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

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘I want to hear it from his own lips,’ Cato said firmly.

  Apollonius saw the dangerous expression on his superior’s face and nodded warily. ‘As you wish. But if you want me to find out where the enemy may have taken Claudia Acte, stay back, say nothing and let me do my job.’

  Cato watched as Apollonius stepped back from the small table he had set up in front of the post. An array of knives, hooks and hinged devices were spread out across the top, in full view of Calgarno. The youth stared at them, eyes wide with terror, but he managed to keep his jaws clenched together and his lips compressed in a thin line.

  ‘These are the tools of my trade,’ Apollonius said fondly as he ran his fingers over the torture implements. ‘With them I can cut the finest of slits in your flesh, or gaping wounds. These hooks can be used to peel back the skin from your muscle and bone, while these tools can crush your fingers, toes and balls into a pulp. I know how to use every one of them to inflict the slightest discomfort or the most unbearable agony you could possibly imagine. Before I am through with you, I will have all the information I need. You may not believe me, but I can assure you that you will beg for death long before I am finished.’ He paused and stepped out of Calgarno’s line of sight before winking at Cato. Then he leaned close to the youth’s ear and spoke softly. ‘So what’s it to be, boy? Save yourself and answer my questions straight up?’

  Calgarno drew a deep breath and cleared his throat before he responded. ‘I’ll say nothing to you. I will not betray my kin! Long live the King of the Mountains!’

  ‘I wouldn’t put too much faith in his longevity.’ Apollonius smiled faintly.

  Moving over to the table, he ran his fingers over the tools before settling on a set of iron bars joined by a hinge. He lifted them to Calgarno’s face.

  ‘Here we are. One of my favourites. Now, I’ll ask a question you can answer without giving anything away. What’s more important to you? Being able to walk, or being able to hold a weapon?’

  Despite the agent’s earlier instructions, Cato felt impatience swelling inside him. He wished the man would get on with his job and extract answers. Every moment of delay in being able to find and rescue Claudia was a torment. Yet he had sufficient faith in Apollonius’s abilities and darker skills to keep quiet.

  ‘Well?’ demanded the agent. ‘Feet or hands?’

  The youth trembled as he stared at the instrument Apollonius was holding. He shook his head and closed his eyes tightly, and his lips moved in silent prayer.

  ‘All right. I’ll make the decision for you.’ Apollonius turned to the nearest auxiliary. ‘Hold his legs still.’

  The soldier set his shield and spear down and grasped Calgarno’s limbs, pulling them down tightly and holding the heels against the bottom of the post. The youth struggled but lacked the strength to put up an effective fight. Apollonius kneeled down and opened the iron bars wide enough to fit his victim’s big toe close to the hinge. Then he grasped the handles at the end of the bars and closed them over the toe, gripping it firmly. He glanced up. ‘Where is your king’s stronghold?’

  Calgarno tilted his head back and continued praying.

  ‘Your choice, my young friend,’ Apollonius said as he began to press the bars together. Calgarno gasped, then clenched his jaw tightly. Cato could see that every muscle in his slim body was tensed and quivering.

  ‘Aaahhhhhhhhh!’ His cry cut through the hot, still air trapped in the courtyard, and he began to urinate, spattering the shoulders and helmet of the auxiliary holding his legs in place.

  ‘What the fuck?’ The soldier started to move, and Apollonius snapped harshly at him to keep still as he began to twist the rods from side to side to increase the youth’s agony. Cato kept himself still and his face expressionless as he looked on, willing Calgarno to give up the information he needed.

  Apollonius eased the pressure and removed the instrument from the mangled toe, then fitted it to the other foot and repeated the process. Calgarno howled with agony as the torment continued, toe by toe, until the ends of his feet were reduced to gory shreds of flesh and splintered bone.

  ‘For pity’s sake,’ Cato whispered to himself. ‘Speak, boy . . . speak.’

  But Calgarno had passed out. Apollonius gestured to the auxiliary to release his hold and step aside. He regarded the youth for a moment, then glanced towards Cato.

  ‘He’s a tough lad.’

  ‘It’s a pity he’s not on our side.’

  Apollonius looked at the auxiliary. ‘Fetch me a pail of water.’

  As the soldier trotted off, the agent put the bars down and grasped the youth’s shoulders, giving him a firm shake. ‘Wake up, boy . . . Wake up, I said!’

  Calgarno stirred and moaned, his head lolling on his breast. The agent shook him again and slapped him hard on the cheek. ‘Open your eyes!’

  As Calgarno’s eyelids flickered open and his eyes rolled, the auxiliary returned with the water. Apollonius took the pail from him and threw the contents into the youth’s face.

  ‘Wh-what?’ Calgarno spluttered, shaking his head as he returned to consciousness. At once his face creased in pain.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Apollonius. ‘I’ve done with your feet, so it’s time for your hands now. Unless you have something to tell us?’

  Calgarno raised his head and whispered softly.

  ‘What’s that, lad?’ Apollonius cocked an ear towards him and the youth’s lips moved again.

  Cato took a step towards the post. ‘What’s he saying?’

  Calgarno breathed deeply and spoke as steadily as he could. ‘I said, fuck you. Fuck your emperor. Fuck Rome.’ His eyes shifted to his torturer. ‘But mostly, fuck you.’

  Apollonius laughed. ‘Oh, I do like this one!’ He tousled Calgarno’s sweaty dark hair. ‘You’re a tough lad . . . but that isn’t going to save you. Time for your fingers.’

  As he loosened the rope that ran up through the iron ring and down to Calgarno’s wrists, the youth slumped to his knees. Without any hesitation, Apollonius fitted the boy’s left thumb in between the bars and began to crush it. A series of howls and shrieks filled the courtyard and echoed dully off the facade of the headquarters building.

  Cato cleared his throat. ‘I’ll be in my office. Inform me the moment he tells you what we need to know.’

  ‘I’ll tell you nothing!’ Calgarno snarled through gritted teeth.

  ‘Yes, you will,’ Cato replied. ‘I can assure you of that. It’s only a question of when. Carry on, Apollonius.’

  He strode towards the headquarters entrance and disappeared into the welcome shade within. The cries from the courtyard pursued him even as far as the commander’s office at the end of the corridor upstairs. He crossed to a side table, where a jug and cups sat, and poured himself some water as he tried to focus his thoughts and push the sounds of torment aside. He forced himself to concentrate on the peril facing Claudia and told himself that the scene being played out in the courtyard was justified by her abduction and the other miseries inflicted on the province by the brigands. He was surprised by the strength of his concern for her and his desire to see her set free.

  As his imagination took over and conjured up images of her suffering at the hands of his enemies, a cold rage filled his heart, and for a moment he indulged himself in the acts of retribution he would carry out against the brigands if they had harmed her. ‘Bastards . . .’ he muttered, draining his cup and setting it down with a sharp rap.

  Sitting at his desk, he turned his attention to the administrative tasks that had accumulated during his brief absence. As the morning wore on, his mind became drowsier from the exhaustion of the recent action at the outpost and his lack of sleep. Pushing aside a waxed slate reporting the latest extent of the pestilence creeping across the island, he closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands, covering his ears. There was a moment of calm, as if a warm cloud had settled over his mind, easing him towards the welcome prospect of sleep.

  ‘Sir . . .
Sir!’

  He sat up, his head snapping back, and saw one of the clerks standing in front of his desk.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded.

  ‘The optio in command of the morning watch begs to report that a message has been delivered by a man sent by the senior magistrate of Augustis, sir.’

  ‘Well? Where is he?’

  ‘Outside the fort’s main gate, sir.’

  ‘What the hell is he doing there? If he has a message for me, he can deliver it in person.’

  ‘No, sir. The message is that the pestilence has reached Augustis. The first cases were reported this morning.’

  Cato’s exhaustion fell away in a heartbeat as his mind raced through the implications of the news. The future of the campaign was under threat, and with it the life of Claudia, and the men under his command. ‘Is the messenger still outside the gate?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Cato pushed a blank waxed tablet across the desk towards the clerk. ‘Take this down. Firstly, I want the man to return to Augustis at once and tell the council they are to shut the gates and seal the city off until further orders. No one is to enter or leave without my permission. Secondly, I want all the men who have been into the town in the last two days to report to the hospital block. Tell the surgeon I want them quarantined there until further notice. Thirdly, any man who is showing any sign of sickness is to be assigned to one of the empty barrack blocks. Tell the surgeon he can treat that as an overflow for the hospital . . . That’s all for the moment. Read it back to me.’

  Once Cato was satisfied that the clerk had accurately noted down the orders, he dismissed the man to pass the instructions on. Alone, he reflected on the situation in a more deliberate manner. If the pestilence spread to the men at the fort, it would whittle down the already under-strength units under his command. The best thing to do would be to get the men clear of Augustis and march the column against the enemy as soon as possible in the hope of achieving a decisive result before the sickness struck.

  He was still thinking his plans through when Apollonius entered the office. The front of his tunic was spattered with blood and he was wiping his hands on a stained strip of cloth.

  ‘Our boy broke down in the end,’ he announced. ‘He told me where the enemy stronghold is. Two days’ march east of here. We’ve got them, sir.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Centurion Cornelius entered the office and stood to attention. ‘You sent for me, sir.’

  ‘I did.’ Cato looked up from the report he was writing to the province’s governor relating the events that had recently taken place and detailing his plan to attack the enemy’s stronghold. He set down his stylus and folded his hands together, cracking his knuckles. ‘I am leaving you here to command the fort when the column marches. I’m leaving twenty men from the militia contingent to serve as garrison. Not the best of soldiers – if they can be called that – but if you draw some kit from the stores you can at least make them look like regulars. Should be good enough to fool any spies watching the fort. As you will have heard, the pestilence has reached Augustis. I’ve already sent orders to the council to keep the town gates closed. You are not to permit any civilians to enter the fort. Nor will any of your men be allowed out. There are six men in the quarantine block showing signs of the sickness. They will need to be fed, but make sure their rations are left outside the door. None of your men is allowed to enter. If any of the garrison show signs of sickness, they are to be placed in quarantine at once. That includes you. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Any questions?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Couldn’t one of the auxiliary officers be given the job? If it comes to a fight, you’ll need the best men at your side.’

  ‘Indeed. But this fort is too important to be trusted to anyone else. I need someone I can depend on to make sure it stays in our hands. Are you up to the job, Cornelius?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. If anything goes wrong and the column is defeated, you are to hold out here until a relief force arrives. You are not to make any attempt to break out. Clear?’

  Cornelius nodded, then replied sourly, ‘As you command.’

  Cato could guess at the reason for his mood. The garrison and its commander would miss out on the loot that would come the way of those of their comrades who took the enemy stronghold. Given the months of raids the brigands had carried out across the island, it was likely that there were considerable riches to be had once the enemy was defeated. But Cornelius’s disappointment was irrelevant to the wider task of crushing the self-titled King of the Mountains and his followers. Soldiers were inclined to see things in more immediate terms, Cato reflected. Unlike their commanders, who were driven by more significant concerns . . . unless there was a lot of loot at stake. Cato smiled to himself. Pompey the Great hadn’t become one of the wealthiest men in Roman history out of pious devotion to what was good for Rome.

  He sighed. ‘I’ll see to it that you and the men left behind get an equal cut of any loot and sale of prisoners. Sound fair?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Cornelius grinned. ‘Very fair indeed.’

  ‘I wonder if those doing the fighting will feel the same way?’

  ‘I’ve done more than my share of the fighting in recent years, sir. You know that better than anyone. I ain’t got much to show for it, while these auxiliaries have been sitting on their arses here in Sardinia.’

  ‘Point made, and taken. Dismissed.’

  After the centurion had left, Cato quickly completed his report, pressed his seal into the wax and closed the tablet, then called for a clerk to have it sent north to Scurra at his refuge in Tibula. Although how much longer the governor and his retinue would be able to avoid the pestilence was hard to determine given the pace at which it was spreading. He arranged the patch he had been given over his left eye and tied the thongs securely at the back of his head, then, picking up his saddlebags, sword belt and helmet, he left headquarters and made his way towards the column of riders, infantry and wagons lining the main thoroughfare that stretched across the interior of the fort.

  His officers and Apollonius were waiting for him inside the gate. A donkey was tethered to the saddle horn of the agent’s horse, and Calgarno was bound to the saddle on the animal’s back. His feet and hands were bandaged and his face glistened with sweat as he fought to contain the pain that racked his ravaged fingers and toes.

  Cato heaved his saddlebags over the horse being held for him by one of the militiamen. He put his helmet on, fastened the straps and pulled himself up into the saddle, then took up his reins and nodded to Plancinus. The centurion puffed out his chest. ‘Open the gates!’ he bellowed. ‘Column will prepare to advance . . . Advance!’

  As they passed Augustis, Cato was gratified to see that the gates were closed and one of the town’s militia stood watch on top of the gatehouse. There were several more people visible along the wall, and one old crone screeched incomprehensibly at the column as it made for the road leading into the forest-covered hills to the east. Cato forced the pace, anxious to leave the pestilence behind and to close with the enemy as soon as possible. The location Calgarno had described sounded formidable: a valley protected by sheer cliffs and accessible only by a narrow gorge, the location of which was known to just a handful of people.

  Any other time Cato would have been content to starve the enemy into submission, but with Claudia held captive within and the sickness spreading without, time was too precious to waste on laying siege to the brigands’ stronghold. It was possible that the enemy’s fortifications in the gorge might prove insubstantial enough to justify a frontal attack. If so, the brigands might use Claudia and any other prisoners as a human shield. If they did that, Cato doubted he had sufficient steel in his soul to order an attack. But if he prevaricated, there was a good chance the sickness would find its way into his camp and destroy whatever advantage he had over the enemy in terms of numbers. Unless he could find some other way of destroying the
stronghold, the brigands might yet survive to continue terrorising the province and challenging the authority of Rome. Such an outcome would put an end to Cato’s career as surely as a sword thrust.

  ‘A sestertius for your thoughts . . .’

  Cato glanced round and saw that Apollonius had edged his horse alongside. It was tempting to confide in the agent and share his burden, but Cato had long ago made it a rule not to reveal any weakness to his subordinates. He still burned with shame over his collapse some two years earlier into a dark well of exhaustion, fear and self-loathing. Macro had been there to shield him from others while he recovered. But Macro had gone now, and Cato did not trust Apollonius. The possibility of the agent discovering his weakness and banking the information for use against him at a later date was unnerving.

  Cato cleared his throat. ‘I was thinking . . . Sardinian boars are bigger than you realise.’

  Apollonius’s forehead creased into a frown and he was silent for a moment before he nodded. ‘I suppose they are. Is there anything else on your mind?’

  ‘No.’ Cato tapped his heels into his horse’s flanks and urged it on as he called out. ‘Centurion Plancinus! Let’s pick up the pace!’

  As they marched into the depths of the forest, Cato ordered a squadron of mounted men to scout ahead of the main column. The infantry closed up and the small baggage train of ten wagons carrying rations, tents and heavy equipment was guarded by a century of auxiliaries, with one section assigned to each wagon. The four bolt-throwers that had been mounted on the towers of the fort had been broken down for transport, along with a small onager. They constituted the only artillery available to Cato, but they were field weapons and of little use in prosecuting a siege.

  They halted for the night on a barren hilltop some eight miles from the fort, digging a ditch and throwing up a rampart before settling down behind their defences. A slim crescent moon provided little illumination to aid the sentries as they stared out at the dark landscape, watching and listening for any sign of the enemy. But there was nothing apart from the shrill cry of night birds and the occasional crackle of twigs and rustling of bushes as animals made their way through the forest.