Britannia

CHAPTER SIX

‘Prefect Cato, greetings!’ Legate Quintatus smiled warmly as he looked up from his evening meal. ‘Come, sit with me and I’ll send for some more food.’

‘Thank you, sir, but no. My men have force-marched to get here. They’re tired and I need to see that they’re assigned tent lines and find some food for them. I just came to report my arrival.’

‘Look after the men first, eh? Good for you. I wish there were more officers like you.’ The legate chewed quickly and swallowed. Then his expression became formal. ‘So why the forced march and the later than expected arrival?’

‘We were delayed because our replacements were late in arriving, sir. I did not think it prudent to leave the fort without a garrison.’

‘And why were the Illyrians late, I wonder?’

Cato did not feel comfortable informing on a fellow officer, but he had been asked directly, and Fortunus had done nothing to deserve being defended.

‘It might have had something to do with the camp followers that came with them.’

Quintatus raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Camp followers? Who would authorise that? No, wait! Let me guess. It would be that corrupt dog, the prefect of the Eighth. No doubt he took a decent backhander from the centurion on behalf of the families and traders who supply his men.’ He laughed briefly. ‘That Placidus is an ambitious fellow. He has the necessary greed and venality to go far in the world. Perhaps I should keep an eye on him.’

‘That might be a wise notion, sir, given that he should be furthering the military aims of Rome rather than lining his own purse.’

Quintatus eyed Cato warily. ‘Not all of us share the same highly developed sense of morality that you clearly think you possess in such abundance.’

Cato stiffened. ‘I merely wish to serve Rome to the best of my ability, sir. And I expect others to do the same.’

‘Do you? Why, I wonder? I find it hard to believe that someone with your undoubted intelligence and experience would insist on such a naive sense of duty from those higher up the scale than the common soldiery. The Glory of Rome is an idea that the aristocrats have sold to the plebs since the earliest days of the Republic, in order to justify their self-aggrandisement.’

Cato experienced an instant of cold fury at the other man’s cynicism. ‘I imagine you are right in some cases, sir. But there are men of honour even in the Senate.’

‘Then they’re fools, and you’re a fool for believing in them.’ All trace of good humour had faded from the legate’s face. ‘I had hoped for better from you, Cato. After all you have done in the service of Narcissus, I had considered you a man after my own heart.’

‘I am not sorry that I have disappointed you, sir.’

There was a brief pause as the men stared at each other and the muffled sounds of the army in camp continued heedlessly. At length Quintatus pushed his plate away, his appetite ruined. ‘Be careful what you say, and to whom you say it, Cato.’

‘I am not afraid of you, sir. Nor Pallas.’

‘You should be. Particularly of Pallas. He has a heart darker than Hades, and he is more cunning than a pit filled with snakes. I am a mere shadow of that man, yet I alone present more than enough of a threat to you.’

‘I am aware of that, sir,’ Cato said bitterly as he recalled the dangerous posting that Quintatus had assigned to him and Macro when they had arrived in Britannia earlier that year.

‘Then do I understand that you have decided not to offer your services to me?’

Cato felt a calmness in his mind. He had rehearsed this moment many times during the march from the fort. He breathed deeply before he framed his reply. ‘Sir, I respect your offer, and I respect your view of the realities of politics in Rome.’

‘But . . . ?’

‘But I do not share your ambitions or values. How could I? I was not born into the senatorial class. I have reached equestrian rank and have no expectation of ever becoming a member of the Senate. That naturally curtails any ambitious instinct I may have. But I am no fool, and I know that it would be better to serve you than be your enemy. If only for the sake of my friends and my family. I just wish you to know that I choose to serve you with a heavy heart.’

‘I see.’ Legate Quintatus smiled thinly. ‘And now that you have had your moment on your high horse and told me your low opinion of me and those like me, I assume you believe that that in some way saves your honour?’

‘On the contrary, sir. I think it renders me a hypocrite.’

‘Hypocrite?’ Quintatus shook his head sadly. ‘Do not feel so bad about that, Cato. The term loses its pejorative burden when you have no choice in the matter. Trust me, I know. But if you wish to be hard on yourself, that’s your affair. Just as long as you serve me, you can pinch your nose against the stench as much as you like.’ Quintatus’s lips curled into a faint sneer. ‘You and that oaf Macro.’

‘Centurion Macro may be many things, sir, but he is no oaf.’

‘I don’t care what he is, just as long as he is on my side. Else he is an enemy.’

Cato felt his stomach give a nervous lurch. ‘Sir, Macro is a fine soldier, but he has no political head. It is better to leave him to get on with soldiering and accept my services alone.’

The legate’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘You told him about my offer?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And he rejected the chance to serve me?’

‘In so many words, yes. And he’s right, sir. Macro has not got the taste for such a line of work. It is best to leave him out of it.’

‘That’s for me to decide. The centurion is a formidable man, in his way. As the saying goes, it is better to have such men inside the fort pissing out rather than outside pissing in.’

‘Macro is not important to you, sir. He would serve you best if you just left him to fight the enemy.’

‘While I admire your efforts to safeguard your friend, we both realise that Macro has knowledge of certain realities inside the imperial household that Pallas cannot afford to permit any wider circulation. You understand what I am talking about?’

Cato knew all too well what his superior was getting at. Two years earlier, while he and Macro were carrying out an undercover operation in the Praetorian Guard, Macro had caught Pallas and the emperor’s wife in a compromising embrace. Given the lack of mercy that had been shown to the emperor’s previous wife and her lovers, Pallas would not rest easy until Macro was safely contained, or eliminated. Through no fault of his own, he constituted a threat to the imperial freedman, and that was not something the likes of Pallas would tolerate. Cato felt afraid for his friend.

‘Macro is not loose-lipped, sir.’

‘Except when he is in his cups, I understand.’

‘Even then, he has more than enough sense to keep such knowledge to himself. You and Pallas can afford to leave him alone. I give you my word on that. I’ll make sure that he says nothing.’

‘Your word? How noble of you.’ Quintatus sniffed. ‘But since you are not noble, such a pledge carries no weight. I’m sorry, Prefect, but you must persuade Macro to join you in serving me, or I will not be able to protect him. I may even be called upon to silence him.’

Cato felt a cold fury seethe in his veins. ‘If you cause any harm to come to Macro, then I swear by all the gods that I will avenge him.’

‘No you won’t, Cato. Not if you value the life of your wife and your son. Lucius, I believe he has been named, in accordance with your wishes.’

‘My son?’

Quintatus wiped his hands clean on a strip of cloth and smiled without any genuine warmth. ‘I suppose I should really congratulate you.’

‘A son?’ Cato was bewildered. ‘How could you know?’

‘I receive regular reports from Pallas. He tells me anything that might be of use for me to know in my dealings with soldiers and aspiring politicians here in Britannia. So, your good news is my good news, insofar as it gives you a new reason to obey me. All the same, you must be very proud.’

Cato felt off balance. He experienced a surge of joy in his heart, together with love for Julia, and then an acute sense of longing to be with her and his infant son. Then the moment was soured by the cold reality that Quintatus had sluiced over him. His child was a new hostage in the secretive games played by the legate and his ilk. One more means by which Cato could be coerced into doing their bidding. He tried to keep control of his raw emotions as he addressed his superior.

‘When did this happen, sir?’

Quintatus thought for a moment. ‘Nearly three months ago. Your wife named the boy Lucius, no doubt in honour of your close friend Macro, since that is his praenomen.’

Cato reflected on this and nodded. Julia well knew the closeness of their friendship, and that this would please her husband and his comrade in arms. ‘A good name. She chose well . . . What other news of my family do you have, sir?’ he asked, trying not to sound too much like he was pleading for information.

Quintatus was enjoying the power of being able to grant or withhold knowledge that was like food to a starving man. He paused just long enough for Cato to swallow and take a half-step forward, ready to demand or beg him to speak.

‘The mother and child flourish. Pallas has your house under constant surveillance, and you will be pleased to note that your wife has taken no lovers in your absence. Unlike many wives of the senior officers here in Britannia, my own included. There will be a reckoning when I am eventually recalled to Rome. But your wife’s virtue is intact, Prefect Cato. Not that Julia would have found that an easy matter in her pregnant state, and even more so now that she has an infant to care for. Lucky you.’

If it was meant to be a sop of comfort, which Cato doubted in any case, the last words fell flat. He felt confident enough of Julia’s affections to trust her in his absence. And yet there was a moment’s uncomfortable doubt as his imagination played with the notion. After all, his own origins were humble, and the Sempronius family had a long and moderately distinguished tradition. Such aristocrats were notoriously aloof, and though neither Julia nor her father had made Cato feel socially inferior, there was that lingering doubt in his mind about what they really thought of him; the constant needle in the side of all those who had risen above the station they were born into in Rome.

‘You will be equally pleased to note that your wife has not received any visitors on Pallas’s watch list. She is wise to steer clear of those whose influence comes with certain dangers attached. There are still some who wish Rome to return to the days of the Republic, while others are plotting to further the interests of their preferred candidate to succeed Claudius. He won’t last much longer, not if the empress has anything to do with it. There’s not much about poisoning that she doesn’t know. Why, she could do for preparing poisons what Apicius did for cuisine.’ Quintatus paused to chuckle at his small joke, before he became aware of Cato’s stony expression. ‘In short, Julia is giving Pallas no cause for concern, and therefore nothing to add to your burden of worry for her safety, as long as you play your part when asked to.’

He let the point settle in Cato’s mind before continuing. ‘However, her father is a different matter. Senator Sempronius has been observed in the presence of many of the ringleaders of the faction backing Britannicus, and therefore Narcissus, in the question of the succession. Whether he is actively colluding with them is not yet known. But that will not be enough to protect him when Nero becomes emperor. And he will. That is almost certain. When he does, Pallas will clean house to ensure that Nero’s reign starts with as few opponents as possible. So, Sempronius will be likely to feature on the list of those proscribed, unless Pallas has good reason to protect him from such a fate.’

‘Good reason being my willingness to serve Pallas?’

‘Yes,’ Quintatus replied directly. ‘As long as there is no evidence that Sempronius is directly involved with the other faction. In that case, even your efforts could not save him.’

‘I see.’ Cato felt helpless. ‘Then you leave me with no option but to serve you and Pallas.’

‘That’s right. I am glad that you see reason. But then, that’s why I made the offer, and I am sure that Pallas will approve of my decision. It seems a shame to waste such potential when it could be harnessed.’

‘Harnessed. Like a mule.’

‘Don’t be so bitter, Cato. This could all work out to your benefit in the long term. There will be plenty of rewards for those who serve the new emperor and his faction. Why shouldn’t you take your share of the spoils? That wife of yours could be kept in fine style, and your son raised in comfort and security. And you yourself will profit from the arrangement. There are plenty of military and civil posts that could be yours for the taking.’

‘And what is the price of those rewards? What is it that you would have me do exactly?’

Quintatus shrugged. ‘Nothing immediately. But you may be called on to perform a service. All that matters is that you are ready to do so, without question, if the moment arises.’

‘If?’

‘All right, then, when the moment arises . . . as it is bound to under the new regime. But for now, it is enough for me, and Pallas in turn, to know that you are on our side. There is no need to openly break with Narcissus. Indeed, if he thinks you are still in his service, then so much the better. He might entrust you with information that could be useful to us.’

‘I was never in his service. At least, I never made any agreement such as the one you are trying to force on me.’

‘My dear Prefect, you are priceless! As if it makes a difference. You worked for Narcissus, willing or no, and now you serve Pallas. Do you really think you have a choice in the matter? The only choice is between accepting that and awaiting the day when you are knifed in the back, or, if you survive your military career, answering the door of your fine house in Rome to a squad of Praetorian Guards. Then, your choice will simply be to die by your own hand or let them do the job for you, before they take your family.’

Cato gritted his teeth. ‘There are times when I wish I had remained a centurion, or even an optio, and served out my days in that rank,’ he replied quietly.

‘Wishes are ten a sestertius. In any case, you richly deserved your promotion. What you didn’t account for was the unpalatable truth that the higher you rise, the more you are enslaved to the will of those above you. A sad but vital truth.’

Cato stood still, feeling powerless to move or speak, as if tightly bound and tongueless. There was no escape from the force of the legate’s logic. None at all.

‘Look here, Cato, you must accept the situation. For now, all that need concern you is leading your men in the coming campaign. I have no doubt that you will add lustre to your fine reputation, and that can only help your prospects. Concentrate on that, eh?’

Cato swallowed. ‘Of course, sir,’ he replied calmly. ‘That goes without saying. I am, and always will be, a soldier.’

‘Good. Then you will appreciate the role I have assigned you. Your column will not be tasked with guarding the army’s baggage train, like last time. It’s time to put your talents to better use. I have decided to place you at the other end of the line of march. Your two cohorts will form the vanguard of the army. You will be my spearhead when we thrust into the heart of these mountains and fall upon the Deceanglian wretches. You will have the honour of making the first strike for Rome.’

‘Why me, sir?’

Quintatus wagged a finger at him. ‘Not because I wish to endanger you, if that’s what you are thinking. No, it’s more to do with the reputation that the Blood Crows have earned for themselves since they began serving in these lands. The sight of their banner is enough to strike fear into the enemy. When they see that red crow fluttering in the breeze, they will know that Rome intends to show them no mercy. I want you to make good on that reputation, Prefect Cato. You and your men are going to create a trail of blood and destruction such that when this campaign is over, there won’t be a tribe in the whole island that will dare to defy us ever again.’