The Blood Crows c-12

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Baked just the other day, sir. Fresh enough.’

  Without waiting for further comment she turned and hurried back towards the counter to prepare a tray for their order.

  ‘Nice enough?’ Portia said flatly as she stared at her son. ‘Is that all you have to say?’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’ Macro growled. ‘It’s an inn, like any other.’

  ‘No, as it happens.’ She wagged a finger. ‘This is the one I want to buy. Thanks to Decimus, I learned that the owner is a veteran of the Second Legion who has had enough of Britannia and is selling up to return to Rome. I’ve made an offer and he’s accepted.’

  Macro took another, longer look round the premises. ‘Why this one?’

  Portia swiftly marshalled her arguments and counted them off on her fingers as she replied. ‘Firstly, the location. Plenty of passing customers and a lot of them work at the governor’s headquarters so they can afford to pay more for their wine and food. Second, there’s eight rooms in the courtyard that are already rented to travellers. I can have more accommodation added to the rear. As the province is settled, this town is bound to grow in size and there’s a small fortune to be made from those passing through Londinium. And third, there’s some small storerooms on the opposite side of the courtyard that we could rent out to the prostitutes’ guild. An extra service that some of the customers would welcome, I’m sure. There’s plenty of potential here and the price is very fair.’ She paused. ‘There’s only one snag. What’s left of the money I got from selling my place in Ariminum is not going to cover what I offered.’

  Macro cradled his head in his hands and groaned softly. ‘I can see where this is going, Mother. You want me to give you the rest from my savings.’

  ‘Not give, as such. Think of it as a loan or, better still, a sound investment. I can cover half the cost. You pay for the rest and I’ll make you a sleeping partner, and you can take four-tenths of the profits,’ she added quickly.

  Macro looked up sharply. ‘Four-tenths? Why not half?’

  ‘Because I’ll be doing all the hard work. Four-tenths. That’s my final offer.’

  Cato sat quite still, watching the exchange and somewhat in awe of Portia’s sound business sense and ruthless approach to getting her way. It was clear which of those qualities Macro had inherited in abundance.

  ‘Wait a moment!’ Macro held up his hands. ‘What if I decide I don’t want to lend you the money?’

  Portia folded her slender hands together and pouted slightly. ‘Would you really do such a thing to your mother? Force me to buy some grotty little chop house, which is all I could afford without your help. Work myself to the bone for a pittance and then die old and alone?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, you know it won’t come to that!’ Macro said crossly. ‘I’ll see to it that you’re taken care of. It’s the least I owe you.’

  ‘Quite.’ She nodded. ‘So?’

  Macro breathed in deeply and let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Very well. How much do you need?’

  ‘Five thousand denarii. That’s all.’

  Macro’s jaw sagged. ‘Five thousand! That’s. . that’s. .’ His brow creased in concentration. ‘Several years’ pay.’

  ‘You can easily afford it.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘I had a little look in that chest of yours that you keep at the bottom of your kitbag.’

  ‘But it’s locked.’

  She gave him a sympathetic look. ‘I spent fifteen years working in a bar in Ariminum, my boy. There are many useful tips and skills I picked up from my customers. Lock-picking is the least of them. The more interesting point is how a centurion managed to come by such a large fortune.’

  Macro exchanged a quick glance with Cato and both men felt a tremor of anxiety trace its way down their spines. When they had been in Rome they had helped to unmask a conspiracy in the ranks of the Praetorian Guard. The silver was part of a convoy of bullion that the conspirators had stolen from the Emperor, and was still unaccounted for as far as the imperial palace was concerned. Cato had argued that it should be handed back but Macro had fervently insisted that they had earned the silver and refused. So they had split the proceeds. Cato had left his share with a banker in Rome while Macro, who regarded bankers as corrupt parasites, changed the silver into gold coins to make his fortune more portable and kept it in his possession. His little secret, until now. He looked round hurriedly in case anyone had overheard his mother’s remark. Then he turned back to her.

  ‘All right then. Five thousand. For a half share of the profits.’

  ‘Four-tenths, I said.’

  ‘Split the difference,’ Macro said desperately.

  ‘Four-tenths.’

  He gritted his teeth and glared at her before he eventually nodded. ‘Shit. I give in. But keep your hands off my things from now on.’

  His mother smiled sweetly and patted his cheek. ‘I knew you’d see sense. And you’ll do very nicely out of it in due course, I promise you.’

  Macro wondered about that. His mother, like most small business owners, was as adept at cooking the books as she was at cooking cheap meals for her customers. Still, at least Portia would have the means to make an independent living and that suited Macro, who would rather not have to worry about her when he marched off to fight the enemy. In any case, if she was right then he would earn a tidy profit from his investment.

  The serving girl came over with their order, steam curling up from the wine jar and the bowls of stew. She set the tray down with a rattling thump and ungraciously set their bowls before them, together with the plain clay cups and bronze spoons. She sniffed and wiped the cuff of her long-sleeved tunic on her nose.

  ‘Nine sestertii.’

  Before Cato could reach for his purse, Macro interrupted. ‘I’ll pay. Might as well, since it seems to be my day for being fleeced.’

  He fumbled in his purse for a handful of coins and slapped them into the grubby hand of the serving girl, who counted them quickly before returning to the counter. Portia watched her closely with cold eyes.

  ‘It would seem,’ she spoke softly, ‘that there are going to be a few changes when I take over this place. That girl, for one, needs some lessons in how to mend her appearance and her manner.’

  ‘Let’s eat,’ said Cato, lifting his spoon, anxious to put an end to the carping between Macro and his mother. They were hungry and ate in silence and Cato’s thoughts inevitably drifted back to Julia in Rome. It would be years before he was released from his duties in Britannia. At some point he would have to ask her to give up the comforts and pleasures of her life in Rome to come and join him. He was under no illusions about the basic conditions of life in a frontier fortress, or a provincial town. It would not worry him, but he feared that it would not be good enough for Julia.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices outside in the courtyard and a moment later two officers entered. He recognised them from the governor’s headquarters. Junior tribunes serving with the Ninth Legion. He swallowed the stew still in his mouth and dabbed his lips on the back of his hands before calling out to them.

  ‘Care to join us?’

  The two young men hesitated and Cato chuckled. ‘The drinks are on me.’

  The taller of the two, with fine dark hair, smiled. ‘Well, since you put it like that!’

  They came over and sat down while Cato introduced Macro and his mother.

  ‘Tribune Marcus Pellinus,’ the taller one announced and nodded towards his companion. ‘And Caius Decianus. I’ve seen you up at headquarters, haven’t I? You’re the new commander of the Thracian cavalry cohort attached to Legate Quintatus.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Cato replied. He caught the eye of the serving girl and indicated his new companions. She stirred reluctantly and bent down behind the counter to get some more cups. ‘And my friend here will be taking on a cohort in the Fourteenth.’

  ‘I bet I know which one that’ll be,’ Pellinus chuckled
. ‘Looks like you two have been hand-picked for the job.’

  ‘And what job would that be?’ asked Macro.

  The serving girl set down two more cups and Tribune Decianus helped himself to the jug as he spoke. ‘There’s a forward outpost, some distance inside Silurian territory, where the Thracians have been brigaded with a cohort from the Fourteenth. All part of the governor’s plan to have strong columns pushed as far forward as possible to keep an eye on the enemy and nip in the bud any attempt by Caratacus’s lads to break out into the province. Only, we’ve had reports about trouble with the garrison at the fort.’

  ‘What kind of trouble?’ asked Cato.

  ‘You know how it is. There’s never much love lost between legionaries and auxiliaries. Routine name-calling and punch-ups are fine, but the soldiers in those two units really have got it in for each other.’

  ‘Seems to me the idiots just need someone to knock their heads together,’ Macro grumbled.

  Decianus smirked. ‘The temporary commander seems to be doing a good job of restoring discipline while waiting for a replacement to take over. Clearly the garrison will continue to need a firm hand. Which is why I imagine you two have been sent to do the job, judging by your record. I saw the documents today. Very impressive. Sounds like you are just what they need. Especially as your column is going to be one of those at the sharp end of Ostorius’s offensive.’

  ‘Assuming that he fails to win over the locals at that meeting he’s called,’ said Pellinus.

  ‘I think we all know that’s not going to end happily,’ his friend responded. ‘The only thing the locals seem to want is to fight. When they’re not doing in Romans they’re at each other’s throats. Ostorius is wasting time when he should be waving the stick about. A damn good caning is the only thing that’ll get the message through their thick skulls.’ Decianus paused and his eyes widened. ‘And since we’re talking about thick skulls, did you see that one in the courtyard just now?’

  Portia leaned forward anxiously. ‘What’s that? A barbarian here, on the premises?’

  ‘Too right, ma’am. Him, his woman and a handful of his brutes. Just arrived. Since they’re armed they must be on their way to the governor’s meeting. Bloody great giant of a man. Wouldn’t want to face him in battle.’

  Macro sniffed. ‘I find the bigger they are, the harder they fall.’

  ‘Well, you’d need a great big felling axe to take that one down. There’s been quite a few of ’em passing through Londinium in the last few days. Caused quite a stir since many of the locals we have here haven’t worn woad in years. Some of ’em have taken to our dress and customs quite well actually.’

  Cato doubted it. While they might look the part, and do their best to pick up as much Latin as they could, they would consider themselves to be Britons first and foremost for many years yet. Especially while the tribes of the province were still regarded as separate kingdoms, fiercely proud of their heritage and their independence. That would change the moment their client kingdom status elapsed. It was the same technique Rome used in every new province: strike deals with the local rulers which guaranteed them Rome’s protection in return for the peaceful annexation of their kingdom once the current ruler had died. That might work well enough in other parts of the empire, but Cato suspected that the arrangement would not proceed so easily when applied to the bellicose warriors of Britannia. He finished his stew and washed it down with a draught of warm wine before he spoke to Pellinus.

  ‘How are preparations going for the new campaign season?’

  The tribune’s expression became weary at the prospect of talking shop but Cato outranked him and therefore could direct the course of their conversation as he wished.

  ‘Almost complete, sir. The forward depots are fully stocked with supplies, the last of the reinforcements are moving up to join their units and the cavalry mounts are being brought to hard condition. The governor wants us ready to march on the first good day of spring, assuming the attempt to get a peace treaty falls through. Which it will. After that, we’re in the lap of the gods. The ground over which we’ll be fighting is mountainous and heavily forested. Only a handful of tracks have been discovered by our scouts. Ideal terrain for ambushes. If Caratacus plays it smart he’ll just wear us down with hit-and-run tactics. Our only hope is to find their villages and lay waste to enough of them so that we force them to face us on the battlefield. Then, if we’re lucky, we can do for Caratacus and his army.’

  ‘You don’t sound very optimistic,’ said Macro.

  ‘Oh, I’m optimistic enough. Because that’s what the governor has told us to be in his standing orders. Doesn’t want us to unsettle the reinforcements who are joining our happy little band. No more defeatism is his line and he’ll come down hard on any of his subordinates who even suggests that we won’t have the beating of Caratacus this time round. So yes, I’m an optimist. But before that, I’m a realist. And I’d say anyone who really thinks this is going to be just a stroll in the forum is in for a great big fucking surprise. Pardon, madam.’

  Portia sighed with exasperation and waved the apology aside. Then she froze and looked towards the doorway of the inn. Cato turned to follow the direction of her gaze and saw that two large warriors had entered the room. They wore heavy capes woven with a checked design in brown and white. Their hair was tied back and braided in a thick queue that hung down their backs. Swirling tattoos covered their hairy arms and long swords hung from baldrics. The native warriors slowly shuffled inside, followed by several more of their companions, including one huge man who had to bow his head to avoid the beams that stretched across the interior. At his side was a woman, her head covered with the hood of a cloak. The serving girl took one look at the giant and hurried through a doorway behind the counter, calling for her master.

  As the newcomers made their way to the counter, the leader of the party looked round the room until his gaze rested on the small party of Romans. His expression was fierce, but then a look of puzzlement worked its way through as he stared directly at Macro and Cato.

  ‘I don’t fucking believe it. .’ Macro grasped Cato’s arm. ‘Look who it is! Recognise him?’

  ‘Of course,’ Cato replied quietly. ‘Prasutagus.’

  There was a scraping as Macro rose from his bench and called across the room. ‘Prasutagus! It’s me. I mean us. Macro and Cato!’

  Decianus nearly choked on his wine. ‘You mean you know that brute?’

  Macro ignored the tribune and took two steps towards the native leader and held out his hand. Prasutagus stood still for a moment before he smiled faintly and nodded without offering his hand in return. Macro lowered his and shook his head in wonder. ‘I don’t believe it. . Prasutagus.’

  ‘Hello, Centurion,’ a woman’s voice interrupted the startled silence of the inn. Macro turned and saw that the woman had lowered the hood of her cloak to reveal thick tresses of coppery red hair. Her eyes twinkled as she smiled a greeting.

  The power of speech failed Macro for an instant before he swallowed nervously and cleared his throat. ‘Boudica. .’

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘Queen Boudica, as it happens.’ She affected an aloofness that was betrayed by the smile that she could not suppress.

  ‘Queen?’ Macro frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I am the wife of Prasutagus, and so queen of the Iceni nation. I assume that you, too, have risen in status since we last saw each other. No longer the centurion we once knew.’

  Macro shook his head. ‘Centurion Macro still, though I am more senior than I was.’

  Boudica stepped away from the bar and made for the side of her husband and took his hand. ‘We are pleased to see you again.’

  The two Roman officers exchanged looks with the rulers of the Iceni tribe, and for a moment no one spoke as memories of shared hardships and dangers flooded back into their minds. Macro felt a deeper pang of loss as he gazed at the woman whose affections he had once known, when Boudica had been no more t
han the wayward daughter of an Iceni nobleman. At length Prasutagus could maintain his regal aloofness no longer and let out a hearty bellow of mirth, before surging forward and throwing his arms round Macro in a rib-cracking embrace of friendship.

  ‘Hah! It is good to see you again, Roman! Too many years have passed.’

  Macro clasped the giant’s arms and eased himself free of the powerful grip. He took a deep breath before he responded. ‘I see you’ve picked up a bit more Latin since last time.’

  ‘It is well to speak the tongue of your friend,’ Prasutagus responded, his accent heavy but his words readily comprehensible. He turned to Cato and grasped his hand and smiled warmly. ‘And you, Cato. Still as cunning and brave, I think.’ He tapped the scar that ran down from Cato’s forehead. ‘The mark of a warrior, eh?’

  ‘The mark of a man who did not get out of the way of a blade in time, more like,’ Cato replied with a smile.

  His wife approached and looked Cato over with a slight expression of concern. ‘You were little more than a youth when last we met. Now you look more like Macro did then.’

  ‘What?’ Macro interrupted. ‘Then what do I look like now?’

  Boudica scrutinised him. ‘Your face is more lined, and there is grey in your hair, but you are still the same Macro I knew. Which is as well. It is good to see an old friend. .’ Her tone became more serious. ‘Friendship is needed now more than ever. Relations between Rome and the Iceni are fragile. I take it you are aware of our recent history?’

  ‘We heard about the rebellion,’ said Cato. ‘It is a pity.’

  ‘Pity?’ Prasutagus’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘It was a tragedy. A betrayal of the bond between our people and Rome. Ostorius demanded we surrender weapons, even after I gave my word of honour that we hold true to our alliance with the Emperor. Some gave up weapons. Others did not and died with sword in hand.’ Prasutagus lowered his gaze. ‘They were fools, but brave fools. Perhaps. .’

  ‘You did the right thing.’ Boudica squeezed his hand. ‘You survived and now you serve the Iceni people. They need you.’