Brothers in Blood (17 page)

‘He’s alive. Give me a hand here. Let’s get him out of the wagon.’

They dragged the unconsious agent to the back and then eased him on to the ground. In the better light Cato saw that the hair on one side of his head was matted with dried blood. More blood caked his neck and the shoulder of his tunic.

Macro sucked in a breath. ‘Some bastard’s given him a sharp knock on the head. Caratacus, you think?’

Cato hesitated. ‘Looks that way.’

Standing up, he called out to the wine merchant opposite to bring some water.

Macro gestured down at Septimus. ‘What do we do with him?’

Cato scratched his jaw. ‘We’ll clean his wound and dress it. Then try and bring him round. If we can’t get any sense out of him, we’ll take him up to the infirmary for the surgeon to look after him. Either way, we need a word with him as soon as possible.’

Macro was about to say something when the wine merchant approached with a jug and small strip of linen. Cato took them off him.

‘I want you to go to headquarters and report to the general.’

‘I ain’t a soldier,’ the merchant protested. ‘Go yourself.’

‘Shut your mouth!’ Cato snapped back. ‘And do as I bloody well tell you. Tell the general that Caratacus has escaped from the camp in Hipparchus’s cart. Tell him I’m sending my men out to try and find him. Now go!’

The merchant reluctantly hurried off, leaving the two officers with Septimus.

‘Lift his head gently,’ Cato instructed.

Macro did as he was told and Cato poured some water on the linen and started to clean off the dried blood as best he could. The scalp was torn but there seemed to be no damage to the bone beneath. As he worked on the rest of the wound, Septimus stirred and mumbled a protest before he slid back into unconsciousness.

‘Something’s not right about this,’ said Macro.

Cato looked up. ‘You mean aside from the fact that Caratacus has escaped and attacked an imperial agent in the process?’

Macro caught the strain in his friend’s voice and bit his tongue rather than respond to the comment. There was a brief silence as Cato rinsed off the last of the blood from Septimus’s neck, wrung the cloth out and then carefully tied it round the head, covering the wound. Macro eased the head back down.

Macro tried again. ‘Someone helped Caratacus to escape and they just happened to pick on Septimus when they needed a cart and a disguise to get Caratacus out of the camp. Call me suspicious but that ain’t bloody likely by a long way.’

‘No,’ Cato responded quietly. ‘It does seem too much of a coincidence.’ He tapped the imperial agent on the chest. ‘You get him to the infirmary. I’ll order the Blood Crows after Caratacus. I’ll find you afterwards. I want to be there when Septimus regains consciousness. He’s got some questions to answer.’ Cato paused and winced. ‘And, like as not, the general will have a few of his own to shoot at us.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

‘T
his is an unacceptable state of affairs,’ General Ostorius said coldly as Cato and Macro stood in front of him. The patrols from the Blood Crows had reported to Cato an hour earlier, having discovered the abandoned cart but no trace of Caratacus.

The general glared at the two officers. ‘You were entrusted with the care of the prisoner, the man who has been a constant threat to Roman interests on this island ever since we landed. The man we finally defeated in battle just yesterday and captured. And now, less than a day later, he has escaped. How exactly am I supposed to explain that to the Emperor?’

Even though the question was rhetorical, Macro was minded to point out to the general that it was his problem. Came with the rank. But promotion to the rank of centurion was not open to those who lacked the wit to keep their mouths shut and Macro remained at attention and said nothing.

Ostorius drew a breath and continued, ‘More to the point, how do you explain yourselves to me? Well, Prefect?’

Macro cleared his throat and cut in before Cato could reply. ‘It was my fault, sir. I was in charge of securing the prisoners and setting watch over them.’

‘You?’ Ostorius raised his eyebrows. ‘Is this true?’

Cato saw the danger his friend was making for himself and felt a stab of anxiety. It was not Macro’s fault any more than it was his own. It was almost certain to be the work of Pallas’s agent. As was the attack on Septimus. It seemed that the imperial agent had underestimated his quarry, who must have penetrated his disguise. Cato could not risk divulging too many details of this to Ostorius, but he could at least intercede to save Macro from the ire of their commanding officer.

‘Sir, Centurion Macro was acting on my orders. The responsibility is entirely mine, as is any punishment arising from the incident.’

‘That is for
me
to decide, once I have the full facts. You’d better tell me what you know, Prefect.’

Cato fought off his exhaustion as he went over the details.

‘I know that the escape occurred while Centurion Macro and I were in the officers’ mess tent. I also know that he must have had assistance in his escape.’

‘How so?’

‘Because the two guards were stabbed in the throat, sir. Since Caratacus was unarmed and manacled, it follows that my men were victims of an armed assailant. Or more than one. Also, the pins on his shackles were knocked out. It takes a hammer and a special punch to do that.’

‘So who helped him? One of the other natives? Have any more prisoners escaped?’

‘No, sir. I checked with the centurion in command of the prisoners held outside the camp. They’re all accounted for. Besides, even if one of them had escaped, he’d have to get across the ditch, over the rampart and past the sentries. Then he’d have to locate Caratacus, find a hammer and a weapon. It’s a bit unlikely.’

‘But not impossible.’

‘As good as, sir,’ Cato said firmly.

‘What about the other members of his family and his brothers?’

‘They’re all still chained in their stockade. The guards there said that they noticed nothing suspicious all night.’

Ostorius nodded thoughtfully. ‘Then why didn’t Caratacus attempt to free his kin as well? Why would he leave them behind?’

Cato tilted his head slightly. ‘My guess is that it was too difficult. There were four guards on the larger stockade and it was close to the tent lines of Centurion Macro’s cohort. If the alarm was raised they’d be surrounded by armed men in short order. And even if they had managed to kill the guards and remove their chains, there would be several of them in the party and it would make getting out of the camp much harder to achieve. Caratacus alone might stand a chance. If he had tried to take the others with him then he was almost certain to fail.’

Ostorius arched an eyebrow. ‘Are you saying that he sacrificed his family to save his own skin?’

‘I’m saying that it was the most reasonable thing to do, sir.’

‘Reasonable? Ruthless more like.’

Macro shrugged. ‘Perhaps it’s because he’s ruthless that he’s caused us as much trouble as he has, sir.’

The general glared at him. ‘Thank you for those words of wisdom, Centurion.’

Macro flushed as his commander turned his attention back to Cato. ‘So, assuming you are correct, what happened next?’

Cato thought swiftly. This was the part of the tale where he needed to exercise care if he was not to risk exposing Septimus. Regardless of the general’s loyalty to his Emperor, he would not take kindly to the revelation that there was a spy in his army. Nor would he appreciate the fact that one of his officers had known of this and kept it from him. Cato cleared his throat and continued in a neutral tone. ‘We know that Caratacus left the camp by the east gate disguised as a wine merchant called Hipparchus. I recognised the name as soon as the optio reported it to me.’

‘So how did you come to know of him so conveniently?’

‘The wine trader had sold me some wine two days ago. We tracked the merchant’s business down and found Hipparchus unconscious in the rear of his wagon. His cart was missing.’

‘I see. I wonder why Caratacus chose to attack that particular wine merchant?’

‘Coincidence, sir.’ Cato wondered the same thing. Hopefully he would discover the truth when he spoke to Septimus later on. He coughed and continued. ‘Hipparchus had the kind of vehicle needed to get Caratacus out of the camp. Given the amount of wine the army consumes, his story of needing to return to Viroconium to buy more stock would sound credible.’

Cato felt his heart beat more quickly as the general mulled over the explanation. Ostorius folded his hands together and tapped his index fingers against his chin. ‘Where is the wine merchant now?’

‘Recovering in the infirmary of the Fourteenth, sir. He was struck on the head and knocked out. Surgeon reckons he’ll recover his wits soon enough.’

‘Good. I want you to question him the moment he comes round.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Cato did his best to conceal his relief that he had been handed the task and quickly moved on. ‘Whoever helped free Caratacus was with him when he took the cart. Another wine merchant saw the two of them. In the dark he thought it was Hipparchus, with his slave helping to harness the mule to the cart. But we found the slave dead drunk. It’s possible that Hipparchus will be able to identify the man who aided Caratacus in his escape.’

‘How is that going to help us exactly?’

‘Because the man in question is still here in the camp, sir.’

Ostorius lowered his hands and stared at Cato. ‘How can you be sure of that?’

‘Caratacus was the only one in the cart that left the camp. The optio on the gate said he looked it over quickly before letting it pass on. He’s certain there was no one hidden inside.’

‘Then we have a traitor in the camp.’

Cato nodded.

‘Someone amongst the camp followers,’ Ostorius decided, his expression darkening. ‘When I find the bastard I’ll have him crucified. It has to be a native trader. A spy, planted by Caratacus. I’ll have them rounded up and questioned. Once the interrogators get to work on them someone will talk.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Let’s hope we find that traitor. I’ve already given orders to send more cavalry patrols to scour the hills for Caratacus, but I don’t hold out much hope. He knows the ground better than we do and can count on the help of the local native settlements to hide him and feed him. Jupiter only knows what he’s planning to do next.’

‘He’ll go north, sir.’

Ostorius looked at the prefect in surprise. ‘North? You seem very sure of yourself.’

‘Where else can he go, sir? The Silurians suffered heavily yesterday and they won’t be keen to follow Caratacus any more. Nor will the Ordovices when word of his defeat spreads. That leaves two possibilities. Either he’ll make for the Druid stronghold on Mona. That’s close and he can be sure of a warm welcome there. But it’ll mean he’s bottled up and I would imagine that you have plans to take Mona at some point in the near future.’

‘I might,’ Ostorius conceded. ‘But go on. If not Mona then where will Caratacus make for, in your expert opinion?’

‘Brigantia,’ Cato answered without hesitation.

‘But we have a treaty with the Brigantes. He’d be mad to hand himself over to our allies.’

‘We have a treaty with Queen Cartimandua, sir. It’s not quite the same thing. From what I understand, the queen does not enjoy the backing of all of her people. If there’s a faction that stands against Rome, Caratacus will be sure to try and stir them up. If he can win the rest of the tribe over he’ll have a powerful army at his back to continue his war against us.’

General Ostorius considered the notion for a moment and pursed his lips. ‘Putting himself at the mercy of the Brigantes is a huge risk. I don’t know. I’m not convinced. After the defeat we’ve inflicted on him, I think he’s going to play safe. Retreat and lick his wounds while he considers what to do next.’

‘I beg to disagree, sir. Caratacus is not the kind to lie low. He’ll want to avenge his defeat at the first opportunity. He can only do that if he can raise fresh forces. And the only place he can do that now is in Brigantia.’

‘Thank you for your opinion, Prefect Cato,’ Ostorius said dismissively. ‘I will take it under consideration. But for now we must concentrate on trying to track down and capture Caratacus while there is still a chance. We’ll be breaking camp once the auxiliary units have returned and marching back to Viroconium. I shall want to know what the wine merchant has to say before then. Understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then you’re dismissed.’

Cato and Macro saluted and turned smartly to stride out of the tent.

When they were beyond earshot of the general’s bodyguards they stopped and Macro let out a deep breath.

‘It ain’t right that he’s trying to pin this one on us. It’s not our fault some bastard sprang Caratacus. He’s the general, it’s his lookout.’

Cato smiled wearily. ‘That’s how the blame game plays out, Macro. This isn’t about the army, this is about politics. Ostorius is thinking about what happens after he gives up command of the army. If there’s any way of pinning the blame on a subordinate then he will. It’s just our bad luck that we happen to be Junius-on-the-spot.’

Macro ground his teeth in frustration. ‘Fucking politics.’

‘Quite.’

They looked out over the camp, which was a scene of devastation. Most of the tents appeared to have been swept away by the previous night’s storm and soldiers were picking their way through the churned mud and debris to retrieve their kit. Some were building fires, but Macro knew that it would take a while for the wood to dry out enough to be combustible. A mood of sullen misery stretched across the camp, despite the clear blue sky, the warm sunshine and the swifts darting through the air.

Macro sniffed. ‘Anyone would think it was our side that lost the battle.’

‘We won the battle but not the war. Not quite yet, at least. As long as Caratacus is at large we won’t know any peace.’

‘So what do we do now?’

Cato placed his palms against the small of his back and stretched. ‘We have a word with Septimus, if he’s up for it. Right now he’s the only one who might be able to help us find the traitor in the camp.’

‘Thought we were supposed to be looking for Caratacus.’

Cato shook his head. ‘If I’m any judge of things, he’s long gone. It’ll be a miracle if the cavalry patrols pick him up. That’s why we need to find the man who helped him escape. With the right inducement he may tell us where Caratacus is headed and what his plans are.’

‘I suppose.’

Cato turned to his friend. ‘If you’ve got a better idea, let’s hear it.’

Macro concentrated a moment and then shrugged. ‘Septimus it is.’

The surgeon looked strained as he sat at his camp desk at the entrance to the infirmary tent, one of the first to be erected again after the storm. The dim interior was filled with men lying on their sleeping mats. Some lay on the bare ground. Others sat up. The less seriously injured talked in mute tones or passed the time playing dice. The air was filled with the groans and cries of the wounded. Several orderlies moved through the tent tending to their patients. The surgeon was wearing a bloodstained apron over his black tunic and his face and arms were smeared with streaks of mud and blood.

‘Who is it you want?’

‘Hipparchus.’

‘What unit?’

‘He’s a civilian. We brought him in first thing this morning with a head injury.’

‘Oh, him. I remember. Fine, just a light tap. He’s awake now.’ The surgeon stood up and pointed to the far end of the tent. ‘Last man on the right.’

Cato nodded his thanks and he and Macro made their way down the aisle running the length of the tent. As they passed through the densely packed rows of human suffering, Cato felt his anger towards the general rising up again. Most of these men would not be here but for Ostorius’s decision to make a frontal attack on a strongly defended position. He could not help feeling that Legate Vespasian would not have made the same mistake had he been in charge. He recalled his first commander with admiration and a loyalty bordering on affection. If there was any justice in this world Vespasian would eventually achieve rank and position worthy of his talents, Cato thought. There was a man he would willingly follow into battle.

As they neared the end of the tent he saw Septimus sitting up, a fresh dressing wrapped neatly about his head. A small red stain showed where the blood had soaked through over the wound on his scalp. The agent glanced up as he became aware of their approach and smiled weakly.

‘Prefect Cato and Centurion Macro!’ He forced a smile. ‘The two favourite customers of Hipparchus, purveyor of the finest wines in the camp!’

The wounded men immediately around him stirred and one shouted at him to shut his mouth and not disturb their rest. Septimus ignored them and propped himself up on his elbows.

‘How’s the head?’ asked Cato as he and Macro hunkered down either side of the imperial agent.

‘Not bad. Still feel a bit dizzy, but I’ll be out of here before the end of the day. Don’t think I could stand the company of these louts any longer than that.’