‘If we attack the Brigantes before they have decided what to do with Caratacus, we will precipitate a war between us. Surely it would be better to warn them of the consequences of siding with him first? While there is still a chance to resolve this peacefully.’
The legate smiled. ‘Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Prefect.’
Cato felt himself flush with embarrassment and anger as some of the officers around him struggled to stifle their amusement. Quintatus allowed them a moment longer to enjoy his humbling of the commander of the baggage train escort before he continued.
‘I will be sending an envoy at the head of a small column to persuade the Brigantes to hand Caratacus over to us. However, we must be prepared to act if the tribesmen reject my demand.’ He turned his gaze away from Cato. ‘Any other questions? Yes, Tribune Petillius?’
‘Sir, how is the general?’
‘Ostorius is recovering in his tent. If there is any change in his condition you will be notified. Anything else? No? Then, with the exception of Tribune Otho and Prefects Horatius and Cato, you are dismissed.’
The officers stood up smartly as Quintatus left the dais and made towards his clerk. As soon as he had climbed down the steps, the first of the officers turned to leave.
‘What’s that about?’ asked Macro. ‘Why would he want to see you?’
‘Not sure, but I have a nasty feeling I can guess. You’d better get back to the men. Assemble our officers, the quartermaster, farrier, armourer and the horse master of the Blood Crows.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Macro saluted and turned to leave with the others.
The hall quickly emptied, leaving the three men picked out by Quintatus. Horatius was a short distance away from Cato and cocked an enquiring eyebrow, but Cato could only shake his head. Tribune Otho simply sat looking surprised. At length the doors thudded behind the last of the officers to leave the hall and the two soldiers of the headquarters guard resumed their positions on either side, spears and shields grounded. Quintatus dismissed the augur and had a quiet conversation with the clerk before the latter saluted and also left the hall, returning a moment later with the messenger sent by Cartimandua. The young warrior strode to the front of the hall and stood a short distance from the dais, arms folded in front of him. Cato scrutinised him. He was fair-haired, tall and well-built. His jaw was square and he had the muscular good looks that would have made him very popular with the kind of women who worship gladiators in Rome, Cato mused.
Turning back to his subordinates, Quintatus announced, ‘This is Vellocatus, the personal representative of Queen Cartimandua. He speaks our tongue.’ It was as much a gentle warning as an introduction. The Brigantian nodded a brief greeting to the other officers before Quintatus continued.
‘Prefect Cato, you asked about making an attempt to negotiate with the Brigantes and so avoid war. In which case you will be pleased to know that I have chosen you to accompany the envoy to speak to Queen Cartimandua and her people on my behalf. The envoy in question will be Tribune Otho.’ He turned to the young aristocrat. ‘It is a vital task. Do you consider yourself the right man to carry it out?’
Otho could not help beaming as he replied effusively, ‘Yes, sir!’
‘Good. Then you will take command of the column leaving here at dawn tomorrow. Vellocatus will accompany you to act as a guide and translator. You will take two of your cohorts from the Ninth as well as the auxiliary cohort of Prefect Horatius and the baggage train escort of Prefect Cato. These are the only forces I am prepared to risk. If we send any more men it will look like an invasion. Any less, and they won’t be able to fight their way out in case of trouble. Although you will speak for me, and are the ranking officer, I require that Prefect Horatius be in command of the column for military purposes. If it comes to a fight I want an experienced officer in charge. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Otho nodded, then a slight frown formed on his smooth forehead. ‘Might I ask why you honour me with this mission?’
‘Honour has nothing to do with it. I need a good man on the spot. Someone with breeding who can speak with the authority of the Senate behind him and, through them, the Emperor. You are best placed for such a role.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Quintatus smiled warmly. ‘Play this well, Tribune Otho, and you will win a name for yourself as the man who brought peace to Britannia.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Quintatus addressed the two prefects. ‘Horatius, you will support the tribune as best you can. Your duty will be to guard him and, if need be, Queen Cartimandua. If the negotiations fail, you may have to conduct a fighting retreat. Are you the man for the job?’
‘Sir!’ Horatius nodded.
The legate faced Cato. ‘I imagine you’re wondering why the baggage train escort will be joining the column.’
‘The question had crossed my mind, sir.’
‘You are no fool, Prefect. You have also proved yourself an adept at adjusting to circumstances and acting with initiative. Just the kind of officer I need to support Tribune Otho and Prefect Horatius. Serve them well.’
‘I know my duty, sir.’
‘I’m sure you do. Look on this as a chance to redeem yourself.’
Cato’s eyes narrowed. ‘Redeem myself. For what, sir?’
‘The general took the view that you shoulder much of the blame for the escape of Caratacus. I am sure you feel it’s unfair. That’s as maybe, but what matters is how the news is received back in Rome. If we can come out of this with Caratacus in the bag and having broken the will of the natives to resist, we will all be rewarded and any unfortunate details will be quietly forgotten. In that lies your chance for redemption, Prefect Cato. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Painfully, sir.’
‘Good. Then you all know what parts you have to play. I’ll have the clerks draft your orders and you’ll have them before the day is out. You’ll leave at dawn.’
The legate fixed each of them with a quick stare. ‘Good luck, gentlemen. You’ll need it.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘What’s this?’ Cato asked as he unbuckled his helmet and mopped the sweat from his brow. He indicated the folded papyrus lying on his desk. His name was neatly written on the outside.
Thraxis paused from unhooking Cato’s mail shoulder cape to glance at the desk. ‘It’s from the wife of Tribune Otho, sir. Her slave brought it this afternoon, while you were exercising the cohort.’
Cato grunted. He had been out with his men since the morning’s briefing ended. The baggage train escort had barely had the chance to settle back into the routine of garrison life before being thrown into the preparations for the march up into Brigantian territory. There were some grumblers — there always were. Cato recalled his first experiences as optio to Macro when he had been constantly frustrated by the need to be ready at a moment’s notice for any duty, or frequently none at all while waiting for new orders. Now that he commanded a unit, that world had gone. The myriad duties of a prefect meant that boredom had become a rare luxury.
The morning had been spent requisitioning transport for the horses’ feed, carts for the ballistas of Macro’s cohort, rations for the march and, most pressing of all, leather to repair or replace the tents damaged in the storm. The stock of leather at Viroconium was scarce and he had been obliged to bribe the quartermaster to let him have a barely sufficient quantity for his men. The afternoon had been taken up with observing the men drilling on the parade ground. There was still much work to be done with the Batavian recruits who had mastered the basic formations and squadron manoeuvres but still tended to respond slowly and clumsily when required to perform the more refined deployments into wedges and wheeling about the axis of each flank. Still, they were fine riders and spirited. If it came to a fight, Cato was sure that they would acquit themselves as well as the rest of the Blood Crows.