The Blood Crows (Roman Legion 12) (37 page)

‘Yes, sir.’ Petillius nodded, took one last look over the wall, and then descended the wooden steps to the foot of the ramp and sat down, crossed his arms over his knees and lowered his head.

Macro leaned on the rail and watched the crowd gathering around the fire. It was clear that something was about to happen, something to mark the height of their celebrations. Then he saw a small party emerge from the darkness, and the crowd parted before it. A tall figure in dark robes led the way. Behind him came clusters of three men, each with a prisoner pinned between two of them. The prisoners were thrust on to the ground close to the fire, five in all. More of the tribesmen arrived carrying wooden frames in the shape of an A. They bound the first of the prisoners to the frame with his head at the apex and his limbs tied firmly to the lengths of timber stretching out at an angle. When the preparations were complete, the figure in the dark robe gestured towards the fire and the frame was raised off the ground and set upright. The prisoner started writhing as he saw the fire and knew, as Macro did at the same time, what fate was to befall him. Several men strained on a rope fixed to the top of the frame and began to slowly pay it out so that the frame tipped towards the fire. For a moment the crowd fell silent and then the man’s cries of pain, quickly followed by screams, sounded. The natives let out a cruel roar at his agonies. The soldier twitched uselessly against the ropes that bound him to the frame. His tunic caught alight and he was engulfed in fire as his screams reached a new pitch of torment and terror.

Macro turned away, not wishing to see any more. He slumped down inside the tower, resting his back against the hard timber of the palisade, but he could not escape the chilling sounds from below. He stared up at the cold stars and prayed to the gods for deliverance.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

‘I didn’t expect to find you here, sir.’

Legate Quintatus regarded the exhausted mud-spattered individual who had been brought to his quarters shortly after he had retired to his bed for the night. He had hurriedly put on a tunic and gone to the office of the commander of the fort at Isca to confront the man who had demanded he be awakened at such a late hour.

‘Prefect Cato . . . You look as if you have been through the mill.’

Cato was too tired to appreciate the legate’s laconic comment. He was so exhausted that he could barely stand, yet he must make his report as swiftly as possible if there was still a chance that Macro and the others could be saved. He had been in the saddle since leaving the mountain pass that morning. Together with the surviving Thracians, he had ridden out of the forest a short distance ahead of a party of Silurian horsemen who had pursued them as far as Gobannium. Along the way they had been forced to leave the wounded man behind. He was in too much pain to continue and they could not take him on without slowing down and risk being caught by the enemy. He understood the situation well enough and made his farewells to his comrades before drawing his sword and walking his horse back along the track towards their pursuers.

At Gobannium Cato was informed that Legate Quintatus and his column had advanced to Isca. Cato rested the horses for an hour before continuing on, riding hard through the afternoon and on into the dusk, then darkness, before they had seen the distant campfires of the Fourteenth Legion and the auxiliary cohorts attached to the legate’s command. They had been picked up by a cavalry patrol whose immediate reaction to the appearance of the Thracians was to take them for the enemy. Only the prefect’s presence had persuaded them otherwise. Cato demanded to see the legate at once and they were escorted to the fort at Isca around which the small army was camped. Leaving the standards with a tribune on the legate’s staff, Cato immediately made his way to the private quarters of Quintatus to make his report.

‘It has been a fraught day, sir,’ Cato replied wryly. ‘I had assumed you were at Glevum.’

‘We received orders from Ostorius two days ago to march into Silurian territory. It seems that the governor has lost contact with Caratacus’s army and his patrols can find no trace of him. He’s either made his way north to link up with his Brigantian allies, or he’s marched south. That’s what Ostorius wants me to find out.’

‘He went south, sir. He’s besieging Bruccium. That’s what I have come to report. That and the loss of the column sent to reinforce me.’

Quintatus stared at him. ‘What’s that? And what of the escort? Tribune Mancinus?’

‘All lost, sir.’

‘Impossible!’

‘They were ambushed in the pass near the fort. I took some of my cavalry out to try and cut a way through for Mancinus’s men, but we were caught in the trap along with them. I only just managed to get out with the standards, sir.’

‘They’re safe? Well, that’s something. But, by the gods, I’ve lost nigh on a thousand men.’

‘And you’ll lose the fort as well, sir, unless you bring your column up at once.’

Quintatus thought for a moment. ‘The fort is a side issue. The real opportunity is to catch up with Caratacus and force him to give battle. Failing that, I can hang on to his heels until Ostorius arrives with his army and we can catch and crush him between us.’ His eyes gleamed at the prospect. Then he regarded Cato again. ‘Are you certain that it is Caratacus and that he has his entire army with him?’

‘It’s him all right, sir. I’ve seen him before. I recognise him well enough. And there are at least ten thousand men with him.’

‘Then it must be true. But why would he want to take Bruccium?’

‘Two reasons, sir. Firstly, the Thracians have been carving up Silurian territory for the last few months.’

‘That will be the work of Centurion Quertus.’ The legate nodded. ‘A fine officer, that.’

Cato pursed his lips briefly. ‘His methods were . . . unusual, but it seems they helped to provoke Caratacus into action.’

‘I assume that you are claiming the lion’s share of the credit for that?’

‘I would never claim any credit for the work of Quertus, I assure you, sir. But the reason Caratacus came after the garrison was more likely down to the fact that we captured his brother, Maridius. He is our prisoner at the fort.’

The legate smiled. ‘You have been busy, Prefect. It appears that you and Centurion Quertus have done very well indeed. I am sure that the governor will be the first to reward you both handsomely if this results in the defeat of Caratacus. Of course, Ostorius will be the main beneficiary. The Emperor will give him a public ovation at the very least. A suitable triumph for a long career in the service of Rome.’

‘I seek no reward, sir. And Quertus will not be able to accept one either.’

‘Oh? Why not?’

‘Centurion Quertus is dead, sir.’

‘Dead. How?’

Cato hesitated for an instant. ‘He died fighting, sir.’

The legate nodded. ‘I would expect nothing less of the man. He will be avenged. But first we must lose no time in marching on Bruccium. Wait here, Prefect. I’ll issue orders to my staff to have the men ready to break camp at first light.’ He scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘It’s thirty miles. Nearly two days’ march. Who have you left in command at the the fort?’

‘Centurion Macro, sir.’

‘A good man?’

‘The best, sir.’

‘Then I pray that we arrive in time to save him, and the others. We can’t afford to lose good officers like him, and Quertus.’

‘No, sir.’

The legate gestured towards a jar of wine on his desk. ‘Help yourself while I set things in motion. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I will need more details from you.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Once he was alone, Cato stood still for a moment, his mind dulled by tiredness, but he could not allow himself to rest yet. He took one of the legate’s finely decorated silver cups and poured himself a generous amount of wine. With the cup in hand, he eased himself down on to a couch with a horsehair cushion and took a sip. It was a sweet wine, not quite to Cato’s taste but it warmed his insides as it flowed into his stomach. He resisted the temptation to drain the cup and pour another. He needed to keep his wits about him. There were certain matters that he still had to resolve with the legate before he could let go and rest. He felt his eyelids drooping and instantly stood up, the wine slopping from his cup. Setting the cup down, Cato made himself pace steadily up and down the length of the office, not trusting himself to stop, let alone sit again. His head felt as if it was stuffed with wool and he worried that his mind would not be able to function as sharply as it needed to. The rhythmic pounding of a headache made matters worse.

It was almost an hour before Quintatus returned, fully dressed and freshly shaven, and Cato mentally cursed him for taking the time for the latter when he should have returned here to continue his conversation.

‘Glad to see you are still awake, Prefect. You can get some rest soon. I’ve told my body slave to have a bed prepared for you in the tribune’s mess. There’ll be hot food and drink as well.’

Cato nodded his thanks and the legate returned to his desk and sat. He waved Cato towards the couch. ‘Please.’

‘I’ll stand, sir.’

Quintatus cocked an eyebrow and shrugged. ‘As you wish. Now, there are a few details I need to settle. You say Caratacus had ten thousand men, or thereabouts.’

‘That’s my estimate.’

‘How many of those are cavalry?’

Cato struggled to organise his thoughts. ‘No more than five hundred.’

‘And the infantry? What quality?’

‘A quarter have armour. More now since the loss of the column. The rest are lightly equipped. But they are well motivated, sir. I’ve rarely seen men fight so hard. They’ve suffered losses attacking the fort and Tribune Mancinus’s column but I doubt it will hold them back. Caratacus knows how to get the best from his men.’

‘That may be so, but they’ll be no match for the Fourteenth Legion. I just hope that they remain in front of Bruccium long enough for me to arrive on the scene. Then I’ll put paid to Caratacus. The man has been a thorn in the side of Rome for too long. If I am the one chosen by the gods to complete the task then maybe I can share an ovation with Ostorius, eh?’ Quintatus smiled self-consciously. ‘It is never a bad thing to win favour at the imperial court, Cato.’

‘In my experience, it is wiser still to have nothing to do with the imperial court, sir.’

Quintatus gave him a calculating look. ‘You speak from experience?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I see. Then that’s a story that is worth hearing.’

Cato did not respond at first but stared back with an inscrutable expression. ‘Let me just say that it is easy to make enemies simply through serving the Emperor loyally and protecting his interests. My promotion to prefect was my reward for such service. However, life seems to give with one hand and then take with the other. My promotion was balanced by incurring the enmity of a powerful element at court.’

‘No doubt you crossed the path of one of those infernal freedmen of his. That, or his new wife and that son of hers, Nero.’

Cato ignored the prompt for further information. ‘It was out of regard for that enmity that I took the first opportunity to leave Rome and take up command of a unit on a distant frontier. It was my hope that I might devote myself to a military career and be forgotten. But it seems that I was hoping for too much. Why else would I be given the command of the garrison at Bruccium?’

Quintatus settled back in his chair and folded his hands. ‘I’m not sure I follow your line of thought, Prefect.’

‘It’s straightforward enough, sir. The previous prefect was killed in suspicious circumstances. Murdered most likely.’

‘That is a serious thing to suggest.’

‘Murder is always a serious matter. But you were content not to investigate the matter too closely, while you gave Centurion Quertus a free hand in how he chose to wage war against the Silurians.’

‘I’m not sure that I am pleased with the direction this conversation is taking.’

Cato rubbed his brow, wincing at the headache that was starting to make him feel nauseous. ‘Sir, I am not trying to make trouble. I just wish to make matters clear. If you are unhappy with what I say then I can only assure you that I am unhappier still to be pursued by the ill will of an enemy far away in Rome. Please do me the courtesy of being honest, as I am being.’

The legate considered this for a moment and then nodded. ‘Very well. Continue. But I may not wish to confirm or deny any suggestion you put to me.’

‘I understand.’ Cato struggled a moment to think clearly before he continued. ‘My posting to Bruccium was intended to solve two problems. Firstly, it was hoped that I would be disposed of by being sent there. If the enemy didn’t see to that, then Centurion Quertus had shown himself willing and able to dispose of commanders. Secondly, you calculated that his . . . methods would provoke Caratacus. He could hardly carry on operations against Ostorius while his allies were being forced to endure the wholesale massacres that Quertus took to with such enthusiasm. The Silures would either be forced to sue for peace, or they would threaten to withdraw their warriors to protect their own lands. Neither of which Caratacus could permit. So he was forced to make for Bruccium, where in due course he would present you with an opportunity to confront him.’ Cato nodded. ‘I congratulate you, sir. It is a neat solution. Your talents are wasted here on the frontier. I am sure that they would be better employed in Rome.’

‘I take it that was intended as an insult.’

Cato sighed. ‘Merely a statement of fact.’

The legate’s face twitched, and then he composed his features and regarded Cato closely. ‘And what do you propose to do about it? You must know that I can easily brush aside such accusations. It would be your word against mine.’

‘I know that.’

‘Then what do you want from me?’

‘To be left alone, sir,’ Cato replied flatly. ‘It is through no fault of my own that I have an enemy in the palace. Since I joined the army I have never wanted to do anything more than be a good soldier. I managed it for some years, before I, and my friend, Centurion Macro, were forced to undertake some tasks for one of the imperial secretaries. Now, for the first time in years, we had hoped to be free of his influence, and to return to soldiering. And we’re good soldiers. Experienced soldiers. We don’t deserve to be played like pieces in some game. It’s a waste of our talent, and our loyalty to Rome. I don’t want to live my life worrying if someone is going to stick a knife in my back.’ Cato paused a moment. ‘So this is my plea. You have played your part. You have done the favour asked of you by someone in Rome. You don’t owe them anything else. That being the case, give me your word that you will not try to harm me, or Macro. I have no objection to being placed in danger’s way. That is the duty of a soldier. Leave us be, and we will serve Rome, and you, loyally. And you will have cause to thank us. If you plot against us, then it is not only dishonourable, it is something worse. It is a waste of good men.’

When Cato concluded, there was a silence in the room before Quintatus cleared his throat. ‘Is that the deal you offer me?’

‘It’s not a deal, sir. What would be the point of that? I have nothing to bargain with. As I said, it’s simply a plea. If you give me your word that you will treat us as soldiers then that is good enough for me.’

‘And you would trust my word?’

‘Yes. What choice do I have? You, however, do have a choice, sir. You can choose to be a man of honour, a professional soldier, or you can choose to be no better than the rest of that nest of vipers back in Rome.’ Cato forced himself to stand up straight and meet the legate’s gaze head on. ‘Do I have your word?’

Quintatus scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘Very well. I give you my word that I will treat you no differently to any other man under my command. Is that good enough for you?’

Cato reflected a moment and nodded. ‘I don’t think there’s anything else to be said, sir. May I go and find that bed you mentioned?’