperial freedman running the show. That’s the only difference.’
‘You’re wrong, Centurion. Even at the height of his powers my father was part of a council of advisers influencing the Emperor. Under Pallas there will be only one man. And his route to power will be paved with the corpses of the army here in Britannia. You, and all your comrades, and all those others who will die defending the empire once our enemies are encouraged to take up arms following our defeat in Britannia. Those are high stakes. Whatever you may think of my father, you cannot deny that Rome will face disaster if Pallas wins the day.’
Macro stood in thought for a moment, weighing up the imperial agent’s explanation. Then he turned to his friend. ‘What do you think, lad?’
‘I think we have no choice.’ Cato smiled weakly. ‘Just for a change. It looks like Narcissus has manoeuvred us into another tight spot. Tell me, Septimus, and speak truthfully, did he know what he was sending us into when we were posted to Britannia? Was this part of his plan all along?’
‘No. You have my word. My father knew that his influence over the Emperor was starting to wane. He wanted you sent here for your own safety.’
‘That’s what I understood, but now you’ll have to forgive me if I am not as convinced as I was before. It’s all a little too coincidental.’
‘Damn right!’ Macro nodded.
‘Think what you like,’ Septimus responded. ‘It’s the truth.’
The tent fell silent as the three men considered the situation. After some time Cato stirred and folded his hands together. ‘The question is, what do we do now? You must have had a plan when you ca
me here.’
‘Of sorts.’ Septimus sat back and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I’ve bribed a Brigantian nobleman to keep an eye on Queen Cartimandua’s consort, Prince Venutius. He’s said to be the one who is putting pressure on the queen to throw her lot in with Caratacus. For now, she’s playing safe. She’s got an alliance with Rome that gives her a ready supply of silver, and the promise of military support if she ever needs it. At the same time she’s keeping the door open to Caratacus. A clever woman, but she’s in a weak position. If she turns on Caratacus then half of her people will go over to the enemy, along with Venutius. If she turns on us then Venutius will lead her people to war, and when it’s over, he’ll want power for himself. Either way, she loses. Everything depends on keeping things as they are. If we lose the Brigantians, we lose the province, and everything else. With luck, my spy at her court will warn me in enough time to alert General Ostorius to the danger.’
‘How do you know you can trust the general?’ asked Cato.
‘Ostorius is an old-fashioned type. He wants glory for the family name. His ambition is to win a great victory and return to Rome and hang up his sword. It’s some of the other officers I’m keeping an eye on.’
‘Oh? Who? Legate Quintatus, for example?’
‘Now you’re fishing, Prefect. Yes, Quintatus is one. His family are followers of Agrippina’s faction. Then there are a small number of senior officers who have arrived in Britannia recently. I know you’ve already met Tribune Otho and Prefect Horatius. What do you make of them?’
Cato considered his impressions of the two officers before he replied. ‘Horatius seems like a reliable officer. Promoted from the ranks, far away from Rome.’
‘Not far enough. He was a centurion in the Praetorian Guard at the time of Claudius’s accession. He was one of the few who backed the Senate’s call for a return to the Republic. Did he tell you that?’
‘No. Why should he?’
‘Then I guess you wouldn’t know that he was reassigned to the Eleventh Legion soon afterwards.’
‘Those arse-kissers?’ Macro sneered. ‘All ready to rise up against the new Emperor, until your father turns up with a hatful of gold and buys ’em off. What’s the new title he’s given them?’ He concentrated for a moment and then clicked his fingers. ‘Claudius’s Faithful and Patriotic Eleventh Legion . . . Until they are paid off by the next man. Anyway, why send Horatius there if his loyalty is questionable?’
‘Best to keep all your potential troublemakers in one spot.’
Macro pursed his lips. ‘I see your point.’
‘I’m not convinced he’s our man,’ Septimus resumed. ‘But he’s worth keeping an eye on. The more interesting character is Tribune Otho. His father was promoted to the Senate by Claudius, and has proved himself trustworthy. The son, however, has become a close friend of Prince Nero.’
‘Sounds like our man,’ said Macro.
Cato cleared his throat. ‘Are you forgetting that I saved Nero’s life? He said he would repay the debt one day. Perhaps I am not in so much danger as you imply, Septimus.’
‘That was when you were serving undercover in the Praetorian Guard. Nero had no idea you were spying on behalf of Narcissus. I doubt he would even remember you now, Prefect. Besides, Nero is merely a figurehead. Pallas is the real danger. I doubt he will let some small obligation like that stand in the way of having you killed.’
They heard movement in Cato’s tent as Thraxis returned with the firewood and started to build it up in the brazier. Septimus stood up.
‘I have to go. I’ve a report to write to my father. I’ll let him know I’ve appraised you of the situation. And that you’re prepared to work with me to foil Pallas.’
‘Now wait a minute!’ Macro started.
‘He’s right,’ Cato interrupted. ‘We have to, Macro. For all our sakes.’
Macro opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut and shook his head.
‘If you need to contact me,’ Septimus spoke quietly, ‘ask for Hipparchus the wine merchant. That’s my cover. I’ll be remaining with the army for a few days, and will send word to Rome of Caratacus’s defeat. If he is taken, or killed, then Pallas’s scheme will be dealt a grievous blow.’
‘I hope you have the chance to report a defeat,’ said Cato. ‘Caratacus may defy us yet.’
‘I shall pray for victory,’ Septimus said simply. Then he clicked his fingers as if recalling something. ‘One final thing I meant to ask. Senator Vespasian. You know him well?’
The two officers exchanged a glance.
‘We have served under him,’ said Cato.
‘A damn fine officer,’ Macro added. ‘One of the best legates there is.’
Septimus smiled. ‘So I gather. There’s no doubting his soldierly qualities. I was more curious about the scale of his ambitions. Did he ever mention his plans for the future in front of you?’
‘No,’ Cato replied firmly. ‘And he would be mad to. Why do you ask?’
The imperial agent pursed his lips. ‘It’s as well to keep an eye on the more promising military commanders. And their families in some cases. Take his wife, Flavia, for example.’
‘What about her?’ asked Macro.
‘Your paths may have crossed at some point.’ He turned to Cato ‘And you certainly knew her in your youth, both at the palace and when you encountered her again when you joined Vespasian’s legion in Germany.’
Cato nodded casually. ‘That’s right.’
‘What do you make of her?’
‘I’ve never given it any thought. She was the wife of the legate. That’s all.’
Septimus stared at him and then shrugged. ‘Fair enough. Just wondered. I’ll leave you in peace now.’ Bowing his head and speaking loudly he backed towards the tent flaps. ‘A thousand apologies, Prefect! It was my mistake. I should never have accused your servant. I will send you a jar of my best wine to make amends. I bid you a good night and may your fortunes prosper in tomorrow’s battle!’
He passed out between the tent flaps and disappeared. Macro looked at Cato in despair. ‘You cannot be serious about working with—’
‘Shh!’ Cato warned him. A moment later the flap to his private quarters rustled aside and Thraxis poked his head through.
‘Prefect, the fire is lit.’
‘Thank you.’
Thraxis remained where he was and cleared his throat.
‘Is there anything else?’ asked Cato.
‘I, er, overheard the wine merchant as he left, Prefect. I take it you have resolved the matter.’
‘I did. A simple misunderstanding. He had mixed up your coins with those of another customer. You have nothing to be concerned about, Thraxis.’
The servant sighed with relief before he asked, ‘Do you wish me to bring you anything to eat or drink, Prefect?’
‘No. We’re turning in. I shall wear my new mail vest in the morning. Be sure that it is laid out with the rest of my kit.’
‘Yes, Prefect.’
‘Then you may go.’
Thraxis saluted and ducked away. They waited a moment before Macro spoke in an undertone. ‘As I was saying, we’d be mad to let ourselves get lured back into working for Narcissus.’
‘Macro, we have little choice. Just because we don’t want to be involved in the struggle between Narcissus and Pallas doesn’t mean that they won’t involve us. Now it seems they have. If Pallas is a threat to us we can’t just ignore it. And if Septimus is telling the truth about the wider situation then we’re in even bigger danger, and everyone else in the army along with us.’
‘If he’s telling the truth.’
‘Can we take the risk that he isn’t?’
Macro gritted his teeth. ‘Fuck . . . Fucking Narcissus. The bastard sticks to you like a dose of the clap. We
ain’t ever going to be free of him, are we?’ he added miserably. ‘Nor, it seems, is that poor sod Vespasian. Nor his wife. What was all that about Flavia?’
‘I have no idea.’ Cato shrugged. ‘Chin up. We might finally get shot of Narcissus, depending on how tomorrow works out.’
‘Oh great. Thank you for being such a cheery sod,’ Macro grumbled as he turned towards the entrance to the tent. ‘Just what I needed before I hit the sack.’
Cato watched him until he was out of sight. Then he stood up, closed his eyes and stretched out his arms and cracked his shoulders. Macro was right, there was much to think about. Much to worry about. But before that, there was a battle to fight.
CHAPTER NINE
‘There we go,’ Macro said as the headquarters’ trumpets sounded, the flat notes echoing back off the cliffs on the opposite side of the river. Before the sound had died away they saw the men of the artillery batteries throw their weight against the locking levers. An instant later the arms of the ballistas snapped forward, releasing their deadly heavy bolts in a shallow arc towards the enemy defences. Behind the ballistas were ranged the catapults, throwing their rounded stones in a much higher trajectory. The artillery had been set up on a platform constructed by engineers during the night, high enough to prevent any stray missiles ploughing through the ranks of the legionaries formed up a short distance from the river.
General Ostorius had placed the Twentieth Legion, his strongest, in the front line. The second line comprised the Fourteenth and the detachment from the Ninth. For the first time since the garrison of Bruccium had joined the army, Cato was able to see the legions arrayed for battle. Many cohorts were clearly under-strength, some fielded less than half the men they should have. He estimated that there were no more than seven thousand in all. From what he had seen of the enemy forces, it was clear that the legionaries were outnumbered. Worse still, the enemy had the considerable advantage of defending the high ground. The legionaries had been ordered to leave their javelins in the camp as they were poor weapons to use against enemy on steep ground. The hill would be taken with the sword, the general had decided. One cavalry cohort, besides the Blood Crows, was all that was present of the auxiliary troops, the rest were spread around the far side of the hill, to block any retreat by Caratacus’s army.
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