Cato 02 - The Eagles Conquest (47 page)

‘I wondered where the sudden expansion in word power had come from. It must have rubbed off from the tribune.’

‘Cato! Will you stop being so horrible!’

They glared at each other for a moment, before Cato’s gaze wavered and he looked down at the bandage he had been winding round his arm. He froze as he stared at it.

‘I did like you,’ Lavinia continued as gently as she could. ‘I really did, in a way, but the feelings I had for Vitellius were much deeper, and when he… Cuto?’

Cato was frantically shuffling the bandage round his arm and was not listening.

‘Cato? What’s the matter?’

‘B… e… l ‘ he read out quietly as the marks on the bandage began to align. ‘ I… 0… n… i… u… s. Bellonius.’

Bellonius. Cato frowned at the name before he recalled three tribal representatives who had been formally presented to Claudius at the start of the morning’s ceremony. He jumped up, looking around, and hurried over to the footrail that ran along the line of benches. Lavinia watched him in amazement. Quickly unwinding the bandage from his hand, Cato began to wrap it carefully round the rail, adjusting the alignment as he went along, working his way back from the end of the message.

‘Cato! What are you doing?’

‘Saving the Emperor’s life!’ he replied excitedly as he continued towards the end of the bandage, reading as he went along. ‘Here, give me a hand!’

Lavinia watched Cato with a mixture of frustration and bewilderment.

Then, with ashake of her head, she crouched by the footrail and carefully rolled the rest of the bandage round the pole. Squatting down, Lavinia slowly read through the message, making careful adjustments to the bandage to align the words more precisely. She frowned as she tried to understand what had so excited Cato. As she glanced over the opening section, her eyes froze on a Roman name.

‘Oh no.’

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing,’ Lavinia replied, unable to conceal a tremor in her voice. Cato pushed her back and leaned over the rail. Behind him Lavinia bent down. Before he found the phrase that had so alarmed her, he sensed a sudden motion and looked up - just in time to see Lavinia swing her arm in towards the side of his head. In her hand was a large round rock.

There was no time to duck, or raise an arm. The stone crashed against the side of his skull, the world exploded into a brilliant white before turning into the pitch black of unconsciousness.

‘Come on, lad!’

Cato was dimly aware that someone was shaking him, very roughly.

The darkness was slowly thinning into a milky blur, and his head felt thick, like a lump of wood. Slowly his reason returned to him. He groaned. ‘That’s it! Wake up, Cato!’

His eyes flickered open, took a moment to focus, and he saw the familiar coarse features of Centurion Macro looming over him, Macro gripped him under the arms and raised him into a sitting position. ‘Ouch!’ Cato raised a hand to the side of his head, and winced as his fingers touched a bump the size of a small egg. ‘What the hell happened to you?’

‘Not sure,’ Cato mumbled, still muzzy-headed. Then the jumble of events resolved themselves very quickly.

‘Lavinia! She’s got the bandage!’

‘To Vitellius. It has to be him. He has to be the one that’s plotting with the Britons.’

‘Up to the same old tricks again,’ sighed Macro. ‘That fellow could really use a sword between the shoulder blades on a dark night. We’d better see if we can find Lavinia. Let’s go.’

They ran back to the area of the vast encampment allotted to the Second Legion, and made for the line of officers’ tents. The senior tribune’s tent stood at the end of the line, nearest to the legion’s headquarters, and the two guards assigned to Vitellius stood at the fringe of the awning, hands on shield rims and spears grounded. As Cato and his centurion approached the guards, Macro smiled good-naturedly, and raised his hand in greeting

‘All right, lads?’ They nodded warily. ‘Tribune at home?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Tell him he’s got some guests.’

‘Sorry, sir, can’t do that. Strict orders. He’s entertaining and not to be disturbed. ‘

‘I see. Entertaining.’ Macro winked at them. ‘Wouldn’t be entertaining some young dark-haired piece, by any chance?’ The guards exchanged a quick glance.

‘Thought so.’

Cato felt sick. Lavinia was here, in his tent, being ‘entertained’.

Suddenly he was striding towards the entrance, bent on doing murder.

‘Lavinia’ get out here!’ One of the guards, trained to react instantly to any threat to those he guarded, dropped his spear and thrust it between Cato’s legs. The optio caught his shin against it, tripped and tumbled over. Before he could react, the guard was standing over him, spear tip pointed dangerously close to his throat.

‘Easy there!’ Macro calmed the guard. ‘Easy. The boy’s no threat.

The flap flicked open and Tribune Vitellius, in a silk gown, ducked outside, bellowing angrily, ‘What’s all the bloody commotion?’ He caught sight of Cato sprawled on the ground and Macro standing to one side of the guard who was threatening to impale the youth.

‘Well! If it isn’t my Nemesis and his little acolyte! What can I do for you, gentlemen? Keep it brief. I have a rather ravishing young girl waiting.

The calculated remark had its desired effect, and Cato grabbed the shaft of the spear above him and wrenched it from the guard. He thrust the butt back into the man’s face and caught a sharp crack on the forehead, stunning him. Before the other guard could react, Cato had sprung to his feet and hefted the spear, ready to thrust it into the tribune’s guts. But he never made it. A quick kick to the back of one of his knees floored him again. But this time his body was covered and held down by another.

‘Stay down!’ Macro hissed in his ear. ‘You fucking hear me?’

Cato tried to struggle, and was quickly kneed in the groin. He doubled up in agony and felt sure he was going to throw up. Macro quickly got back on his feet.

‘Sorry about that, the Lad’s been under a lot of strain lately.’

‘That’s all right, Centurion,’ Cato heard Vitellius reply. ‘Nasty cut he’s got on his head. I’d lend you a bandage, only I’ve just burnt the last of mine… ‘

There was a moment’s silence; even Cato stopped struggling. Then Macro pulled him to his feet and thrust him away from the tribune. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you, sir. I’ll see to it that the lad doesn’t bother you again.’

‘Think nothing of it,’ Vitellius replied flatly.

‘Let’s be going,’ Macro said sharply and pushed Cato away from the tent. ‘That’ll teach you to disrespect our officers!’

As they passed out of earshot, Macro leaned close to Cato and hissed, ‘You were bloody lucky to get out of that alive. From now on you listen to me and obey me.’

‘But the Emperor-’

‘Shut up, you fool! Can’t you see he was trying to make you hit him?

You know what the penalty is for assaulting an officer. You want to be crucified? No? Just keep quiet then.’

Once they were out of sight of Vitellius, Macro grabbed the collar of Cato’s tunic and pulled him close. ‘Cato! Get a grip! We’ve got to do something. The banquet’ll be starting soon, and we’ve got to find some way of stopping Vitellius.’

‘Fuck Vitellius,’ mumbled Cato.

‘Later. Right now we’ve got to save the Emperor.’

Chapter Fifty-Three

‘Not bad,’ commented Vespasian, mouth full of the salty pastry. ‘Not bad at all.’

‘Careful, those crumbs are going everywhere.’ Flavia brushed them off the folds of her husband’s tunic. ‘Honestly, you’d think a grown man would spend just a little more time thinking about the consequences of what he chooses to eat.’

‘Don’t blame me, blame him.’ Vespasian waved the pastry over towards Narcissus who was standing to one side of the Emperor’s table while his master picked at a plate of garlic mushrooms. ‘He decided on the menu, and he’s done a first-rate job. What is this anyway?’

Flavia picked up one of the pastries and sniffed it with the refined contempt of those raised to look down their noses on the efforts of others. ‘It’s venison -left to hang a little longer than necessary, I might add pand marinated in fish pickle sauce before being shredded, mixed with herbs and flour, and baked.’

Vespasian gazed at her in open admiration, and looked again at the remains of his pastry. ‘How can you tell all that? Just from the scent?’ ‘Unlike you, I actually bothered to read the menu.’

Vespasian smiled graciously. ‘What else is on the menu, since you’re the expert?’

‘I’ve no idea, I only read as far as the introductory course, but I imagine it is simply a replay of every banquet Claudius has ever had.’

‘Creature of habit, our Emperor.’

‘Narcissus’ habits unfortunately. The menu has his stamp all over it, fussy, pretentious and likely to leave you with a sick feeling in your stomach.’

Vespasian laughed, and spontaneously reached over to kiss his wife on the cheek. She accepted the kiss with a surprised expression.

‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to shock you,’ Vespasian said. ‘It was just that, for a moment there, it felt like old times.’

‘It needn’t feel otherwise, husband. If you would not treat me so coldly.’

‘Coldly,’ Vespasian repeated and met her gaze. ‘I don’t feel cold towards you. I have never loved you more than now.’ He leaned closer to her, and continued softly, ‘But I feel I don’t really know you. Not since I was told about your involvement with the Liberators.’

Flavia took his hand and grasped it firmly. ‘I’ve told you all you need to know. I’ve told you I have no connection with those people. None at all.’

‘Now maybe. But before?’

Flavia smiled sadly before she responded in a quiet, clear voice, ‘I have no connection with them now. That’s all I can tell you. To say any more would endanger you, and maybe Titus… and the other child.’

‘Other child?’ Vespasian frowned before the sestertius dropped. He stopped chewing the pastry, breathed in to reply, and promptly started choking on the pastry crumbs. His face went red as he coughed frantically to try and clear his throat. Heads began to turn, and at the table of honour Claudius looked up, watched the spectacle and looked down at his food in tenor. Narcissus rushed over to reassure him and quickly nibbled at one of the mushrooms on Claudius’ plate.

Flavia was thumping her husband on the back, trying to dislodge the blockage, until finally Vespasian started breathing again, eyes watering, and caught Flavia’s hands to stop the beating.

‘I’m all right. I’m all right.’

‘I thought you were dying!’ Flavia was on the verge of tears, then suddenly she laughed at them both, and the other diners relaxed again. ‘What on earth got into you!’

‘The baby,’ Vespasian managed to say before having to cough. ‘You’re expecting another child?’

‘Yes,’ Flavia replied with a smile, before sending Lavinia to fetch some water for her husband.

Vespasian, still red-faced, leaned over and wrapped his arms round his wife, burying his face in her shoulder and neck. ‘When did you conceive?’

‘Back in Gaul, shortly before we arrived in Gesoriacum. Over four months ago. The baby’s due early next year.’

‘Vespasian!’ Claudius called out above the hubbub of conversation, which abruptly died away, ‘I say, V-V-Vespasian!’

Vespasian released his wife and quickly turned round. ‘Caesar?’ ‘Are you all right?’

‘Quite all right, Caesar.’ He turned to smile at his wife. ‘Marvellous, in fact.’

‘Well, you don’t look it. You seemed to be on the verge of croaking just a m-m-moment ago! Lucky escape for me, I was thinking - someone poisoned you by mistake.’

‘No poison, Caesar. I’ve just learned I’m going to have another child.’

Flavia blushed and gazed down at her hands with becoming modesty.

Caesar reached for his gold wine cup and raised it in their direction.

‘A toast! May the next Flavian to be born live to serve his Emperor with as much distinction as his father, and uncle of course.’ Claudius nodded towards Sabinus, who smiled weakly. The rest of the guests in the brightly lit great hall of the Catuvellauni chorused the toast and Vespasian bowed his head in thanks. But the Emperor’s light-hearted mention of assassination brought back Vespasian’s fears over what Adminius had told him, and he glanced round the hall, eyeing the British contingent suspiciously. Venutius, the elders of the Trinovantes, and a score of other natives sat in self-conscious discomfort not far from the Emperor’s right hand.

‘What’s keeping that wretched girl Lavinia?’ Flavia muttered as she glanced round the hall. ‘She was only supposed to go and get you a glass of water… ‘

A pungent aroma of spices and the richer undercurrent of sauces and cooked meats filled Cato’s nostrils as he and Macro entered the open kitchen area at the back of the great hall. Huge cauldrons simmered over cooking fires tended by sweating slaves, while the cooks laboured over long trestle tables, preparing the plethora of dishes required at an imperial banquet.

‘What now?’ Cato whispered. ‘Just follow my lead.’

The centurion marched up to the timber-framed door leading into the side of the great hall. A burly palace slave in a purple tunic held up a hand at their approach.