Brothers in Blood

CHAPTER EIGHT

As Cato and Macro reached the headquarters tent of the baggage train escort, Thraxis ducked out of the tent flaps, the nearest campfire illuminating the concerned expression in his face.

‘Prefect, thank the gods you are here.’

‘What is it?’

‘There’s a man inside. He refuses to leave.’

Macro frowned. ‘What man?’

‘A wine merchant, sir.’

‘Wine merchant?’ Cato exchanged a puzzled look with his friend. ‘What is a wine merchant doing in my tent at this hour?’

Thraxis chewed his lip. ‘He says I cheated him, Prefect. I swear it’s not true.’

‘Cheated him? How?’

‘He says I paid him in counterfeit coin, and that he’s come to demand that you have me condemned.’

Cato paused. Using counterfeit coins was a capital offence. The Emperor did not take kindly to criminals debasing the money on which his face had been struck. The coins he had given Thraxis were genuine. Freshly minted denarians. There was no question of them being forged. Now he must deal with the accusation laid at the door of his servant before he could get some sleep. He toyed briefly with the idea of throwing the merchant out but knew that would only mean that the man would take his complaint to the general’s headquarters instead.

‘Oh, very well,’ he grumbled. ‘Macro, I’ll need you in on this.’

‘Me? Why?’

Cato looked at him knowingly. ‘Because you still have some of the same batch of coins that I do. You can vouch that they are genuine.’

Thraxis smiled gratefully and stepped aside to open the tent flaps for the two officers. Inside Cato’s headquarters tent there was only one person sitting on a stool. The two clerks in charge of the cohort’s records had gone off duty and the waxed slates and sheets of papyrus had been left in neat piles for them to resume the next day. There was only one lamp burning and the wine merchant’s face was barely visible in the gloom.

Cato regarded their visitor irritably. ‘My servant tells me that you wish to complain about the silver I gave him to pay you.’

The man rose to his feet and bowed. ‘Noble Prefect, I apologise profusely that I must intrude upon your evening, but I come here on a matter of utmost importance.’

‘Money.’ Macro sniffed. ‘That’s all that your kind value.’

The merchant raised his hands and shrugged. ‘Sir, it is the means by which we live. Who would not value it? But as I said, I must speak with the prefect. It would be best to send that Thracian dog away first.’

‘Why?’ asked Cato. ‘If you mean to accuse him, then do it to his face and let him answer your accusations.’

Thraxis stood silently at the threshold of the tent, his face strained. Cato was not sure if the man was grateful to be given the chance to defend himself or would rather let his commander do it for him. The prospect of the situation degenerating into a slanging match between the merchant and his servant was more than Cato could bear at this hour. He sighed and jerked his thumb towards the tent flaps.

‘Go and find some firewood. I want you to light the brazier in my sleeping quarters.’

‘Yes, Prefect.’ Thraxis bowed his head, and shooting a hateful glare at the wine merchant he ducked out of the tent and disappeared.

Cato slumped down on one of the clerks’ benches and scratched his head. Macro stood, arms folded, watching the visitor.

‘So,’ Cato began. ‘What’s the story?’

The wine merchant slowly stepped forward, closer to the oil lamp, and by its light Cato and Macro could make out his features. He wore a plain brown tunic and breeches beneath his green cloak and thick-soled boots. His hair was dark and his face thin and bony. Cato recognised him with a look of surprise.

‘Septimus. .’

‘What?’ Macro’s eyebrows rose. ‘Septimus? By the gods, you’re right. What in Jupiter’s name are you doing here?’

The imperial agent smiled faintly and dropped the singsong tone he had used when posing as the wine merchant. ‘And it’s delightful to see you again, Centurion Macro. Aren’t you going to ask me how my trip was?’

Macro’s mouth was slack with surprise as he stared at the man. It was Cato who recovered first and fixed his eyes firmly on Septimus. ‘Like Macro says, what are you doing here? Why the disguise?’

‘I can avoid drawing any unwanted attention to myself as Hipparchus the wine merchant,’ Septimus explained. ‘I bought the business off the real Hipparchus back in Londinium, as well as some useless oaf that the Greek was using to help him. Anyway, come, my friends.’ Septimus affected a hurt expression. ‘Is this any way to greet an old comrade in arms? Have you so quickly forgotten that we fought side by side against the Emperor’s enemies on the streets of Rome?’

‘Bollocks to that,’ Macro growled. ‘Any son of Narcissus is no comrade of mine.’

‘You’re breaking my heart, Centurion.’

‘Enough of this!’ Cato snapped. ‘Just explain what you are doing here. I don’t suppose for a moment that you’ve come to investigate minor outbreaks of counterfeiting on the outer reaches of the empire.’

Septimus’s mask of hurt pride disappeared. ‘Very well, let’s dispense with the pleasantries.’

‘Let’s!’ Macro said brusquely.

‘I’ve been sent here by my father.’

Macro held his head in his hands. ‘Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me that oily bastard doesn’t want to get us involved in some wretched scheme of his.’

‘Why did he send you?’ Cato demanded. ‘What does he want this time?’

Septimus looked offended. ‘Narcissus has sent me to warn you of a threat to both your lives. You are in grave danger.’

‘Really?’ Macro raised his hands. ‘Did you hear that, Cato? We’re in danger. Here, in the heart of enemy territory, on the eve of a battle. In danger. Who’d have believed it?’ He turned back towards Septimus. ‘It is the imperial intelligence service you both work for, isn’t it? Seems to me like you lot need to find yourselves a new title.’

‘Ha. . ha. .’ Septimus responded flatly. ‘Much as I enjoy the sophisticated repartee of you soldiers, the hour is late and time is short. It would be best to discuss the matter at hand.’

Cato nodded, and crossed the tent to close the leather flaps and then did the same for the entrance to his personal tent. There was another entrance that Thraxis could use when he returned with the wood to build a fire in the brazier.

‘Speak, then.’

Septimus settled on to a spare bench and collected his thoughts. ‘Four months ago we took one of Pallas’s agents off the street. We’d been following him for several days and noting that he had been to see a number of interesting characters in the city. Narcissus thought it was time to bring him in so we could have a quiet word.’

Cato did not have to imagine too hard the full meaning behind the euphemism and felt a chill in his spine as Septimus continued.

‘In the course of our conversation with this man, Musa was his name-’

‘Was?’ Macro arched an eyebrow.

Septimus shot him a look. ‘He is no longer relevant. Anyway, Musa revealed that Pallas had despatched an agent to Britannia to find and kill you two. As soon as Narcissus heard that he sent me here to warn you.’

‘We’re touched,’ said Macro. ‘How considerate of him.’

Cato stroked his chin and then shook his head. ‘Four months ago, you said. Then it has taken you quite a time to reach us to pass on the warning.’

‘It was a long journey. There were storms holding the ships back at Gesoriacum. It took me a while to track you down once I landed in Britannia.’ Septimus shrugged. ‘What can I say?’

Cato smiled slightly. ‘The truth would be nice.’

‘The truth is rarely nice. Trust me, I know.’

‘Trust?’ Cato shook his head. ‘That’s worth more than gold in this world, Septimus. It has to be earned. And Macro and I have done more than enough to earn it. So speak plainly. Why did it take so long for you to tell us about this threat?’

Septimus stared back, then took a deep breath before he spoke. ‘Narcissus believes that Pallas’s agents are here, and that they’re plotting to undermine the establishment of a province in Britannia. I was to try and uncover the full extent of Pallas’s plans. As well as passing on my father’s warning to you.’

‘That’s more like it.’ Macro patted Septimus on the back. ‘See? Speaking the truth doesn’t hurt.’

‘Try telling that to Musa,’ said Cato. ‘Not that there’s any chance of that now. Right?’

Septimus pursed his lips and gave a shrug.

‘So what have you discovered?’ Cato demanded.

‘Precious little, actually. I don’t know who the other side’s agents are, nor how many of them are here. I do know that one of them arrived in Britannia recently. The one who has been sent to deal with you and Macro. I haven’t yet discovered his identity. Meanwhile, be on your guard. The moment I discover who he is I will let you know, and you can deal with him.’

‘Deal with him. .’ Cato repeated slowly. ‘I see. This is the real purpose of your contacting us. Not to warn us, but to enlist our help. Narcissus wants this agent taken out of your little game and we’re supposed to help you. Is that it?’

Septimus smiled. ‘It wouldn’t hurt for you to assist my father, even if only to save your own necks.’

Macro let out a deep sigh of frustration and anger. ‘Let’s throw this little snake out of here, Cato. We’re done with Narcissus. We’re back in the army now. All this bollocks about agents and threats is nothing to us. That’s over.’

Cato shared the sentiment but as he scrutinised their visitor he grasped the essential reality of their situation and responded to his friend through gritted teeth. ‘I would that it were so, Macro. With all my heart. But there’s no escaping the consequences of what plays out back in Rome. It’ll never be over for us. Not until Pallas or Narcissus falls from grace. And when that happens you can be sure that anyone even remotely connected with the loser is going to pay a heavy price. Isn’t that right, Septimus?’

‘I fear so, Prefect. That is why it is important to be on the winning side in the conflict between Pallas and my father.’

Cato narrowed his eyes shrewdly. ‘And is your side winning at the moment?’

‘My side?’ Septimus looked surprised. ‘You mean our side?’

‘I mean what I say.’

‘Prefect, whether you two like it or not, your fate is tied to that of my father, just as mine is. If Pallas wins the day, then we are all dead men. You may not even last that long. For whatever reason he may have, Pallas is especially keen to remove you now. My father thinks you know something that may endanger him. Any idea what that might be?’

Macro knew all too well. He had witnessed Pallas locked in a coital embrace with the Emperor’s wife, Agrippina. If that was ever revealed then Claudius would be sure to have the imperial freedman executed. To be swiftly followed by the execution of Agrippina, or exile if she was lucky. Her son, Nero, the adopted heir of the Emperor, would also suffer, leaving the path open for Britannicus. But it was a dangerous secret to reveal. If Pallas and Agrippina bluffed their way out of the situation, a task made somewhat easier by the failing mind of the old Emperor, then their accusers would face the full wrath of Claudius instead.

‘No,’ Cato answered for them both. ‘We don’t know. We can’t help you.’

‘A pity. But it changes nothing. Pallas still wants you dead.’

‘We can look after ourselves.’

‘I’m sure you can. To a degree. But you are used to dangers that are out in the open. You will not see this one coming. Not until it is too late. Trust no one.’

Macro sniffed. ‘Except you, and your father, of course.’

‘Your enemy’s enemy is your friend, Macro. You might not like it, but that’s how it is. Our interests coincide. Narcissus needs whatever help you can give him. In return he does what he can to protect you.’

‘That’s the kind of protection I need like a sword in the guts.’

‘As you will.’ Septimus opened his hands in a brief gesture of helplessness. ‘But if you won’t help him for your own sakes, then do it out of a sense of duty to Rome.’

‘Duty to Rome? You think Narcissus selflessly serves the interests of Rome?’ Macro shook his head and gave a dry laugh. ‘He’s looking after himself, no matter how many of us he buries along the way.’

For the first time Septimus’s composure appeared to slip. He rounded angrily on the centurion and stabbed his finger at him. ‘My father has given his life to serving Rome! The emperors come and go but he has remained constant. He serves the empire and does all he can to protect it from enemies without and within.’

‘I bet that’s just what Pallas claims.’

‘Pallas has no interest in Rome,’ Septimus countered. ‘He wants power and wealth for himself.’

Cato intervened. ‘It hasn’t escaped my attention that Narcissus has done pretty well out of serving Rome. Rumour has it that he’s one of the wealthiest men in the city. In fact, I’ve heard that he has loaned considerable fortunes to some of the client kings here in Britannia. Is that true?’

Septimus looked down briefly and nodded. ‘It’s true. But then, so have many other wealthy men.’

‘Including Pallas?’

‘Not him. Not any more at least. He sold his loans to other parties at the end of last year. And there’s a good reason behind that decision.’ Septimus looked up at Cato. ‘He’s plotting against our interests here in Britannia. He’s committing treason.’

‘That’s a serious accusation. You’d better explain yourself.’

Septimus folded his hands together before he continued in a quiet, earnest tone. ‘You may have heard the story of how Claudius became Emperor. When his predecessor was butchered by Cassius Chaereas and his co-conspirators, that was supposed to be the end of the imperial line. Rome was to become a republic again. Only the Praetorian Guards realised that meant they would be out of a job. Without an emperor to protect they would be sent to join the legions. No more generous pay and perks. So they plucked Claudius out from the survivors of the imperial family and made him Emperor. And who were the Senate to argue with ten thousand Praetorians armed to the teeth? So he became Emperor Claudius.

‘But it was hardly a popular choice. He needed to prove himself worthy of the title. He needed a great victory to ram down the throats of the Senate and to show the people of Rome that he could give them a victory. That’s why he invaded Britannia. It gave legitimacy to his reign. Claudius had conquered the island that even Julius Caesar failed to humble. No one was going to argue with that. And that’s why he has poured men and resources into Britannia ever since. The conquest must be completed. Britannia must become a settled province of the empire. If we fail here, then Claudius’s regime is utterly discredited. His enemies will take heart and make ready to strike at him again. If they succeed, Rome will be plunged into strife again. Is that what you want?’

‘If I recall,’ said Cato, ‘Narcissus was one of those who encouraged Claudius to invade Britannia.’

‘So?’

‘So this is as much about the safety of your father’s position, and his finances, as it is about Claudius and the future of Rome.’

‘What of it? It comes to the same thing in the end.’

‘I’m glad we’ve established that. Saves you insulting us any further with appeals to our sense of duty,’ Cato said harshly. ‘What is it that you suspect Pallas is up to?’

Septimus took a deep breath and spoke calmly. ‘It is my father’s belief that Pallas wants nothing less than the collapse of this province. And he’s prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure that end. He has agents on the island who seek to conspire with Caratacus to unite the most powerful tribes against Rome. If there is an alliance between the mountain tribes and the Brigantians or the Iceni, they will be strong enough to overwhelm our forces. Our legions will be driven back into the sea. Our towns and settlements will be burned to the ground and their inhabitants slaughtered. Rome will be utterly humiliated. Claudius will be shamed, and broken. He will be deposed, one way or another, and even if Rome is fortunate enough to escape the disaster of a new civil war, then Pallas will place Nero on the throne, with Agrippina at his side, and Pallas pulling the strings from the shadows.’

‘Instead of Narcissus,’ Macro said pointedly. ‘A new emperor and a new imperial freedman running the show. That’s the only difference.’

‘You’re wrong, Centurion. Even at the height of his powers my father was part of a council of advisers influencing the Emperor. Under Pallas there will be only one man. And his route to power will be paved with the corpses of the army here in Britannia. You, and all your comrades, and all those others who will die defending the empire once our enemies are encouraged to take up arms following our defeat in Britannia. Those are high stakes. Whatever you may think of my father, you cannot deny that Rome will face disaster if Pallas wins the day.’

Macro stood in thought for a moment, weighing up the imperial agent’s explanation. Then he turned to his friend. ‘What do you think, lad?’

‘I think we have no choice.’ Cato smiled weakly. ‘Just for a change. It looks like Narcissus has manoeuvred us into another tight spot. Tell me, Septimus, and speak truthfully, did he know what he was sending us into when we were posted to Britannia? Was this part of his plan all along?’

‘No. You have my word. My father knew that his influence over the Emperor was starting to wane. He wanted you sent here for your own safety.’

‘That’s what I understood, but now you’ll have to forgive me if I am not as convinced as I was before. It’s all a little too coincidental.’

‘Damn right!’ Macro nodded.

‘Think what you like,’ Septimus responded. ‘It’s the truth.’

The tent fell silent as the three men considered the situation. After some time Cato stirred and folded his hands together. ‘The question is, what do we do now? You must have had a plan when you came here.’

‘Of sorts.’ Septimus sat back and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I’ve bribed a Brigantian nobleman to keep an eye on Queen Cartimandua’s consort, Prince Venutius. He’s said to be the one who is putting pressure on the queen to throw her lot in with Caratacus. For now, she’s playing safe. She’s got an alliance with Rome that gives her a ready supply of silver, and the promise of military support if she ever needs it. At the same time she’s keeping the door open to Caratacus. A clever woman, but she’s in a weak position. If she turns on Caratacus then half of her people will go over to the enemy, along with Venutius. If she turns on us then Venutius will lead her people to war, and when it’s over, he’ll want power for himself. Either way, she loses. Everything depends on keeping things as they are. If we lose the Brigantians, we lose the province, and everything else. With luck, my spy at her court will warn me in enough time to alert General Ostorius to the danger.’

‘How do you know you can trust the general?’ asked Cato.

‘Ostorius is an old-fashioned type. He wants glory for the family name. His ambition is to win a great victory and return to Rome and hang up his sword. It’s some of the other officers I’m keeping an eye on.’

‘Oh? Who? Legate Quintatus, for example?’

‘Now you’re fishing, Prefect. Yes, Quintatus is one. His family are followers of Agrippina’s faction. Then there are a small number of senior officers who have arrived in Britannia recently. I know you’ve already met Tribune Otho and Prefect Horatius. What do you make of them?’

Cato considered his impressions of the two officers before he replied. ‘Horatius seems like a reliable officer. Promoted from the ranks, far away from Rome.’

‘Not far enough. He was a centurion in the Praetorian Guard at the time of Claudius’s accession. He was one of the few who backed the Senate’s call for a return to the Republic. Did he tell you that?’

‘No. Why should he?’

‘Then I guess you wouldn’t know that he was reassigned to the Eleventh Legion soon afterwards.’

‘Those arse-kissers?’ Macro sneered. ‘All ready to rise up against the new Emperor, until your father turns up with a hatful of gold and buys ’em off. What’s the new title he’s given them?’ He concentrated for a moment and then clicked his fingers. ‘Claudius’s Faithful and Patriotic Eleventh Legion. . Until they are paid off by the next man. Anyway, why send Horatius there if his loyalty is questionable?’

‘Best to keep all your potential troublemakers in one spot.’

Macro pursed his lips. ‘I see your point.’

‘I’m not convinced he’s our man,’ Septimus resumed. ‘But he’s worth keeping an eye on. The more interesting character is Tribune Otho. His father was promoted to the Senate by Claudius, and has proved himself trustworthy. The son, however, has become a close friend of Prince Nero.’

‘Sounds like our man,’ said Macro.

Cato cleared his throat. ‘Are you forgetting that I saved Nero’s life? He said he would repay the debt one day. Perhaps I am not in so much danger as you imply, Septimus.’

‘That was when you were serving undercover in the Praetorian Guard. Nero had no idea you were spying on behalf of Narcissus. I doubt he would even remember you now, Prefect. Besides, Nero is merely a figurehead. Pallas is the real danger. I doubt he will let some small obligation like that stand in the way of having you killed.’

They heard movement in Cato’s tent as Thraxis returned with the firewood and started to build it up in the brazier. Septimus stood up.

‘I have to go. I’ve a report to write to my father. I’ll let him know I’ve appraised you of the situation. And that you’re prepared to work with me to foil Pallas.’

‘Now wait a minute!’ Macro started.

‘He’s right,’ Cato interrupted. ‘We have to, Macro. For all our sakes.’

Macro opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut and shook his head.

‘If you need to contact me,’ Septimus spoke quietly, ‘ask for Hipparchus the wine merchant. That’s my cover. I’ll be remaining with the army for a few days, and will send word to Rome of Caratacus’s defeat. If he is taken, or killed, then Pallas’s scheme will be dealt a grievous blow.’

‘I hope you have the chance to report a defeat,’ said Cato. ‘Caratacus may defy us yet.’

‘I shall pray for victory,’ Septimus said simply. Then he clicked his fingers as if recalling something. ‘One final thing I meant to ask. Senator Vespasian. You know him well?’

The two officers exchanged a glance.

‘We have served under him,’ said Cato.

‘A damn fine officer,’ Macro added. ‘One of the best legates there is.’

Septimus smiled. ‘So I gather. There’s no doubting his soldierly qualities. I was more curious about the scale of his ambitions. Did he ever mention his plans for the future in front of you?’

‘No,’ Cato replied firmly. ‘And he would be mad to. Why do you ask?’

The imperial agent pursed his lips. ‘It’s as well to keep an eye on the more promising military commanders. And their families in some cases. Take his wife, Flavia, for example.’

‘What about her?’ asked Macro.

‘Your paths may have crossed at some point.’ He turned to Cato ‘And you certainly knew her in your youth, both at the palace and when you encountered her again when you joined Vespasian’s legion in Germany.’

Cato nodded casually. ‘That’s right.’

‘What do you make of her?’

‘I’ve never given it any thought. She was the wife of the legate. That’s all.’

Septimus stared at him and then shrugged. ‘Fair enough. Just wondered. I’ll leave you in peace now.’ Bowing his head and speaking loudly he backed towards the tent flaps. ‘A thousand apologies, Prefect! It was my mistake. I should never have accused your servant. I will send you a jar of my best wine to make amends. I bid you a good night and may your fortunes prosper in tomorrow’s battle!’

He passed out between the tent flaps and disappeared. Macro looked at Cato in despair. ‘You cannot be serious about working with-’

‘Shh!’ Cato warned him. A moment later the flap to his private quarters rustled aside and Thraxis poked his head through.

‘Prefect, the fire is lit.’

‘Thank you.’

Thraxis remained where he was and cleared his throat.

‘Is there anything else?’ asked Cato.

‘I, er, overheard the wine merchant as he left, Prefect. I take it you have resolved the matter.’

‘I did. A simple misunderstanding. He had mixed up your coins with those of another customer. You have nothing to be concerned about, Thraxis.’

The servant sighed with relief before he asked, ‘Do you wish me to bring you anything to eat or drink, Prefect?’

‘No. We’re turning in. I shall wear my new mail vest in the morning. Be sure that it is laid out with the rest of my kit.’

‘Yes, Prefect.’

‘Then you may go.’

Thraxis saluted and ducked away. They waited a moment before Macro spoke in an undertone. ‘As I was saying, we’d be mad to let ourselves get lured back into working for Narcissus.’

‘Macro, we have little choice. Just because we don’t want to be involved in the struggle between Narcissus and Pallas doesn’t mean that they won’t involve us. Now it seems they have. If Pallas is a threat to us we can’t just ignore it. And if Septimus is telling the truth about the wider situation then we’re in even bigger danger, and everyone else in the army along with us.’

‘If he’s telling the truth.’

‘Can we take the risk that he isn’t?’

Macro gritted his teeth. ‘Fuck. . Fucking Narcissus. The bastard sticks to you like a dose of the clap. We ain’t ever going to be free of him, are we?’ he added miserably. ‘Nor, it seems, is that poor sod Vespasian. Nor his wife. What was all that about Flavia?’

‘I have no idea.’ Cato shrugged. ‘Chin up. We might finally get shot of Narcissus, depending on how tomorrow works out.’

‘Oh great. Thank you for being such a cheery sod,’ Macro grumbled as he turned towards the entrance to the tent. ‘Just what I needed before I hit the sack.’

Cato watched him until he was out of sight. Then he stood up, closed his eyes and stretched out his arms and cracked his shoulders. Macro was right, there was much to think about. Much to worry about. But before that, there was a battle to fight.