‘Too right,’ Macro responded. ‘And I thought working for that slimy rat Narcissus was dangerous. The gods will have their fun with us.’
‘I wonder who is laughing. Macro, I’m serious. We’re in grave danger as long as Quertus remains here in the fort and challenges my authority. If we’re going to deal with him, we must do it one step at a time. Right now, we bide our time until the reinforcements turn up. Once they’re here, we can get things back to where they should be. Quertus will have little choice but to accept it.’
‘And what? We let bygones be bygones? Sir, he tried to kill you.’
‘What proof is there of that? Without proof what can I do?’
Macro opened his mouth to protest, then frowned, and shook his head. ‘Bollocks. Due legal process again, I take it.’
Cato nodded. ‘As things stand I cannot bring charges against Quertus. Not for the attempt on my life, nor for the murder of the previous prefect. Besides, there’s more to this than dealing with Quertus. You remember I mentioned that being here might have something to do with Pallas? That he might have wanted to send us someplace where there was a good chance we might be killed?’
Macro waved his spoon around. ‘You really think such a place is hard to find in this corner of the empire?’
‘We’re not in the empire. We’re well over the frontier of the province. Far enough from any help if we get into trouble. And we are in trouble. If we try and take a short cut in dealing with Quertus, you can be sure that Pallas’s man here in Britannia will have us charged with the crime. You don’t just get away with murdering a senior centurion, or bringing disciplinary charges against him without adequate evidence. Anything like that is likely to rebound on us. Especially if someone is looking for any excuse to drop us in the shit. Like I said, we have to be extremely careful. If it’s to be done, Quertus must be disposed of in a way that can be justified. You understand, Macro?’
The centurion sighed heavily. ‘This ain’t on, Cato. I thought we’d left all this sort of thing behind us. I thought we were going back to the legions to do some proper soldiering and leaving all the skulduggery to those with a taste for it.’ He shook his head, then took another, joyless, spoon of stew before muttering, ‘It ain’t on, I’m telling you.’
Cato could not help a wry smile. ‘Come now, did you ever think it would really be so simple?’
Decimus opened the door to the officers’ mess and peered round before he crossed the threshold. There was no one there due to the late hour and a fire was burning low in the hearth, providing a warm glow that lit up the modest room. He breathed a sigh of relief that he would not have to be in the same room as any of the officers of the Thracian cohort. He quickly shut the door behind him and crossed to the doorway leading through to the storeroom where the officers’ food was stored. General items were shelved on one side, with named shelves for each officer’s private stores opposite. Not that there was much left on any of the shelves, Decimus tutted to himself. There had been little of worth taken from the village, just a few roundels of goat’s cheese, some jugs of their sweet ale and the hard flat loaves of bread that tasted as unappetising as they looked. Decimus picked up two from the common stores and marked the wax slate hanging from a thong by the door. He heard the door open and close a moment later and swallowed anxiously as he emerged from the storeroom and saw the looming bulk of Centurion Quertus standing in front of the door. The glow from the fire cast a gently wavering shadow behind him and lit his dark features with a ruddy glow so that he looked even larger than he did in daylight. His eyes fixed on the prefect’s servant but he said nothing.
Decimus approached hesitantly and nodded towards the door. ‘If you’ll excuse me, sir.’
‘Not yet.’ Quertus spoke in a rumbling undertone. ‘I’m hungry. Fetch me some cheese and bread. And a jug of beer.’
‘Sir, I was just taking these to headquarters.’
‘Later.’
‘The prefect and Centurion Macro are expecting me to return as soon as I can, sir.’
‘Once I’ve finished with you, you can go. Now, build the fire up and then get me my food.’
Decimus hesitated a moment. The Thracian scowled and the servant hurriedly turned about and set the loaves down on a table. He went over to the fire and took some logs from the pile in the corner and stacked them over the embers in tiers before picking up the fan and carefully stirring up some flames until they consumed the lowest logs. All the while he felt the presence of the Thracian officer who had sat down on the nearest bench and watched him work in silence.
‘That’ll do,’ said Quertus. ‘Now the food.’
Decimus scrambled up and made for the foodstore where he heaped a wooden platter with the requested items and returned to serve them to the centurion. ‘There you are, sir. Now if there’s nothing more. .’
‘There is something else.’ Quertus tore off a corner of his bread and chewed steadily until his mouth was empty enough to speak. ‘Your name is Decimus, isn’t it?’
Decimus nodded, not happy that the Thracian officer knew even that much about him.
‘Cat got your tongue?’
‘N-no, sir.’
‘That’s better. Well then, Decimus, perhaps you can help me.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Are you happy serving the prefect?’
Decimus chewed his lip. ‘Happy, sir? I hadn’t given it any thought.’
‘Oh, I’m sure that you have. I would find it hard to believe that you would be happy in a place as far flung and wild as Bruccium. You have the look of a former soldier about you. The limp suggests you were discharged unfit. Am I right?’
Decimus nodded, then as the Thracian officer’s brow knitted he quickly spoke up. ‘Yes, sir. I served in the Second Legion. Before I met the prefect I was in Londinium working the wharves.’
‘And you gave up the comforts of Londinium to come here?’
‘The prefect offered to pay me well to serve him, sir. It seemed like a good idea at the time.’
‘But not so good now, I’ll bet.’ Quertus smiled thinly. ‘I imagine that you are thinking that no amount of silver is worth being in a place like this.’
Decimus decided that it might be best to make light of the situation and get away from the Thracian officer as soon as possible. ‘I’m sure I could imagine enough silver to make anything worth while, sir.’
Quertus responded quietly, ‘I’m sure you could.’
Decimus coughed. ‘If that’s all, sir, I’d better be off. Can’t afford to keep the prefect and Centurion Macro waiting.’
‘Before you go, Decimus, there’s something I’d like you to think about.’ Quertus leaned forward and fixed his dark eyes on the veteran. Decimus felt his blood go cold.
‘You like silver, so you’re a man after my own heart. What if I was to offer you twice what the prefect is paying you to work for me instead?’
‘Sir?’
‘Come now, Decimus. You don’t think that bread and beer are the only things that the Blood Crows take from the villages we raid. There are plenty of silver lodes in these mountains, that is one of the reasons why the Emperor is so keen to get his hands on the land of the Silures. We’ve collected quite a small hoard of silver. I’ve promised fair shares for all the officers and men in the know. Why shouldn’t you be able to dip your beak in as well? As long as you serve my needs. I see you are tempted. . Why don’t I make it easier for you? What if I paid you three times what the prefect has promised you?’
‘A thousand sestertii, that’s what Cato said.’
‘So little for a good man like you? The prefect is a skinflint. What do you say to three thousand sestertii?’
Decimus’s eyes widened at the prospect of such a fortune and Quertus pressed on. ‘Of course, you’d get to keep what he has promised to pay you as well. Should set you up nicely for the rest of your life. And the best of it is that all you have to do is keep on serving the prefect. As far as I am concerned, what you have t
o do for me is to keep your ears and eyes open and report back to me anything he says that relates to me or my cohort. That’s all there is to it. What do you say, Decimus?’
The servant was silent, his mind racing. ‘I need to think about it, sir.’
Quertus considered the other man for a moment before nodding. ‘All right. But I’ll have your answer tomorrow. One other thing you need to know. If I ever discover you have repeated any part of this conversation, I will have your head. You’ll find that it is much safer, as well as more rewarding, to be loyal to me in this fort. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Decimus swallowed nervously.
‘Then you may go. Remember, one word out of place and you’re a dead man.’
‘I understand, sir.’ Decimus nodded and made his way out of the officers’ mess as steadily as he could. Outside, he shut the door, his hand trembling as he slid the latch into place, and then hurried the short distance down the street back to headquarters.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Maridius had his arms bound behind his back when he was dragged out of his cell and into the small hall in the fort’s guardroom. He had been stripped down to his leggings and his face and chest were heavily bruised. One eye was so badly swollen that he could hardly see out of it. He stank of his own dirt and his skin was streaked with filth and dried blood.
‘Get him on the hook,’ Quertus ordered and his men dragged the warrior beneath the beam in the centre of the room. An iron hook stuck out from the side of the beam. While one of the Thracians held Maridius in position, the other brought out a four-foot-long shaft of wood with a length of rope tightly bound to each end. He pulled the prisoner’s arms back and shoved the wood up beneath them, as far as it would go, and then lifted the rope over the hook and adjusted it until the shaft was parallel to the ground. Maridius grimaced as his shoulders felt the strain.
Cato and Macro watched the preparations from a bench at the side of the room. Macro sat with his back against the wall, his legs stretched out and arms folded, apparently unmoved by the prisoner’s suffering. Cato, however, was not so insouciant. The interrogation of the prisoner was a necessary evil as far as he was concerned and he was keen to see it over with as soon as possible.
One of the Thracian interrogators turned to Quertus and stated, ‘He’s ready, sir.’
Before Quertus could respond, Cato leaned forward and snapped, ‘You will address your remarks to me, trooper, if you want to avoid a charge of insubordination.’
The Thracian glanced at Quertus, who nodded discreetly. The man stood to attention. ‘Yes, sir. The prisoner is prepared for interrogation, sir.’
Cato replied, ‘Very good. You may begin.’
‘Yes, sir!’
The trooper went round to the front of the prisoner while his comrade moved behind Maridius, and savagely kicked him just behind the knee joints. The prisoner slipped down and his shoulders took the full weight of his body. He let out a strained cry of agony and then rolled his head back, eyes clenched, as he fought the pain. The man in front of him squatted slightly, drew his fist back and slammed it into Maridius’s gut, driving the air from his lungs and leaving him gasping for breath. Another blow followed, and another in a steady rhythm, working his stomach and chest, until the cries of pain gave way to muted groans and gasps.
Cato leaned closer to Macro and muttered, ‘Is this strictly necessary? Again?’
Macro nodded. ‘You saw how it was with that Silurian, Turrus. They breed ’em tough in Britannia. That’s why we need to spend more time softening ’em up before we get to the questions. Works well enough in most cases, but Maridius is proving something of a challenge. Maybe Quertus and his boys will succeed where Severus failed.’ Macro was silent for a moment and his stomach grumbled. ‘Pity I didn’t have time to finish that last loaf. Bloody Decimus took his own sweet time in fetching it for us. I’m hungry.’
‘Hungry?’ Cato wondered. The spectacle before him did little for his appetite, but then nothing ever put Macro off his food, he reflected.
The blows continued for a while longer, before Quertus stepped forward and waved his men aside. ‘That’ll do for now, lads. Give him a breather before we continue.’
The Thracian troopers backed off and sat at a table in the corner of the room, while Quertus pulled up a stool and sat down in front of the prisoner. All was still for a moment and the sound of Maridius’s ragged breathing filled the room, above the faint moan of the wind gusting around the walls of the guardhouse.
Cato stood up and crossed the room and stood at the side of the Thracian officer. He stared down at the top of the prisoner’s head for a moment before he began.
‘I know you can understand Latin. Like your brother. You both speak it fluently. Your teacher must have been good.’
‘Our teacher was a Roman prisoner. . We put him to death the moment we understood enough to do. . without him.’
‘Why did you choose to learn our tongue?’
Maridius drew a deep breath and looked up, his good eye glinting with malevolence. ‘Our father taught us that the first step in defeating your enemy is to understand him. And I understand all I need to know about Rome.’
‘Oh?’ Cato smiled thinly. ‘And what do you understand about us?’
Maridius ran his tongue along his dry lips and thought a moment before replying. ‘That you have an insatiable hunger for the land, property and liberty of others. You scour the earth and create a wasteland and call it civilisation. Some civilisation!’ He snorted. ‘You are a greedy people. You are like a great, fat leech sucking the blood out of this world. Your soldiers kill, rape and burn everything before them. Like these Thracian scum who you pay to carry out your dirty work. They are not warriors, not even men, but scum.’
Quertus leaned forward and casually backhanded him with a powerful slap. Maridius groaned, blinked and shook his head.
‘Keep a civil tongue in your head,’ Quertus warned. ‘Or my lads will see to it that your tongue parts company with your foul mouth.’
‘Fuck you. .’
Quertus balled his hand into a fist but Cato intervened before he could strike. ‘No. That’s enough, for the moment.’
He returned the prisoner’s glare calmly and then spoke again. ‘You say that we hunger for the lands of others, but tell me, Maridius, how is that different from the wars you, your brother, and your father fought to conquer the tribes that surrounded the Catuvellauni? Correct me if I’m mistaken but your tribe crushed the Trinovantes, and took their capital as your own. You’ve also taken land from the Cantiaci, the Atrebates, the Dobunni and the Coritani.’ Cato paused and shrugged. ‘Seems to me there’s not that much difference between the ambitions of the Catuvellauni and Rome, only that my people happen to be rather better at it.’
Maridius curled his lip and spat a gobbet on to the toe of Cato’s boot. ‘Fuck you!’
Cato glanced at his boot. ‘And we happen to be somewhat more refined and imaginative in our use of language and invective as well, it seems.’
‘You fucking tell that cunt!’ Macro added emphatically.
Cato stifled a wince, and focused his attention back on the prisoner. ‘So, now we’ve dispensed with the pretence that there is any moral high ground in this conflict, there only remains the question of who is going to win. You must know by now that Rome will triumph. We have more men, better men, and greater resources than Caratacus can ever hope to command. He can only delay defeat. Every death, on both sides, that happens before he finally surrenders is on his hands. He cannot beat us, only prolong the suffering and destruction until the inevitable defeat. You must see that.’
Maridius shrugged. ‘Better to be defeated and die as warriors than live as slaves.’
‘Slaves? Hardly. You and your brothers will be treated no differently to King Cogidubnus who was wise enough to become our ally from the first.’
‘That fat coward?’ Maridius sneered. ‘He has damned himself, his line and his people in the eyes of every o
ther tribe in Britannia.’
‘Hardly every tribe. The Atrebates are only one of twelve tribes who have made peace with Rome.’
‘Then damn them too!’ Maridius shouted.
No one spoke for a moment. Macro yawned. ‘This is all very interesting, sir, but it’s not helping us. He’s as mad as the rest of ’em. Let’s find out what we need and put an end to it.’
Cato raised a hand to silence his friend. ‘I’ll give you one last chance before the interrogation continues, Maridius. While I admire your courage and your pride, it is only helping to prolong the suffering of your people.’
The prisoner gave a dry laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘They are not my people. They are the Silures and the Ordovices. What do I care for their suffering?’
‘That’s nice,’ Macro commented.
‘They are still people,’ Cato continued. ‘They deserve better from those that lead them. They deserve peace.’
‘Roman peace?’
Cato ignored the taunt. ‘Peace. That is what we will give them once Caratacus is defeated. I need to know the location of his army, and how many men he has. I don’t care how I get the information, but I will get it.’
The prisoner glowered and then thrust out his jaw defiantly. ‘Fuck you.’
Macro sighed. ‘What, again?’
With a tired expression Cato stepped aside and nodded to Quertus. ‘Your men may continue.’
The Thracian moved his stool back a pace and then nodded to his men. The trooper tasked with beating the prisoner rose to his feet and moved round to the front of Maridius as he cracked his weathered knuckles and rolled his neck, like a boxer loosening up for a bout, thought Cato. He braced his boots on the floor as Maridius clenched his jaw and half closed his eyes, preparing himself for further blows.
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