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

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘You are the Roman commander.’

  Cato did not know if it was a question or a statement and kept his silence.

  ‘I know who you are. I found out from one of your soldiers before we killed him.’

  Glancing round the interior of the outpost for the first time since he had regained consciousness, he saw the destruction that had taken place after he had been knocked cold. There were bodies strewn on the ground and on top of the three wagons in front of the sheds. The fire in the gateway was no more than smouldering embers buried beneath the skin-covered ladders, which had burned through in places. Some of the horses and mules had been butchered and lay in pitiful heaps along the lines they had been tethered to. Those that Massimilianus had not managed to hamstring had been roped together and were being led from the outpost by some of the younger brigands. One of them looked round and shot him a look of triumph, and Cato recognised him as Calgarno, the boy they had captured. Other men were filing out of the outpost carrying supplies and equipment looted from the wagons and the bodies of the defenders. There were no more than ten of the brigands left within the ruined outpost. The bodies of two men, no longer recognisable, had been bound back to back around one of the legs of the tower. Stripped to their loincloths, they had been crudely tortured with blades and were covered with the blood that had flowed from shallow cuts to their faces and torsos. Bound to another leg of the tower was Centurion Massimilianus. He had a dressing tied over his right arm and his face was cut and bruised. Like Cato, his helmet had been removed, along with his weapons.

  Cato swallowed and cleared his throat. ‘I am Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato, commander of the forces on this island.’

  ‘Not any more you’re not.’ The brigand’s mouth twitched briefly in amusement. ‘You are now the prisoner of the King of the Mountains.’

  ‘King of the Mountains?’ Now it was Cato’s turn to force a smile. ‘That’s a grand title for the leader of a gang of robbers.’

  ‘We have overcome this outpost and wiped out its garrison, and we’ve already brought fear to every corner of this province.’ The brigand leader cocked his head slightly to one side. ‘Not bad for a gang of robbers.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ Cato demanded.

  The other man hesitated and shrugged. ‘Benicus. Of the Ilenses.’

  ‘Why have you spared me and my centurion?’

  ‘Why do you think? The commander of the Roman forces on the island and one of his senior officers are bound to be worth a considerable ransom. We’ll send a message to the governor once we reach our camp. We’ll give him ten days to meet our demands, and if he refuses, we’ll send him the centurion’s head. If there’s no reply after another ten days, we’ll send one of your hands . . .’

  Cato doubted whether Scurra – or more importantly, his steward – would agree to any ransom demand that would have to be paid out of the treasury so assiduously amassed for the personal benefit of the governor. That prospect was best not related to the brigand leader. Cato indicated the wagons where the defenders had made their last stand. ‘Are any more of my men alive?’

  ‘None. We killed most in the attack. A handful surrendered. We saved two to question and cut the throats of the others. Now that we’ve got all the plunder we can carry, and you’re awake, we’re leaving.’ Benicus snapped an order and two of his men came towards Cato with a length of rope. While one pinned his arms behind his back, the other bound his wrists tightly and ran the rope up his back and around his neck, tying a loop and leaving enough for a leash some six feet in length. They did the same to Massimilianus and led him to Cato’s side.

  The two men exchanged a sad nod.

  ‘Glad you made it, sir,’ the centurion muttered.

  ‘What happened to you?’

  There was a brief silence as the centurion lowered his head in shame. It was the custom for centurions to lead their men into battle and be the last to leave the field, fighting to the death if needed. Capture was the ultimate shame for the men of the centurionate.

  ‘We held the middle wagon for as long as we could. I was pulled off it and thrown to the ground and piked. Would have died there if this one hadn’t called his dogs off. Any idea why we were spared, sir?’

  ‘Ransom, he says.’ Cato did not go into the details of the possible fate of his companion.

  ‘That’s enough talk!’ Benicus interrupted. He looked round the outpost and called out to the men still remaining within, pointing to the blackened gateway. At that moment Calgarno came running back across the causeway, shouting in alarm as he gestured down the slope. There was a hurried exchange before Benicus raced up the ladder of the watchtower. Cato could hear shouting in the distance.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Massimilianus.

  ‘Don’t know. Doesn’t sound good for our friends, though.’

  More of the brigands came running back into the outpost, the youths amongst them, having abandoned the mules. The fear in their expressions was clear to see. A horn blared and all turned towards the sound.

  ‘It’s the relief column!’ Massimilianus’s bruised face split into a grin. ‘By the gods, they must have marched quickly. We’re saved, sir!’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on that just yet . . .’

  Benicus leaned over the rail of the watchtower and bellowed orders to his men. At once, several of them ran towards the three surviving carts and began to drag the bodies aside. Others hurried up the rampart to take positions along the palisade. As soon as the way was clear, the first group manoeuvred one of the wagons over to the gate and rolled it into place above the charred timbers and still smoking embers. Another wagon was heaved beside it and the men climbed on top of the vehicles and readied their weapons.

  ‘What goes around . . .’ Massimilianus chuckled, relishing the abrupt reversal of fortune. ‘Looks like these barbarian lads have caught themselves in the same trap they set for us, sir.’

  ‘It seems that way,’ Cato conceded. He did not want to give the centurion, or himself, any false hope. They were still bound securely and were the prisoners of Benicus and his men. He was under no illusion about their fate if it looked like the brigands’ position was hopeless. They would be dead before the first soldier of the relief column set foot inside the outpost. He spoke softly. ‘Don’t make any noise about it. Let’s keep quiet for the moment.’

  Massimilianus stared at him questioningly, then, observing Cato’s look of warning, he gave a nod and lowered his head a fraction to avoid meeting the glances of any of the enemy.

  Benicus swung himself down onto the ladder and descended. He paused, his fist tapping his chin, then rounded on Cato.

  ‘Your warning signal yesterday has been answered, Prefect. Your men are surrounding the outpost. Fortunately, most of mine have already escaped into the forest with their loot.’

  ‘But not you and these others.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You can’t hold out. You have fewer men than I did, and no gate to protect you. Better to surrender. If you choose to fight, you will surely die. You and all your men.’

  ‘And you as well.’ Benicus tapped the ivory handle of the dagger tucked into his belt, and Cato recognised it as the one taken from him while he was unconscious. ‘I’ll slit your throats long before your troops cut me down . . . But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, eh? I have no intention of dying here, nor surrendering to you Romans.’

  ‘How do you think you’ll escape?’

  ‘My men and I will walk out of here with you as hostages. Your men are hardly likely to risk your lives by stopping us.’

  Given what he knew about the likelihood of the governor paying any ransom, Cato realised that they were as likely to die as prisoners in the enemy camp as here in the outpost. It was just a question of time.

  The rumble of hooves sounded outside the stockade and a voice called out. ‘You in the outpost! Who speaks for you?’

  Cato recognised the voice of Apollonius. So it was the men from the fort at August
is who had answered the signal first. Too late to save the outpost, but timely enough to avenge the small garrison, which had fought to the last.

  Benicus hurried to the rampart and climbed up to the walkway. ‘I am in command here.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Apollonius. ‘How am I to address you?’

  ‘Benicus of the Ilenses. Lieutenant of the King of the Mountains.’

  ‘Listen to me, Benicus. I will offer you and your men your lives if you lay down your weapons and surrender. Slaves you will be, but you will live. If you do not surrender, we will take the fort and kill you all.’

  ‘We have hostages,’ Benicus responded.

  ‘Survivors of the garrison? How many?’

  Benicus turned and shouted an order. Two of his men grabbed Cato and Massimilianus’s leashes and led them over to join the brigand leader. Benicus shoved his prisoners up against the edge of the palisade. Cato saw Apollonius and several mounted auxiliaries some fifty feet from the outer ditch. A hundred paces further down the slope was the rest of the mounted contingent. Sections of infantry were positioned at roughly equal distances around the outpost.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ Apollonius called out. ‘Centurion Massimilianus. Good to see you both still alive.’

  ‘They will remain alive if you do as I say,’ Benicus intervened. ‘Pull your soldiers back to the edge of the forest and stay there while I lead my men out. If you make any attempt to stop us, I will kill your officers. Do you understand?’

  Apollonius gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘I only take orders from my prefect. You must hand our officers over alive and then surrender.’

  ‘Fool,’ Benicus spat. ‘You are in no position to make demands if you want them to live.’

  ‘I will speak for my men,’ Cato interrupted. ‘You negotiate with me and me alone, Benicus.’

  ‘Silence!’

  He snatched a breath. ‘Apollonius! If they don’t surrender, kill them all. I will not be a hostage!’

  ‘Shut your mouth!’ Benicus slapped Cato hard across the back of the head. ‘One more word without my say-so and I’ll cut your tongue out.’

  He jerked their leashes and swung them away from the palisade, shoving them down the rampart. Both men rolled and tumbled to the ground inside the outpost. As he lay winded, Cato heard Apollonius’s response.

  ‘You speak to my prefect. I will wait for the outcome. If I hear nothing from him by noon, we will attack. Farewell, Benicus.’

  He heard the sound of hooves receding as he struggled to sit up alongside Massimilianus. Benicus watched the mounted men ride away and turned to stare at his prisoners before he spoke.

  ‘You’ve made things rather difficult for me, Prefect. I can’t use you to leave this place now. You’ve seen to that. It seems I may have to kill you here.’

  ‘That is not necessary. Why not choose to surrender and live?’

  ‘Live as a slave, you mean?’ Benicus shook his head. ‘That’s no life.’

  ‘It’s a good life for some. Not everyone ends up in a chain gang working in a mine. Many live comfortably. Some even win or buy their freedom.’

  ‘Some . . . I imagine that most don’t. I will not be a slave, Prefect. Nor will any of these men with me.’

  ‘I wonder what they would say if the choice was put to them?’

  ‘You don’t understand us. We are a proud people. We always have been, since long before the Romans came. We have never bowed to your Empire and we never will. That is our way.’

  ‘Then you are doomed. If you kill me, the emperor will be enraged. He will send more men under another commander. They will complete the destruction of your people. It is only a matter of time. There is still time to save yourselves. Surrender now and set me and the centurion free. I will let you return to your king, and you can tell him that if he swears allegiance to Emperor Nero, confines his people to their lands and ceases raiding other parts of the province, I will withdraw my men from your territory. I give you my word that no patrols will enter the king’s lands. No Roman officials of any kind.’

  It was a desperate bluff and Cato silently prayed to Mendacius that the brigand would not see through his deception about the extent of his powers.

  ‘What if your emperor decides not to guarantee your word?’

  ‘The emperor only requires a demonstration of obeisance. Give him that and he will allow your king to rule unhindered. Just as Rome has done for many others.’

  Benicus looked pained as he thought over Cato’s words. Pride warred with a desire to live and the prospect of peace.

  ‘If you refuse, there is only death for you and your people. You may go to that death proudly, but you will still die. You will leave nothing behind but your graves and what is left of your villages and secret camps. In time, your people will be forgotten and all that will remain is a few overgrown ruins whose names have passed from memory. Or you can choose to survive and thrive in your part of this island.’

  The brigand leader screwed up his face and let out a long, deep sigh of resignation. ‘You give me your word that you will let me and my men leave this place unharmed if I set you and the centurion free?’

  ‘I give you my word before all my gods, and this man is my witness,’ Cato replied earnestly.

  Benicus gave him a searching look with his dark, piercing eyes, then nodded. ‘Very well.’

  He drew Cato’s dagger and stepped behind them to cut their bonds. Cato stretched his fingers and rubbed his wrists. ‘Thank you. I’ll send word when you can leave the outpost safely. Stay inside until then. Come, Massimilianus.’

  He led the way to the wagons blocking the gateway and climbed onto one of them, picking his way between the brigands standing on the bed and jumping down on the other side. Then he and Massimilianus walked steadily down the slope towards Apollonius and the mounted men waiting behind him.

  ‘Thank fuck for that,’ the centurion said softly. ‘I thought we were dead men. I feared you would never talk him round.’

  ‘To tell the truth, so did I.’

  Massimilianus laughed. ‘You have balls of solid iron, sir. Solid iron.’

  As they approached, Apollonius dismounted. He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head to one side as he examined Cato. ‘You’ve looked better. What happened to your head?’

  ‘Wound to the eye.’

  ‘You need to get that seen to. I’ll send for the surgeon.’

  ‘I’ll deal with that later.’ Cato puffed his cheeks. ‘You made good time.’

  ‘Not good enough to save the outpost.’

  Cato recalled the auxiliaries, Micus and his men and the mule drivers, all of them dead. ‘No . . . but you saved me and Massimilianus. For that I thank you.’ He glanced at the groups of infantry positioned around the outpost. ‘Did they march from the fort too?’

  Apollonius shook his head. ‘Those are Plancinus’s men. They appeared on the scene at almost the same time. He’s on the far side of the hill. So why did they set you free?’

  Cato explained briefly, and then ordered Massimilianus to send one of his men to tell Plancinus to allow Benicus and his brigands to pass by unhindered.

  ‘You intend to keep your word, then?’ Apollonius mused.

  ‘Of course. We might yet find a way to resolve this without further bloodshed.’

  ‘Ever the optimist.’

  Cato shook his head wearily. ‘I’m growing tired of bloodshed.’

  ‘Then you are a strange kind of soldier.’

  ‘Even soldiers eventually see too much of it. Some of us, at least. I’ve had my fill.’

  He turned to Massimilianus again. ‘Get up there and let Benicus know he can leave now. Once the brigands are on the move, take your men and bury our dead.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  As the centurion made for the line of horses, Cato felt a fresh burst of pain in his left eye and clutched his palm over the dressing.

  ‘You’d better send for that surgeon now.’

  Apolloniu
s let out a low whistle. ‘Should have taken me up on the offer when I made it.’

  ‘Just bloody well send for the man, before you need him too.’

  Cato sat on a stump as the cohort’s surgeon carefully undid the dressing. The blood from around the wound had dried and soaked into the linen, causing the layers to stick together, and Cato cursed as searing pain shot through his eyeball.

  ‘Sorry, sir. I’m doing my best.’

  ‘Yes, well, do it carefully,’ Cato growled through clenched teeth. ‘I don’t want you to pluck it out of the socket.’

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’ Apollonius smiled. ‘Not a good look for the ladies. What would Claudia say?’

  Cato batted the surgeon’s hands away and turned to stab a finger at the agent. ‘One more crack like that and you’ll pay for it.’

  ‘Apologies, Prefect . . . Sometimes I speak before I think.’

  ‘Come the day. Meanwhile, I’d advise you not to push your luck.’

  ‘Noted. Ah, here they come.’

  Cato shifted to look up the slope, and the surgeon hissed before speaking with forced deference. ‘If you wouldn’t mind keeping still, sir, this would be easier and less painful, I can assure you.’

  Keeping his head motionless, Cato watched as Benicus and his men emerged from the outpost and filed past the mounted auxiliaries waiting a short distance away. They moved warily until they were clear of the horsemen, and then increased their pace as they headed down the slope towards the forest half a mile away. Massimilianus waited until they were clear before ordering half his men to dismount and leading them towards the gateway.

  ‘Last bit . . .’ the surgeon muttered as he eased off the wad of linen.

  ‘There’s nothing. I can see nothing with it,’ Cato said.

  ‘You wouldn’t, sir. It’s covered in crusted blood. The lids are stuck together. There’s swelling too.’ The man took out his canteen and poured some water on a clean roll of linen from the dressing chest, then began to dab around the socket. ‘That’s better, it’s coming off . . .’ He worked at it for a while longer, then leaned back. ‘Try opening it, sir.’