‘That might be a mixed blessing. Who knows what harm they might cause with access to the army’s rations and kit. What about the Batavians?’
Macro scratched his bristly jaw. ‘Miro says they’re good men. It’ll be a while before they’re good soldiers, though. And there’s still tension between them and the Thracians, which threatens to kick off at any moment. I’ve told Miro to knock a few heads together and sort it out. Perhaps we should be threatening the Batavians that we’ll send them to work in the quartermaster’s stores. You know what they’re like. They’d rather walk through fire then learn how to read, write and add up.’
They heard footsteps approaching in the corridor outside and there was a rap on the door before it opened and Thraxis ducked his head into the office. ‘That wine merchant’s here again, sir. Says you wanted to see him about ordering some more stock.’
‘That’s right. Show him in.’
Thraxis hesitated at the door. ‘Sir, I can deal with him, if you wish.’
Cato fixed him with a steady look. In the normal course of events an officer of his rank would indeed entrust the purchase of his personal stores to his orderly. But Cato needed a cover story for his meetings with Septimus. If the Thracian took that as a sign of his superior’s distrust then that was too bad. ‘Do not question me again, Thraxis. Send the merchant in and then prepare a meal for me and the centurion.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The door closed behind the servant and Macro clicked his tongue. ‘Sooner or later someone’s going to be wondering about Septimus’s visits. And he’s not helping matters, what with being a witness to the escape, and still new to the camp. It looks suspicious.’
‘Can’t be helped. Either he comes here to sell me wine or I have to trek into the vicus and buy it from him in person, and that would look even more odd.’
Macro shrugged.
Footsteps approached again and Thraxis opened the door to admit Septimus and closed it behind him without a word, just a scowl.
Septimus was carrying a jar under each arm and bowed his head before cheerfully greeting his customer. ‘Honoured Prefect, a pleasure to be doing business with you again. I bring two samples from the latest stocks to reach Viroconium.’
As soon as Thraxis’s footsteps had faded he dropped the act and set the jars down beside a spare stool and sat down. At once Macro gestured towards the wine. ‘In the interests of maintaining your cover story I think we should test the quality of the wares.’
Septimus nodded. ‘Very wise, and in the interests of maintaining my cover, I think you should pay me for the wine. A denarius for each jug.’
‘What?’ Macro feigned outrage. ‘You would turn a profit on a comrade?’
‘Why not? Anything an imperial agent can do to mitigate the costs of his services is simply an act of patriotism.’
‘Is that what we call profiteering now?’
Septimus shrugged and held out his hand. With a curse Macro reached into his purse, plucked out a silver coin and tossed it to Septimus before helping himself to a jug and looking at Cato. ‘Cups?’
‘The shelf. Over there.’
Macro fetched the Samian ware cups and poured himself and Cato a generous helping before grudgingly pouring Septimus half a cup. The latter took a quick sip and then spoke.
‘A sorry business,’ he said wearily. ‘The governor’s illness does not help our cause.’
Macro shot him a cynical look. ‘Our cause?’
Septimus stared back. ‘My cause. My master’s cause. The Emperor’s cause. Rome’s cause. And therefore your cause. Happy now?’
A smile flickered across Macro’s face. ‘It helps to be reminded from time to time.’
The imperial agent turned to Cato. ‘You know this means that Quintatus will be assuming temporary command.’
‘I’d worked that out for myself.’
Septimus ignored the jibe. ‘I’d be wary of the legate. He’s proved that he’s sympathetic to the other side, even if he isn’t actually an agent of Pallas. The situation is already dangerous enough with Caratacus on the loose amongst the Brigantes. With Quintatus in command of the army there’s no telling what he might do to sabotage our position.’
Macro snorted. ‘Are you suggesting that a Roman legate would deliberately sacrifice his men to satisfy the whims of an imperial freedman?’
Septimus gave him a withering look. ‘This is all about what happens in Rome, Centurion. It is all about who sits on the throne and who stands at their side. Everything else that happens in the empire follows from that essential truth.’
‘I think you have been playing your games for too long,’ Macro replied coolly. ‘Strikes me that you and your kind rather overplay your significance in this world. Your struggles are of little concern to the rest of us. We face more immediate dangers, like keeping the barbarians in their place.’
Septimus stared back and then laughed. ‘You’re priceless, Macro! Do you really think that’s how the world works? Do you really think you soldiers have any say in what determines the paths taken by great powers?’
‘As it happens, I do.’ Macro patted the hilt of his sword. ‘Want me to give you a demonstration?’
Cato waved his hand impatiently. ‘Save it, Macro. This isn’t the time to let our private grievances get in the way.’ He turned back to the imperial agent. ‘I don’t think Quintatus will attempt anything too overt.’
‘Oh?’
‘Think about it. Even if he is working towards ensuring that Nero succeeds Claudius, he’s hardly going to want to go down in history as the man who lost the province of Britannia. He’ll be more subtle than that. If Quintatus is trying to fatally undermine our chances to bring peace to this island then he’ll do it in such a way that it happens after he’s left the scene. That way the blame will attach to someone else – the next governor, whoever that may be. Assuming Ostorius does not recover.’ Cato paused to organise his thoughts. ‘Now that Caratacus is in Brigantia there’s every chance that the war will drag on. Long enough for Quintatus to serve out his tenure of the Fourteenth Legion and return to Rome. So it’s in his interest to make sure that Caratacus talks the Brigantians round, while at the same time being seen to be doing all that he can to prevent it. The question is, how does he intend to achieve that? I think we’ll find out soon enough.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Septimus.
‘Quintatus has summoned all senior officers to a briefing at first light. I imagine he is going to announce that he’s assuming temporary command of the army, and the functions of governor of the province, until Ostorius recovers. And if the general dies, Quintatus will retain control until a new governor reaches Britannia. That’s a lot of power to concentrate in the hands of a legate. Especially one who can’t be trusted.’
‘I’ll have to report all this back to Narcissus at once. I’d better draft and code the message tonight.’ Septimus stood up, taking care to pick up the spare jug before Macro could lay claim to it. At the door he looked back at the two officers. ‘Given what’s going to happen tomorrow, I’d take extra care to watch my back if I were you. I fear that the agent sent by Pallas is going to have a free hand.’
‘We’ll be careful,’ Cato responded.
The officers gathering at headquarters the next morning could not hide their anxiety as they talked in muted tones while waiting for the camp prefect to bring them to order. They were not kept long before his voice echoed through the hall.
‘Commanding officer present!’
Legate Quintatus strode briskly to the dais and climbed the steps to face the assembled officers. He was accompanied by the chief haruspex attached to the army. The priest was wearing his formal white robe. Behind him came a clerk carrying his bag of slates, scrolls, inkpot and pens. He clutched a large waxed tablet under his arm on which to make his notes of the m
eeting. Quintatus’s gaze swept over them in silence for a moment before he coughed and began his address.
‘It is the opinion of the surgeon of the Twentieth Legion that Publius Ostorius Scapula is medically unfit to continue command of the army for the present. It is his further opinion that the general may remain incapacitated for the foreseeable future. Therefore it falls to me, as senior officer present, to assume command of the army and control of the province until such time as Ostorius recovers. Is there any man who challenges my right to do so?’
It was the required custom to ask the question. There were no legitimate grounds for protesting and the officers remained still and silent.
‘Very well then.’ Quintatus nodded to the clerk standing at the side of the hall. ‘Enter into the record that there was no objection. Furthermore, I have consulted the haruspex to ensure that my decision is in accordance with the will of the gods. The omens are favourable?’
It was more of a statement than a question and the priest nodded quickly as he replied in a sonorous tone, ‘Indeed. The most propitious auspices I have ever witnessed, sir.’ The haruspex drew breath to continue but Quintatus raised a hand to still the man’s tongue.
‘The gods have spoken and give me their blessing to proceed. Time is short, gentlemen. Our enemy is even now attempting to subvert the loyalty of our ally, Queen Cartimandua. If he succeeds, we shall be obliged to march against the northern tribes. It will be as big and bloody a campaign as any ever waged since the legions first landed on Britannia. The army must make ready. I will be sending for the Second Legion and two more cohorts of the Ninth to strengthen our ranks. In the meantime I require you to prepare your men for war. We must be ready to strike within days if the need arises. Questions?’
Cato steeled himself and raised his hand. ‘Sir!’
Quintatus turned to him. ‘What is it, Prefect Cato?’
‘If we attack the Brigantes before they have decided what to do with Caratacus, we will precipitate a war between us. Surely it would be better to warn them of the consequences of siding with him first? While there is still a chance to resolve this peacefully.’
The legate smiled. ‘Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Prefect.’
Cato felt himself flush with embarrassment and anger as some of the officers around him struggled to stifle their amusement. Quintatus allowed them a moment longer to enjoy his humbling of the commander of the baggage train escort before he continued.
‘I will be sending an envoy at the head of a small column to persuade the Brigantes to hand Caratacus over to us. However, we must be prepared to act if the tribesmen reject my demand.’ He turned his gaze away from Cato. ‘Any other questions? Yes, Tribune Petillius?’
‘Sir, how is the general?’
‘Ostorius is recovering in his tent. If there is any change in his condition you will be notified. Anything else? No? Then, with the exception of Tribune Otho and Prefects Horatius and Cato, you are dismissed.’
The officers stood up smartly as Quintatus left the dais and made towards his clerk. As soon as he had climbed down the steps, the first of the officers turned to leave.
‘What’s that about?’ asked Macro. ‘Why would he want to see you?’
‘Not sure, but I have a nasty feeling I can guess. You’d better get back to the men. Assemble our officers, the quartermaster, farrier, armourer and the horse master of the Blood Crows.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Macro saluted and turned to leave with the others.
The hall quickly emptied, leaving the three men picked out by Quintatus. Horatius was a short distance away from Cato and cocked an enquiring eyebrow, but Cato could only shake his head. Tribune Otho simply sat looking surprised. At length the doors thudded behind the last of the officers to leave the hall and the two soldiers of the headquarters guard resumed their positions on either side, spears and shields grounded. Quintatus dismissed the augur and had a quiet conversation with the clerk before the latter saluted and also left the hall, returning a moment later with the messenger sent by Cartimandua. The young warrior strode to the front of the hall and stood a short distance from the dais, arms folded in front of him. Cato scrutinised him. He was fair-haired, tall and well-built. His jaw was square and he had the muscular good looks that would have made him very popular with the kind of women who worship gladiators in Rome, Cato mused.
Turning back to his subordinates, Quintatus announced, ‘This is Vellocatus, the personal representative of Queen Cartimandua. He speaks our tongue.’ It was as much a gentle warning as an introduction. The Brigantian nodded a brief greeting to the other officers before Quintatus continued.
‘Prefect Cato, you asked about making an attempt to negotiate with the Brigantes and so avoid war. In which case you will be pleased to know that I have chosen you to accompany the envoy to speak to Queen Cartimandua and her people on my behalf. The envoy in question will be Tribune Otho.’ He turned to the young aristocrat. ‘It is a vital task. Do you consider yourself the right man to carry it out?’
Otho could not help beaming as he replied effusively, ‘Yes, sir!’
‘Good. Then you will take command of the column leaving here at dawn tomorrow. Vellocatus will accompany you to act as a guide and translator. You will take two of your cohorts from the Ninth as well as the auxiliary cohort of Prefect Horatius and the baggage train escort of Prefect Cato. These are the only forces I am prepared to risk. If we send any more men it will look like an invasion. Any less, and they won’t be able to fight their way out in case of trouble. Although you will speak for me, and are the ranking officer, I require that Prefect Horatius be in command of the column for military purposes. If it comes to a fight I want an experienced officer in charge. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Otho nodded, then a slight frown formed on his smooth forehead. ‘Might I ask why you honour me with this mission?’
‘Honour has nothing to do with it. I need a good man on the spot. Someone with breeding who can speak with the authority of the Senate behind him and, through them, the Emperor. You are best placed for such a role.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Quintatus smiled warmly. ‘Play this well, Tribune Otho, and you will win a name for yourself as the man who brought peace to Britannia.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Quintatus addressed the two prefects. ‘Horatius, you will support the tribune as best you can. Your duty will be to guard him and, if need be, Queen Cartimandua. If the negotiations fail, you may have to conduct a fighting retreat. Are you the man for the job?’
‘Sir!’ Horatius nodded.
The legate faced Cato. ‘I imagine you’re wondering why the baggage train escort will be joining the column.’
‘The question had crossed my mind, sir.’
‘You are no fool, Prefect. You have also proved yourself an adept at adjusting to circumstances and acting with initiative. Just the kind of officer I need to support Tribune Otho and Prefect Horatius. Serve them well.’
‘I know my duty, sir.’
‘I’m sure you do. Look on this as a chance to redeem yourself.’
Cato’s eyes narrowed. ‘Redeem myself. For what, sir?’
‘The general took the view that you shoulder much of the blame for the escape of Caratacus. I am sure you feel it’s unfair. That’s as maybe, but what matters is how the news is received back in Rome. If we can come out of this with Caratacus in the bag and having broken the will of the natives to resist, we will all be rewarded and any unfortunate details will be quietly forgotten. In that lies your chance for redemption, Prefect Cato. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Painfully, sir.’
‘Good. Then you all know what parts you have to play. I’ll have the clerks draft your orders and you’ll have them before the day is out. You’ll leave at dawn.’
The legate fixed each of them with a quick
stare. ‘Good luck, gentlemen. You’ll need it.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘What’s this?’ Cato asked as he unbuckled his helmet and mopped the sweat from his brow. He indicated the folded papyrus lying on his desk. His name was neatly written on the outside.
Thraxis paused from unhooking Cato’s mail shoulder cape to glance at the desk. ‘It’s from the wife of Tribune Otho, sir. Her slave brought it this afternoon, while you were exercising the cohort.’
Cato grunted. He had been out with his men since the morning’s briefing ended. The baggage train escort had barely had the chance to settle back into the routine of garrison life before being thrown into the preparations for the march up into Brigantian territory. There were some grumblers – there always were. Cato recalled his first experiences as optio to Macro when he had been constantly frustrated by the need to be ready at a moment’s notice for any duty, or frequently none at all while waiting for new orders. Now that he commanded a unit, that world had gone. The myriad duties of a prefect meant that boredom had become a rare luxury.
The morning had been spent requisitioning transport for the horses’ feed, carts for the ballistas of Macro’s cohort, rations for the march and, most pressing of all, leather to repair or replace the tents damaged in the storm. The stock of leather at Viroconium was scarce and he had been obliged to bribe the quartermaster to let him have a barely sufficient quantity for his men. The afternoon had been taken up with observing the men drilling on the parade ground. There was still much work to be done with the Batavian recruits who had mastered the basic formations and squadron manoeuvres but still tended to respond slowly and clumsily when required to perform the more refined deployments into wedges and wheeling about the axis of each flank. Still, they were fine riders and spirited. If it came to a fight, Cato was sure that they would acquit themselves as well as the rest of the Blood Crows.
Macro had drilled his new legionaries hard in the few days since they had joined the cohort and they could be trusted to march and deploy as required. Their skill at arms was still rudimentary. In battle the more experienced men in their sections would have to set the example in holding formation and giving no ground. It was late in the afternoon before Cato dismissed the two cohorts and sent the men to their barracks to prepare their marching yokes and saddle packs. He was hot, tired and thirsty and had been looking forward to a session in the bathhouse to ease his muscles before leaving Viroconium on the morrow.
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