Britannia

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The wind was biting, and Cato had to squint as he climbed the steep slope towards the top of the mountain. The Blood Crows had gone as high as they could on horseback before the prefect had given the order to dismount and taken one of the squadrons on with him. The men had slung their shields over their backs and used their spears to help support them as they ascended. It had been cold enough at the top of the pass where they had left the others, but as they climbed, the wind moaned around them and strong gusts roared in their ears, while raindrops stung their exposed skin like fiery needles.

‘Fuck this,’ gasped Thraxis, a short distance behind his commander. ‘The gods only know why the emperor would want to add this wasteland to the empire. Better to leave it to the barbarians. This is no place for civilised men.’

Cato pulled his neckerchief down to reply. ‘You know the saying well enough, Thraxis. We’re here because we’re here.’

The Thracian sighed. ‘Well I wish we weren’t, sir.’

Cato slipped the thick cloth back over his mouth and nose and paused a moment to catch his breath before continuing. His military cloak whipped around him and he felt his helmet shift on his head as the wind caught the plume. He twitched it straight and set himself to climb one step at a time. According to the merchant who had offered his services to Legate Quintatus, the Deceanglian capital was no more than five miles distant, and would be clearly visible from the top of the mountain. Looking up, Cato doubted it. The sky was leaden, and darker patches of cloud were scudding overhead, threatening more rain on top of the freezing squalls. Nevertheless, it was his duty as commander of the army’s vanguard to scout ahead of the main column and take every opportunity to report the lie of the land, as well as any sightings of the enemy.

There had been precious few of the latter since the incident at the gorge several days earlier. Aside from small parties of riders keeping watch on the Roman advance, the tribesmen and their Druid leaders had refused to give battle or attempt any further delaying actions. Even so, there had been plenty of reminders of their presence: tracks blocked by fallen trees; piles of rocks dislodged from cliffs and crags either side of choke points; reports of harassing raids on the army’s thinly guarded lines of communication. With more men, Quintatus might have been able to establish a chain of well-garrisoned forts to cover the supply route back to Mediolanum. As it was, there were scant few outposts or cavalry patrols, and they were prone to sudden attacks. These were more of a nuisance than a genuine threat, and Cato could not help wondering why the enemy was not making greater efforts to strike at the perennial weak spot of a campaigning army.

A sudden cry interrupted his thoughts, and he stopped and looked back down the slope. One of his men had tumbled off the path and was lying prone beside a large rock that had broken his fall. Two of his comrades were hurrying to his side as Cato turned to Thraxis.

‘Keep the men moving. I’ll catch you up.’

Thraxis climbed on as Cato made his way back to the fallen man. He exchanged a brief nod with Livonius as the tribune and his secretary toiled up the hill behind the auxiliaries.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked as he drew up, breathing heavily.

One of the Blood Crows glanced round. ‘It’s Borminus, sir. Don’t look good.’

‘Let me see.’

They made space for the prefect, and Cato squatted beside the auxiliary. He had already been turned on to his back, and his eyes were fluttering as his mouth opened and closed, struggling for breath. The rest of his body lay inert. Reaching down, Cato’s cold fingers fumbled for the ties under the soldier’s chin, and he undid the leather thongs and eased the helmet off as gently as he could. Borminus’s head lolled back loosely and his lips worked feverishly as if he was gasping for breath, but there was no telltale trail of steam from his mouth.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ one of his comrades asked anxiously.

The stricken soldier’s eyes rolled up as his jaw jerked and then fell slack. Cato hesitated, then leaned forward and turned his ear to the man’s lips, but there was no sound of breath audible above the wind whining over the small cluster of men, nor any feeling of warmth. He eased himself back up and felt for a pulse on the man’s neck, but there was nothing.

‘He’s gone.’

‘Gone? How, sir? He just tripped and fell. He can’t be dead.’

‘Well the bugger ain’t faking it to get off duties,’ the other auxiliary chipped in.

Cato glanced towards the rock and saw that part of it protruded like the edge of a broad axe. He eased the body on to its side and examined the man. Just above the line of the neckcloth he saw a livid bruise on the skin. He clicked his tongue.

‘Broken neck. Must have struck the rock there. There’s nothing that could have been done to save him. Nothing.’

The three of them were still for a moment, buffeted by the wind, before the first man spoke again. ‘Poor bloody sod . . . What a way to go. Borminus was a good man. One of the best.’

There was a pause before his comrade added, ‘Maybe, but he farted in his sleep and cheated at dice, not to mention messing with another man’s wife.’

Cato looked at him and puffed his cheeks. ‘That’s not much of a eulogy.’

The man shrugged. ‘That’s how he was, sir.’

‘Fair enough.’ Cato rose, turning his back into the shrill wind. ‘You two get him back to his horse, then stay with the rest of the column.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the soldiers chorused, before one of them muttered, ‘Great, thanks, Borminus.’

Cato left them to it and set off after the rest of the squadron, increasing his pace to get past them and resume his place at the head of the winding column. Thraxis had almost reached the summit and was bent over as he struggled to remain on his feet. The rain had strengthened from the slight drizzle that had plagued them since they had begun to climb and now lashed the bedraggled line of men panting under the burden of their armour, shields and spears. Only the effort of the climb was providing them with any semblance of warmth, and Cato could feel the numbness in his fingers as he grasped for purchase on the slippery rocks.

Finally, his limbs trembling from the cold and his exertions, he reached the top of the mountain, stooping into the icy wind that howled across the summit. He rested his hands on his knees and breathed deeply as the other men slowly joined him and stood with their backs to the wind, their shields giving them some shelter from the driving rain. One of them stumbled and his legs gave way beneath him. As he tried to rise, he staggered and swayed.

Thraxis shook his head. ‘Bastard’s drunk!’

‘What in Hades is this?’ Cato shouted angrily as he approached the auxiliary. He was about to berate the soldier when he realised it was the terrible cold, not drink, that had numbed the man’s mind and body. He held the soldier steady and shook him until some spark of life glinted in the man’s eyes. ‘Concentrate! Keep your body moving. Stamp your feet and work your hands together. Understand?’

The auxiliary nodded dumbly.

‘I can’t hear you!’ Cato shouted. ‘Do you understand me, Trooper?’

‘Yes . . . Yes, sir.’

‘Then do as you are ordered.’

The auxiliary began to march on the spot and rested his spear against his shoulder as he rubbed his hands together.

‘Keep it going,’ Cato ordered and turned to the rest of the men. ‘You too! Unless you want to freeze to death.’

He moved away and carefully made his way across the uneven plateau of rocks and tussocks of grass. On the far side, he could see down the slope, but a skein of grey mist and rain obscured the view a few hundred feet away. Cato swore under his breath. There was no way of verifying the merchant’s intelligence in these conditions. He might wait for the gale to pass, but the men had already suffered enough, and he had no wish to lose another of them to a careless tumble down the side of the mountain.

Thraxis came across to join him, teeth chattering as he addressed his superior. ‘Sir, with respect, we’re going to die up here soon. Some of the lads are in a bad way.’

‘I know that. But just a little longer.’ Cato glanced up at the sky and thought he discerned a lighter patch of cloud amongst those rolling over the mountains. ‘Look there. The worst of it will pass soon.’

Thraxis squinted as he attempted to pick out the area Cato had indicated. ‘Can’t see anything.’

‘Get back to the others. Keep the men moving. It’ll help them stay warm.’

‘Warm?’ Thraxis arched an eyebrow. ‘You really think so, sir?’

‘That’s enough. Get back to the others and ask Tribune Livonius and his servant to join me. Go.’

As Thraxis trudged away, grumbling, Cato turned his attention back to the terrain at the foot of the mountain. There was definitely more light in the sky, he decided. Sure enough, he began to pick out shapes in the mizzle: the pointed caps of pine trees, and outcrops of rock. The wind and rain began to die down a little as the sky lightened. All the time Cato could make out more detail. Then, at last, far below, beside a meandering river, he saw the vague outline of a rampart stretching around hundreds of huts. A handful of tiny flickers of light indicated the presence of fires. But it was too far away to make out any other signs of life.

From the size of the native settlement it appeared that the merchant’s information was accurate. If so, then Legate Quintatus could crush the Deceanglians and destroy their capital. After which, it only remained to reach the coast, meet up with the naval forces, and descend on the Druids’ stronghold to eradicate them once and for all. Without their influence, the native tribes of Britannia would be rudderless and unable to offer a united resistance to Rome. Then, at last, the new province might know peace. Not only would the conflict with Rome be concluded, but there would be none of the inter-tribal warfare that had plagued the island since long before the first Roman had ever set foot here.

The crunch of footsteps drew Cato’s attention away and he turned to see Livonius and Hieropates approaching. Both were shivering, but Cato ignored their discomfort. If he and his men had to cope with the cold and rain then so could the young aristocrat. It would do him good to suffer a little, Cato mused before concentrating his mind again.

‘Down there.’ He indicated the camp. ‘Get it all down on a slate and you can copy it up later.’

While the tribune oversaw the drafting of the plan of the landscape around the settlement as best as he could in the poor conditions and fading light, Cato made a quick estimate of the number of huts and the layout of the place. As soon as Hieropates had closed his slate tablet, the three returned to the rest of the men, huddled together and shivering. Cato could sense their resentment at having been ordered up the mountain, but with this being the very heart of the enemy’s territory, only a fool would venture too far in front of the main column without an escort. He pointed back down the slope.

‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘You are certain that it is the enemy capital?’ asked Quintatus. ‘And that it is inhabited?’

‘I saw some fires, sir. Tribune Livonius is updating the map. We managed to get a reasonable view of the area around the enemy settlement before the light began to fade.’ Cato stood in his dripping cape before the legate. The heavy leather of the headquarters tent swelled and shrank in the strong breeze blowing over the marching camp, as rain drummed steadily overhead, leaking through the stitched joints. A slave was busy setting up another post over the legate’s camp bed to stop water pooling in a slack fold above. Cato cleared his throat and continued. ‘And it matches the description given by your source.’

‘Good. Then we have them where we want them at last. Assuming they are prepared to defend their homes, at least. I am tired of chasing shadows. Let’s hope they’ve discovered some backbone and that this is not another of their wretched ruses. I shouldn’t be surprised if they make another run for it the moment they know we are near.’ Quintatus looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Though I am not going to give them a chance . . .’

The legate turned to the slave. ‘Find Petronius Deanus and send him to me. I want the camp prefect too.’

The slave bowed and hurried out of the tent.

‘Cato, you can take a seat and give me some more details of the enemy position while we’re waiting.’

Before he sat, Cato undid the clasp of his cloak and lowered the sodden garment to the ground. His armour and tunic were equally drenched, and the leather vest on to which the scales had been stitched felt twice as heavy as normal. He tried to ignore his discomfort as he collected his thoughts and began.

‘The settlement is on slightly raised ground to the side of the river, sir. The land around the ramparts has been cleared for some distance for farming. There are a few huts and pens but nothing else. Perhaps half a mile away is a thick band of forest. Then there are hills rising up on either side of the valley, thickly forested, including the pass we will have to take to enter the valley . . . That’s as much as I can recall, sir.’

Quintatus nodded. ‘You’ve done well, Prefect.’ He looked at Cato as if noticing his drenched appearance for the first time. ‘You must be cold, and hungry, I’ll warrant.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The partition flap rustled aside as the slave returned and announced, ‘Petronius Deanus, master. A clerk has gone for Titus Silanus.’

As he finished speaking, a skinny, grey-haired man entered the tent. He wore an ochre tunic patterned in the chequered Celtic style of the northern tribes, together with brown leggings and sandals. His hair was long, but tied back with a thick leather thong that crossed his high forehead. His shrewd eyes quickly sized Cato up before he bowed to the legate.

‘Sir, at your pleasure. How can Petronius, purveyor of the empire’s finest luxuries, serve you this evening?’

Quintatus regarded him with a weary expression. ‘Finest luxuries within the bounds of this backwards province, you mean.’

‘Today I serve my customers in Britannia, but in future my wares will adorn the finest homes in Rome, by the grace of Jupiter, best and greatest.’

‘Well, you don’t lack ambition. But enough of that. This is Prefect Cato, commander of the army’s vanguard. He has checked on the intelligence you provided me with. It seems that the Deceanglian capital is where you said it would be.’

Petronius affected a hurt look. ‘You doubted me, sir? A deal is a deal. Whether I am selling goods or information, I never go back on my word.’

The legate understood the trader’s point quickly enough. ‘I will see that you are paid, as we agreed.’

Petronius bowed low. ‘I thank you, sir. It has been a pleasure to do business with you.’

‘Our business is not yet complete.’

The trader looked up sharply. ‘Sir?’

‘Our business will not be over until the campaign is complete. Thanks to you, I know where the enemy is. Now I need to know some more detail. Numbers, condition and so on.’

‘But how am I supposed to provide such information, sir?’

Quintatus smiled thinly. ‘How do you think? You are familiar with the natives in these mountains. You trade with them. I dare say you even count a few amongst them as friends.’

‘Sir, if that were the case, why would I be here, serving Rome?’

‘Because Rome pays better. And now Rome requires you to go into the Deceanglian settlement and find out what I need to know about the enemy.’

Petronius shook his head. ‘Sadly, sir, our deal here is concluded and I have business elsewhere in the province. If I may just collect my fee, I shall be on my way.’

‘Not until you have done all I ask of you. You will be paid, in full, as soon as we have defeated the enemy. Only then will I release you from your service to me. Is that clear?’

The merchant’s jaw sagged, then he swallowed and stood as tall as he could before the legate. ‘We had a deal. You promised me silver if I told you where to find the enemy. We shook on it. It was my understanding that Roman senators are men who honour their word, sir.’

Cato saw the blood drain from the legate’s face. Quintatus took a step forward and glared at the merchant. ‘You dare to question my honour? You, a man who deals with the enemies of Rome? A man who would sell out his customers for a handful of denarii? I dare say that if those miserable barbarians could have scraped together enough coin, you would be in their settlement now telling them everything you know about this army. Don’t even pretend to claim the moral high ground, you worm.’

‘Sir-’

‘Silence! You will do as I command. Tomorrow, shortly after dawn, you will drive your cart into the enemy capital and go about your business. You will pay close attention to their defences and the number of fighting men they have. Once you have noted all that, you will bid them a cheerful farewell and return to report to me. After the enemy is defeated, and only then, you will be free to go. Bear in mind, Petronius, that if you turn traitor on me, or try to abscond, I shall have you declared an outlaw throughout the province, and the rest of the empire. If you are caught, you will be nailed to a cross and left to rot.’ Quintatus paused and permitted a brief silence. ‘Are we clear?’

Petronius licked his lips. ‘Yes, sir . . . But if I may?’

Quintatus cocked an eyebrow and drew an impatient breath. ‘What is it?’

‘It seems that I have misunderstood the terms of our original arrangement. For which I apologise most humbly. However, in light of the perilous nature of what you now ask of me, I feel that a . . . bonus would be justified. In recognition of my loyal and useful service to Rome, may I suggest that I am appointed as your agent in the sale of the captives resulting from the enemy’s defeat?’

Quintatus was still for a moment. ‘At ten per cent.’

‘Sir, I feel it reasonable to suggest a figure more commensurate with my valuable contribution to the defeat of our enemy. Say, twenty-five per cent.’

The legate snorted. ‘Not even Crassus would have been so audacious as to make such a demand! You overstep yourself, Petronius.’

‘Twenty per cent, then, sir.’

‘Fifteen, and I’ll overlook your presumption.’

‘Seventeen.’

‘Fifteen. And that is the end of the matter.’

The merchant made to speak, but thought better of it just in time and nodded in agreement.

‘Good. Then I expect to hear your report tomorrow evening. Leave us.’

The merchant bowed low and backed out through the tent flaps. Cato could not help a degree of sympathy for the man. Although it was true that he had traded freely with tribes who were sworn enemies of Rome, and no doubt profited handsomely, circumstances had changed. The natives were on a war footing and were likely to be suspicious of any visitor, no matter how familiar. Still, if Petronius Deanus was smart, he would establish his good faith by offering the enemy some intelligence regarding the Roman army bearing down on them.

Cato’s thoughts were interrupted by a new arrival. Silanus, the camp prefect, saluted the legate and stood, feet apart and hands clasped behind his back, straight as the shaft of the legions’ standards he had fought under for most of his life.

‘Sir, you sent for me.’

‘I did. Summon all senior officers to headquarters at once. You may inform them that we shall be attacking the Deceanglian capital at dawn tomorrow.’