The Emperor's Exile (Eagles of the Empire 19)

by Simon Scarrow

  Cato nodded with satisfaction. ‘What about the port? Has that been closed too?’

  ‘Yes. I made sure of it by sending an order in your name to the commander of the naval squadron at Olbia to send two of his biremes to block the harbour entrance. They’re sending any arrivals back to their port of origin and preventing anyone from leaving. I trust you don’t mind me usurping your authority.’

  ‘Not on this occasion, but I’ll thank you not to make a habit of it. Anything else?’

  ‘The prefect of the Fourth Illyrian has arrived and is kicking his heels at the fort. I told him you’d speak to him as soon as you were well enough, but he’s been threatening to head back to Tibula until you recover. He seemed more than a little concerned to discover you were sick.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll see him this afternoon.’

  Apollonius raised an eyebrow. ‘So soon? Are you sure?’

  ‘It’ll be a few days before I’m fit to march and fight, but my mind’s clear enough to give the prefect his orders.’

  ‘Very well. The last thing to note is that Scurra has sent a request to Rome for reinforcements to help deal with the enemy now that the cohort at Carales is no longer available.’

  ‘I doubt he’ll have much luck with that while the pestilence is loose in the province. Nero and his advisers aren’t going to be happy about putting more men at risk. We’ll have to make do with the forces we have left. Two thousand men or so. Half of them manning the outposts and forts around the enemy’s territory. It’s going to be tough work,’ Cato mused.

  ‘It’s heartening to see that Rome is appointing the brightest and best of its strategists to positions of command,’ Apollonius responded archly. Then he relented. ‘It’s good to see you have recovered. I’ll be honest, I feared that with Plancinus in charge, things might not work out well. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a fine centurion, but he is no Prefect Cato, nor a Centurion Macro for that matter.’

  ‘Things may not work out well all the same,’ Cato cautioned. Something else occurred to him. ‘Did Claudia have any assistance when she was looking after me? The cohort’s surgeon, for example?’

  ‘There was only Claudia. I brought the surgeon with me that first day, but his advice was so minimal as to be useless. She took it all on herself. You might want to consider offering her the surgeon’s post. From what I’ve seen, she could do the job much better. But then maybe she was motivated by more personal considerations . . .’

  Cato shot him a challenging stare. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What do you think I mean? A man would have to be uncommonly unobservant not to see that she is fond of you. Very fond. And from our exchanges each day, I would add that a man would have to be uncommonly stupid not to be flattered by her attention and affection. She’s a fine woman, Cato. You could do far worse. Forgive me, I forgot, you already have.’

  He had gone too far and Cato growled at him. ‘Before I lose my temper and do something I’ll regret, you’d better go and tell Prefect Tadius to report to me once I return to the fort.’

  ‘You are in no condition to make such threats, Prefect.’ Apollonius tapped a finger to his forehead in farewell and turned to walk down the mole to the quay. Cato watched him with a sour expression. He had confided too much in Apollonius and the agent had obviously discovered more about Cato’s previous life by himself. Enough to goad him, but to what end? Julia’s treachery was going to be an open wound, it seemed. No matter how hard Cato tried to forget, let alone forgive, it would always be there, disfiguring even those memories of the happy moments they had once shared.

  Then he recalled Claudia. She had gone to fetch him some wine and had not returned. Come to that, he had not heard a sound out of her since she had climbed the ladder to the tower keeper’s quarters. He felt a cold stab of fear run down his spine and struggled to his feet, making his way inside as quickly as he could.

  ‘Claudia?’ he called.

  There was no response, so he called out again and then began to climb the ladder, gritting his teeth at the effort it caused his weakened limbs. As his head rose above the opening, he saw that she was slumped over the table next to the carving the keeper had been at work on the day he was forced to leave his home. A small jar rested on the table before her and a cup lay on its side, knocked over. Wine was still dripping into the puddle on the floor, bright like blood in the sunlight streaming in through the open window.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked as he clambered up the last few rungs and crossed the room towards her, praying that she had not succumbed to the sickness.

  She responded to the hand he placed on her shoulder with a disgruntled shift in position, and then her torso swelled as she took a deep breath and began snoring.

  ‘My poor Claudia,’ Cato said softly. He looked round and saw a cloak lying on top of a small chest. Easing her head up from the table, he slid the folds under her cheek. ‘You rest . . . Sleep as long as you like. You have earned it. That, and my eternal gratitude.’

  He hesitated, then bent to kiss the back of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. She stirred slightly and mumbled something incoherent, then settled again. Cato regarded her fondly before climbing back down to the storeroom, his mind already turning to the prospect of the coming campaign against the province’s enemies. The pestilence that had struck Carales had robbed him of a third of the men needed to put down the brigand tribes. It was almost as if he was fighting two enemies, he mused. Neither of them was the kind of conventional enemy he had been trained to face in battle, but both would need to be contained and eliminated. The question was, which of them would prove to be the greater danger? As things stood, he was anxious that while he might crush the brigands, the pestilence might never be defeated.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Several hours passed before Cato felt himself well enough to leave the beacon tower. After sending for the decurion of the German bodyguards to take care of the exhausted Claudia, he hired a cart to take him back to the fort. The short journey proved to be a new form of torment, as the wheels thumped down into potholes and lurched in and out of the grooves worn into the flagstones of the streets leading through the town. Each jarring movement threatened to make him throw up or loosen his bowels. It was even worse when the cart left the town and took the turning onto a track that covered the mercifully short distance to the fort. He had the driver drop him outside the headquarters building and walked slowly through the entrance, acknowledging the salute of the sentry with a nod. His quarters were on the first storey and he had to pause halfway up the staircase as he did not trust his legs to carry him to the top without collapsing.

  ‘Here, let me help,’ said Apollonius as he hurried down to meet him. ‘I was watching for you through your office window.’

  ‘I can manage.’

  ‘I don’t think so. If anything, you look worse than you did this morning.’

  He pulled Cato’s arm across his shoulder and took his wrist firmly, supporting the prefect’s weight with his other hand as he helped him to climb the remaining stairs. Cato was too exhausted to refuse his help and allowed himself to be steered along the landing to his sleeping quarters opposite the office.

  ‘The prefect of the Fourth Cohort is waiting in your office. I can’t say that he’s been happy about being kept there for most of the day.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Cato responded as he indicated the chair beside the narrow window that looked out over the roofs of the barrack blocks. Once he was seated, he found that his limbs were trembling, and he clasped his hands together to try and still them. ‘I’ll see him in a moment. Just need to get my strength back.’

  Apollonius regarded him critically. ‘You look done in. Why not wait until the evening, or even tomorrow morning? He’s not going anywhere.’

  Cato shook his head. ‘There’s no time to spare. I’ve wasted enough of that already in recent days.’

  ‘You were laid low by the sickness.’ Apollonius frowned. ‘It was hardly your choice to
waste time. Stop being so hard on yourself for once. You are not Heracles or Achilles. You are mortal like the rest of us and should judge yourself by that standard rather than crushing yourself under the weight of the burdens you heap on yourself. What do you think you have to prove? I’ve not known you long, Cato, but I know your worth, and that’s not something I say lightly.’

  Cato sighed as he looked the agent in the eye. ‘Have you finished?’

  ‘Why, is there something I missed out?’

  ‘You forget yourself, Apollonius. I am in command here. I will not brook insubordination from my officers. Not even Macro.’

  ‘Macro is no longer here, and you sorely need someone you can trust to tell you the truth.’

  ‘The truth? I can recall rather too many occasions since we first met when you proved to be evasive at best when you weren’t being dishonest.’

  ‘All the more reason for you to value the words I offer you now. And if you cannot stomach me being honest with you, then perhaps it might be best if I leave you to get on with your campaign without my assistance.’

  There was a silence as both men stared at each other, grim-faced. Cato cleared his throat so that his voice would be firm. ‘Is that what you really want?’

  ‘No, damn you,’ Apollonius replied softly. ‘I want to serve a man I actually respect. I’ve served too many who were not worthy of my talents.’

  ‘Such commendable modesty should not go unrewarded. I will allow you to remain in my service.’

  Apollonius’s eyes narrowed fractionally and Cato could not help the twitch at the corners of his mouth that betrayed his humorous intent, then both men laughed spontaneously in relief.

  ‘You had me there, sir.’

  ‘Yes, I did. For once. And it feels very satisfying.’ Cato’s expression became serious. ‘I thank you for your honesty and I promise that I will always listen to your advice, but I cannot give you my word that I will act on it, nor that there can be any question of you disobeying my orders. That has to be understood between us. I should have made it clear before now. That is my mistake. Are we agreed?’

  He held out his hand, and after the briefest of hesitations, Apollonius reached out and they clasped each other by the forearm. ‘You have my word on it, sir.’

  ‘Good, then you’d better let Tadius know that I will join him shortly.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Apollonius dipped his head in acknowledgement, which was the nearest he had yet come to a formal salute, and turned to leave the room, closing the door behind him.

  Cato gathered his strength as he reflected on what the agent had said. It was heartening to be praised by a man whose skills and intelligence were at least a match for his own. And yet, being the cautious creature that he was, he was instinctively wary. To his mind, those individuals who offered him praise were either too easily pleased or lacked the perspicacity to see him as he truly was: a man riddled by self-doubt whose courage was born out of fear of being seen as a coward. If they only knew how his guts turned to ice every time he went into battle, and how he dreaded failure, their praise would swiftly turn to contempt.

  He stood up and tested his footing before crossing to his travel chest and taking out a wide military belt. Fastening it about his waist, he grimaced as he saw that the buckle needed to be tightened two more notches to fit his diminished frame. Taking a deep breath, he left the room, crossed the corridor and entered the cohort commander’s office.

  As he paced steadily across the room to the desk, Prefect Tadius rose from the bench by the door and regarded him coldly. He was a thin, angular man who seemed to be little more than a frame upon which to hang his tunic and armour. He had dark eyes and lifeless brown hair that hung over his forehead, straight and glistening with some kind of oil.

  ‘I’ve been kept waiting here all day,’ he seethed, his accent nasal and well bred.

  ‘So I understand. Then again, I’ve been waiting for you to come to Tharros for rather more than a few days, so you have little to complain about.’ Cato stared back at the other officer, challenging him to display any further defiance. After a moment, Tadius’s gaze shifted over Cato’s shoulder, towards the nearest window.

  ‘I had matters to attend to in Tibula.’

  ‘Matters so important that you failed to obey my orders? What matters could those be precisely?’

  ‘Governor Scurra required me to complete preparations for the defence of the town before I came here.’

  ‘Defences? Against what? The nearest enemy is nearly a hundred miles from Tibula. That is not an acceptable excuse, Prefect. Furthermore, the military chain of command stops here.’ Cato banged the top of the desk with his fist. ‘You take orders from me, not Scurra. If you fail to obey me again, I will have you removed from your command and sent back to Rome.’

  Tadius’s jaw sagged in surprise. ‘You would not dare. I have friends in Rome who—’

  ‘Quiet! Do you imagine for one moment that you are the first man to make such a threat to me? I don’t give a shit about what friends you and that fat dolt Scurra may have back in Rome. Chances are they are cut from the same cloth as you: indolent inbreds with an arrogant sense of entitlement to public office and military rank that should be the preserve of men with greater talent who have earned their right to hold those ranks . . .’ Cato paused, angry with himself for letting his temper reveal his thoughts. He eased himself onto his chair before he continued, more calmly, ‘You know where you stand now, Tadius. Do not test my patience or authority again. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes . . . sir.’

  ‘Good. Now let’s not waste any more time.’ Cato went over his campaign plan before turning to his specific orders for the Fourth Illyrian. ‘Your cohort is to march from Tibula as soon as you return there. Take the local militia with you and collect any other forces from the towns you pass through.’

  ‘The local magistrates aren’t going to like that.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. You tell them the orders come from me and I am the one to take it up with if they want to complain. Either way, the militia are to join you. Make it clear to them that they are to consider themselves subject to military discipline. Anyone who refuses to march with you, or who tries to run off, will be treated as a deserter and punished accordingly. No exceptions. Understand?’

  Tadius nodded.

  ‘You will make for Caput Tyrsi and construct a marching camp there. You will construct further outposts to cover all the roads and tracks between there and the sea. They will be garrisoned by the militia until the campaign is over. Your cohort will cover the outposts if they come under attack, but you are not to pursue the enemy. You and your fortifications will be the anvil to my men’s hammer. With the marines covering the coastal settlements, my columns will force the enemy back towards you, destroying their settlements and camps as we advance. Once the trap closes, we’ll crush them between us.’

  Tadius reflected a moment before he responded. ‘Seems simple enough.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so, since there will be no excuse for any mistakes in carrying out my orders. If everyone plays their part, this should be over before autumn arrives.’

  ‘And what of the spoils?’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘Strikes me your columns will capture most of the enemy, as well as looting their settlements. What will the rest of us get out of it? Me and my men, as well as those from the naval squadron?’

  ‘There’ll be fair shares from the proceeds of the prisoner auctions and any large caches of treasure that fall into our hands. Satisfied?’

  ‘Very.’ Tadius smiled for the first time. ‘What about the militia?’

  ‘They’ll get their share, just like everyone else,’ said Cato. ‘The prospect of reward might cure their resentment at being forced to leave their homes for a few months.’

  Tadius’s smile faded. ‘It’ll mean less for the rest of us.’

  ‘True, but if I were you, I’d sleep better knowing the militia had a stake in covering my ba
ck . . . Anything else you want to say?’

  ‘It occurs to me that there is one other factor you need to consider as far as your plan goes.’

  ‘You mean the pestilence?’

  ‘Yes, sir. From what I’ve heard since I reached Tharros, it’s hit Carales badly and there’s a danger it may spread across the island.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I was told that you were affected?’

  ‘Yes, it’s true. But I have recovered now.’

  Tadius regarded him dubiously. ‘If you say so, sir . . . If the pestilence does spread, it may affect our campaign.’

  ‘Then let’s hope we deal with the enemy first,’ Cato said tersely. ‘Anything else?’

  The prefect thought briefly and shook his head.

  ‘I’ll have your written orders prepared and you can leave for Tibula the moment they are in your hands. There’s a stockpile of supplies for your forces waiting at Caput Tyrsi. It should be enough for the next two months.’ Cato gestured towards the door. ‘You are dismissed, Prefect Tadius. I expect a message from you within the next ten days to say your men are in position at Caput Tyrsi. Don’t disappoint me.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Tadius replied, and left the office.

  Cato’s shoulders slumped wearily as he leaned over his desk. He was frustrated that the briefest of meetings had fatigued him. How many more days must pass before he was fit enough to take the field?

  There was a tap at the door and Apollonius entered without waiting for a response. ‘I take it some sharp words were exchanged with Prefect Tadius, judging from his expression as he stormed down the corridor.’

  ‘I said what needed to be said. I gave him his orders. Make sure he gets the written version before he leaves. I want the Fourth Illyrian ready to march as soon as possible. Pass that on to Plancinus. We’ll leave for Augustis at first light. A half-century should be enough to hold the fort and reassure the locals. They are to be chosen from those too old or unfit for the campaign.’