Invictus

by Simon Scarrow

  Cato cleared his throat. ‘I dare say he will try to make the same offer to us that he made to Nepo. Only this time I’m afraid we will have to disappoint him.’

  Macro laughed. ‘Too fucking right we will. The lads are spoiling for a fight.’

  Cato looked both ways along the wall. To the right, the men of Macro’s century stood shoulder to shoulder, shields and spears grounded. There was no sign of nerves in their expressions. The Second Century stood ready to the left, while Petillius’ and Musa’s men stood in reserve a short distance behind the wall, either side of the colour party where the cohort’s standard rose into the still air. Behind them Porcino’s century defended the wall, with Pulcher in command of Placinus’s half century acting as their reserve. Cato felt confident about his preparations and turned back to continue his inspection of the enemy.

  ‘There’s no sign of siege weapons of any kind,’ said Macro.

  ‘No surprises there. There hasn’t been much call for them in Hispania for nigh on a hundred years. They’ll have to start from scratch. Anything that takes up time is to our advantage. We’ve got food for twenty days and plenty of water. More than enough to last out until the legate arrives.’

  ‘Never thought I’d witness the day when I looked forward to seeing Vitellius again.’

  Both men were silent for a moment before Macro continued. ‘I wonder if he has anything to do with Nepo’s death?’

  ‘If he does, then he’s got a pretty long reach.’

  ‘That’s not so unlikely, sir. Remember, even at the arse end of Britannia we were still touched by the political infighting back in Rome. I’m telling you, that spat between Narcissus and Pallas may see the end of us yet.’ Macro picked at his teeth for a moment. ‘Which is why we have to be wary of Pulcher.’

  ‘We’ve been over that,’ Cato responded testily. ‘He’s given no cause for us to suspect him of anything sinister while we’ve been with the cohort.’

  ‘Except now that Nepo’s dead. Someone murdered the procurator. And I’d bet my life on it being Pulcher.’

  ‘I will look into Nepo’s death the moment I get the chance. Right now we both have more pressing concerns. Look there.’ Cato raised his hand and pointed out a horseman picking his way through the ruins towards the gate. The rider stopped as he reached the edge of the settlement and raised a horn to blow three loud notes, then continued towards the wall.

  ‘So Iskerbeles wants to talk,’ said Macro. ‘If he thinks he can pull the same trick twice then he must think we’re as thick as cold porridge. Give the word, sir, and I’ll have one of our men take him down as soon as he gets within easy range.’

  ‘No. We’ll hear what he says. Anything to buy time, Macro. That’s the nature of the game we need to play with the rebels.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’

  The herald emerged from the settlement, stopped fifty paces from the gate and sounded his horn again, then flicked his reins. He had advanced no more than a few steps before Cato cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, ‘Stop there!’

  The herald slowed and then came on again.

  ‘Stop there, I said! Or I will have you cut down!’

  This time the herald reined in and came no closer. He looked haughtily at the faces lining the rampart of the wall and then pointed to the officers on the gatehouse.

  ‘You, Romans! Iskerbeles sends word that he wishes to speak with the officer in command at the mine.’

  The man’s Latin was fluent. He was tall and well built with a leather cuirass. His dark locks were tied back from his forehead with a broad leather thong.

  ‘I am the commander,’ Cato called back. ‘Tell your leader to come forward in person if he wishes to parley with me.’

  ‘He says that you should come to him. He offers you safe passage through his lines.’

  ‘I think not. I have learned what happens to those who trust Iskerbeles’ word. You tell him that if he wishes to speak then he comes to the gatehouse. I will speak to him down there.’ Cato pointed at the dead ground between the outer ditch and the edge of the settlement.

  ‘And why should Iskerbeles trust your word, Roman?’

  ‘Because I am a Roman,’ Cato responded simply. ‘A Roman soldier, and officer. And my word is good enough for any man, even your Iskerbeles.’

  The rebel herald laughed. ‘Very well, I shall take your message to my leader.’

  He tugged on his reins and wheeled his mount back before trotting off through the ruins. Macro nodded with satisfaction. ‘Well said, sir. Those rebel bastards need to be taught the meaning of honour.’

  Cato watched the rebel ride back to the edge of the enemy camp and confer with a small group of riders waiting there. Presently a handful galloped off into the heart of the camp. A while later, in the heat of the mid-afternoon sun, a column of fifty or so men set out from the camp, followed by the group of riders. As they approached, Macro exchanged a questioning glance with Cato.

  ‘I wonder what he’s up to. Unless he likes to conduct all his conversations mob-handed.’

  ‘That’s his personal bodyguard, perhaps,’ Cato suggested. ‘If he’s that concerned for his own safety then maybe there’s division amongst his followers. That’s something we might play on if we get the chance.’

  The column wound its way through the ruins and as it drew closer Cato and Macro could see that only the men at the front and the rear were armed. Those in between, thirty of them, wore rags and were in chains.

  ‘What’s his game?’ asked Macro.

  Cato shook his head. At the same time he felt a chill in his spine as he considered the fate of the prisoners being forced along by their escorts. Did Iskerbeles intend to use them to prove his ruthlessness somehow? An object lesson to demonstrate that the enemies of the rebels could expect no mercy?

  As the armed men at the head of the column reached the edge of the ruins they steered the prisoners to the front in an extended line and forced them towards the gatehouse at spear point, stopping no more than ten paces from the drawbridge over the outer ditch. The herald and another man reined in and dismounted. The herald’s companion was even larger in physique and wore a scale armour vest and a centurion’s helmet, with long red feathers in place of the original owner’s horsehair crest. They strode towards the line of prisoners serving as a human shield and stopped just behind them as the herald called up to Cato.

  ‘Iskerbeles has done as you requested. Now he requests that you come down from your tower and discuss terms.’

  ‘Terms?’ Macro said quietly. ‘Surrender, he means.’

  ‘I imagine so. But let’s hear him out. Come, Macro.’

  They descended the ladder and Cato beckoned to Musa. The centurion came over. ‘Sir?’

  ‘I want four sections from your century in close formation behind the gate, in case the enemy tries to rush it. And send Cimber to me. As you heard, Macro and I are going out to negotiate with the rebels. If there’s any trouble, I don’t want any heroics. You get the gate shut as swiftly as possible.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Right, let’s go and see what the bastards want.’ Cato led the way under the tower to the gates and Macro helped him slide the locking bar far enough to permit the right gate to open. They waited until Musa and his men were formed up just behind them and Cimber had joined them.

  ‘I need you to listen, Cimber. Say nothing and show no reaction to anything you hear. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good.’ Cato took a deep breath. ‘Here we go.’

  He pulled the gate inward, just wide enough to let a man pass through the gap, then stepped out of the shade beneath the gate-house and into the bright afternoon sunlight. With Macro at his side, and Cimber two paces behind, he slowly approached the line of prisoners and they shuffled aside with a dull clink of c
hains. Some gut feeling caused Cato to stop a half stride outside the gap as the rebel leader and his herald stood waiting for them.

  ‘That’s as far as we come,’ Cato announced. ‘Just in case you were thinking of trying to trap us.’

  The herald affected a hurt expression as he grasped the accusation. ‘Roman, these men are prisoners. They merely serve as a living shield, in case your men on the wall attempt to use javelin, sling or arrow against us. I see you suspect them of not being what they seem. Here, let me prove my good faith.’ The herald drew a dagger from his belt and took a few steps forward to close on one of the haggard men in chains.

  ‘Careful, lad,’ Macro hissed as the fingers of his right hand curled round the handle of his short sword. ‘Be ready to run for it.’

  Cato nodded discreetly. ‘On my word – if we need to.’

  The herald drew his arm back and savagely drove the blade in between the shoulder blades of the prisoner. The man’s head snapped back and his jaw sagged open as the air was driven from his lungs by the impact. He coughed violently and flecks of blood sprayed into the air, before he slipped onto his knees, gasping. He fought for breath and steadily sagged forward, gasping as blood filled his mouth and he tried to clear his throat.

  The herald looked down, expressionless. ‘See? If this man meant anything to me I would not have done that. But he is an enemy, a Roman, and therefore he means nothing. I would kill him as easily as I would kill any other vermin. So, as you can see, this is no trap. But if you attempt to harm me or my comrades before we have retired beyond bowshot then your countrymen will be the first to die. Do you understand, Roman?’

  ‘Yes.’ Cato refused to look at the dying man. His voice was cold and calm as he replied. ‘I understand that you are pitiless barbarian criminals. You cannot defy Rome. In the end you will be subjected to our justice.’

  ‘We are fighting for justice. We are not criminals,’ the herald corrected him. ‘Fighting for freedom from the Romans who enslaved us and treated us like dogs.’

  ‘What is your purpose here?’ asked Cato. ‘Ask your master to speak his mind.’

  The herald wiped the blood from his dagger with the hair of the man he had just stabbed and then kicked him in the back, sending him sprawling on the ground. The prisoner lay on his side, groaning softly as blood pumped from his wound and frothed his lips and beard.

  ‘My master?’ He cocked his head to one side with an amused look. ‘How typical of a Roman. I choose to serve my cause. No man is my master.’

  Cato gestured towards the figure with the feathered helmet who had been standing in silence, watching the exchange imperiously. ‘I would discuss matters with Iskerbeles, not his mouthpiece.’

  The herald smiled. ‘You are discussing matters with Iskerbeles . . .’

  Cato pressed his lips into a thin line, contemptuous of himself for making assumptions too easily. A man who could be taken in by so simple a ploy was a danger to himself, and worse, to those he led. The rebel leader was watching him closely, trying to follow his thoughts.

  ‘A small deceit, just in case you were considering having your men try to do me some mischief as we approached. But since you have shown the backbone to come out from the shelter of the wall I can dispense with the deception. I am Iskerbeles, leader of the rebellion. And you are?’

  ‘My name is not yours to demand, rebel. I am the prefect in command of the Second Praetorian Cohort. And I have enough backbone for both of us. What is that you have to say to me?’

  ‘Ah, the usual Roman combination of directness, and arrogance. Very well, to the point. I demand that you give up the mine and that your cohort surrenders. If you do as I say, then I will spare the lives of you and your men.’

  ‘Spare us? Like you spared the mine’s garrison? Like you treated Nepo?’

  ‘That was different. Nepo was procurator in charge of the mine. I take it you have seen the conditions within the mine. It is a place no man should have to endure. How many thousands of my people have been enslaved and taken there to die? At the hands of the procurator and his men. They forfeited their right to mercy long ago. You and your men are soldiers. Doing your duty. I understand that. Which is why I am prepared to let you leave the mine in peace, and return to Tarraco.’

  ‘With our weapons?’

  Iskerbeles shook his head. ‘I need your weapons and armour for my followers. You have my word that you and your men will have free passage, under my protection, as far as Clunia.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Your word?’ Macro laughed harshly. ‘Your word is shit.’

  ‘Macro . . .’ Cato growled as he turned to glare at him.

  ‘I see your centurion lacks trust. A pity. Then let him trust me when I say this. The choice is that you surrender, or be annihilated, and those who are foolish enough to be taken alive will die slowly, in great pain.’

  ‘Pffftt . . .’ Macro sniffed.

  Cato paused, as if in thought, and then responded. ‘Even if I did decide to surrender, I could not accept those terms. My men and I will retain our arms. I would not hand those over to you under any circumstances.’

  ‘You are in no position to make such demands, Prefect.’

  ‘I think I have a rather stronger bargaining position than you realise. I have an entire cohort of the best troops to be found anywhere in the empire. Our defences are formidable, whereas you have a rabble and no siege engines. I have food and water to last me months. Why would I even contemplate surrendering?’ Cato hardened his tone as he continued. ‘So here are my terms, Iskerbeles. You and your followers will surrender to me. Except for you and your lieutenants, I will permit the rest to return to their villages. To them I give my word that there will be no repercussions. All those who were slaves will be returned to their masters. I give you until dawn tomorrow to give me your answer. After that, I cannot guarantee that any of those who are foolish enough to follow you will be spared.’

  The rebel leader looked at Cato as if he were mad. ‘Your bravado is misplaced, Prefect. However, I am a chief of the Astures. Our tribe is a proud tribe, and our men are the finest warriors in all Hispania. We admire bravery, so I am prepared to let you leave with your arms. You may take nothing else from the mine. Including the procurator, assuming he still lives.’

  Cato did his best to keep his expression neutral. ‘Why would you want me to leave Nepo behind?’

  ‘Because the man has blood on his hands,’ Iskerbeles replied quickly. ‘Thousands of slaves have perished since he was appointed to run the mine. Many of those who fight with me now were freed from Argentium. They want his head.’

  ‘Then why did you not give them what they wanted when you took the mine in the first place, I wonder?’

  The rebel leader’s eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘He would have been worth something if we could ransom him. Now I have sufficient loot that I no longer need such a ransom. So I will present him to his former slaves, and let them take their revenge.’

  ‘First, you will have to fight your way past me and my men,’ Cato responded firmly.

  They stared at each other for a moment before Iskerbeles spoke. ‘I said I admire bravery, Prefect. However, I despise stupidity. You know you cannot hold this mine. So, out of my regard for your courage, I will give you until dawn to consider my terms. Choose wisely.’

  He turned abruptly and his huge lieutenant fell into step at his side. They talked in low voices as they strode to their horses, mounted and trotted back towards the rebel camp. The armed men drove the prisoners back into a column and withdrew from the gatehouse. Cato waited until he was sure they were out of earshot before he spoke softly to Macro.

  ‘He must know about the bullion. He’s been told, or worked it out for himself. That’s why he wants Nepo. To finish beating the truth out of him.’

  ‘Then he’s left it too late.’


  ‘Yes, but he doesn’t know that. And he’ll do all that he can to take the mine, and get Nepo to tell him where the bullion is hidden. Which serves our purpose nicely.’

  Macro raised his eyebrows. ‘It does?’

  ‘Of course. While the rebels are busy trying to recapture the mine, they aren’t spreading their rebellion. And they’re giving Vitellius time to reach us. We’ve got him where we want him.’

  ‘Funny. It feels like it’s the other way round.’

  Cato grinned. ‘I thought I was supposed to be the “amphora half-empty” one? Come on, I’ll be happier once we have the gates between us and the rebels.’

  As they made to cross the bridge over the ditch Cimber cleared his throat. ‘Sir . . .’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Something I overheard when Iskerbeles and his friend were walking back to their horses.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I only caught a few words, sir. The larger one asked something and Iskerbeles said, “They’ll find out soon enough tonight.”’

  Cato took a deep breath and nodded as he glanced back towards the rebel leader riding away. ‘Very well then, tonight it is, my friend. Do your worst. We’ll be waiting.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  ‘Can’t say I’m very impressed by our friend’s sense of honour,’ Macro grumbled as he and Cato stood on the tower over the gatehouse. ‘Says he’s going to give us until morning to consider the offer, only to go and try and shaft us while we’re thinking it over . . . Any Greek blood in him, d’you think?’

  Cato smiled. ‘Maybe. And if the Gods will it then we’ll find out what his blood is made of soon enough.’

  ‘Or he’ll find out what’s in our blood.’