Brothers in Blood

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

During the afternoon more groups of nobles and their entourages arrived at the hill fort and soon there was no further stabling available for their mounts and they were obliged to leave them down in the settlement below the fort. Trestle tables and benches were carried into the hall and arranged in three rows stretching down the length of the building. Outside, the queen’s servants built up the cooking fires and then lit them in the afternoon to allow them time to burn down to embers to roast the meat over.

Following her announcement about the feast, Queen Cartimandua retired into a private hut to the rear of the hall, together with her Roman guests. The tribune ordered his bodyguards to wait with their horses. As the mounts were led away, Cato saw Caratacus escorted to a smaller dwelling that had been assigned to him, where he was kept under guard. Cartimandua’s private quarters had been prepared for the meeting. A small circle of stools had been placed on the flagstoned floor and a larger, padded seat dominated the far side of the circle. Once Cartimandua was seated, the rest followed suit and there was a short period of shuffling before Cartimandua smiled at them.

‘I apologise for speaking in my tongue in the hall, but there are those amongst my people who tend to regard my understanding of Latin as a sign of treachery rather than a useful skill. That is why I had Vellocatus translate most of my words.’

‘And how do your people regard Vellocatus, your majesty?’ asked Otho.

She smiled at her husband’s shield-bearer. ‘He is young and of little importance and so is easily forgotten. In time, he will take a prominent role in our nation, but for now his command of your tongue is a vice that most are prepared to overlook.’ Cartimandua turned back to the tribune and the brief look of pleasure in her expression faded and was replaced by the implacable face of a queen.

‘I have honoured my agreement with Rome. Caratacus will become your prisoner. I would be obliged if you removed him from my lands as swiftly as possible once the feast is over.’

‘Then why give him the feast?’ Macro asked bluntly and then registered the sharp intake of breaths before he swallowed and continued in a more respectful tone, ‘I apologise, your majesty. I meant to say, why not just hand him over to us right now and send us on our way?’

‘I wish it were so easy, Roman. To tell the truth, his unwelcome arrival at Isurium has been a source of considerable difficulty for me. I understand he managed to escape from inside your general’s camp the night after the battle in which you defeated and captured him.’

‘That is true,’ Otho conceded. He indicated Cato. ‘This officer was in charge of guarding the prisoners.’

‘You’re the fool responsible?’

Cato stiffened at the accusation and insult, and he sensed Macro bristling at his side. He took a calming breath before he responded. ‘I captured him on the battlefield and the general charged me with looking after the prisoner as a reward for the deed.’

‘And yet he escaped. How very careless of you. One would think that so dangerous an opponent might be looked after more diligently,’ Cartimandua said with heavy irony. ‘So you will understand my disappointment with your general when Caratacus arrived in my court demanding protection, as well as taking the opportunity to call on my people to join him in a new war against Rome.’

Otho shifted on his stool. ‘He was helped to escape. Someone betrayed us.’

‘That’s your concern not mine. Except that it has become my concern. Especially when Caratacus has talked my consort into supporting his appeal for the Brigantes to go to war. Fortunately my people have a more mercenary nature than most. They won’t fight unless they are promised gold and silver. Their loyalty to me can be bought for the same reason. As a result, I have all but exhausted the treasure advanced to me by your Emperor to keep the peace with Rome. That is the only reason why I have not been deposed by Venutius and his faction. If Rome wants to keep things that way then I shall need more coin.’

Cato grasped the point at once. ‘You want a reward for Caratacus, your majesty?’

Her gaze turned to Cato and her eyes narrowed fractionally as she reappraised him. ‘Of course. An alliance places obligations on both parties, Prefect.’

‘As far as I understand it, Rome pays you to stay neutral. Handing Caratacus over would seem to satisfy that condition.’

‘You bought our neutrality. There was no mention of acting as jailers on your behalf. That will cost you a little extra. I shall want payment for Caratacus.’

‘Now just hang on,’ Poppaea butted in. ‘A treaty is a treaty. Who do you think you are to change that? Some jumped-up barbarian woman, is what. How dare you?’

Cartimandua glanced at her before addressing her husband. ‘Women are respected amongst our people. That is why I am queen. I realise that the very idea of a female ruler causes you Romans acute discomfort. Even your women share that view. But we are not in Rome. We are in Isurium. I would be grateful if you respected our customs.’

Poppaea opened her mouth to renew her protest, but Otho shushed her and instead she clenched her jaw and glared down at her feet. Her husband addressed the queen in an emollient tone.

‘Your majesty, I shall take your request for payment back to General Ostorius. That is the best I can do.’

‘It’s not enough,’ Cartimandua countered. ‘I want a hundred thousand denarians for Caratacus and I want you to set your seal to a document stating those terms before you leave Isurium with your prisoner.’

‘A hundred thousand denarians?’ Tribune Otho shook his head in astonishment. ‘By the gods, I can tell you now that the general will never agree to that.’

‘Why not? It is the price of peace in your province, and cheaply bought when you consider the possibility of a renewed onslaught by Caratacus, with thousands of my warriors at his back.’

Cato saw that his superior was momentarily speechless and he cleared his throat and intervened. ‘Your majesty, the presence of Caratacus at your court is as much a problem for you as it is for us. You said so yourself. In which case, it could be argued that our taking him into custody is doing you a favour. If we were to leave him here, how long do you think your reign might endure?’

Cartimandua fixed him with a steely glare and then gave a light laugh and turned to Otho. ‘Oh, he’s a shrewd one, your prefect. And he is right, to a point. I want Caratacus removed as soon as possible. He’s undermined my position enough since he arrived here. And it has cost me dearly to buy the loyalty of my people thus far. At the very least, I should be reimbursed for what I have paid out for the sake of preserving peace with Rome.’

Macro chuckled. ‘Not to mention for the sake of preserving your place on the throne, your majesty.’

She shot him a withering look. ‘This one, I do not like, Tribune. He lacks the sense to phrase things palatably. Kindly order him not to address me again.’

Macro’s cheeks flushed angrily and he leaned forward to protest, but Cato raised a hand and gave him an imploring look. With a hiss Macro subsided and clamped his lips together.

‘That’s better,’ Cartimandua continued. ‘Now then, we were discussing the price for Caratacus. I am not unreasonable. Shall we say ninety thousand?’

Otho thought for a moment and shook his head. ‘Sixty.’

Cato winced and could not help wishing Macro’s mother, Portia, was haggling on their behalf. The sharp-minded old woman had a knack for it, unlike the young aristocrat.

‘Eighty?’

Otho chewed his lip. ‘Seventy-five.’

‘Seventy-five it is, then.’ Cartimandua nodded. ‘I shall want that within two months and you will put it in writing, along with your seal, before you leave Isurium. Agreed?’

Otho nodded helplessly.

‘Then our business is complete, and we are free to enjoy the feast tonight.’

‘Must it be in Caratacus’s honour?’ asked Cato.

‘Indeed it must. For the sake of appearances. He is a king, at least until tomorrow. Many of my nobles and their warriors hold him in high regard. It would anger them if I simply handed him over to you in chains. Instead he has been treated as an honoured guest. The feast permits us to maintain that illusion. The truth is he was a prisoner the moment he showed his face at my court.’

‘And you are certain there is no real danger from the those who support his cause, your majesty?’

‘None. Whatever they think of Caratacus you can be sure they think rather more highly of the coin they have been paid from my treasury. The feast is a matter of form. I will play the part of a generous host and win the respect of my people. They will be able to toast him and glory in his deeds without the frightening prospect of having to shed their blood for him. Honour is satisfied all round.’ She paused and folded her hands together in her lap. ‘Of course, the question of the price to be paid for the prisoner will remain a secret between myself and Rome. That would be best for both of us.’

‘I understand, your majesty.’

‘Then we have an agreement?’

‘We do,’ Otho reaffirmed.

‘I suggest that you enjoy the hospitality of Isurium before the feast begins.’

‘Thank you. First I must send word to my second-in-command that we will be returning to the camp later than anticipated.’

‘Very well.’ Cartimandua inclined her head towards the entrance of the hut. ‘You may leave.’

The others rose from their stools and made for the opening. The queen spoke softly in her tongue and Vellocatus stopped and turned towards her. There was a brief exchange before he turned back to the Romans.

‘I must stay. My queen needs me.’

Macro forced his expression to remain neutral as Cato replied, ‘Of course. We’ll see you at the feast, I expect.’

‘Yes. At the feast then.’

Cato was the last out of the hut and Vellocatus drew the leather curtain across the entrance behind them. As they followed the tribune and his wife back towards the hall, Macro chuckled and was about to speak when Cato got in first. ‘Be careful what you say, Macro.’

‘I was merely going to make a point about the burdens of duty. The lucky lad!’

‘That’s what you say now,’ Cato replied then gestured discreetly towards the open ground in front of the hall. Venutius stood with a group of nobles, but he was not listening to their conversation. Instead he stood, arms folded, glaring bitterly in the direction of his wife’s hut.

Cato continued in an undertone. ‘I don’t think the queen’s amorous tryst is much of a secret and her consort doesn’t look the type to turn a blind eye.’

‘Enjoy the hospitality of this squalid dump indeed,’ Poppaea muttered as she plucked at the folds of her stola to raise it above the ground. It was a hot day and the ground was dry and Cato saw it for the spiteful gesture of disdain that it was.

‘Oh, I’m sure there must be something to see here,’ her husband replied with forced cheerfulness. ‘A native market perhaps. Somewhere you can pick up a few charming little native trinkets for your friends back in Rome, my love.’

She flashed him a dark look. ‘The only thing I’m likely to pick up here is some vile native sickness. I’m sure my friends would love to receive that as a memento of my visit to this charming, rustic haven.’

They were interrupted by the flash of a red tunic as a Roman came running towards them from where the bodyguards and the tethered horses were waiting.

‘What now?’ Macro demanded under his breath.

Tribune Otho halted and the others stopped at his side as the soldier approached, a closed waxed tablet in his hand. He saluted the tribune and offered the tablet to him. ‘With the compliments of Prefect Horatius, sir. I was ordered to find you and give you this at once, but those bastards wouldn’t let me past.’ He nodded to the men in ochre tunics.

‘Mind your fucking tongue, soldier!’ Macro snapped. ‘Some of the bastards speak Latin. Keep it civil.’

Otho raised an eyebrow. ‘Thank you, Centurion.’

The tribune took the tablet and moved off a short distance as he broke the seal and flipped the waxed tablet open. The others watched in silence as he read the message, trying to gauge its contents from his reaction. Otho sucked in a deep breath as he closed the tablet. Turning to the soldier he spoke curtly. ‘Wait by the horses. I’ll have a message to send back.’

‘Yes, sir!’ The man saluted and turned and strode off.

When he was out of earshot, Otho returned to the others and glanced round briefly before he muttered, ‘Ostorius is dead.’

All three stared at him in silence. Cato’s mind raced. Foul play? Fallen in battle? An accident? ‘Dead? How?’

Poppaea sighed. ‘The poor man.’

‘Horatius doesn’t give any detail other than to say the general died in his tent.’

‘Who’s taken command?’ asked Cato.

Otho shook his head. ‘Horatius doesn’t say.’

‘Legate Quintatus,’ Macro suggested. ‘Has to be.’

Cato nodded. It made sense. Quintatus was the next in seniority in the army at Viroconium, and had already taken temporary command of the army. But there were also the legates of the three other legions in the province and one of them might take the chance to assert their right to the temporary command. There would be a brief opportunity to grab some glory from running the new province before Rome appointed a new governor. Especially if Ostorius’s replacement was able to take credit for sending Caratacus to Rome in chains. If there was any dissent among the legates then Cato feared that their enemies would take full advantage of the situation while the power struggle was resolved. Another anxious thought struck him.

‘If his death is common knowledge back at Viroconium, it’s only a matter of time before the news reaches Isurium.’

Otho stared at him. ‘So?’

‘It might strengthen Venutius’s position. If he can persuade others that the death leaves our forces leaderless for the moment he might talk enough Brigantian nobles around to his side to cause us a few problems. You heard the queen, sir. Her grip on power is slipping.’

Otho nodded thoughtfully. ‘Then we’d better see to it that she gets that money as soon as possible.’

‘Yes, sir. As long as there’s an acting commander in place to authorise the payment.’

‘Damn, you’re right.’ He frowned and then his eyes lit up. ‘We have our own pay chest. We could use that.’

Macro spluttered. ‘No! That’s the men’s money. That’s their pay and savings. You touch that, sir, and you’ll piss our lads right off.’

Cato knew his friend was right. The pay chest of each unit was almost as sacred as the standards the men marched under and would give their lives to protect. The sturdy iron-bound boxes contained all the men’s wealth in the world, all their dreams and ambitions for what they would do after they had served out their enlistment. If the tribune emptied the pay chests and handed the contents over to the Brigantian queen then his men would be as outraged as Macro. Cato stood to lose out as well, but he at least could see that the money would help to buy peace in the province.

‘What does that matter?’ Poppaea said to her husband. ‘They’re your men. Your soldiers. They’ll do as they’re told, and like it.’

Macro drew a deep breath and tried to control his anger as he addressed his commander’s wife. ‘Begging your pardon, my lady, but you don’t know what you’re talking about. This is soldier’s business. Believe me, if you take the men’s money then I can’t answer for the consequences.’

‘You can, Centurion. You must. You’re an officer. You swore an oath to obey the Emperor and those officers above you in rank. If my husband gives an order then you must obey it and see that it is obeyed by others.’

Macro glared at her, burning with the desire to tell her to shut her mouth and mind her own business. But before he could speak, Otho cleared his throat and spoke calmly. ‘You are quite right, my dearest, but I will deal with the situation. Not you.’

‘Pfft!’ Poppaea sniffed and flicked her hand. ‘Deal with it then.’

Otho flashed a condescending smile at her before turning back to the others. ‘You think it’s inadvisable to use the contents of the pay chests then?’

Macro ground his teeth. ‘Inadvisable is putting it mildly, sir.’

Otho shifted his gaze to Cato. ‘And you, Prefect? What do you think?’

‘We’re a long way from the rest of the army, sir. It’s a delicate situation. The last thing we need is to have to worry about the mood of our men. Besides, even if we did as you suggest, there might not be enough to serve Cartimandua’s needs. In that case we’d be facing big trouble on both fronts. I advise you, most strongly, not to do it, sir.’

‘Then what? If I give my word that we’ll send her coin the moment we return to Viroconium only for there to be no one in a position to authorise the payment, Queen Cartimandua is going to feel a little angry.’

‘Completely pissed off, more like,’ Macro said darkly. ‘And she’ll lose face in front of the rest of her tribe.’

‘We’ll have to deal with that when the time comes,’ said Cato. ‘The vital thing is that we take custody of Caratacus and get him far away from here as quickly as possible. Sir, we have to keep news of Ostorius’s death to ourselves. There’s no way of knowing how it might affect the situation. Meanwhile we attend the feast, go along with the queen’s honouring of Caratacus. We take charge of him at first light and break camp and march back to Viroconium as fast as we can. By the time the Brigantians find out about Ostorius it will be too late to change the situation. Of course, you’ll have to make a good case to whoever assumes command of the province about paying the queen off.’

‘Quite.’ Otho nodded sourly. ‘And if the payment isn’t made after I have given my word then I am dishonoured.’

‘If that’s the price to pay for taking our most dangerous enemy out of the game then it’s worth paying, sir.’

‘Easy for you to say. I’m the one in command.’

‘Goes with the rank, sir.’ Macro pursed his lips. ‘Sometimes you eat the wolf. Sometimes the wolf eats you.’

Otho frowned. ‘What the bloody hell does that mean?’

‘Just a saying, sir. It’s your decision.’

‘Thank you for pointing that out, Centurion Macro. You’re very helpful.’ Otho clenched his eyes shut for a moment, sucked in a deep breath and sighed bitterly before his eyes snapped open. ‘Right. We take Caratacus at the first opportunity and get out of here. Meanwhile, no one is to breathe a word about Ostorius.’

‘You’ll have to notify Horatius to do the same in the camp, sir,’ Cato pointed out.

‘Yes. . Of course. At once.’ Otho flipped open the waxed tablet and hesitated. He glanced up. ‘Stylus, anyone?’

Macro looked at him blankly and Cato instinctively began to reach for his sidebag before realising he had left it back in camp.

‘Terrific,’ Otho muttered, then drew his dagger and as carefully as he could with the clumsy instrument, he inscribed a brief response to Horatius. Snapping the wooden tablet shut he sheathed his dagger and beckoned to the messenger. The soldier had been watching and ran across to the tribune.

‘Take this back to camp. It is to be handed directly to Prefect Horatius. Tell him to act upon my orders precisely. Understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then go.’

The messenger turned hurriedly.

‘Wait,’ Otho growled. ‘Don’t rush. That will only draw the natives’ attention to you. Show ’em that Romans keep cool heads, eh?’

‘Yes, sir.’ The soldier walked steadily towards the horses, swung himself up into the saddle and urged it into a gentle trot as he made for the gatehouse and disappeared out of sight down the track towards the settlement.

‘That’s that, then,’ Otho concluded. ‘The die is cast. Nothing to do now but wait for the feast to begin.’

Cato smiled encouragingly, relieved that the tribune had made the best possible decision under the circumstances. It hardly equated to crossing the Rubicon but if that thought allowed the young aristocrat to flatter himself that he was making a difficult but right decision then Cato was content to let it pass.

‘Speaking of dice. .’ Macro nodded towards the two bodyguards. ‘Might as well pass the time usefully. Sir?’

Otho raised an eyebrow. ‘What? Oh, yes. As you wish, Centurion.’

Macro saluted and glanced at Cato. ‘How about you?’

Cato was tempted to turn the offer down. There was too much to think about. Then he realised that there was nothing he could do about the situation. He had done all that he could to influence the matter. Now it was up to the gods to look kindly on their plans, or throw a completely new twist of fate in their path. He nodded at Macro.

‘Why not? Our luck has to change for the better some day.’