‘All right, Mum?’ asked Macro.
Portia stared coldly at a group of tribesmen passing in the street, wrapped in furs and with swirling tattoos down their arms. ‘Savages. .’
Cato smiled to himself and then frowned. There was still a way to go before the people of the island accepted Roman rule. Caratacus and his followers might be far to the west of Londinium, but the spirit of the tribesmen living in and around the town was clearly far from broken. If the legions ever suffered a serious setback then it was sure to encourage more than a few of the natives into open revolt against Rome. If the main weight of the governor’s army was concentrated at the frontier, there would be little to stop the rebels sweeping across those parts of the province that the officials back in Rome had already labelled as pacified on their maps.
‘Where the hell’s that Decimus and his crew?’ Macro growled, craning his neck, but unable to make much out due to his short stature.
‘Twenty paces or so ahead,’ Cato replied.
‘Don’t lose sight of the buggers. Last thing we need is to have all our kit nicked the instant we step ashore. I’ll not go back to the legions looking like some green recruit mummy’s boy if I can help it.’
Portia snorted. ‘If there’s one thing you are definitely not, my son, it is a mummy’s boy.’
They pressed on, struggling to keep up with the porters ahead of them. As they emerged into a crossroads filled with carts carrying amphorae packed tightly together, there was no sign of the porters on the far side of the junction. Cato felt his heart sink in despair and a sharp anger at Decimus for having tricked them.
‘Hey! Prefect! This way.’
He turned towards the voice and saw Decimus and his companions just over to their left. The former legionary shook his head mockingly. ‘There’s me with my limp, and the officers still can’t keep up. What’s the world coming to?’
Before Cato could cut in and tell him to mind his tongue when speaking to a superior, the other man raised his hand and pointed towards a large gateway a short distance along the other side of the street they had just turned into. Beyond the wall Cato could see scaffolding and the tall timber frame of a crane rising up against the smoky sky.
‘There you go, Prefect. That’s the basilica. Or what there is of it.’
Without waiting for his customers to respond, Decimus set off again and this time the flow of traffic was such that the new arrivals were able to keep up. When the convoy of wine carts had passed, they made their way across to the gateway and approached the two legionaries standing guard. The surface of the arch had been plastered and whitewashed, but the brickwork on the wall surrounding the building site was unfinished.
‘State your business,’ one of the guards said evenly as he ran his eyes over the two men and the older woman, hurriedly assessing their status. The two officers were dressed in neat, new tunics and military cloaks purchased in Rome before their departure. Although there were no insignia to show rank, nor any ornate rings to indicate wealth, the bearing of the two officers and the visible scars told their own story. Particularly the long white line that stretched across Cato’s face from forehead to chin. The sentry cleared his throat and moderated his tone. ‘How may I assist you, sir?’
‘Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato and Centurion Lucius Cornelius Macro.’ He nodded towards Macro before continuing. ‘Just arrived from Rome to take up our commands. We wish to report to the governor’s staff and find accommodation for ourselves.’
‘You won’t find much of that here, sir. They knocked the fort down two months back.’
‘So I gather. I assume that Ostorius and his staff are not working out in the open?’
‘Fat chance of that, sir!’ The sentry turned and lowered the tip of his javelin and indicated the scaffolding surrounding a large, single-storey complex. ‘That’s the start of the governor’s palace. He ordered the builders to finish up the ground floor and get out. Still, they managed to get the hypocaust in before they left so they’re all nice and cosy inside. Unlike those of us seconded to escort the governor. Sleeping in tents outside.’
‘That’s what soldiers do, lad.’ Macro clicked his tongue. ‘If it’s too tough for you then perhaps you should have joined a pansy troupe of actors or something.’
‘Come on!’ Cato waved his arm forward and made his way along the path that had been cleared through the building site. On either side, piles of timber, stacks of bricks and roof tiles and cement-mixing troughs stretched out. The foundations for several large structures had been completed and walls, waist-high, demarcated the first great civic building of the new province that would dominate the landscape and inspire awe in the heart of every native who set eyes on it. Hundreds of men were labouring across the site, with a handful of chain gangs being used to carry materials where they were needed. The sounds of their grunts, the sawing of timber and sharp clatter of stones being cut to size mingled with shouted instructions from the overseers.
Macro nodded approvingly as they passed through. ‘Should be quite a place, once it’s finished.’
On the far side of the site a gap had been left in the scaffolding to give access to the half-completed building beyond, which served as the headquarters of Governor Ostorius and his staff. Two of his escort stood guard at the entrance. Once again Cato explained their purpose and then turned to pay off the porters who set their burdens down just inside the makeshift entrance. He reached for his belt purse and loosened the drawstrings.
‘That’ll be a sestertius, sir.’ Decimus tapped a finger to his forehead by way of an informal salute. ‘Each.’
Macro arched an eyebrow. ‘By the gods, that’s a bit steep.’
‘It’s the going rate in Londinium, sir.’
Cato turned to one of the guards. ‘Is it?’
The legionary nodded.
‘Very well.’ He delved into the purse for a few coins, counted them out and handed them over to Decimus and the others. ‘Seems like Londinium’s going to be an expensive town to live in. You may leave us. . Decimus, a word.’
The ex-legionary waved his mates on and turned to Cato. ‘Sir?’
Cato stared at him, trying to see beyond the ragged soiled clothing and unkempt hair to the man who had once been a legionary. If Decimus was speaking the truth then his army career had been cut short by the fortunes of war. The same fortunes that had seen fit to spare Cato and Macro through all the campaigns and desperate battles they had endured over the years. It sometimes felt to Cato that he was sorely testing the luck that had been apportioned to him. Sooner or later a spear, or sword thrust, or arrow would find him, just as it had Decimus and countless others.
‘How many years have you served in Britannia?’
Decimus scratched his chin. ‘I came over five years ago from the training depot in Gesoriacum. Served with the Second against the Decangli before being sent up with a detachment to reinforce the Fourteenth at Glevum. Then two years campaigning against the Silures before this.’ He patted his lame leg.
‘All right, then.’ Cato nodded and thought a moment before he continued. ‘How do you like working as a wharf rat?’
‘Fucking hate it, sir.’ He hurriedly turned to Portia. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’
Portia looked back levelly. ‘I spent the best part of fifteen years living with a marine. So keep your fucking apology to yourself.’
Macro stared at his mother in shock; his mouth sagged open and then shut quickly as he decided it was best to ignore what she had said.
Decimus turned back to Cato. ‘But what’s an invalid soldier to do? I was lucky to get a partial pay-out of the discharge bonus. Enough to set me up in digs here, but not enough to live on.’
‘I see,’ Cato responded. ‘Well, I may have work for you. Nothing too onerous, but there might be some danger. If you’re interested, come back here at first light.’
Decimus looked surprised for a moment before he bowed his head and limped away.
Macro watched him until he was out o
f earshot and then turned to Cato. ‘What was that all about?’
‘Things have changed since we were last here. Sure, we’re going to get a briefing from the governor, but he’ll paint the scene from his perspective. The usual blend of confidence and underplaying the threat posed by the enemy. Ostorius is like any other governor. He’ll want to make out that his period in office was a great success and he’ll want any letters or reports that we write home to reflect that. So, it might be useful to hear the views of one of Marius’s mules. Besides, I’ll need a servant in camp to take care of my kit. Someone I hope I can trust.’
‘Trust?’ Portia sniffed. ‘That vagabond? He looks like a common crook to me.’
Cato wagged a finger. ‘Don’t rush to judgement. Appearance is not everything. If it was, everyone would run a mile from your son.’
‘They already do,’ Macro growled. ‘If they know what’s good for them.’
‘Oh, you!’ His mother lightly slapped his shoulder. ‘You’re a pussycat in tiger’s clothing. Don’t think I can’t see that. Cato too.’
Macro flushed with embarrassment. He hated talking about feelings and the idea that he even had a sensitive side to his nature filled him with disgust. Feelings were for poets, artists, actors and other classes of lesser mortal. A soldier was different. A soldier was required to put his heart and brains in check and get on with doing his duty. When he was off duty, he should play as hard as he could. Of course, he admitted to himself, some soldiers were different. He stole a glance at Cato, thin, sinewy and, until recently, youthful-looking. Now there was a certain hardness to his gaze and the gawky awkwardness of earlier years had largely gone. He moved purposefully and with an economy of effort that was the hallmark of a veteran. Yet Macro knew his friend well enough to know that his mind was ever restless, steeped in the works of the philosophers and historians that he had studied so earnestly as a boy. Cato was a very different kind of soldier, Macro reflected, and he grudgingly accepted that the younger man was all the better for it.
He cleared his throat with a deep rumble of irritation before addressing Cato.
‘Well, it’s your decision. But why not just buy yourself a slave? You can afford to. And there’ll be bargains to be had in Londinium with the prisoners the army has taken.’
‘I don’t want some tribesman. Last thing I need is a resentful native cleaning my sword and having to guard my back day and night, while I’m dealing with the enemy. No, it has to be someone who chooses to be there. If Decimus was a soldier then who better? He’ll be a useful gauge of the men’s spirits.’
Macro thought a moment and nodded. ‘Fair enough. Now let’s find ourselves somewhere to put the kit.’ He turned to his mother. ‘You’ll be all right for a bit?’
‘I have been for over fifty years now. . Run along boys.’
One of the sentries pointed them towards the administration block being used by the governor and they strode across the courtyard towards the entrance. The thick walls of the structure slightly muffled the sounds of construction but there was a thin patina of dust and grime over the flagstones, and building materials were piled around the margins of the courtyard. A handful of clerks were moving from office to office clutching waxed slates or bundles of scrolls. Inside the headquarters, braziers provided warmth and scores of men worked at the long desks filling the main hall. Cato approached a junior tribune bent over his desk reading a document and tapped his knuckles on the desk. The man looked up with a knitted brow.
‘Yes?’
Cato briefly made the introductions. ‘Just landed. I need to report to the governor and we need quarters until we leave for our commands. And a room for a lady as well.’
‘Quarters? There’s not much to be had. We had to convert the stable block at the back for accommodation. There’s a few places free. It’s dry enough and the stalls have proper cots.’
‘What about a place to stay in the town?’
‘You can try that. It’ll cost you and they are pretty grim. Most rooms rent by the hour, if you see what I mean, sir.’
‘We’ll take the stable,’ Cato replied. ‘Our kit is by the entrance. Have some of your men see to it that it’s taken to our, er, stall. Centurion Macro and I need to report to Governor Ostorius at once. If you would be so kind as to take us to him. .’
The tribune sighed and lowered the report he had been reading before scraping his chair back and rising to his feet. ‘This way, sir. I’ll see to your baggage when I return to my desk.’
He led them to the rear of the hall and into a corridor lined with small offices. Some were packed with yet more clerks while others were occupied by officers and civilian officials assigned to the governor’s staff.
The door at the end of the corridor was ajar and the tribune gestured to Cato and Macro to wait while he stepped forward and rapped on the wooden frame. ‘Sir, there’s two officers to see you. Just arrived from Rome.’
There was a pause before a thin, weary voice replied, ‘Oh, very well. Send ’em in.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Governor Ostorius sat behind his desk wrapped in a thick scarlet cloak. A brazier added to the heat of the hypocaust system and made the air inside the room sweltering. He sat on a stool close to the fire, hunched over several piles of papers and slates. He looked up wearily as the two officers strode inside and stopped a short distance away to salute. Cato saw that the governor’s face was heavily lined and his eyes were deep-set and rimmed with wrinkles. He knew that Ostorius had won a good reputation as a soldier and administrator and was a tough and hard-driving commander. It was difficult to square that with the frail-looking individual sitting before them.
‘Introduce yourselves,’ the governor snapped, then coughed, raising a loose fist to his lips until the irritation in his lungs passed. ‘Well?’
As the ranking officer, Cato spoke first. ‘Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato, sir.’
‘Centurion Lucius Cornelius Macro, sir,’ Macro added.
The governor looked his new arrivals over in silence for a moment. ‘You’ll have to pass your service records to my chief of staff. I’ll read them later. I like to know the calibre of my officers. Given the problems I’m facing here I can’t afford to carry any lightweights. I take it you have been assigned specific commands in my army?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Cato replied. ‘I’m to command the Second Cohort of Thracian cavalry.’
‘A good unit, that. One of my best. Has been ever since the temporary commander took charge. Centurion Quertus has been hitting the enemy hard, by all accounts. I’ll expect you to do the same when you take charge.’ Ostorius turned his gaze to Macro. ‘And you?’
‘Appointed to the Fourteenth Legion, sir.’
‘I see.’ The governor nodded slowly and then continued, ‘Then you’ll both be joining the main column commanded by Legate Quintatus. He’s a fine officer, but he doesn’t tolerate those who fail to come up to the standards he sets. Be that as it may, I need every man I can get now. Officers more than ever, given the rate at which we have been losing them. I dare say there’ll be a vacancy amongst the senior centurions of the Fourteenth for you, Macro. In fact, I imagine you’ll be one of the most experienced in the legion, for as long as you survive.’
Macro felt a surge of irritation at the governor’s comment. He did not deserve to be spoken to as if he was some no-hoper, rear-echelon outpost commander.
‘I intend to survive long enough to get my discharge and the gratuity that’s coming to me, sir. No barbarian is going to stop that. Many have tried in the past, and paid the price.’
‘Bold words, Centurion.’ A faint smile flickered across the governor’s lips. ‘And tell me, exactly what makes you such a dangerous proposition to our enemies in this cold, forsaken island that Rome insists on adding to the empire?’
Macro was momentarily stuck for an answer as his mind flashed back over recent years. The street fighting in Rome, then the campaign in the sweltering heat, glare and dust of southern Egypt. Befo
re that, the suppression of the slave revolt in Crete and the defence of Palmyra against a horde of Parthians. And earlier, dealing with fanatical Judaean rebels, a secondment to the imperial navy in a campaign against a nest of pirates plaguing merchant ships in the Adriatic Sea. That was after a long period of service with the Second Legion which had guarded the Rhine frontier, before being assigned to join the army that had invaded Britannia and crushed the native armies led by Caratacus. It was a notable period of service by any standard and Macro had won his promotion to centurion on merit — unlike some, who owed their position to powerful family connections. Yet Macro was not prepared to make a song and dance about it in front of the governor. He cleared his throat.
‘I’ve been on detached service for the last few years, sir. Before that I served with the Second, on the Rhine, and afterwards here in Britannia.’
‘Detached service? That is something of a euphemism for spying these days. What exactly was the nature of your, ah, detached service?’
‘I am not at liberty to tell you the details, sir.’
‘Then at least tell me who you were working for.’
Macro felt uncertain, and glanced quickly at Cato, but his friend’s expression was fixed and unreadable as he faced forward. Macro took a deep breath. ‘The imperial secretary, Narcissus.’
‘You worked for that snake?’ Ostorius’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you here on his orders?’
Macro was angered by the suggestion and sucked in through gritted teeth, but before he could respond Cato spoke up.
‘If that were the case, sir, then we’d hardly divulge that information. In any case, I give you my word of honour that we no longer serve Narcissus. We are here as soldiers. To serve you, the Emperor and Rome. Nothing more.’
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