The Blood Crows

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘The top of the pass should be just ahead.’ Trebellius spoke quietly, as if fearful that they might be overheard. Around them the mist was thick enough to conceal the rocky slopes rising up on each side. The clatter of their hoofs on the loose shale seemed unnervingly loud as the riders slowly made their way up the rise. Cato’s replacement mount was a steady, mild-mannered beast by the name of Hannibal. Fortunately he did not take after his namesake and presented no trouble to his Roman rider. As near as Cato could estimate, it was mid-afternoon. A light drizzle filled the air and coated the cloaks of the riders in tiny beads of moisture. The prisoner had been tied over the back of a mule and his tattooed back glistened in the damp. The stillness and quiet of their surroundings made the men of the squadron nervous and they glanced warily from side to side as they walked their mounts up the track. Cato pulled his cloak more tightly about him and tried not to shiver.

‘And what is beyond the pass?’ he asked the decurion.

‘The track leads down into the valley, straight to the fort, about five miles from here. You can’t miss it.’

‘You’ve been there before then?’

‘Once, shortly after it was completed.’

‘What’s the layout?’

Trebellius paused a moment as he recalled the details. ‘It’s well-sited, above a small gorge with a swift current flowing through it. The cliff bends round the side and then there’s steep ground in front of the other two faces which have the usual ditch and rampart. It’s a pretty formidable position and you’d need an army and even a decent siege train to break into the place.’

‘Does it command a good view of the valley?’

The decurion nodded. ‘That too. Though in a mist like this that’s of little use, and mists are commonplace in these mountains.’ He shook his head. ‘Why the fuck anyone, even barbarians like the Silurians, would want to live here is beyond me.’ He turned to Cato. ‘Once we reach the top of the pass, I’ll be turning back to Glevum, sir.’

‘I know.’

There was a brief pause before Trebellius continued. ‘We’ve already escorted you further than my orders required, sir.’

‘I know. You don’t have to justify it to me, Decurion. We’ll be fine.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The decurion nudged his heels in and urged his mount forward to resume his position at the head of the small column.

They rode on in silence until Macro edged his horse alongside Cato and muttered, ‘I hope we will be fine. If laughing boy’s Silurian friends are still around I don’t give much for our chances when Trebellius and his lads about face.’

‘If the enemy are as scared of Quertus as our prisoner seems to be then I don’t think we’re going to be in any danger once we enter the valley. Not from the Silurians, at any rate.’

Macro flashed him a searching look. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You heard what Acer said about the previous prefect. Seems that I might have to be careful I don’t go the same way.’

Macro glanced round anxiously before he responded in an undertone, ‘You really think Quertus would do something like that? Bump off his commander in the middle of a campaign?’

‘Can you think of a better time to do it? With the enemy close at hand and casualties piling up, who is going to question one more death? As long as a killer is careful not to be too obvious he could get away with murder. From the sound of things, Centurion Quertus is a man with a pretty ruthless streak, who doesn’t let anyone stand in his way.’

‘That may be true,’ Macro mused. ‘But still.’

‘But still, what?’ Cato said tersely. ‘We’ve known men do worse things, Macro. Far worse.’

‘And there was me thinking that we only had to watch our backs when in Rome.’ Macro swore under his breath. ‘Fuck, what is it with us, Cato? Everywhere we end up we need eyes in the back of our heads. It’s like we’re cursed or something. I thought we’d left that all behind when we came back to Britannia.’

They continued in silence for a while as the track levelled out and then there was a shout from the man riding point. At once Trebellius gave the order to halt and called for the rider to make his report.

‘Something ahead, sir, on the track!’

‘What is it?’

‘Can’t quite make it out. There was a gap in the mist, now it’s gone again.’ The man’s voice betrayed his nervousness and Macro flicked his reins to urge his horse forward.

‘I’ve had enough of this nonsense. Come on.’

For a moment Cato felt a spark of irritation at his friend taking the initiative before he could react. Then Cato kicked his heels into Hannibal’s flanks and set off after Macro. As they passed the decurion, Macro gestured to him. ‘You too, sunshine.’

The three officers trotted along the track for a hundred paces before they saw the figure of the point rider emerge from the swirling mist, his spear already in his hand as he stared into the gloom beyond.

‘What did you see?’ Macro demanded as they reined in beside the soldier. ‘Out with it, lad!’

‘There was something on the track, sir.’

‘Something?’ Macro growled. ‘Try being more specific. Something, or someone?’

The soldier swallowed. ‘I thought I saw a man, sir, standing on the track. Just for a moment, before the mist thickened.’

‘Did he see you?’

‘I’m not sure. He didn’t seem to move. Not even when I called to challenge him. He made no reply, sir.’

‘I see.’ Macro squinted ahead for a moment. ‘And nothing since then. No sign of movement? No sound?’

‘No, sir. Nothing.’

Macro turned to Cato. ‘What do you think?’

Cato felt his heartbeat quicken and suppressed the urge to tremble that was building at the base of his spine. He swallowed before replying as steadily as he could, ‘I think we should see for ourselves, Centurion.’ He turned to the decurion. ‘Trebellius, if you hear anything, come forward at once with your men. Understand?’

Trebellius nodded and made no offer to join his superiors as they walked their horses forward.

The mist hung across the landscape like a veil wafting in the lightest of airs. Thicker one moment and then thinning in patches before it closed in again. An eerie quiet and sense of menace pressed in from all sides. Then a fluke in the light breeze revealed the track before them and they saw a thin shape emerge from the mist fifty paces ahead. At once the two halted their horses.

‘What’s that?’ Macro squinted. ‘Your eyes are better than mine. Is that a man?’

‘I think so, but he’s not moving.’

If it was a man, there was something odd about his posture, Cato decided. He drew a deep breath and called out, ‘Who goes there?’

There was no reply, and still no sign of movement, and after a short interval Cato walked his mount on, followed closely by Macro.

‘I don’t like it,’ the centurion muttered. ‘What if it’s another ambush?’

‘If it is then they’re doing their level best not to catch us by surprise.’

Despite his calm tone, Cato’s heart was pounding inside his chest and his hands felt clammy with anxiety as he led the way along the track. He glanced to each side, straining his eyes and ears for any sound of movement, but all was as before. Ahead, the figure slowly resolved into a firm outline as they approached. It was clearly a man, and at last they could see why he had made no movement nor responded to Macro’s challenge. He was naked and impaled on a stout wooden stake that had been driven into the middle of the track. The man’s pale, mottled skin was covered in painted native designs and his limbs and head hung lifelessly. As they drew closer, Cato could see that the stake had been driven up under his groin and the wood was covered in a dark stain that had also pooled on the ground around the base of the stake.

‘What in Hades’ name is this?’ Macro asked softly.

‘A marker, I should think. Quertus is setting out the boundary of his territory and warning those who dare to enter the valley.’

‘Warning who? The enemy, or us?’

‘Both, I should think. Why else put it here, where one of our patrols might encounter it?’ As he spoke the last word, it caught in his throat as he spied another body on a stake, off to one side of the track, then another opposite, forming a line across the route leading into the valley beyond. ‘There’s more of them, Macro. Look.’

He pointed them out and his friend swore. They gazed at the bodies a moment before Macro turned back and cupped a hand to his mouth.

‘Decurion! Bring your men on! It’s safe.’

Cato shot him a surprised look. ‘Safe?’

‘These three aren’t going to pose much of a threat, are they?’

Cato glanced at the bodies. ‘No, not them.’

There was a dull rattle of hoofs on loose stones as Trebellius and the rest of the column emerged from the mist and reined in in front of the line of stakes. Even though most of the soldiers had experienced the horrors of war, Cato could see the ashen expression on the faces of the men nearest to him. The prisoner, hanging over the back of one of Decimus’s mules, looked up and his eyes were wide in terror at the sight of the impaled men. He began to speak quickly, in a desperate pleading tone.

‘Decimus!’ Macro called out. ‘Shut him up.’

Decimus tore his gaze away and nodded. He turned his mule back to the prisoner and raised his fist menacingly. Turrus flinched, and clamped his jaw shut, watching the Roman warily.

‘Who are they?’ asked Trebellius.

‘Silurians, I’d guess.’ Cato pointed to the markings on the nearest man. ‘We can find out soon enough. Decimus! Bring the prisoner forward.’

The mules trotted up. Turrus’s jaw sagged slightly at the sight of the three bodies and then he started to tremble.

‘Ask him if these are his people?’

Trebellius translated the question and Turrus nodded anxiously.

‘Then this is the work of Quertus, all right,’ said Macro. ‘Only thing that makes sense.’

He was about to continue when there was a soft groan from the man to the right. The heads of the riders turned towards the figure and Cato saw that he was moving feebly, his feet struggling against the rough wood of the stake.

‘Dear Mithras.’ Decimus’s voice wavered. ‘He’s alive.’

Cato swung his leg over the saddle horns, slipped to the ground and strode through the tussocks of grass towards the man. Macro came after him as the others looked on. When they reached him, Cato could see that he was a young warrior, no older than twenty, thin-limbed, with his matted hair plastered to his head and straggling over his shoulders. His eyes were half open and rolled up as he let out a thin, keening groan of agony. Cato watched as he tried to press the soles of his feet against the stake and lift his weight up. But each time his feet slipped on the damp wood and his groin settled again on the point with a horrible sucking creak and he let out a moan. Then Cato understood. He was not trying to get himself off the stake, only hoping to put an end to his agonies by driving the point further into his vital organs. Cato felt his stomach knot tightly in disgust and nausea. He opened his mouth, ready to order Macro to put the Silurian out of his misery, but then stopped himself. If that was his wish, then he had no right to force it on his friend. Cato gritted his teeth and drew his sword. Hesitating briefly, he steeled himself to the task and then stepped forward and raised the point until it touched the bare flesh of the man, just below his ribcage. The Silurian’s eyes opened wide and he glanced at Macro before fixing his gaze on Cato below him. The eyes were a piercing blue, Cato noted, desperately trying to focus his attention away from other details.

The Silurian mumbled something between his cracked lips, softly spoken words, in a pleading tone, and then he nodded and winced at the terrible pain that even such a slight movement caused him.

Bunching his muscle, and drawing the sword back a short distance, Cato punched it up through the soft skin, under the ribs, until the point fetched up against bone. The Silurian flung his head back and let out a sharp gasp. His body tensed as Cato twisted the blade, left and right, and then ripped it free. A rush of blood followed the blade and spattered down on to the ground below the stake, where a barely visible curl of steam licked into the air. The Silurian began to tremble violently and his breathing came in snatched, ragged gasps, growing weaker all the time until at length his body went limp and his head slumped down on his breast. The body hung in the cold air like a side of meat in a butcher’s shop. Cato fought to keep his expression neutral as he bent down to wipe the blade clean on a tussock of grass. He removed as much of the blood as he could before straightening up and thrusting his sword back into its scabbard with a sharp snap. He looked round to see the other men watching him.

‘We’re finished here. Time to move on.’

There was a pause before Trebellius cleared his throat. ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but this is where my men and I turn back.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘This is where the valley starts, sir. Like you said yourself, these bodies mark the turf controlled by the fort. You’ll be safe until you reach your new command now.’

Cato stared at the decurion and saw that he was doing a poor job of disguising his fear.

‘You may be right, but I would prefer it if you and your men escorted us to within sight of the fort before leaving us. Just so that you can report back to the legate that we arrived in one piece and didn’t disappear somewhere along the route. If you understand me.’

Trebellius nodded slowly. ‘I understand, sir. But, as I said, I’m turning back.’

This was too much for Macro who turned on the decurion with a ferocious glare. ‘Abandoning us, more like. You coward! What are you afraid of?’ Macro gestured to the bodies hanging on the stakes. ‘You think these cunts are going to jump down and give you a good hiding? Trebellius, for the gods’ sake, grow a pair!’

The decurion gritted his teeth and answered in a cold, flat tone. ‘I ain’t a coward. I’ve been fighting on this cursed island for the last eight years, like most of my men here. I’ve got five years to go before my discharge. So I obey my orders, to the letter. And my orders say for me and my men to escort you and the prefect to this valley. That we’ve done.’

‘Then I’m giving you new orders,’ Cato interrupted. ‘I’m ordering you to escort us to Bruccium.’

The decurion did not reply but stared back defiantly. Cato decided to try another tack. He continued in a more reasonable tone, ‘Look here, Trebellius. You know what’s waiting for you when you return to Glevum. You’ll be held accountable for the loss of your standard back at the outpost. If you stay with us as far as Bruccium, I give you my word that I will put in a good word for you with the legate.’

The decurion considered the offer but shook his head regretfully. ‘Sorry, sir. I am not going on. I doubt any of my lads would want to follow me even if I agreed to do as you ask.’

Cato stared hard at him for a moment, giving him a chance to change his mind, but Trebellius met his gaze steadily and kept his silence. With a sigh of frustration Cato resolved to make one last appeal to discipline. He strode over to his mount, took the reins and swung himself up into the saddle. ‘Now let’s get moving.’

His instruction was met with silence and stillness. Cato felt his pulse quicken and the cool air suddenly seemed colder still. Trebellius met his gaze flatly and his men sat in their saddles waiting to follow his lead.

‘You heard the prefect!’ Macro called out. ‘Form column and prepare to advance!’

‘No. . sir,’ Trebellius responded loudly enough for his men to hear. ‘We take our orders from the legate. Not you. Either of you. Column! About face, and form up!’

‘Oh no you don’t,’ Macro growled as he reached for his sword. There was a soft scrape as the blade began to leave its scabbard.

Cato hurriedly jerked his reins and moved his horse between Macro and the decurion and hissed, ‘Don’t, Macro. Trebellius and his men are terrified. You try and face him down and anything could happen.’

‘But-’

‘Leave it be. That’s an order.’

Macro frowned for an instant and then gave a frustrated shrug and slid his sword back. ‘At least someone is obeying orders around here. .’

They watched as Trebellius and his men hastily formed a column of twos and when they were ready, the decurion turned in his saddle to salute his superiors. ‘You should reach Bruccium before dark. Good luck.’

Cato nodded while Macro clenched his jaw and muttered, ‘And fuck you too.’

Trebellius raised his arm. ‘Column, forwards!’

The riders urged their mounts into a trot and moved off, back up the track through the pass. Soon the last of them had dissolved into the mist and only the sound of the horses’ hoofs carried to Cato and the others for a while longer before there was silence and they were alone. Decimus looked around anxiously, then chewed his lip.

‘What now, sir? It’s not too late to ride after them.’

‘Keep your mind on the reward,’ Cato said gently. He looked at the body of the young Silurian. ‘There’s no point staying here.’

Macro nodded. ‘Conversation’s a bit limited. Just hope we find some live ones soon, and on our side. All this mist and quiet is starting to piss me off.’

Cato smiled. ‘What better reason to get moving?’

He clicked his tongue and steered his horse on to the path, giving the body a wide berth, and Macro and Decimus urged their mounts to fall into place behind the prefect. Decimus tugged on the rope tied to the mules and with a muted bray they followed on. The prisoner mumbled some prayers to his gods as they continued into the mist. The track descended another mile to the valley floor. Gradually the grey shroud began to lift a little and they could make out the loom of the forested slopes on either side. It was Decimus who noticed first, and he used his crop on the mule’s back to urge it closer to the two officers.

‘Sir, there’s someone behind us.’

Cato and Macro slowed to a stop and turned in their saddles. For a moment all three looked back, ears straining. Then Macro sighed heavily.

‘You’re imagining things, Decimus. Your only danger in this place is the prospect of frightening yourself to death.’

Decimus shook his head. ‘Shhh! Just listen.’

‘What do you think you heard?’ asked Cato, after a brief silence.

‘A horse. . Horses. I’m sure of it, sir.’

‘Well, I can’t hear anything.’

‘Like I said,’ Macro sniffed contemptuously, ‘he’s jumping at shadows.’

A faint whinny sounded some distance behind them. All three froze, and Cato felt an icy tingle spread across his scalp.

‘Shadows, eh?’ Decimus muttered. ‘I told you, sir. What do we do? Run for it? Find somewhere to hide? If they catch us, then they’ll be sure to do to us what Quertus did to their mates. Or worse.’

Macro glanced at him and cocked an eyebrow. ‘Worse? I think I must have underestimated your imagination. . Should we turn and face ’em?’

‘No. We’ve no idea of their number. Best to keep moving and let them think we’re not on to them yet. Decimus, keep your ears open. If they sound like they’re getting closer, tell me at once. We’ll look for cover as we go. We can’t be too far from Bruccium now. Might even run into a patrol. Let’s go.’

The continued along the track, with Cato and Macro keeping watch on their flanks and the way ahead while Decimus nervously glanced over his shoulder every few breaths. The horsemen behind them seemed to make no attempt to draw any closer and aside from the odd soft whinny or the faint clatter of hoofs on stone, it was hard to believe they were not alone in this ethereal, menacing landscape of cold, damp and shadows. A half mile further on Macro edged his mount alongside Cato and spoke softly.

‘There’s more of ’em off to the left.’

Cato nodded. ‘I noticed them a few moments ago.’

‘And you didn’t say anything?’

‘Didn’t want to scare you.’

‘Ha. . ha. .’ Macro intoned, deadpan, as they both faced ahead but swivelled their eyes to the left. The ground was more even now, as the valley spread out on either side in the thinning mist. A quarter of a mile to their left was the edge of a forest. Moving along the trees was a line of horsemen, ten of them. They were too distant to make out in any detail. With a sudden inkling Cato glanced to his right. A similar distance away another party of riders was tracking them.

‘I fear we have walked, ridden I should say, into a trap, Macro. Look there.’ He gestured subtly and Macro turned, and swore under his breath.

‘Why don’t they attack?’ Macro asked. ‘Surely they can see they have the drop on us?’

Cato was thinking swiftly. There was no way out but to continue forwards. Half a mile further on the route entered a wood that sprawled a good way across the valley floor. If they could reach the trees far enough ahead of their pursuers they might be able to turn off the track and hide amongst the trees.

‘Sir!’ Decimus called softly. ‘Have you seen, they’re all around us!’

‘I see ’em,’ Cato replied calmly. ‘Just ignore them. Until I give the word.’

‘What are you thinking?’ asked Macro.

Cato did not answer. He calculated the distance remaining, and the angle the pursuers would have to take to continue following them into the wood. They would have to abandon the mules. The small beasts were too slow. Cato, as was his way, briefly considered all the alternatives, even ruthlessly abandoning Decimus to his fate in order to give himself and Macro a chance to escape. Just as typically, he instantly abandoned the notion. Whatever logic dictated, there was a code of conduct that embraced those entrusted with command, and it would be unthinkable to sacrifice Decimus.

Slowing his horse so that he dropped back towards his servant, Cato spoke quietly. ‘When I give the word, Decimus, you get off the mule and climb up behind me.’

‘What about the prisoner?’ asked Macro.

‘We’ll leave him behind with the mules. If those are his people, hopefully they’ll stop to set him free, and that’ll buy us a little more time.’

‘What are you planning, lad?’

‘We’ll ride hard for the treeline. They’ll be forced to angle across country to follow us, and lose a bit of ground. If we reach the cover of the trees sufficiently far ahead of them, we can leave the track and lose them in the wood.’

‘That’s madness,’ Decimus protested. ‘They’ll hunt us down.’

‘Maybe. But with two on my horse, they’ll catch us quickly in open country. We’ll stand a better chance of getting away from them in the wood.’

Decimus clenched his jaw and said bitterly, ‘I should have stayed in Londinium.’

Macro spat to one side. ‘Beginning to wish the same thing.’

‘Quiet!’ Cato ordered. ‘Just be ready when I give the signal.’

They were no more than a quarter of a mile from the edge of the wood when Cato noticed that the men on either side were moving closer. The time to act had come, he decided. Taking a deep breath, he reined in and spoke steadily to Decimus.

‘Now is the time. Up you get!’

Decimus slipped from the saddle of his mule and Cato offered a hand to help him scramble up behind the saddle. As soon as the man had a firm grip on the rear saddle horns, Cato spurred Hannibal forward.

‘Go, Macro! As fast as you can! I’ll follow!’

The centurion slapped his hand on the rump of his mount before leaning forward and urging it on towards the distant trees. The mules, spooked by the sudden action, brayed and trotted after the horses for a short way before the burden of the baggage and the prisoner slowed them to a halt and they stood uncertainly, strung out along the route, abandoned.

As soon as they realised what their prey was up to, the riders on either flank gave chase, making for an opening in the trees where the track entered the wood in an attempt to cut the Romans off. Macro had already drawn a short distance ahead and Cato was tempted to call out to him so that he would not leave his companions behind. It was an unworthy thought and Cato banished it in an instant as he gritted his teeth and dug his heels in, forcing his mount to rush headlong down the track, kicking up small stones and divots of turf in its wake. The cold and chill of the day were lost in the anxious hot thrill of the chase and the details of the world around him were leaping before his eyes as the powerful muscles of the horse galloped for the safety of the trees.

‘Come on, Cato!’ Macro shouted over his shoulder. ‘Keep up!’

The other men were close enough now for their shouts to be heard even above the din of the hoofs thrumming on the ground beneath Cato. But he could not make out the words, and leaned slightly further forward in his saddle as he and Decimus galloped on. Then the trees rushed up on either side and the track passed into the wood. Ahead, the route continued more or less straight, before bending around a clump of tall oaks and out of sight.

‘Macro!’ The driving impact of the horse made it hard for Cato to call out his instruction. ‘Once we get — past those oaks — get off the track — to the right!’

Macro nodded and the two horses pounded down the narrow route. Risking a glance back, Cato could not see their pursuers. Then, a short distance from the bend, he heard an excited cry and saw that the first of their pursuers had already reached the forest track, barely a hundred paces away. They still had enough of a lead for his plan to work, Cato thought desperately, and urged his horse on. Ahead, there was a short distance to the bend, and already Macro was swerving round the fallen branches and brambles at the foot of the ancient oaks and disappearing from sight. Cato could feel the flanks of his horse swelling and falling like bellows against his calves as the beast struggled under the weight of two men. It was already slowing down, despite his desperate urging. Then they reached the oaks and Cato leaned to the side as the horse galloped round the bend. He saw Macro no more than ten feet in front of him, sword in hand, facing down the track while his horse snorted and pawed at the ground. Cato pulled hard on his reins and his horse swerved to the left and glanced off the rear quarter of the other animal with a frightened whinny. Decimus was thrown forward by the abrupt halt and knocked Cato so that the coarse hair of the horse’s mane brushed his face.

He straightened up at once. ‘Macro, what the-’

Then he saw them. No more than fifty feet ahead, the track was blocked by more riders, sitting silently in their saddles, staring at the Romans. They wore dark cloaks and their hair straggled on to their shoulders. Each man carried a spear and an oval shield. That was as much as Cato took in before his attention was drawn to the sound of hoofs rapidly approaching from behind.

‘We’re fucked,’ Decimus groaned as Cato reached down and drew his sword.

‘Shut up!’ the prefect snapped, drawing his horse up alongside Macro.

‘So much for the plan.’ Macro smiled grimly. ‘What now? Cut our way through?’

Cato nodded. ‘That’s all we can do. Ready?’

Both men tightened their grip on their sword handles and pressed their legs against the sides of their mounts as they prepared to charge. Cato heard a dull scrape as Decimus drew his blade.

Behind them there was a sudden rumble of hoofs and cries of alarm as their pursuers reached the bend, saw the confrontation ahead of them and drew up in confusion. This was the moment to strike, Cato decided, while at least some of their opponents were disrupted. He drew his breath, ready to let out his battle cry, when a deep voice bellowed through the air. A figure emerged from the ranks of the men blocking the way ahead. He walked his horse forward casually and turned it so that it stood across the track, neck raised, ears pricked, breath pluming from its nostrils. Cato’s heart was beating so fast he felt sure that it must be heard by everyone around him. He stared hard at the man confronting them. Like the others, his hair was dark and tied back by a broad headband. His brow was prominent and his eyes dark and deep set above a thick beard that masked his jaw. Even though he wore a cloak, Cato could see that he was massively built and his bare arms were like hams, covered with dark bristles. The man stared at them impassively while his men waited on his command, spears poised to strike down the three Romans that had dared to ride into the heart of these wild mountains.

There was a pause that made every moment linger on Cato’s heightened senses; he took in every visual detail, every sound, and smell in what might be the last few breaths of his life. Then the figure settled back in his saddle and he rested his left hand on his hip.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded in Latin.

‘Romans,’ Macro replied.

‘You don’t say.’ There was a hint of amusement in his tone. ‘Well, that’s a shame. I had hoped to make an example of some more of those Silurian scum. . What are you doing here?’

Cato eased himself up in his saddle and sheathed his sword. ‘I’m Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato. This is Centurion Lucius Cornelius Macro. I’ve been sent to take command of the fort at Bruccium. I assume you’re Thracians from the garrison.’

The man nodded.

‘And who are you?’ Macro asked as he lowered his sword but kept it tightly gripped at his side.

The man clicked his tongue and walked his horse towards the Romans. He stopped again, directly in front of them, and raised his head. His dark eyes bored into Cato.

‘I am Centurion Quertus.’