Invictus

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘You sounded like you believed it.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what I believe. It’s what they believe that matters. And if they think that they are the sons of Mars himself, that suits me. Then it’ll be a case of what they can make the enemy believe about Roman soldiers. If we win, then the rebels will think we’re invincible. If we lose, then they’ll see that we fight to the very last breath and are indomitable. Either way, they’ll think twice about tangling with Rome again.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, lad.’

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough, or then again, we won’t.’ Cato gave a genuine smile. ‘Come, it’s time to pay the procurator a visit. Nepo’s got some answering to do.’

  The cohort’s surgeon had moved the procurator back into his private suite and Nepo was sitting propped up on a bolster when Cato and Macro entered the room. His face was heavily bruised and the surgeon had placed his legs in splints. One of the medical orderlies was sitting on a stool beside him, feeding him gruel. As he turned and saw the prefect, the orderly instantly put the mess tin down and stood to attention.

  ‘Wait outside,’ Cato ordered.

  Once the door had closed Cato made his introductions. ‘Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato, commander of the Second Praetorian Cohort. This is Centurion Macro, my second in command.’

  Nepo tried to shift himself more upright, but his face twisted in agony and he gave up. He swallowed and nodded. ‘Then I owe you my thanks, Prefect. I hear that you and your men saved my life. And my bodyguards as well.’

  ‘I’d save your thanks. From what I’ve learnt, the rebels were permitted to take over the camp without a blow being struck. On your say-so. If we get out of this mess, then I may well have to give evidence against you when the Emperor enquires into why a vital silver mine was allowed to fall into rebel hands.’

  Nepo winced. ‘What else could I do?’

  ‘You could have done your duty, sir,’ Macro said harshly.

  ‘I did what I thought was best. There was no way we could have withstood an attack. I decided that any attempt to fight would lead to a pointless loss of life. Better to take the offer of safe conduct and have my men live to fight another day.’

  Macro snorted. ‘Except the offer was a lie. You placed your trust in a common criminal and as a result nearly every man under your command was butchered. And their families with them.’

  Nepo glared back at him. ‘I don’t have to damn well justify myself to a mere centurion.’

  ‘Might as well get used to it,’ said Cato. ‘No one is going to accept your feeble excuses when you are called to account for this disaster. You’ll be lucky if you get away with being banished from Rome for the rest of your days. The Emperor will have your property confiscated and your family name will be ruined. Unless, of course, you have powerful friends. After news of this gets out in the capital, I doubt there will be many who will claim to know you.’

  Nepo smiled slowly. ‘As it happens, I do have some powerful political friends. You might want to bear that in mind before you consider speaking out against me, Prefect Cato.’

  There was a time when Cato might have felt more anxiety over such a threat. But he no longer had a family to protect. His wife was dead and his son was being raised by his father-in-law. Cato leaned forward and prodded Nepo in the chest as he responded in a cold, quiet tone. ‘Fuck you. Fuck your friends. No one betrays the trust of the men placed under his command in the way that you did and gets away with it. If the Emperor doesn’t hang you up by your balls, then I’ll see to it myself. And I dare say there’ll be friends and family of those lying in the death pit just down the track from here who will be lining up to help me. I swear this, by Jupiter, Best and Greatest, and Centurion Macro is my witness.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Macro smiled. ‘Just give the order.’

  Nepo pressed himself back into the bolster, trying to gain even the smallest measure of distance between himself and the scarred face of the prefect whose lips had curled into a contemptuous sneer.

  Cato allowed the man to squirm a little and then straightened up and looked down the angle of his nose at the procurator. ‘Do you know why my men and I were sent here?’

  ‘I can guess. You were sent to get hold of the silver bullion. Though I’m surprised that you have only been given one cohort for the job.’

  ‘It was all that was available. Legate Vitellius had to wait for the rest of his force to arrive before marching on Asturica.’

  ‘Vitellius? Here in the province?’ Nepo’s surprise betrayed him.

  ‘Is there any reason why he shouldn’t be here?’ asked Cato, the first quiver of suspicion tingling at the back of his neck.

  Nepo glanced towards the window and blustered, ‘No reason. It’s just that he’s a playboy. I’m surprised to hear that he’s been chosen to command the forces sent to deal with the uprising. That’s all.’

  Cato glanced at Macro and the latter spat on the floor. ‘Bollocks.’

  Nepo’s eyes darted towards the centurion. ‘I’d advise your man to watch his tongue, Prefect Cato. I’m not a forgiving man, nor a forgetful one.’

  ‘Small world,’ Macro responded. ‘Neither am I. You might bear that in mind when you answer the prefect’s questions. It’d be an easy thing for us to go back to Rome and claim you’d succumbed to your wounds and we had you buried in among the poor sods in the grave pit. Who would know any different?’

  Cato pursed his lips, keeping his gaze fixed on the procurator. ‘He’s got a point.’

  Nepo’s eyes widened anxiously for an instant before he sneered, ‘You’re bluffing.’

  Cato reached down and gently pressed the procurator’s leg. At once Nepo’s mouth opened wide and he let out a cry of pain. Then he snapped his jaw tightly and gritted his teeth as he fought off a wave of agony. Cato removed his hand and for a moment Nepo sat, eyes shut, sweat glistening on his brow. There was a knock on the door, and without waiting for an answer the surgeon entered and stood on the threshold, uncertain of what he was observing.

  ‘What’s, er, troubling the patient? Procurator, is there anything I can do for you?’

  Nepo glanced at each of the officers, one either side of his bed, and shook his head. ‘No. Nothing. I’m fine.’

  ‘There you go,’ said Macro. ‘He’s fine. Off you trot.’

  The surgeon looked to Cato for confirmation.

  ‘I’m sure you have other patients you could be attending to.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The surgeon backed out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  Cato folded his hands together and cracked his knuckles. ‘Can I take it you are now in a more co-operative frame of mind?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I can, yes, you bastard.’

  Macro gave him a warning look, and gestured towards his legs. ‘Careful . . .’

  Glancing round Cato saw a stool and fetched it and sat beside the procurator. He collected his thoughts briefly then began. ‘Let’s start with the silver. It was being stockpiled here ready to be taken by convoy to Tarraco just as the uprising started. Correct?’

  ‘Yes. There’s no mystery to that. It happens regularly throughout the year. Just bad timing on this occasion. I decided that it was not safe for the convoy to set out while the rebels were abroad. I thought that Iskerbeles and his followers would be dealt with soon enough and the silver could go on its way. But you know the rest. The rebellion grew quicker than anyone could have anticipated and by then it was too late to try and get the bullion safely out of the region. When that cur Iskerbeles and his rabble turned up, I knew I had to keep the silver from him. We were lucky he gave me time to consider his surrender terms. So I waited until the middle of the night, then called on a handful of men I could trust, took the chests down into one of the tunnels and then set fire to the pit props. When they burned through the tunnel co
llapsed and the silver was safe from Iskerbeles. Those who helped me were put to death by the rebels before they even had a chance to try and trade their knowledge for their lives. Even if they had attempted it, I dare say Iskerbeles would have had them killed in any case. Only I know where the silver is, and now you two do as well. So what do you intend to do about it?’

  He watched the two officers for a response.

  ‘How much is there?’ asked Macro.

  ‘Equivalent to about ten million sestertii, give or take a few thousand. Securely locked in paychests, twenty of them in all.’

  Macro’s jaw sagged. ‘Ten million . . . Fuck.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter how much it is,’ said Cato. ‘It has to stay out of the rebels’ hands. So we leave it where it is. The fewer that know about it, the better. If we keep Iskerbeles out of the camp until Vitellius arrives, then it can be dug up then. If the rebels take the camp, they won’t be able to find the silver. Not on purpose that is. When the uprising is put down, then the mine will be reoccupied and the silver will come to light at some point, I trust. So it stays where it is and none of us mentions it again. Is that understood?’

  Nepo nodded and Macro followed suit with a sad sigh. ‘Would have been nice to see such a sum all in one place.’

  ‘You will, if we get through this.’

  ‘I hope so.’ Macro thought briefly. ‘Something occurs to me, sir. You and I will take this to our grave, but what’s to stop matey boy here spilling his guts if Iskerbeles takes the camp? He’s got form.’

  ‘That’s true. But if his past treatment is anything to go by then I dare say that the procurator would rather not take the risk of falling into the enemy’s hands alive. Next time around Iskerbeles will have a pretty shrewd idea about what’s being hidden from him. There’ll be no limits to the torture he’ll inflict on Nepo. In his place I would rather take my own life.’

  ‘But you’re not in his place,’ Macro replied. ‘You’ve got the guts to do what’s necessary. He’s already proved that he hasn’t.’

  Nepo coughed. ‘I am in the bloody room, you know. I can speak for myself, gentlemen. I give you my word that I will make sure that the rebels get nothing from me if the camp is taken.’

  Macro gave him a doubtful look. ‘Right . . .’

  Cato stood up. ‘We’ll make it easy on you, Nepo. If the camp is taken then the centurion or I will save you the job. Don’t worry, we’ll make it quick and painless.’

  Macro shrugged. ‘Quick at any rate. I’m not so good on the painless front.’

  The procurator blanched and Cato had to turn before the man saw his smile. He gestured to Macro to follow him and made for the door. Before they reached it, the door opened quickly and a breathless Praetorian offered a salute.

  ‘Centurion Petillius sends his respects, sir. He says you should come to the watch post at once. It’s the enemy, sir.’

  A section of men was starting to erect a small watchtower beyond the water tanks as Cato and Macro came trotting up. Petillius greeted them with a nod of the head and then pointed out a party of horsemen approaching the burned settlement from the south-west. Cato estimated there were at least fifty riders. Sunlight occasionally glinted off polished helmets and spear tips as they surveyed the smouldering ruins and the Praetorians labouring at deepening the ditch in front of the mine workings.

  ‘Theirs or ours, I wonder?’ Petillius said quietly.

  There was a moment’s pause as Cato strained his eyes to better see the distant figures. ‘If they were ours, I’d expect a more ordered column. It’s safe to assume that’s the enemy.’

  ‘What are your orders, sir? Think we should send a contingent out to drive them off?’

  The riders halted on a low ridge overlooking the approaches to the settlement and the mine beyond. Cato shook his head. ‘No. Besides, they won’t get close enough to learn anything useful. Let ’em watch for a bit and go and report back to Iskerbeles. Unless he’s down there with them.’

  ‘You think? He’s taking a bit of a risk.’

  ‘He’s travelled far down that road, Petillius. He was taking the biggest risk of his life when he started the uprising. And he’s been pushing his luck ever since, to very good effect. He’s not afraid of us.’

  ‘Still,’ said Macro. ‘If he is there and we send the lads out, we might get lucky and knock him on the head and put an end to this.’

  ‘We might. It’s not worth risking our men on the off chance. We’ll bide our time for now.’ Cato looked down at the blackened ruins of the settlement. ‘I guess they saw the glow of the fire last night. We’ve announced our presence to the enemy. Now we had better make sure we are ready when they come calling in force.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The news that the enemy had been sighted spread through the ranks swiftly and lent urgency to the men’s efforts to prepare the mine’s defences for the anticipated attack. Porcino and Secundus took their men out to pull down as much of the charred remains of the settlement as possible, raising a swirl of choking dust and ash that forced the men to pull their neckscarves over their mouths and noses as they laboured in the stifling heat. Petillius’ century planted stakes and other obstacles in the ditch beyond the wall before packing rock and earth against the back of the rampart. Then they piled more rocks close to the gatehouse, ready to reinforce the gate when the last of the men were withdrawn from the settlement. The men who had done their best to demolish the settlement were then set straight to work aiding Pulcher, charged with the construction of the second wall across the narrowest part of the mine workings.

  It was most fortunate that they had been given the task of defending a mine, Cato reflected. Every tool that was needed was on hand and the men were able to excavate a ditch in front of the second wall in good time. There was a small stock of dressed stone in the camp, left over from the construction of the barrack blocks, and this provided enough material to build solid foundations for the gatehouse and much of the rampart stretching out on either side. The gatehouse was completed with a timber frame and rocks covered with earth were used for the rampart upon which a palisade was constructed from the mine’s pit props.

  ‘Nice job.’ Macro patted the palisade approvingly as he and Cato inspected the nearly completed wall late in the afternoon. ‘I wouldn’t fancy making a frontal assault on this.’

  ‘Nor me,’ said Cato. ‘But it will only serve our purpose as long as we have enough men to line the wall. If our losses are high enough, then we’ll have no choice but to call back to the last line of defence up at the camp.’

  Macro had been used to his friend’s pessimistic frame of mind for years now and made no comment as he looked over the defences Pulcher’s men had constructed. The ditch was ten feet deep and the steep slope closest to the wall was lined with sharpened stakes. The rampart was as tall as the ditch was deep even without the walkway and palisade on top and short stakes projected from the wall to restrict access to the palisade. Without proper siege weapons the rebels were no more likely to break through this second line than the Gauls had been at Alesia over a hundred years earlier. Truly, Macro thought, the most effective weapons in Rome’s arsenal were the picks and shovels wielded by her soldiers.

  Centurion Pulcher approached from the gatehouse, his tunic stained with red dust and soil and his face dripping with perspiration. He exchanged a salute with his prefect.

  ‘Just about done, sir. Only the gates to fit in place now.’

  Despite his earlier mistrust of the centurion, and the previous history of enmity, Cato had to concede that Pulcher was a first-rate soldier who deserved recognition. ‘You and your men have done a fine job.’

  There was a brief glimpse of surprise in the hardened veteran’s expression before he replied, ‘Thank you, sir. I imagine the lads will fight like hell to make sure that they hang onto the wall after all the sweat that�
��s gone into making the bastard.’

  Cato could not help smiling. ‘Glad to hear it. Once we’re done here, I want your men to start work on the wall across the top of the track.’

  Pulcher ground his teeth. ‘I think the lads deserve a short breather first, sir. Or they’ll start dropping like flies.’

  Cato considered briefly and nodded. ‘All right. Get them some food from the camp, and wine. There’s still a few jars of wine from the stock we brought with us on the march. Watered down, though. I want them content, not drunk.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll let ’em know you’ll flog any man who can’t hold his drink.’

  ‘And I will. That’ll be all, Pulcher.’

  They exchanged a salute and the centurion turned and strode off smartly. Macro watched him and shook his head. ‘I don’t trust him.’

  ‘He’s done his duty well enough so far.’

  ‘So far . . .’

  Cato leaned against the parapet. ‘Look, what happened between us took place ten years ago. Pulcher was obeying orders. We’ve not seen him since, and now we meet up again. He’s proved his worth. I think he deserves to be given a chance to put past differences behind us.’

  ‘Past differences? That bastard would have killed us given half a chance. And as for orders, well let’s put it this way, there’s soldiers who carry out ruthless orders and soldiers who enjoy carrying out ruthless orders. Our man, Pulcher, likes to harm people. He likes to torture. You forget what happened in the past if you like, but I ain’t going to. I’ll not give Pulcher the chance to stick a knife in my back when I’m not looking. And I advise you to take the same approach, lad. Trust me on this one.’

  ‘I always trust you, Macro. I’ve never had reason not to. But—’

  ‘Don’t “but” me, Cato. Just don’t be a fool.’

  Cato stood up and stared hard at Macro. Despite the closeness of their longstanding friendship they were soldiers and the difference in rank that divided them was ever present. ‘You forget yourself, Centurion.’