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

by Simon Scarrow

  Cato tensed himself as he attempted to raise his eyelid, with no success. He became aware of the wince in the surgeon’s expression.

  ‘What? What’s the matter?’

  ‘There’s a lot of damage there, sir. I’ll need to give it a proper examination back at the hospital, and you’ll need plenty of rest.’

  ‘Bollocks. Will it recover? Will I be able to see with it again?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t know, sir. Only time will tell.’

  ‘Well, you’re no bloody good to me. Get a fresh dressing on it and we’ll deal with it when we return to Augustis.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The surgeon carefully packed some light cloth around the socket, applied a wad of linen and wrapped a new dressing around Cato’s head. As he tied the final knot, there was an outburst of shouting from the outpost. A moment later, several auxiliaries burst out of the fort and ran towards their horses. There was a brief exchange before they and most of the men who had been waiting outside spurred their mounts into a gallop down the slope towards the brigands, who were still two hundred paces or so from the treeline.

  ‘What in Hades . . . ?’ Cato stood up. ‘What is Massimilianus up to?’

  Apollonius was squinting at the riders. ‘I don’t see him. Must still be inside the outpost. No! There he is.’

  Cato recognised the centurion by his crested helmet as he ran from the gateway and clambered onto his horse. He snatched up the reins and charged after the men, who had a good head start on him.

  ‘Oh no . . .’ Cato recalled the scene inside the outpost. The slaughtered horses, the bodies of the slain, and the two men who had been tortured to death. He burst into a sprint across the slope as he bellowed, ‘Halt! You fools! Halt! I order you to halt!’

  But his words were drowned out by the drumming of hooves and the savage war cries of the auxiliaries as they drew their long swords, then the shouts of alarm from the brigands as they turned to look back and saw the horsemen galloping towards them. Benicus gestured urgently to his followers and they broke into a run, but Cato could see that they were not going to reach the safety of the trees in time. He felt his lungs burning with the effort of sprinting in his armour, and his heart pounded wildly against his ribs.

  The first of the auxiliaries caught up with the rearmost brigand. His sword rose and then slashed down at his prey and cut deep into the man’s neck, almost severing the head. The brigand fell, and the rider galloped on towards the next man.

  As Cato ran, he could only look on in horror as the auxiliaries charged amongst the brigands, hacking at them. Only Benicus and a handful of others made it to the trees, disappearing into the shadows. By the time Cato reached the scene, the rest of the brigands were dead, killed outright or butchered savagely as they lay wounded on the slope. Massimilianus reined in on the fringe of the massacre, his face white with rage.

  ‘What have you done?’ Cato bellowed as he drew up, his arms spread wide, fists clenched. He gulped several deep breaths. ‘You fucking idiots! I gave my word they wouldn’t be harmed. You have dishonoured me . . . dishonoured Rome!’ He shook his head helplessly.

  The auxiliaries stared back, bloodied swords in their hands. One of them brandished his weapon. ‘They had it coming, sir. You saw what they did up there!’

  ‘Shut your mouth!’ Cato roared. ‘You fool! We could have had peace with them. We could have saved lives. Now?’ He bunched his fists to his forehead. ‘Now, they will fight to the bitter end. There can be no peace. Just bloodshed . . . blood staining the whole island, until this is over.’ He glared round at his men. ‘Curse you, you fools. Curse every one of you for what you have brought on us all!’

  ‘Wait!’ Massimilianus pointed to one of the brigands whom Cato had thought was dead. He was inching away from the scene through the clumps of grass as the centurion made for him. ‘This one’s still alive!’

  He leaned down to roll the brigand onto his back. ‘It’s Calgarno.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The following morning, the surgeon carefully removed the poultice and tilted Cato’s head up to the light coming through the window of the fort’s modest hospital block. He scrutinised the eye for a moment before he gave his verdict. ‘The wound itself is healing. You’ll be left with a fresh scar to impress the ladies. But you still can’t see anything, you say?’

  ‘Just darkness to the left, and the rest is a dull blur,’ Cato replied.

  ‘I think you may never recover any vision in that eye, I’m afraid, sir.’ The surgeon leaned closer, keeping his head out of the light. ‘The initial wound tore up your eyelid and the splinter went on to pierce the eyeball at the edge of the pupil. I’ve seen similar wounds before. The best you can hope for is a partial recovery of eyesight, but don’t pin your hopes on it.’

  He removed his hands from the sides of Cato’s head and straightened up. ‘There’s nothing more I can do for you. Fresh air will help heal the wound. Keep it clean and don’t touch it in case you cause it to open again. I’d advise you to get a patch for it until the healing is complete. After that, keep it on if you find the eye and the area around it becomes sensitive. Could make you look quite rakish.’

  ‘A patch?’ Cato sighed. He had seen army veterans in Rome wearing patches and remembered the pity he had felt for them. Now he in turn would be an object of pity, and the shame of it twisted his guts. He tried to persuade himself that people might see it as just another scar, as much proof of his good service as the medals on his harness. What would Claudia make of it when they next met? he wondered.

  ‘What about the prisoner? Calgarno.’ He nodded towards the adjoining room. ‘How’s he doing?’

  ‘He took a sword cut to his shoulder. It’s a flesh wound. The blow to the head that knocked him down was glancing, but it sliced off most of his ear. He’ll recover. Not going to be a pretty sight, mind you.’

  That did not concern Cato. What mattered was that they had captured one of the enemy. Calgarno must be persuaded to reveal the location of the brigands’ camp. Better still, the location of the stronghold from where the self-styled King of the Mountains conducted his campaign of resistance to Rome.

  ‘Have a patch made for me,’ he ordered as he stood up.

  He left the room and stepped outside onto the covered walkway that ran the length of the hospital block. It was still early in the day and it would be at least another hour before the heat became uncomfortable. The door into the room where the prisoner was held was open, and he stepped under the lintel and acknowledged the salute of the auxiliary standing guard.

  Calgarno had been tied down to the bed. He raised his head to see who had entered, squinting slightly at the light-filled doorway. Cato approached and glanced at the bloodstained dressings that covered the boy’s shoulder and the top and side of his head. ‘The surgeon reckons your wounds will heal well.’

  ‘That’s more than can be said for your eye, Prefect.’

  Cato’s hand began to rise and he forced it to fall back to his side. Calgarno had noticed the gesture and smiled. ‘You’ll carry that scar with you for the rest of your life. Something to remember my tribe by.’

  ‘It may be all that is left to remember your tribe by if they don’t come to their senses and give up their pointless struggle.’

  ‘Pointless?’ Calgarno chuckled. ‘We’ve defied Rome for two hundred years. What makes you think you’ll succeed this time? We took your outpost and killed your men.’

  ‘How many of your war band were lost to achieve that? How many more did you lose when you were cut down as you fled? Do you think you can afford to sacrifice that many men each time you attack one of our outposts?’

  ‘Each outpost we destroy inspires another hundred warriors to join us.’

  ‘Another hundred men who will give up their lives for a hopeless cause.’ Cato sighed. ‘What is it that you hope to achieve, lad? Do you think you and your friends can defeat Rome? Do you think anyone outside of these mountains and forests regards your le
ader as a real king? Do you even have the slightest idea how big the Empire is? How many men it can call on to crush your insignificant band of brigands? Well?’

  ‘If Rome is as powerful as you say, why are my people still here? Why are we still the masters of these lands?’

  ‘I’ll tell you precisely why,’ Cato responded wearily. ‘It’s because you have been too insignificant to merit any serious attention. Up until recently you have contented yourself with a little cattle-raiding from time to time. Occasionally you might have held up a merchant and demanded money for free passage through your lands. That sort of thing happens across the Empire. For every petty brigand we can be troubled to hunt down and crucify, another is born. And so it goes on. As long as people like you are sensible enough to limit your activities and keep them below the threshold of our interest, you survive. But the moment you step over the line, the moment you get too greedy or ambitious, you provoke Rome into action and she does not rest until those who defy her are dead or on their knees begging to be spared.

  ‘Make no mistake, that is how it will end here on this island, Calgarno. You and your people will be slaughtered or enslaved and within a generation no one will ever know your tribe existed. All that the man who calls himself your king will have achieved is the destruction of everything you hold dear. You, your family, your friends, your tribespeople, all gone. For what? To satisfy the arrogance of a hairy-arsed brigand who was insane enough to even consider taking on the most powerful empire in the world. You are not the masters of these lands. You never were once Rome claimed Sardinia for a province. You were shadows flitting through the forests. You were no more than an irritation. The bite of the lowliest of insects, not even irritating enough to scratch. Thanks to your leader, that has changed and Rome will not rest until you are wiped out.’ He paused to let his words sink in and was gratified to see that all trace of mocking hubris had drained from the youth’s expression. Cato sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the flagstone floor. ‘I have witnessed enough bloodshed for more than one lifetime. It is one thing to fight barbarian armies in the wilds of Britannia, or face the Parthian hordes in the desert wastes of the east; it is quite another to massacre bands of brigands and the small tribes foolish enough to support them. There is no glory in it for either side. Just dealing out and suffering death. I am sick of it.’

  ‘Then leave, Roman. Send your men back to their forts and go back to Rome. Leave these lands to us.’

  ‘I can’t. Your leader has made that impossible. All I can do is try and limit the damage to us all. If I could speak with your leader, I might persuade him to put an end to his futile ambitions. He would need to surrender, and he and his men must lay down their arms and swear allegiance to Emperor Nero and accept our laws.’

  ‘You don’t ask for much,’ Calgarno responded cynically.

  ‘I ask what I must. If he would agree to terms, then I would give my word that there would be no repercussions. No crucifixions, no one forced into slavery.’

  ‘I’ve seen what your word is worth. Benicus was promised safe passage. Your men tried to cut us all down. The gods be praised that he and some others escaped to spread news of your treachery. Now our people will know how worthless the word of Rome is.’

  ‘The attack on your people was regrettable,’ Cato conceded. ‘My soldiers saw the bodies of the men you had tortured. They wanted to avenge their comrades and acted before they could be stopped. For that they will be punished.’

  ‘Do I have your word on it?’

  The mocking tone had returned and Cato felt his heart sink heavily. There was no point in trying to reason with the youth any further. It was time to make the situation clear to him. He stood and stared down at him in silence for a few heartbeats before he spoke.

  ‘I need to know where your leader is camped. I need to know how many men he has. If you tell me now, I will see that you are spared from slavery and rewarded besides. There is not much time. If your people have not already moved to another stronghold, I dare say they will soon. If you don’t agree to tell me what I want, and you refuse to lead me to them, right now, I will have one of my men torture you until you do. I should warn you, Calgarno, that Rome trains its torturers well. There is no degree of agony they cannot inflict on you. The man I will call on to break you is one of the best. Perhaps you think you are brave. Perhaps you think you can hold out long enough for your people to decide to abandon their current position. I can assure you that neither of those things is true. You will give in. And you will do it sooner than you think. You will beg me to end your suffering. You will be willing to tell me everything to put an end to it. All you will have achieved will be the slightest of delays, at the cost of torment that will haunt you to your dying day, and you will bear the scars of it for all to see. Is that what you want, Calgarno?’

  The youth swallowed and turned his face away as he answered. ‘I will tell you nothing.’

  ‘I am sorry to hear that, truly.’ Cato turned to the guard, and all trace of gentleness disappeared from his voice. ‘Take the prisoner to headquarters. Chain him to the discipline post, and then send for Apollonius.’

  The courtyard of the fort’s headquarters block was forty feet across, with smooth flagstones covering the ground. The air was still and the sun beat down from a clear sky. The punishment post, a tall, thick piece of timber held up by cross-supports, had been set in the centre of the courtyard, and Calgarno had been fastened to it, his hands bound and tied to the iron ring on top of the post. Stripped naked, he had been left to hang by his arms, his toes dangling a few inches from the ground. The wound to his shoulder made the stressful position even more painful, and he moaned from time to time when he could no longer contain his suffering.

  From beyond the walls of the courtyard came the sounds of another supply convoy being loaded up to feed the column that Cato intended to lead against the brigands. The entire force at the fort, together with the small companies of militiamen drawn from the nearest towns, would be marching out as soon as he gave the order. A messenger had been sent to the Fourth Cohort to release two centuries to march down and garrison the fort in the column’s absence, to reassure the people of Augustis.

  Two sentries had been left to guard the prisoner, more to prevent Calgarno from finding some way to kill himself than to stop any attempt at escape. Other than the three of them, there was no one else in the courtyard. Apollonius had ordered the gate onto the main thoroughfare to be closed and for the clerks to use the door at the rear of the main building.

  ‘A bit of stillness does a good job of unnerving the recipient,’ he explained to Cato as they looked out over the courtyard from a second-storey window.

  ‘Recipient? A strange choice of word.’

  ‘I am more comfortable with it than calling him a victim.’

  Cato regarded the agent with surprise. ‘Don’t tell me you are squeamish.’

  ‘Hardly, given what you know about me. Let’s say I do have some standards. I am no mere torturer.’

  ‘You’re about to be,’ Cato pointed out.

  ‘I think of it not so much in terms of torture as enhanced interrogation.’

  Cato shook his head. ‘By the gods, you are wasted in this line of work. Have you considered becoming a lawyer?’

  Apollonius looked at him coldly. ‘Like I said, I have standards . . . I think our young friend has had enough time to let fear work on his imagination. I’ll make a start on him.’

  Cato was about to respond when he saw a clerk hurrying towards him, a grime-streaked auxiliary at his shoulder.

  ‘Sir, beg to report an urgent message has come from Tharros.’

  ‘Let’s have it, then.’ Cato held out his hand, and the auxiliary reached into his sidebag and took out a capped leather tube.

  ‘From the chief magistrate of the town council, sir.’

  Cato nodded as he broke the seal over the cap and removed it to expose the end of a scroll.

  ‘Wait there,’ he ordered the cler
k and the messenger, then stepped to the window to read the dispatch in good light. The contents were brief. After a short greeting, the magistrate reported that the brigands had launched a number of raids on farming estates across the region surrounding the town. In particular . . . Cato’s fingers clenched slightly as he finished reading the dispatch, then reread the concluding section again with dread deliberation.

  ‘Bad news?’ Apollonius prompted.

  Cato nodded slowly as he rolled the scroll up and tucked it back in the tube, then dismissed the two men with a curt wave of the hand.

  ‘The enemy raided the land around Tharros after the cohort marched for Augustis.’ He swallowed and forced himself to speak calmly. ‘They attacked Claudia Acte’s estate. Burned it to the ground. Killed her bodyguards but left some survivors. According to whom, their mistress was taken away as a hostage . . .’

  Apollonius began to reach out a hand towards Cato’s shoulder, then withdrew it and let it drop as he framed his response. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I know she means something to you. At least she’s alive.’

  ‘For now,’ Cato replied woodenly. He recalled the terms Benicus had outlined when he had talked of holding Cato and Massimilianus hostage, and felt a surge of icy terror flow through his veins at the mortal danger that faced Claudia. He chewed his lip and muttered, ‘I swear by all the gods, if they harm her then I shall make these hills echo with the death cries of the brigands and all their folk.’

  He turned his gaze to Apollonius, and though his left eye looked lifeless, his right blazed intently. ‘We must find their lair before they can harm her. Do whatever you have to. Spare the boy nothing and make him talk as quickly as you can. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir. You can rely on me.’

  Cato stared at him a moment longer before he looked away. ‘I know. Do it. Do it now.’

  The agent nodded and turned towards the stairs at the end of the building. As Cato made to follow him, Apollonius held up a hand to stop him. ‘It’s best if you don’t get involved.’