Britannia

CHAPTER THREE

‘How are you feeling?’ Cato asked as he pulled up a stool and sat down beside Macro one morning early the following month. The latter was propped up on a bedroll stuffed with heather and straw. His bandaged leg lay flat, and Cato was pleased to see that there were no dark stains on the linen dressing. A few days earlier, Pausinus had reported that Macro’s wound was clear of any mortification and a healthy amount of pus had been cleaned away with a further application of vinegar before a fresh dressing had been applied. It only remained for Macro to take the mandragora and wine as required, and rest, and a full recovery was expected. He was more than happy to take the wine, despite finding the flavour of the root extract disagreeable.

‘How do I feel?’ The centurion sighed deeply. ‘Bored out of my fucking mind. This ain’t no place for a soldier to be.’

‘It is if the soldier in question is recovering from being shot in the thigh by a hunting arrow.’ Cato smiled. ‘Besides, the army can get by without you for a month or so.’

‘You think?’ Macro arched a brow. ‘I hear that you’ve got Crispus running my cohort while I’m in here. How’s he doing?’

‘Well enough. He’s cut from the same cloth as you, but lacks your warm and charming manner.’

‘Very funny.’ Macro scowled before Cato continued.

‘Seriously. He’s doing a good job. You don’t need to worry about your lads. They’re not going to the dogs. Crispus is drilling them hard for the coming campaign. That’s when he’s not sorting provisions and making sure we have enough kit, carts and mules for when we get our marching orders.’

‘He’s welcome to that part of the job. Never did like the paperwork.’

‘Comes with the rank, Centurion Macro. Why do you think they pay you so much more than a common legionary?’

‘I’d always assumed it was on account of my warm and charming manner.’

They shared a laugh before Macro’s mirth faded and his expression became serious. ‘So Quintatus is going to take the army off into the mountains?’

‘I think so. Mine wasn’t the only report of the tribes gathering their warriors. It looks like the Deceanglians and the Ordovices have made some kind of pact against us. No doubt brokered by the Druids. The legate has instructed the Twentieth and the Fourteenth, and six auxiliary cohorts – including the Blood Crows – to make the necessary preparations.’ Cato clicked his tongue. ‘Shame you won’t be able to join in.’

Macro shuffled up on his bedroll and sat erect. ‘Sod that. I’m coming. Just stick me in one of the supply carts until the leg’s better. I can still fight if I need to.’

Cato shook his head. ‘I’ve already written the orders. You’ll stay here. The legate’s sending for some reserve units to take over the frontier forts while he leads the rest against the enemy. Two centuries from the Eighth Illyrian will be sent here when we march out. You’re to take command in my absence, as soon as you are back on your feet. Try not to make their lives too difficult, eh?’

Macro sniffed. ‘The Eighth Illyrian? From what I’ve heard, they’re a useless shower. Beardless boys, invalids and veterans scraped from other units for a job-lot discharge ceremony as soon as the emperor has signed off. The gods help me . . .’

Cato patted his friend on the shoulder. ‘Then you’re just the man they need to lick them into shape.’

‘I know how to train men well enough. But I can’t perform bloody miracles.’

‘No one’s asking you to perform a miracle, just to do your duty. Besides, it was you who complained of being bored. Soon you’ll have plenty to keep you occupied.’

They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside, and a moment later a breathless auxiliary entered the dormitory and saluted.

‘Duty optio sends his compliments, sir. There’s a column of riders approaching the fort.’

Cato stood up. ‘From which direction?’

‘The east, sir. On the track from Viroconium.’

Cato thought briefly. It was likely that they were Roman, coming from the fortress where the bulk of the army was in camp. All the same, it might be a ruse. The enemy had been known to use captured armour. ‘Ours or theirs?’

‘I couldn’t tell, sir. We saw them in the distance, before they disappeared into the mist on the floor of the valley.’

‘I see.’ Cato scratched his chin. ‘And how many of them?’

‘I’d say . . . at least thirty, sir.’

‘No direct threat, then. All right, return to your post and tell the optio I’ll join him directly.’ Turning to Macro, he shrugged apologetically. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

‘Don’t worry, sir. I’m not going anywhere, more’s the pity.’

Cato followed the auxiliary out of the hospital block and hurried to his quarters to tell Thraxis to bring his armour, weapons and cloak to the eastern gatehouse. Then he strode across the fort, resisting the temptation to break into a trot. He subscribed to the school of thought that it did the men good to see their commanding officer appear calm and unperturbed at all times. As he reached the steps at the foot of the gatehouse tower, he was gratified to hear the optio give the order to turn out the rest of the unit. A sharp note from a brass trumpet rang out across the fort. Three quick blasts, then a pause, before the signal was repeated. The officers roused the men in their barrack blocks with harsh shouts and curses. The doors of the section rooms crashed open as the men hurried outside, where they helped each other into their mail vests before taking up the rest of their kit and hurrying to their assigned stations along the ramparts.

Cato climbed the ladder to the platform above the gate and joined the duty optio and another sentry at the wooden hoardings. They exchanged a salute before Cato turned his gaze to the track leading away from the fort and down into the floor of the valley. It was a cool morning, and the sun was obscured by the overcast, which presented a gloomy prospect to the wild landscape. As the sentry had said, there was a thick mist lying across the low ground, like an ashen tide that surrounded the hillock on which the fort had been constructed. An enemy could easily get within bowshot of the outer ditch without being detected, Cato estimated. He turned to the duty optio from Miro’s squadron.

‘You did well to order the stand-to.’

The soldier briefly showed his pleasure at the praise. ‘We’ve seen no more of them since I sent for you, sir.’

There was a silence on the tower, against the backdrop of the garrison’s boots pounding along the duckboards on the ramparts as they took up their positions. Then, when the last of them was in place, Cato leaned forward on the wooden rail and strained his ears. At once he heard the distant thud of hooves, and a moment later the chinking of bridles and other kit.

‘We’ll know who they are soon enough,’ he said, and instantly cursed himself for making the unnecessary comment. So much for the imperturbable commander, he castigated himself.

The ladder creaked as Thraxis clambered up on to the platform, Cato’s kit bundled under one arm. The Thracian was breathing hard as he set it down then helped Cato into his scale armour and settled the sword belt across his shoulder. ‘And the cape, sir?’

Cato shook his head, his attention focused on the mist.

‘There!’ The sentry beside the optio pointed down the track from the gate. The prefect and the optio followed the direction indicated and saw the vaguest shimmer of definition of the riders approaching through the mist. Cato picked out the shape of a Roman standard, and a moment later the leading horsemen rose out of the mist on to the open ground in front of the gate. The tension on the watchtower eased, until Cato saw the plumed helmet and gilded breastplate of the rider a short distance behind the standard.

‘It’s Legate Quintatus.’

‘Shall I call for a full honour guard, sir?’ asked the optio.

‘Too late to put on a show. Just get the gate open.’

The optio crossed to the rear of the tower and bellowed down to the section of auxiliaries waiting behind the heavy timbers. Cato hurried down, emerging from the gatehouse as the grunting soldiers drew the groaning gates inwards.

‘Stand to attention!’ he snapped, then stood stiffly to one side as the men took up their shields and spears and formed a line to his left. The thunder of hooves filled the air before the riders reined in a short distance outside the fort and walked their mounts through the gate. A squadron of mounted legionaries from the Fourteenth entered first and moved a short distance down the main thoroughfare, forming a line to one side and edging their horses into dressed ranks. Then came the legate’s personal standard, followed by Quintatus himself, face flushed from the effort of his ride on this chilly morning. Quintatus was the most senior of the four legion commanders in Britannia and had taken control of the province following the death of Ostorius. Cato regarded him as a competent enough soldier, but like many men from his social class, he harboured political ambitions. Sometimes at the expense of the soldiers such men commanded.

Cato filled his lungs. ‘Present!’

The auxiliaries advanced their spears to the acting governor of Britannia. Quintatus swung a leg over his saddle and slid to the ground. While the standard-bearer reached for the reins, the legate approached Cato with an easy smile.

‘Prefect Cato, it’s good to see you again. How go things? Any more sign of enemy activity?’

‘No, sir, though the other side have been sending out parties to harass our patrols and keep them at bay.’

Quintatus nodded. ‘More proof that they’re up to something.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And all the more reason why we must strike at them soon. Before they take the initiative. It’ll be a fine opportunity for your column to win itself some more battle honours, eh?’

Cato did not respond. There were better reasons for going to war than the prospect of garnering such rewards. Quintatus looked round. ‘And where’s that fire-eater Centurion Macro? I am certain he will be champing at the bit to get stuck in to the enemy.’

‘The centurion is recovering from a wound, sir. He’s in the infirmary.’

Quintatus frowned. ‘Oh? Nothing serious, I hope.’

‘Arrow wound, sir. He is making a good recovery. The surgeon says he will be able to return to light duties by the end of next month.’

‘Too bad. He’s going to miss the fun.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Cato gestured towards the headquarters block at the heart of the fort. ‘Would you care for some refreshment in my quarters?’

‘Indeed. Lead the way. But first, I’d like a quick tour of the fort to inspect your men.’

As they strode up the middle of the thoroughfare, the officer in charge of the escort gave the order for his men to dismount and water their horses, while the signal for the garrison to stand down echoed across the fort. Quintatus passed a professional eye over the troops and the orderly manner in which the fort was maintained.

‘How are your men?’

‘Sir?’

‘Are they in good spirits? They’ve been at the forefront of the action this year and taken some heavy losses. I know most of them are replacements. Can they be relied on?’

Cato collected his thoughts before he made to reply. ‘I have confidence in them, sir. All of them. The veterans are as tough as they come and they set the standard. Centurion Macro and I have been working the new men hard and they’re shaping up well.’

‘Good.’ Quintatus nodded to himself. ‘That’s what I hoped to hear. You might wonder why I am paying you a visit.’

Cato shot him a quick look. ‘It had crossed my mind to ask, sir.’

The legate smiled and then his expression grew serious. ‘I’ve had reports similar to yours from most of the frontier outposts. The enemy are gathering their strength sure enough. I am certain they intend to strike at us before the new governor arrives. So it’s my intention to strike first. But I’ll tell you the rest when we’ve some privacy.’

Later, in Cato’s quarters, Thraxis left a tray with a glass jar and two silver goblets and bowed his head to the legate before leaving the guest alone with his commanding officer. Cato filled the goblets and handed one to Quintatus before taking his own and sitting on the stool beside his desk, while Quintatus occupied the more comfortable chair. As he sipped the wine, he realised that it must have come from the last of his stock of Falernian, and sighed inwardly at the prospect of the remaining jars of cheap Gaulish wine that were left in his personal stores.

Quintatus raised an eyebrow appreciatively at his goblet before he set it down on the table and turned his gaze to Cato.

‘We have a chance to deal the enemy a blow they may not recover from, Cato. If they are foolish enough to mass their warriors and save us the effort of hunting them down, then we should seize the opportunity they are presenting us with. I can’t tell you how sick and tired I am of enduring their raids and then rushing after them only for the bastards to give us the slip in these mountains. So it is my intention to re-form the army, drive into the heart of their territory and destroy every last one of them that stands before us. Particularly their Druids. If we threaten the Druids then they will call in all their allies to support them, and save us the job of trying to hunt them down piecemeal.’

‘That will mean taking the Druids’ lair on Mona, sir.’

‘Which is why I have given orders for one of the navy’s squadrons to meet us on the coast and support our attack on the island. When we’re done, the Deceanglians are going to be a mere memory, and the last traces of the Druids and their sacred groves will be erased from the face of the earth.’ He paused to let his words sink in. ‘Once the Silurians and the Ordovicians hear about the fate of their northern neighbours, they’ll sue for peace. And then, at last, we will have made the province safe and secure.’

Cato moved the cup around gently in his hand. ‘With respect, sir. That’s what Ostorius tried to do. But far from scaring the enemy into negotiating, it only hardened their resolve to fight us.’

‘That was while Caratacus was there to lead them. Now that he is gone, there is no one left to unite the tribes.’

‘Except the Druids.’

‘Yes, true, but I mean no single figurehead to unite behind. No one with the charisma sufficient to get these barbarians to stop going for each other’s throats long enough to take us on. If we make an example of the Deceanglians, perhaps the rest of the tribes on this island are going to realise that the choice before them is submission to the will of Rome, or extermination.’

Cato laughed nervously. ‘Extermination? You’re not serious, sir?’

Quintatus stared back at him, his expression quite cold. ‘Deadly serious, Prefect. Right down to the last infant and animal.’

‘But why?’

‘Sometimes only the harshest lesson will do the job.’

‘And what if it teaches an entirely different lesson, sir? After all, didn’t Ostorius attempt what you’re advocating? He only succeeded in fueling their resistance to Rome.’

‘He lacked the conviction to see it through. Or perhaps he was just too exhausted. If he had been a younger man, it would have been a different story. As it is, it would appear that I am the one that fate has chosen to continue Ostorius’s legacy. Whatever the situation, Prefect Cato, I have made my plans. We may lose the chance to bag ourselves a fortune from selling the captives into the slave trade, but that’s too bad. As for the wider perspective, if a sharp dose of ruthlessness convinces the other tribes of the futility of resistance, then we can save many lives in the long run.’ He scratched his cheek. ‘Even those of the natives. Surely you see the logic of it? An intelligent fellow like you?’

Cato thought for a moment. There was enough reason to back such a plan, but it seemed unduly wasteful to his thinking, and besides, it would be better for future relations between Rome and the population of the new province to try and minimise the latter’s suffering and win them over. That said, he was a soldier and had given an oath to obey the emperor and all those the emperor chose to place in positions of authority over him.

‘Yes, sir. I understand.’

‘Good.’

They each took another contemplative sip from their goblet. Cato’s thoughts returned to an earlier question he had not had adequately answered. He cleared his throat. ‘Sir, you could have summoned all your column commanders to headquarters to tell them this. Why come here in person? If I may ask?’

Quintatus smiled slowly and raised his goblet in a mock toast. ‘Your circumspection does you great credit, young Cato. I say that more in praise than condescension. For a professional soldier, you have a keen grasp of the political realities of the world. Tell me, why do you think I have come here?’

Cato felt his heart quicken. The legate knew about his past, and that of Macro, when they had both been recruited to work as the agents of the emperor’s imperial secretary, Narcissus. Quintatus knew this because he had served a similar function for the secretary’s arch-rival, an imperial servant named Pallas. The two freedmen had been locked in a struggle for supremacy for years, and with Claudius’s strength starting to fade, it was only a matter of time before Pallas propelled his preferred successor, Nero, towards the imperial throne. Even here, on the very edge of the empire, the deadly struggle continued. It had been a deliberate move to send Cato and Macro to a dangerous posting the moment they had returned to the province. A move arranged by Quintatus on the instructions of Pallas. Following Cato’s resolution of the situation at the outlying fort of Bruccium, and the part he and Macro had played in finally capturing Caratacus, he had hoped that an unspoken truce had arisen between them and Quintatus.

‘I have no idea, sir.’

‘Come now. I am disappointed. I suspected that you might have feared I was here to do you ill. Let me put your mind at rest on that account. That is not why I am here. Quite the opposite. I came to see you for a number of reasons. The first was purely military. I wanted to gauge with my own eyes the readiness of your men for the coming campaign. And I am pleased by what I have seen. Both your cohorts are in good shape. Unlike some of the garrisons I have visited over the last few days. The second reason is more to do with you individually, Prefect Cato.’ Quintatus set his cup down and folded his hands as he gazed into Cato’s eyes. ‘We have sometimes been at cross-purposes before now.’

‘That’s putting it mildly, sir.’

The legate frowned. ‘We are all someone’s man. You were forced to work for Narcissus and I was persuaded to work for Pallas. We have satisfied the requirements of our puppet masters for the present.’

‘I am no man’s puppet,’ Cato said firmly.

‘You think not? Really? Now you do disappoint me. But putting that aside for the moment, I need you to understand my real intentions behind the coming campaign. So hear me out.’ Quintatus picked up his goblet and settled back in the chair. ‘The situation in Rome is going to change very soon. Emperor Claudius is an old man, and old men have a propensity to drop dead rather suddenly. People are inclined to attribute that to natural causes. Which rather advantages those who seek to ameliorate the mortality process. If you follow me?’

All too well, Cato thought. A few years earlier, he and Macro had been involved in an undercover operation to protect Claudius from would-be assassins operating within the imperial palace. Both they and the emperor had barely survived the experience.

‘These days, poison or a blade between the ribs has come to be regarded as natural causes at the palace. It’s a pity, but there we have it. While plotters are no doubt already conspiring away to arrange the emperor’s early departure, that leaves my man and yours jostling to get their candidates on to the throne once Claudius is dead. At the moment, the odds favour Pallas and Nero, but who knows? Maybe Narcissus can scheme his way into putting Britannicus in his father’s place. Certainly Britannicus has the advantage of being the natural son of the emperor. But Nero has his mother, and there are no lengths that bitch Agrippina won’t go to in order to get what she wants. Narcissus may yet surprise us all. He’s in a corner, and that’s when he is most dangerous. You are fortunate that he is on your side.’

Cato stifled a bitter laugh. ‘Fortunate? Macro and I had no say in it. We were forced to do his bidding and he put us in the way of danger time and again.’

‘Nothing you aren’t used to. After all, you are a soldier.’

‘Yes, sir. And while I am prepared to sacrifice my life for Rome, I am not prepared to lay down my life for that reptile Narcissus.’

‘A fine, laudable principle. But like so many principles, it is utterly divorced from the reality we so frequently find ourselves in, nay? Besides, it is better to have a snake like Narcissus at your side than at your throat. Only a fool would believe otherwise, and you are no fool.’ Quintatus raised his cup to Cato, then drained it before setting it down sharply. ‘So let me share my thinking with you. There is an opportunity before me. The new governor will not reach Britannia for some months. Time enough for me to strike at our enemy and crush them once and for all. It is my intention to destroy the Deceanglians, and to take the island of Mona and wipe the Druids out. With them off the scene, there will be no one left to co-ordinate resistance between the tribes. I will force these barbarians to submit. The victory will be mine. And since I am due to be recalled to Rome next year, it would be very useful to have a successful campaign behind me. Assuming that Nero succeeds his adoptive father, and Pallas remains the power behind the throne, then my star looks set to rise. Now, like all powerful men, I need followers I can depend on. Capable men, with a good record and underhand skills and experience to match. You are such a man. And so is your friend Macro. I would be honoured to count you amongst my supporters.’

‘I’m sure you would.’

Quintatus froze for an instant and then continued in a quiet, menacing tone. ‘Prefect, before you adopt that sanctimonious posture, let me remind you of the realities. It is almost certain that Narcissus will be one of the first to be proscribed when Nero comes to power. I know Pallas well, and he will ensure that Narcissus’s followers are eliminated along with their master.’

‘I am not his follower.’

‘You may believe that, but it makes no difference to the way Pallas regards you. To him, you and Macro are merely details. He will not pause to consider the rights and wrongs of it. Your names will go down on his list, and in due course a warrant will be sent to Britannia authorising your arrest and execution. And that will be the end of it. Although not quite. You have a wife, I believe. If you are condemned as a traitor, then your estate will be confiscated. Your wife will be left with nothing. Think on that.’

He waited a moment to let his words sink in before continuing more reasonably. ‘However, if you were my men, then I would vouch for you. I would ensure that Pallas knows that you no longer serve Narcissus and that you can be relied on to be loyal to me, and by extension Pallas and Nero. Of course, it would strengthen your cause immeasurably if you went one step further . . .’

Cato understood the implication. ‘And feigned loyalty to Narcissus while helping you and Pallas destroy him?’

‘Why not? Like you said, the man is a reptile. He has put your life at risk. You owe him nothing.’

‘And I owe nothing to Pallas or you either, sir.’

The legate laughed. ‘You say that now. In a year, two years, things will be very different, and then you will be grateful for my protection. Not just for you and Macro, but for your family too.’

Cato felt his guts twist with anxiety. ‘Are you threatening my family?’

‘On the contrary, I am offering to protect them. Sadly, those we love and make sacrifices for tend to become our Achilles’ heel. If you want to control a man, then you must first control his fears. I take no pleasure in saying that. As I said, I am just pointing out the truth of the situation. Only you can choose what to do about it.’

‘There is no choice,’ Cato said quietly, fighting to control his temper. ‘Is there?’

Quintatus shook his head gently. ‘I am afraid not. If it comes as any comfort to you, my own family are under the scrutiny of Pallas. He came to me once, as I do to you, and made the same offer, and the same threat, and I have been condemned to do his bidding ever since. That was ten years ago. While Pallas was still slithering his way up the greasy pole.’

‘But you chose not to carry out his orders to ensure we were eliminated.’

‘You think so? I sent you to what I thought would be certain death at Bruccium. Yet you won through, against the odds. For that I admire you. It would be unfortunate to have you eliminated unnecessarily . . . Come now, Cato. You understand the situation. Surely you can see there is no alternative. No painless one, at least.’

‘I can see that,’ Cato admitted.

‘I understand your despondency. But you will get over it. The lack of any real choice will see to that. All that remains is to adapt and survive. After all, isn’t that what life teaches us?’

He waited for a reply, but Cato was too angry and bitter to trust himself with any remark. He wanted to refute the argument being put to him. He wanted desperately to stand on principle and defy the will of powerful men who decided the fates of others. He earnestly longed for a world in which honour, honesty and achievement counted for more than guile, avarice and ambition. Yet here was the proof that his longing was mere wishful thinking. Despite all he had accomplished, every battle he had fought in and won, every promotion he had earned, he lived on the whim of men like Narcissus and Pallas. They were not even proper Romans. Merely freedmen who had learned how to play their former master like a cheap flute. Worse still was Cato’s awareness of his vulnerability to their machinations thanks to his marriage to Julia. And their child too, in due course, would become an unwitting hostage in the deadly game of political intrigue that those inside the imperial palace played as instinctively as other men drew breath.

He sighed.

‘It is clear that you see reason,’ Quintatus observed sympathetically. ‘That is good. No man should choose to die for lack of reason. I will leave you now. You will need time to consider all that I have said, and accept it. We’ll talk again when you are ready. I thank you for the wine.’

He stood up, and Cato followed suit. The informality of a moment earlier vanished and the legate was once again his commanding officer, brusque and demanding.

‘Your replacements will reach the fort the day after next. When they arrive, you will march your column out immediately and make for Mediolanum. There you will join the Fourteenth Legion, a vexillation from the Twentieth and the other auxiliary cohorts assigned to the campaign. As I will be in overall command Valens will assume control of the Fourteenth while Camp Prefect Silanus takes charge of the Twentieth. It is my intention to commence the operation in five days’ time. We will enter the mountains, burn to the ground every enemy settlement we find, locate and destroy their forces and eliminate every living thing we encounter. Thereafter we shall do the same on Mona. By the time the new governor takes over the province, there will be order. There will be no one left to challenge Rome’s supremacy. More to the point, there will be no conquest for Ostorius’s replacement to claim credit for. That will belong to me, and those who follow me. Is that understood, Prefect Cato?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then we have nothing more to say. I shall see you at Mediolanum.’