Invictus

by Simon Scarrow

  By the time Cato and his party arrived most of the other guests were already seated at the long tables stretching the length of the hall. At the far end, in a huge curved niche, was the raised area reserved for the Emperor and his immediate retinue who would attend at their leisure. Immediately in front of the dais were the tables and couches reserved for the senators and their wives. Beyond that a larger seating area for those of equestrian rank and other influential figures who had been included in the guest list. There was seating for over a thousand in all, Cato estimated as he set his son down and stretched his back. Also with him were Macro and Cato’s father-in-law, Senator Sempronius, a short, stocky, serious-faced individual with lined features beneath the thinning white hair he did his best to cover his pate with. Cato and Macro had returned to the house on the Quirinal after the triumph to change out of their armour and military tunics, before donning neat plain tunics and comfortable soft leather boots. Sempronius, being something of a traditionalist, wore his toga with the narrow red stripe that denoted his aristocratic status. Lucius wore one of the tunics his mother had bought before his birth. It was slightly oversized, which made him seem even younger than his two years. As he shrugged his shoulders to try and get the linen to settle comfortably on his small frame he looked up at Cato and smiled shyly.

  At once the clear grey eyes and the shape of the hairline reminded Cato of Julia and his heart was pained again with an aching longing for his wife, even though she had betrayed and hurt him so terribly.

  ‘Looks like we’re going to be able to fill our boots tonight!’ Macro grinned as he clapped his hairy hands together and rubbed them vigorously.

  Sure enough, the centres of the tables were covered with baskets of small loaves of bread and platters of pastries and other fine delicacies, as well as bowls of fruit, some of which Cato did not even recognise. Silver jugs held wine and many guests already seemed to be well in their cups as they conversed and laughed on each side of the tables.

  ‘Try and leave some for the others, Macro.’

  ‘I’ll do my best but heroes come first. And right now we’re the two biggest heroes in Rome. I aim to make the most of that before these people forget the fact.’

  Sempronius smiled. ‘You’re right, Centurion. A month from now the mob will have forgotten all of this and they’ll be back to arguing and fighting over which chariot team is the best.’

  ‘The Yellows,’ Macro replied at once. ‘No question about it.’

  ‘Up Yellows!’ Lucius piped up, punching his tiny fists into the air. ‘Up Yellows!’

  ‘That’s the spirit!’ Macro laughed with delight and ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘Your uncle Macro’ll take you to the races the moment you’re big enough. That’s if your daddy says so.’

  ‘Why not?’ Cato responded. ‘Might as well get some bad habits out of the way first.’

  Macro shook his head and sighed. ‘Killjoy.’

  ‘Kill?’ Lucius’ eyes widened in shock. ‘Joy?’

  The adults shared a chuckle before the senator’s expression grew serious again. ‘Are you sure about your decision, Cato?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I know that you’ll raise him well. If I live long enough and the Gods are generous with the spoils of war, then I can afford another home. Somewhere for me and Lucius. For now, I have no choice in the matter. I can’t take him on campaign with me.’

  ‘But you aren’t on campaign.’ Sempronius touched his arm. ‘Cato, I’ve come to regard you as my son. Why don’t you both come and live with me?’

  Cato smiled sadly. ‘I wish I could. But I am already haunted enough by the memory of Julia. I need to get away from Rome.’

  ‘But you have only just returned.’

  ‘True, but it was not the homecoming I expected, and the pain is still too raw.’

  Sempronius thought a moment and nodded. ‘I think I understand. When do you have to leave your house?’

  ‘By the end of the month. Taurus already has the deeds. I have instructed Amatapus to auction the contents and hand the proceeds to you for Lucius’ future. The same goes for the silver spear once it has been sold.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that. I have money enough.’

  ‘It is your money, sir,’ Cato said stiffly. ‘I’ll take no charity from any man, for me or my son.’

  ‘Lucius is also my grandson,’ Sempronius responded gently. ‘My flesh and blood.’

  Cato saw the hurt in his eyes and wished he had not been so blunt. In truth, he wanted to cut any ties with Julia that he could afford to. Not that the senator was to blame for his daughter’s behaviour, but he was, and would always be, a link to her memory. As would Lucius, he admitted to himself.

  ‘You are already doing enough for Lucius,’ Cato concluded. ‘And you have my gratitude.’

  Macro had been standing a short distance apart and now his stomach rumbled audibly. Sempronius cocked his head towards the centurion. ‘Someone needs feeding. I’ll see you later?’

  ‘Perhaps tomorrow, sir.’

  Their eyes met for a moment before the senator nodded. ‘All right then. Enjoy the feast. And you, Lucius, behave yourself. Or they’ll never let you into the Senate.’

  The boy’s eyes twinkled mischievously and he pressed himself against Cato’s leg as if for protection. Cato felt a thrill of pleasure at the gesture and stroked his fine hair affectionately as Sempronius turned away and strode off towards the senatorial tables.

  Cato reached down for his son’s hand and gave it a gentle tug. ‘Come on then, Lucius.’

  The boy looked up at Macro quickly and wrapped the fingers of his spare hand around the centurion’s thumb. Macro grinned in delight.

  ‘There we are! Three lads ready for a night out in the greatest city in the world! What could be better?’

  ‘One of the lads at least will be getting an early night. And it might be an idea to spare him the delights of drink and whoring until he’s a little older, don’t you think?’

  ‘Fair enough. For now we can start him on fruit tarts. He can try his hand at the other kind when he’s good and ready. Right, lad?’ Macro winked at him.

  Lucius tried to return the gesture, but only managed to close and open his eyes a few times, before he nodded. ‘Tarts!’

  His father groaned and raised his eyes beseechingly. ‘By the Gods! Jupiter, Best and Greatest, please spare my son from the vices of old sweats like Centurion Macro here.’

  They made their way to one of the tables that was closest to the Emperor’s end of the hall and found space on the couches there, with Lucius sitting cross-legged between them as they reclined in comfort. They were not kept waiting long for the Emperor. The sound of trumpets announced the arrival of the imperial party and the guests stood at once and waited until Claudius and his family were seated. A smaller procession of figures filed past the dais to take their place alongside the senators and Cato recognised Caratacus and his family, downcast, but playing their part as they got used to the prospect of being forever exiled from their homeland and spending the remainder of their days in the gilded cage of Rome. The trumpets sounded again as the Emperor helped himself to a dish from the table in front of him, and then the guests resumed their places and began to eat.

  At once Macro reached for some of the pastries in front of him. He scooped several onto a bronze platter and set it before them. Lucius nibbled an end suspiciously before making a face and dropping his snack onto the platter. While Macro tucked in with gusto, and poured himself a generous goblet of wine, Cato chewed more thoughtfully on the salted and spiced pork delicacy. Looking around, he noted that many of the others on the table were taking sidelong glances at him and Macro and muttering quietly. It seemed that they had won themselves a considerable portion of fame, as Sempronius had said. Enough to make Cato feel vaguely uneasy. After all, he and Macro had only been performing their
duty. There had been no thought of reward or fame at the time, just the cold thrill of danger and the dryness in his throat, and the aching fear of pain and a crippling wound that would leave him an object of pity. Fortune had spared Cato and his friend. She had not been so generous to the comrades they had left behind on the battlefields of Britannia, torn and twisted on the frozen ground. And the fact was that they had been honoured to help cover up the defeat that the legions had been dealt at the hands of those allies of Caratacus who had not yet bowed to Rome, nor showed the slightest sign of ever being willing to do so. It was a sham, and both he and Macro were party to the deception being played on the people of Rome. A sham, just as his marriage had been. Just as Julia’s claims to love him had been. She had been lying when she had written to him in Britannia, telling him of her love, of her fervent wish to have him return to her . . .

  So much deceit. Cato closed his eyes and wished that he was far away from Rome and back with the army in Britannia. There at least life was straightforward and honest. Do your duty, look after your men and defeat the enemy. That was all that had really mattered to him for the ten years he had been serving under the eagles. And he missed it dreadfully already.

  ‘Cato . . . Cato, lad.’

  He blinked and turned to Macro. ‘What?’

  ‘You were miles away. I was going to ask you, what are your plans?’

  ‘Plans?’

  ‘You know. Now that the house is fucked.’ Cato had told Macro about the debt collector’s visit, but had said nothing about Julia’s more devastating betrayal.

  ‘Macro, do you mind? The boy . . .’

  ‘Oh, right. Sorry. So what you going to do now? Apply for another command?’

  Cato sighed. ‘Looks that way. What else can I do? Hopefully our part in today’s triumph will open a few doors. Frankly, I’d take anything I was offered. Just to get back to what I know. And how about you? Still determined to drink and, er, the other, until you drop?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ Macro raised his cup. ‘I’ll toast that.’

  He took a deep draught and set the cup down on the table in front of him with a happy smack of his lips. Then he sighed heavily and became more serious. ‘It will do for now at any rate. But I’m only ever going to be a soldier. There’s nothing else for me. So, if you get that command, keep a space open for me. You could always use a decent centurion at your side. And not one of those fuck-ups that they are appointing directly these days. Oh! Sorry, Lucius. Just shut your ears to what your uncle Macro says at times, all right?’

  ‘I’d be honoured if you served with me, Macro.’ Cato poured himself a cup and raised it. ‘To friendship.’

  ‘Ah, what’s this?’ a voice interrupted from the other side of the table. ‘What’s the cause of this little celebration, my old comrades from years past?’

  Cato and Macro turned and saw Vitellius regarding them. He had eschewed his senator’s toga in favour of a red silk tunic embroidered with gold leaves. His hair was oiled and artfully arranged in ringlets. He might have passed for handsome, but for the cold, calculating expression on his face. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll join you.’

  He smiled thinly as he lowered himself into a space between two diners reclining opposite.

  ‘Actually, sir, we do mind,’ said Macro.

  Vitellius showed no reaction to the remark, and refused to meet the centurion’s gaze. Instead, he focused on the boy and offered him a friendly wave and a wink. ‘And who might this fine young man be?’

  Cato gritted his teeth. ‘My son.’

  ‘Your son?’ There was the faintest emphasis on the first word and Cato tried not to flinch or show any sign of a reaction.

  ‘That’s right. Lucius Licinius.’

  ‘No cognomen?’

  ‘I have yet to get to know him well enough to decide on one. As I said, he is my son, and therefore no concern of yours.’

  Cato shifted slightly and turned away from the interloper, as if to continue a conversation with Macro.

  ‘And a fine lad he is. I’m sure he will turn out to be an equally impressive young man, regardless of who his father is.’

  This time Cato could not help turning back to face the senator. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning that his father is a famous warrior and his grandfather a respected senator, but even allowing for that, I am sure he will be able to make his own mark on Roman society. Like his father before him.’

  Vitellius continued to smile as he watched for any response to his provocative implications. It took all Cato’s force of will to maintain an even tone as he responded.

  ‘I have no doubt about Lucius’ potential, under my guiding hand. And that of my friend, Centurion Macro.’

  Vitellius acknowledged Macro with a brief nod. ‘So, he’ll have the manner of a street brawler, with the brains and sensitivity of a philosopher. I wish him luck. He’ll need it.’

  Cato had had enough. He turned fully towards the senator. ‘You’ve had your fun. Now, if you have something to say to either of us, then say it. Otherwise, we’d be grateful if you fucked off back to whatever sewer you emerged from.’

  Macro coughed. ‘Cato, the lad . . . Watch your language.’

  Lucius glanced at both men curiously. Cato picked up a sweet pastry and pressed it into his son’s hands. ‘Here. Try this, Lucius.’

  The boy tucked in eagerly, licking the honey glaze before sinking his tiny pearl-white teeth in. While he was preoccupied Cato continued to address Vitellius. ‘Say your piece. Then go.’

  ‘That’s better. No need to adopt the language of the Subura when you deal with me, my dear Prefect. I fear you have spent too long in the company of the common soldiery and lost whatever refinement you once had as a result of being raised in the imperial palace.’ Vitellius leaned forward and reached for an empty goblet and held it out. ‘Pour me some wine, if you please, Centurion Macro.’

  Macro clamped his jaw shut, and did as he was told, filling the cup to the brim before moving the spout just enough to continue pouring the watery red liquid over the senator’s hand and onto the long sleeve of his tunic.

  ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, you clumsy bastard?’ Vitellius drew his hand back sharply, spilling some of the contents of his goblet. He glared angrily at Macro.

  The latter affected shock. ‘Sir, if you please, we are not in the Subura now.’

  Cato could not help laughing, and Macro joined in, then Lucius giggled uncomprehendingly.

  Vitellius pressed his lips tightly together for a moment before he recovered his veneer of equanimity and he raised the goblet. ‘Well played, Centurion. I trust that you will retain such presence of mind during the tough days to come. I was about to make a toast, and I would be pleased if you shared it with me. So then, my friends, let’s drink to the coming campaign. Death to the enemy and victory and honour to the soldiers of Rome.’

  Cato and Macro exchanged a puzzled look before Macro cocked his grizzled head slightly. ‘Come again?’

  ‘Ah, it appears you have not been informed yet. Then allow me to be the bearer of glad tidings. News that will surely please the hearts of true soldiers like yourselves.’ Vitellius lifted the goblet to his lips and took a casual sip before he set it down. ‘I’ll wager that by the time you return to your house, you will find your orders waiting for you.’

  ‘Orders?’ Cato’s brow arched. ‘What orders?’

  ‘Both you and Centurion Macro have been assigned to the column that is being sent to Hispania Terraconensis to suppress the revolt there. The convoy carrying the advance party has already set sail. The balance of the force will arrive before the end of the month. Most of my senior officers will be sailing with me to catch up with the first units to arrive. That includes you two.’

  ‘Bollocks to that,’ said Macro. ‘We’ve only just returned from Br
itannia. This must be some kind of a joke. A piss-poor one at that.’

  Vitellius’ expression became serious. ‘It’s no joke, I assure you.’

  There was a moment’s silence before Cato spoke again. ‘Why us?’

  ‘I was told I had the pick of the available officers. Naturally I chose the best. After all, you have proved your worth to Rome admirably on many occasions. Not least with the signal achievement of capturing Caratacus. It was easy to persuade the Emperor that it would be a good thing having you serve with my new command. You have fine service records and I am sure it will help boost the morale of the men to know that two such highly decorated officers will be fighting at their side.’

  ‘I see.’ The scar on Cato’s face itched and he gave it a light scratch. ‘And the real reason you picked us?’

  ‘Real reason? Why so suspicious, Cato? Do you think I still bear you a grudge?’

  ‘You might not. But I still do, for all the times you have tried to have Macro and me killed.’

  ‘That was years ago. The situation is different now. I have different priorities.’

  ‘No doubt. But old habits die hard.’

  ‘I am not some scorpion from Aesop’s fables, Cato. I am a senator, and one lesson I have learned from politics is that grudges are a luxury. I have no need to do you harm. Not for now at least.’ He raised his goblet again. ‘It will be just like old times, and an honour to serve with you again. So let’s toast “comrades in arms”, eh?’

  The two officers on the other side of the table stared back, unmoving.

  Vitellius shrugged, set his cup down and sat upright. ‘Please yourselves. I must leave you now. I still have a few people I need to speak with before I make my final preparations for the campaign. The first of the Praetorian cohorts has already sailed. The rest of my force is making ready to join them. Make sure you are at Ostia tomorrow. We sail at first light the following day.’ Vitellius turned to smile at Cato’s son. ‘Goodbye, young Lucius. I hope that we meet again some day. I look forward to getting to know you a little better.’