Brothers in Blood (20 page)

Cato turned to look and saw that Ostorius was swaying slightly, his words crumbling into incoherence in his throat as one side of his mouth seemed to droop. The general staggered back, stumbled and collapsed on to the dais with a thud. At once the camp prefect rushed up the steps and hurried to the side of his superior. Several of the officers were already on their feet, including Cato. He knew at once that this had nothing to do with drink and turned to point to one of the centurions nearest the entrance to the hall.

‘Get the surgeon! Go!’ he called across the alarmed hubbub.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

‘I
thought we were supposed to be having a quiet word with Septimus,’ said Macro as he took the chair opposite Cato’s desk. Darkness had fallen outside the modest headquarters of the escort detachment’s fort and the prefect’s office was lit by two stands of oil lamps. Already a small cloud of insects swirled about the glow of the flames. ‘Where is he?’

Cat shrugged. ‘The first hour’s only just sounded. Give the man a chance, Macro.’

Macro grumbled under his breath as he leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. ‘What’s the news on Ostorius?’

A day had passed since the general collapsed at the briefing. No official announcement had been made but rumours had rippled through the army, according to which the general had suffered everything from an over-indulgence of drinking to a sudden death brought on by poison administered by an agent of Caratacus. Cato had discovered the truth for himself by the simple expedient of visiting the general’s headquarters and asking for information.

‘He’s alive. According to the camp prefect the surgeon says he’s had some kind of a fit. He’s lost control of the left side of his body and is rambling.’

‘Is he going to recover?’

‘The surgeon doesn’t know. He’s made Ostorius comfortable with some concoction from the east, and he’s sacrificed a cockerel to Asclepius. Whatever good that will do.’

Macro frowned, never quite happy when his friend cast any doubt on the workings of the gods. It was a dangerous game to play, Macro thought. Even though he had never seen a god for himself, he considered it safer to pay the gods their dues, just in case. He cleared his throat softly.

‘Do you think the old boy is going to get over it?’

‘Like you say, Macro, he’s old. That’s the one ailment you can guarantee never recovering from.’ Cato folded his hands together and stared at the door. ‘This campaign has worn him out. He’s been waging war against Caratacus and his allies from the moment he became governor five years ago. This was supposed to be his last post before retiring from public service. I think the prospect of Caratacus re-opening the war on a new front broke him. Even if he recovers, I doubt he will be in a fit state to command the army for another campaign season.’

‘What then? Who will take over?’

‘The senior legate is Quintatus. He’ll be in command until the general recovers.’

‘Quintatus. You told me you thought he’s the one behind our posting to Bruccium, and that you think he did that to try and get rid of us.’

Cato nodded. Even though Quintatus had said he would not harm them Cato did not trust him.

‘Shit. Now he’s going to have a free hand to try that on again.’

‘Quite. We’ll have to try and keep out of his way. Give him no excuse to find fault with us. Speaking of which, how are the new men coming on?’

‘I might have been a bit hasty in my judgement of them. They’re learning fast. Good bunch of lads for the most part. But there’s always a few who can’t tell the business end of a javelin from the butt. I’ll see what I can do about getting ’em transferred to the quartermaster’s staff, where the rest of the lads will be safe from them.’

‘That might be a mixed blessing. Who knows what harm they might cause with access to the army’s rations and kit. What about the Batavians?’

Macro scratched his bristly jaw. ‘Miro says they’re good men. It’ll be a while before they’re good soldiers, though. And there’s still tension between them and the Thracians, which threatens to kick off at any moment. I’ve told Miro to knock a few heads together and sort it out. Perhaps we should be threatening the Batavians that we’ll send them to work in the quartermaster’s stores. You know what they’re like. They’d rather walk through fire then learn how to read, write and add up.’

They heard footsteps approaching in the corridor outside and there was a rap on the door before it opened and Thraxis ducked his head into the office. ‘That wine merchant’s here again, sir. Says you wanted to see him about ordering some more stock.’

‘That’s right. Show him in.’

Thraxis hesitated at the door. ‘Sir, I can deal with him, if you wish.’

Cato fixed him with a steady look. In the normal course of events an officer of his rank would indeed entrust the purchase of his personal stores to his orderly. But Cato needed a cover story for his meetings with Septimus. If the Thracian took that as a sign of his superior’s distrust then that was too bad. ‘Do not question me again, Thraxis. Send the merchant in and then prepare a meal for me and the centurion.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The door closed behind the servant and Macro clicked his tongue. ‘Sooner or later someone’s going to be wondering about Septimus’s visits. And he’s not helping matters, what with being a witness to the escape, and still new to the camp. It looks suspicious.’

‘Can’t be helped. Either he comes here to sell me wine or I have to trek into the vicus and buy it from him in person, and that would look even more odd.’

Macro shrugged.

Footsteps approached again and Thraxis opened the door to admit Septimus and closed it behind him without a word, just a scowl.

Septimus was carrying a jar under each arm and bowed his head before cheerfully greeting his customer. ‘Honoured Prefect, a pleasure to be doing business with you again. I bring two samples from the latest stocks to reach Viroconium.’

As soon as Thraxis’s footsteps had faded he dropped the act and set the jars down beside a spare stool and sat down. At once Macro gestured towards the wine. ‘In the interests of maintaining your cover story I think we should test the quality of the wares.’

Septimus nodded. ‘Very wise, and in the interests of maintaining my cover, I think you should pay me for the wine. A denarius for each jug.’

‘What?’ Macro feigned outrage. ‘You would turn a profit on a comrade?’

‘Why not? Anything an imperial agent can do to mitigate the costs of his services is simply an act of patriotism.’

‘Is that what we call profiteering now?’

Septimus shrugged and held out his hand. With a curse Macro reached into his purse, plucked out a silver coin and tossed it to Septimus before helping himself to a jug and looking at Cato. ‘Cups?’

‘The shelf. Over there.’

Macro fetched the Samian ware cups and poured himself and Cato a generous helping before grudgingly pouring Septimus half a cup. The latter took a quick sip and then spoke.

‘A sorry business,’ he said wearily. ‘The governor’s illness does not help our cause.’

Macro shot him a cynical look. ‘Our cause?’

Septimus stared back. ‘My cause. My master’s cause. The Emperor’s cause. Rome’s cause. And therefore your cause. Happy now?’

A smile flickered across Macro’s face. ‘It helps to be reminded from time to time.’

The imperial agent turned to Cato. ‘You know this means that Quintatus will be assuming temporary command.’

‘I’d worked that out for myself.’

Septimus ignored the jibe. ‘I’d be wary of the legate. He’s proved that he’s sympathetic to the other side, even if he isn’t actually an agent of Pallas. The situation is already dangerous enough with Caratacus on the loose amongst the Brigantes. With Quintatus in command of the army there’s no telling what he might do to sabotage our position.’

Macro snorted. ‘Are you suggesting that a Roman legate would deliberately sacrifice his men to satisfy the whims of an imperial freedman?’

Septimus gave him a withering look. ‘This is all about what happens in Rome, Centurion. It is all about who sits on the throne and who stands at their side. Everything else that happens in the empire follows from that essential truth.’

‘I think you have been playing your games for too long,’ Macro replied coolly. ‘Strikes me that you and your kind rather overplay your significance in this world. Your struggles are of little concern to the rest of us. We face more immediate dangers, like keeping the barbarians in their place.’

Septimus stared back and then laughed. ‘You’re priceless, Macro! Do you really think that’s how the world works? Do you really think you soldiers have any say in what determines the paths taken by great powers?’

‘As it happens, I do.’ Macro patted the hilt of his sword. ‘Want me to give you a demonstration?’

Cato waved his hand impatiently. ‘Save it, Macro. This isn’t the time to let our private grievances get in the way.’ He turned back to the imperial agent. ‘I don’t think Quintatus will attempt anything too overt.’

‘Oh?’

‘Think about it. Even if he is working towards ensuring that Nero succeeds Claudius, he’s hardly going to want to go down in history as the man who lost the province of Britannia. He’ll be more subtle than that. If Quintatus is trying to fatally undermine our chances to bring peace to this island then he’ll do it in such a way that it happens after he’s left the scene. That way the blame will attach to someone else – the next governor, whoever that may be. Assuming Ostorius does not recover.’ Cato paused to organise his thoughts. ‘Now that Caratacus is in Brigantia there’s every chance that the war will drag on. Long enough for Quintatus to serve out his tenure of the Fourteenth Legion and return to Rome. So it’s in his interest to make sure that Caratacus talks the Brigantians round, while at the same time being seen to be doing all that he can to prevent it. The question is, how does he intend to achieve that? I think we’ll find out soon enough.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Septimus.

‘Quintatus has summoned all senior officers to a briefing at first light. I imagine he is going to announce that he’s assuming temporary command of the army, and the functions of governor of the province, until Ostorius recovers. And if the general dies, Quintatus will retain control until a new governor reaches Britannia. That’s a lot of power to concentrate in the hands of a legate. Especially one who can’t be trusted.’

‘I’ll have to report all this back to Narcissus at once. I’d better draft and code the message tonight.’ Septimus stood up, taking care to pick up the spare jug before Macro could lay claim to it. At the door he looked back at the two officers. ‘Given what’s going to happen tomorrow, I’d take extra care to watch my back if I were you. I fear that the agent sent by Pallas is going to have a free hand.’

‘We’ll be careful,’ Cato responded.

The officers gathering at headquarters the next morning could not hide their anxiety as they talked in muted tones while waiting for the camp prefect to bring them to order. They were not kept long before his voice echoed through the hall.

‘Commanding officer present!’

Legate Quintatus strode briskly to the dais and climbed the steps to face the assembled officers. He was accompanied by the chief haruspex attached to the army. The priest was wearing his formal white robe. Behind him came a clerk carrying his bag of slates, scrolls, inkpot and pens. He clutched a large waxed tablet under his arm on which to make his notes of the meeting. Quintatus’s gaze swept over them in silence for a moment before he coughed and began his address.

‘It is the opinion of the surgeon of the Twentieth Legion that Publius Ostorius Scapula is medically unfit to continue command of the army for the present. It is his further opinion that the general may remain incapacitated for the foreseeable future. Therefore it falls to me, as senior officer present, to assume command of the army and control of the province until such time as Ostorius recovers. Is there any man who challenges my right to do so?’

It was the required custom to ask the question. There were no legitimate grounds for protesting and the officers remained still and silent.

‘Very well then.’ Quintatus nodded to the clerk standing at the side of the hall. ‘Enter into the record that there was no objection. Furthermore, I have consulted the haruspex to ensure that my decision is in accordance with the will of the gods. The omens are favourable?’

It was more of a statement than a question and the priest nodded quickly as he replied in a sonorous tone, ‘Indeed. The most propitious auspices I have ever witnessed, sir.’ The haruspex drew breath to continue but Quintatus raised a hand to still the man’s tongue.

‘The gods have spoken and give me their blessing to proceed. Time is short, gentlemen. Our enemy is even now attempting to subvert the loyalty of our ally, Queen Cartimandua. If he succeeds, we shall be obliged to march against the northern tribes. It will be as big and bloody a campaign as any ever waged since the legions first landed on Britannia. The army must make ready. I will be sending for the Second Legion and two more cohorts of the Ninth to strengthen our ranks. In the meantime I require you to prepare your men for war. We must be ready to strike within days if the need arises. Questions?’

Cato steeled himself and raised his hand. ‘Sir!’

Quintatus turned to him. ‘What is it, Prefect Cato?’

‘If we attack the Brigantes before they have decided what to do with Caratacus, we will precipitate a war between us. Surely it would be better to warn them of the consequences of siding with him first? While there is still a chance to resolve this peacefully.’

The legate smiled. ‘Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Prefect.’

Cato felt himself flush with embarrassment and anger as some of the officers around him struggled to stifle their amusement. Quintatus allowed them a moment longer to enjoy his humbling of the commander of the baggage train escort before he continued.

‘I will be sending an envoy at the head of a small column to persuade the Brigantes to hand Caratacus over to us. However, we must be prepared to act if the tribesmen reject my demand.’ He turned his gaze away from Cato. ‘Any other questions? Yes, Tribune Petillius?’

‘Sir, how is the general?’

‘Ostorius is recovering in his tent. If there is any change in his condition you will be notified. Anything else? No? Then, with the exception of Tribune Otho and Prefects Horatius and Cato, you are dismissed.’

The officers stood up smartly as Quintatus left the dais and made towards his clerk. As soon as he had climbed down the steps, the first of the officers turned to leave.

‘What’s that about?’ asked Macro. ‘Why would he want to see you?’