'And once Cato's been seen to, we can attend to Caratacus.'
Macro struggled to hide his astonishment. Tracking down a few pathetic fugitives was one thing. Taking on the likes of Caratacus was just this side of lunacy. A nasty thought abruptly intruded on his surprise, and he looked more closely at his commander and attended his words with a heightened concentration.
Maximius smiled. 'If we can deliver Caratacus to the general, then we'll be allowed to rejoin the legion. We'll be the legate's blue-eyed boys. You and me.'
'What about the others? Tullius, Felix and Antonius?'
'Tullius is an old woman,' Maximius sneered. 'And the others are young fools. Thank the gods they lacked the guile and treachery of that bastard Cato. You're the only one I ever had any confidence in, Macro. Only you.'
'Uh…' Macro flushed. 'Thank you, sir. I'm sure your confidence in me has not been misplaced. But I think you judge the other officers too harshly. They're good men.'
'You think so?' Maximius frowned.'I doubt it. I'm surprised you can't see their faults too, unless… unless you're on their side.'
Macro made himself laugh. 'We're all on the same side, sir.'
Maximius did not respond, and there was a tense pause as the cohort commander scrutinised his subordinate. Then he relaxed a little.'Of course you're right, Macro. Pardon me. I just had to be sure of your loyalty. Now then, on to other business, the real reason you were assigned to lead that patrol. Did you speak to anybody? Did you discover anything about the traitor who freed Cato?'
'Not really, sir. From what I heard it could have been any of the men. No one is particularly happy to be hunting down their comrades, especially when they don't believe they should have been condemned in the first place. Sorry, sir.' Macro shrugged. 'That's all.'
'That's all,' Maximius repeated mockingly. 'That is not all, Centurion. Not by a long way.'
Macro felt the familiar chill of anxiety, and tried not to let his guilt show. 'Sir?'
'If that's how the men feel, then they're as good as traitors themselves.' Maximius grasped his jaw in the palm of a hand and stroked the bristles on his chin nervously, gazing down into his lap. 'If they think they can get away with that, they're in for a great big bloody surprise. I'll show them… It's not the first time I've had to deal with their kind. Oh no, but I showed 'em what I was made of then, and I'll do the same again now. No one's going to make a fool out of me and get away with it.'
Macro kept quite still during and after this outburst, trying not to draw any attention to himself while Maximius perceived threats in every corner. Then the cohort commander glanced up with a small start as he became aware of Macro's presence again. He shook off the spell and smiled warmly.
'You'd best get some rest, Macro. You're going to need it over the next few days if we're going to show those scum we mean business.'
Macro was uncomfortably aware that he was not sure which scum Maximius was referring to and he nodded in response as the cohort commander waved a hand towards the flap of his tent.
Macro quickly rose from his seat, anxious to quit the scene. 'Good night, sir.'
He turned and strode away, ducking outside into the cool evening air, breathing its freshness in eagerly. Two clerks were working on trestle tables to one side of the entrance to the tent. One was filling a lamp with oil, to provide illumination when the last glow from the western horizon had died away. Macro made for the tent lines of his century and as he did so a figure passed him in the twilight. Optio Cordus saluted as he marched by. A few paces further on Macro glanced back over his shoulder, just in time to see the optio enter the cohort commander's tent.
'Curious,' Macro said softly to himself.
Why should Maximius want to debrief Cordus as well? Didn't he trust Macro enough to let him recount the details of the patrol?
Then it hit him, and Macro gave a bitter smile. Of course he was not trusted. Macro had not been sent on the patrol to sound out the men. He had been sent on the patrol to be sounded out by Cordus. Which meant that Maximius trusted him enough to suspect that he was the traitor. Plots within plots, Macro sighed. It was clear that during his service with the Praetorian Guard Maximius had spent far too much time in close proximity to the endless intrigue of the Imperial Palace. Well, if he saw plotters on every side, then let him. That was to Macro's advantage: safety in numbers. With this vaguely comforting thought Macro returned to his tent, checked that his optio had nothing to report, undressed and then collapsed on to his bed and quickly fell asleep.
The following morning the enemy sent the Roman occupiers of the valley a clear message of defiance. As the dawn mist cleared it revealed six frames that had been set up a short distance from the fort. On each frame a man had been tied, spread-eagled in the tattered remains of their army tunics. Each was gagged securely so that their death agonies had not been overheard by the Roman sentries on watch during the night. Every one of them had been gutted; skin and muscle peeled back and pegged to their sides to expose the raw, red meat and bone of the chest cavity. Their guts lay beneath their feet, where they had fallen, and glistened in dull grey and purple heaps. Each man had been castrated and his genitals hung from a thong around his neck.
A horseman was waiting beside the frames. He remained, still and silent, as the alarm was raised inside the fort. The palisade above the rampart was quickly lined by fully armed troops. Still he waited, until a cluster of red crests appeared amongst the gleaming bronze and iron helmets on the wall. Then with a quiet word to his beast he edged closer so that all might hear his words.
'Romans! Romans! I bring you a warning from my king, Caratacus.' He swept his arm out, round and back towards the bodies in a dramatic gesture. 'He offers you this example of what will happen to any Romans who fall into our hands if you dare to harm any more of the people of this valley, or those who dwell in the marsh beyond.' The messenger paused, and continued in a voice that dripped with contempt. 'My king wonders what kind of men wage war on women and children. If there are real warriors amongst you, then let them seek us out and fight us man to man. We grow weary of waiting for you to come and face us in battle. We had heard that the men of the Second Legion were the very best in General Plautius' army. Prove it, or forever wither before the scorn and pity of better men!'
The horseman turned his beast around and trotted casually away from the fort, not once looking back over his shoulder. On the gatehouse tower of the fort the officers of the Third Cohort watched him until he disappeared into a copse of trees that grew close to the edge of the marsh.
Macro, with a wry smile, admired the man's composure. 'Now that one had style.'
Centurion Felix snorted.'Style? Let me down there and I'll teach that bastard about style.'
'Oh, really?' said Tullius. 'You'd just charge in there and teach the natives a lesson, would you?'
'Too bloody right I would!' Felix turned to the cohort commander. 'Sir? Let me take my century in there. Find that bastard and take the skin off him, nice and slow.' He thrust his finger towards the six bodies outside the fort.'Just like they did to those men.'
'Don't be such a fool, boy.' Centurion Maximius sneered at him. 'You'd really fall for such obvious bait? How the fuck did you ever make it to centurion?'
Felix coloured, then opened his mouth to protest, but no words emerged. He glanced away from his superior and stared again at the bodies in mute protest.
Maximius laughed. 'Who do you suppose those men are? All our patrols are in and none of our men has gone missing.'
Felix took a moment to work it out. 'Cato's lot?'
Maximius patted him on the shoulder. 'See? The boy can learn! That's right. Cato's men.'
'Oh…' Felix looked again at the bodies, with a less fraught expression.
'And how much do you suppose I care what Caratacus has done to them? In fact, he's saving me the job.' Maximius shook his head and smiled.'It's rather funny when you think about it. He seriously thinks that we might be provoked into action by his lit
tle display. Or that we might go easy on the locals.'
Macro watched him silently, noting the sudden gleam that sparked in Maximius' eyes. The cohort commander turned to his officers with a smile.
'We can turn this one round rather neatly. We're not going to go after them and rush into a trap. Even Caratacus must know we're not that foolish. And we're not going to go easy on the locals either. Why should we? The more of Cato's men he kills to make his point the better, as far as we're concerned. So let's make an example of that village. Let's kill ten of them for every one of Cato's men.' He nodded to himself. 'Caratacus and his men will be forced to react. If we're lucky, we might even draw them out of the marsh and get them to have a go at the fort. We'll just let them come on, and then slaughter them like dogs, right in front of our ramparts. Let 'em fill up the ditch with their dead. If any of them are stupid enough to surrender, then they'll be screaming for mercy before I let the bastards die. They'll never make a fool of Gaius Maximius again. Never!'
Macro was filled with astonishment at the relish with which his commander spoke the last words. Maximius was suddenly self-conscious, and glanced round at his officers with a quick smile, flashing his stained teeth at them. 'Come, lads, we've got work to do.' He glanced over his centurions, then his gaze settled on Macro. 'You've got the best job of all, Macro.'
'Sir?'
'Get your men formed up. I want you to take them into the village. Round the locals up and select sixty of them – men, women and children. Then take 'em over to that lot,' he nodded towards the Roman dead.'Then kill them. Make it last. I want to hear them scream. Better still, I want Caratacus to hear them scream. When you're done make sure all the heads are put on poles. Understand?'
Macro gave a sharp shake of his head.
'What's so difficult to grasp? You're not Centurion Felix here…'
'No, sir.' Macro shook his head again. 'I can't do it.'
'Can't do it?' Maximius looked astonished. 'Bloody hell, man! It's the easiest thing in the world. What do you think all the training has been about for the last fifteen years of your life? Kill them.'
'No… sir.'
'Kill them. That's an order.'
'No. I won't. Like the man said, real soldiers fight men. They don't massacre women and children.'
Maximius glared at him, mouth tightly shut and nostrils flared. The other officers and the nearest legionaries stirred uneasily. Macro drew himself up to his full height and stared calmly back. He had said his piece, and braced himself for the counterblast. He was surprised at the calmness that suffused his body. He had felt this way a few times before, when death in battle seemed inevitable. Calmness. Or was it merely resignation? Macro didn't know, and he didn't really care. It was simply a moment of curiosity about himself and his motives. Cato would have known the answer, he thought, and could not help smiling at the introspection he normally did not tolerate in his young friend. It was almost as if he had to fill in for the lad when Cato was not there, so used to his company had Macro become.
'What's so funny?' Maximius asked softly.
'Nothing, sir. Really.'
'I see…' The cohort commander narrowed his eyes. 'I had hoped that you, of all my officers, would be loyal to me. I can see now that my trust in you was misplaced. I wonder how deep your treachery runs.'
'Sir, I am no traitor. I'm loyal to the oath I've sworn every year since I joined the Eagles.'
Maximius leaned closer. 'Is it not part of your oath to obey the orders of a superior officer?'
'Yes, sir,' Macro replied evenly. 'But I question your fitness to command this cohort.'
Maximius took a sharp breath, then spat out his reply. 'You dare to question my authority?'
'I do. If the other centurions have any sense, and the guts to own up to their feelings, they'd say the same.'
'Silence!' Maximius roared and struck Macro across the face with the back of his fist. The blow was sharp and hard, and Macro saw an explosion of white as he staggered back under the impact. As his vision cleared he tasted blood in his mouth and, raising a hand to his lip he discovered it was split. Blood dripped steadily from his chin as he steadied himself and faced the cohort commander again.
'Centurion Macro is confined to his tent.' Maximius looked round and sought out a face in the press of men who had drifted closer to witness the extraordinary confrontation. 'Optio Cordus! Step forward! I'm making you acting centurion in command of Macro's century.'
'Yes, sir!' Cordus smiled.
'You will carry out my orders concerning the villagers. To the letter, understand?'
'Yes, sir.'
'You will show no mercy, and none of your predecessor's lack of backbone.'
'No, sir.' Cordus flashed a smug sidelong glance at Macro.
'Now escort Macro to his tent, and post a guard outside. He is to speak to no one. Get on with it.'
Cordus turned to Macro, and the latter, with lips curled in contempt, gave a shrug and turned away from the cohort commander, striding towards the ramp that led down into the fort.
05 The Eagles Prey
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
'He's killed the men who were taken out of here earlier,' said Cato, once the warriors had chained him back into position and left the pen.
Figulus nodded. 'That's what I thought. Where did they take you, sir?'
'To that farm. The one our friend Metellus visited. Caratacus wanted me to see the bodies.'
'Why?'
Cato shrugged. 'He thinks the Third Cohort is responsible for the massacre. I daren't tell him the truth.'
'I should fucking hope not.'
Cato smiled briefly. 'Anyway. I had hoped that I might still talk him round. But I don't think there's any real chance of peace any more. He'll fight us to the end now – however many of his own people and ours have to die in the process.'
'Did you really think he'd ever give in?' Figulus asked.
'I hoped he would.'
Figulus shook his head sadly. 'You don't know the Celts very well, sir. Do you? Fighting is in their blood.' He smiled. 'Maybe in my blood too. My grandfather was a warrior of the Aedui tribe. The last time they rose in revolt against Rome was shortly before I was born. Even though the tribe had been beaten, he never gave in. Him and the other warriors who survived the last battle. They hid in the forests and continued the fight until they were too old to wield a sword. Then they just starved to death. I can remember finding their bodies, once in a while, when I was a kid and we went hunting in the woods. My grandfather crawled into our village one day, starving and sick. My mother barely recognised him. It's the first time I ever met him. Anyway, he died. But the last words on his lips – the last thing he ever said – was to utter a curse on Rome and her legions. Caratacus is cut from the same cloth. He'd never have surrendered, sir.'
'Seemed close enough to it the other night.'
'Don't fool yourself, sir. It was just a lapse, the faintest shadow of a doubt and nothing more. And now he'll fight on until he dies.'
Cato stared at his optio for a moment, before shrugging and looking away. 'Maybe. But you joined the Eagles. Perhaps he could be persuaded to as well.'
Figulus laughed softly. 'My father had seen enough of Rome to know that she would never be beaten. So he served in the auxiliaries and raised me to be as Roman as possible. Perhaps more Roman than most Romans. I doubt my mother's family would even recognise me any more, let alone consider me one of their own. I joined the Eagles, and I fight for Rome, but I still understand the Celtic mind, and I know Caratacus will never give in to Rome. Never. Mark my words.'
'Then that's a shame. A man should know when he's beaten. He should face the facts.'
'Oh, really?' Figulus turned to look at his centurion. 'Then how about you, sir? Doesn't look like we've any hope of getting out of this place. Are you ready to give in and die?'
'That's different.'
'Oh?'
Cato nodded. 'He's got responsibilities. Caratacus holds the fate of many in hi
s hands. I'm just fighting for me. For my survival. I'll do anything I can to survive.'
Figulus looked at him a moment, then said, 'You're not so different as you'd like to think, sir. He has his people to care about, and you have yours.' Figulus nodded at the other men in the pen.
Cato look round at the remaining men squatting against the wicker walls. Most were just staring blankly at the ground between their feet. None of them was talking, and Cato realised they had resigned themselves to death. And there was nothing he could do about it.
It was different for Caratacus. He could make a difference. That was why he owed it to his people to make peace, while they still respected his will. While they were still prepared to follow him. Unlike these poor men, Cato reflected. They were beyond the boundaries of the normal discipline that bound them to his will. Only Metellus seemed to have any sense of purpose left, however futile the situation seemed. He sat hunched over the chain where it joined his ankle collar, worrying away at it with the edge of a small stone. Cato wondered what the legionary thought he would do if he managed to break the chain. There were still three guards outside the pen, and the pen itself was in the middle of an enemy camp packed with thousands of Celt warriors. Cato shook his head, turned his gaze towards Figulus and spoke very quietly.
'We'll be joining the others in the near future. Once Caratacus has finished off the Third Cohort.'
'They're nearby?'
'Yes. I saw Macro and a patrol earlier. Caratacus says they're camped just outside the marsh. Seems that Maximius is laying into the local villagers with more than usual relish. Caratacus won't stand by and let it happen. Besides, I get the feeling that his warriors need a victory badly.'
Figulus was silent for a moment before he responded.'From what I saw on our way in here, our lads are going to be outnumbered five or six to one, sir.'
'About that,' Cato agreed. 'If they're caught by surprise it'll be over very quickly.'
'Yes… there's not much we can do about it, sir.'
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