Cato’s thoughts instantly turned to his men huddled in their shelters. His place was with them if the storm threatened the safety of the camp. He turned to Poppaea.
‘Excuse me, I must go.’
Before she could protest he pressed the cup back into her hands and looked round for Macro. His friend was pushing through the throng towards him.
‘Bloody fun and games, this.’ Macro smiled ruefully. ‘We’d better get back to the men.’
Cato nodded, noting that his friend seemed sober enough to make the walk to the tent lines, despite the amount he had drunk earlier. Several of the other officers were of a like mind and jostled for the cloaks at the entrance. Outside, Cato led the way, clutching the hood of his cloak tightly over his head. They had only gone a short distance before Macro stopped.
‘A moment, lad.’
He moved to the side of the muddy thoroughfare and leaned forward. A torrent of vomit gushed from his gaping mouth as he made a deep heaving grunt. Most hit the ground but the wind whipped a small quantity back against his tunic and Macro swore before he lurched again, this time turning downwind as he let fly with another jet of vomit. He paused briefly then straightened up.
‘You done?’ Cato asked, hands on hips.
Macro nodded with a meek expression. ‘Better out than in. And a word to the wise, always go downwind.’ He gestured to the mess on his tunic.
Cato frowned with disgust. ‘Let’s go.’
The storm was raging across the mountains, the howling wind lashing the rain against the tents and every living thing inside the camp. There was a cry from behind and Cato looked back to see the end of the mess tent fly up in the air, tearing out the guy ropes and swirling violently, before collapsing. The general’s guards had abandoned their weapons to hammer down the pegs holding the other tents in place. On all sides the storm was wreaking havoc and the men hurried from the shelter of their section tents to hold them down. Even with the chaos unfolding around him, Cato was gratified by the sight of the dim shapes of the sentries remaining at their posts on the ramparts.
‘Jupiter’s fucking balls!’ Macro shook his head. ‘Have you ever seen the like? Someone’s got right up the noses of the gods and no mistake.’
‘It’s as well that it happens now rather than last night,’ Cato responded, trying to look on the bright side. ‘Can you imagine what that hill is going to be like after this lot?’
They struggled on, leaning into the gale, the hems of their cloaks whipping at their legs. At length they reached the partial shelter of the rampart and turned towards the corner of the camp where the baggage train was parked.
‘What did the tribune’s wife want with you?’ asked Macro.
‘Ah, you saw that.’
‘Indeed. Looked rather cosy. Is she the kind of army wife who puts it about then?’
‘I wouldn’t know. She wanted to give me a pat on the back and buy me a drink. That’s all.’
Macro chuckled. ‘Sure. Pat on the back. Right.’
Cato sighed wearily. ‘Macro, I’m a married man. And I love my wife.’
‘So?’
‘So, I’d rather we left it there, Centurion. That’s an order.’
‘Yes, sir.’
When they reached the tent lines of the escort, or what was left of them, Cato’s heart sank. At least half the tents were down and the dark figures of men were struggling to save the rest. The Blood Crows had abandoned their tents to go and calm the horses and their shrill whinnies cut through the wild night.
‘I’ll see to the men,’ said Cato. ‘You check on the prisoners.’
‘Prisoners? Fuck ’em. A little bit of rain won’t hurt them.’
‘Maybe, but I want them in good shape when they’re handed over to the Emperor, whenever that is. Make sure they’re safe and their chains are secure.’
‘All right.’ Macro dipped his head in salute and hurried off towards the larger of the stockades. Cato turned to his own tent first and was relieved to see that it was still standing. Thraxis was hammering down extra pegs as his commander approached.
‘Any damage inside?’ Cato asked.
His servant lowered his hammer and looked up. ‘No, sir. I got most of your clothes into the chest earlier. Same with the paperwork and slates.’
‘Good man!’ Cato gestured to the tent. ‘I’ll leave you to secure this. I need to check on the others.’
Thraxis nodded quickly and turned back to his work as Cato strode towards the nearest line of tents belonging to the legionaries of Macro’s cohort. He saw the giant outline of Centurion Crispus bellowing orders to his men and strode through the wind towards him.
‘Centurion, report!’
Crispus wiped the streaks of rain from his face. ‘Not good, sir. Lost most of the tents and we’ll be lucky if we save any that are still left. I’ve told the lads to collapse them and sit on the bastards until the storm has passed.’
Cato yawned, weariness settling heavily on his tired limbs. ‘Best thing, I suppose. As soon as the wind dies down get the tents back up and the men inside. They’ll have to double up as best they can until daylight. We’ll sort things out then.’
‘It’s going to get cosy in them tents, sir.’
‘Then it’ll help keep ’em warm.’
‘Cato! Cato!’
The both turned towards the desperate shout and Cato could just make out Macro’s stocky figure waving frantically in front of the smaller stockade. He ran to meet them.
‘What is it?’ Cato demanded.
‘He’s gone!’ Macro shouted, eyes wide in alarm. ‘Caratacus. The bastard’s gone.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘Gone?’ Cato froze. His guts clenched with dread.
He didn’t wait for any further clarification but sprinted across the mud and puddles towards the stockade. The door was open and it was too dark to see inside, but as he drew closer he saw two bundles lying on the ground just inside. The two sentries, he realised at once. He charged past them and into the stockade. The gloomy interior was empty, except for the post and the chains lying in the mud.
‘No!’ Cato bunched his hand into a fist and punched the wooden frame at his side. He crouched down and picked up the chains for closer examination. They were covered in mud but his probing fingers found no breaks in the links and the pins on the shackles had been cleanly knocked out. Rising quickly he turned and joined Macro and Crispus as they examined the bodies.
‘Dead?’
‘Both of them,’ Macro answered. ‘Throats slashed. Whoever did this got up close to them. . Some bastard’s going to pay for this.’
Cato tried to calm his racing mind. ‘We’ll deal with that later. Right now we must find Caratacus. Get the men. I want them to start searching at once. Send a runner to each of the gates. No one is to leave the camp. Go!’
The startled centurion ran off to the tent lines and Cato turned to Macro. ‘What about the other prisoners?’
‘I checked. They’re all there.’ Macro glanced round into the shadows. ‘Caratacus could still be close if he thinks he can set them free as well.’
Cato shook his head. ‘It’s too late for him now. The alarm has been raised. If that was ever his plan he’s not going to try it now. He’ll want to get out of the camp and as far away as possible before daylight. I just hope we’re not too late. You take charge here. Double the guard on the others. Find the cornicen and have him sound stand to.’
‘What are you going to do, sir?’
‘Report to headquarters. We have to rouse the camp at once.’
‘Shouldn’t we try and find Caratacus first? Before we tell the general?’
‘It’s too late for that. Move!’