Cato nodded and Septimus casually waved them in the direction of the end of the wagon. Some of the nearest men shot glances at their superiors and exchanged brief grumbles about the privileges of rank before returning to their original muted conversations. Septimus led the two officers to the tailgate and reached through the leather flaps of the cover to extract a small jar. He gestured at it occasionally as he spoke.
‘It’s best if we keep this brief. What’s the matter?’
‘You saw the men watching us earlier in the day?’
Septimus nodded.
‘They’re threatening to block our way tomorrow.’
‘I heard as much from your Decurion Miro. He was here a short time ago, trying to drown his sorrows.’
‘He’s not going to get far down that road on posca,’ said Macro.
‘Just as well. Don’t think the man would like a hangover on top of his other woes.’ Septimus turned his attention back to Cato. ‘So?’
Cato hesitated a moment. ‘Otho’s looking for an excuse to turn the column round.’ He briefly recounted the briefing that he and Macro had attended at headquarters.
‘I see. . And you think there may be more to it than a case of rattled nerves?’
‘The tribune didn’t lack for courage in his first battle,’ Macro pointed out. ‘He’d hardly turn tail because a sorry-arsed bunch of tribesmen told him not to trespass on their turf.’
‘Exactly,’ said Cato. ‘I think there’s more to it than that.’
Septimus scratched his nose. ‘You think he’s our man? Pallas’s agent?’
‘He could be. He’s in a perfect position to make sure this mission fails, long before we even get close enough to Caratacus to take him into our custody.’
‘That’s true,’ Septimus conceded. ‘And the fact that he’s keen to put you in harm’s way would seem to support your interpretation. But it’s hardly conclusive proof.’
‘He has to play this carefully,’ Cato continued. ‘Whoever turns out to be the agent has to cover his tracks. Not only to protect himself, but to protect Pallas. If there’s a crisis here in Britannia, and someone can trace the origins back to the Emperor’s freedman then Pallas is going to get nailed to a cross, and all those associated with him.’
‘I hardly think that extends to all associated with him. Not the Emperor’s wife, nor Nero.’
‘You think not? He had Messalina put to death for plotting against him. And Claudius loved her. He married Agrippina for political reasons as much as anything else. If it was proven that she had acted with Pallas in attempting to undermine the Emperor then I’m not so sure Pallas would be the only one for the chop.’ Cato paused. ‘Anyway, as I said, Pallas’s agent cannot afford to act in the open. He has to be cautious. Right now, that makes Otho a likely suspect. Unless you know anything you haven’t shared with us.’
‘I’m no closer to the truth than you are,’ Septimus admitted. ‘It’s possible that the agent is not even in the column. It could be someone back at Viroconium. The legate, for example.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Cato decided. ‘Quintatus came clean about being told to make life difficult for Macro and me.’
Macro snorted. ‘And that makes you less suspicious of him?’
‘Precisely,’ said Septimus. ‘Look here, Prefect Cato. We’re dealing with Pallas and his circuit of agents. They’ve every bit as cunning and deadly as anyone used by Narcissus. And I know what they’re capable of. It could be Otho. It could be his wife. .’
‘What?’ Macro snorted. ‘You think she cut down two of my men and set Caratacus free?’
‘Why not? Can you think of anyone less likely to put two men on their guard if they were approached by her? You really think that there aren’t any female imperial agents? By Jupiter’s cock, you’ve got a lot to learn, Centurion Macro! And you’d better learn it fast if you don’t want anyone to cut your throat.’ He paused, and moderated his tone. ‘Of course I suspect her. And anyone else who has the means to do what Pallas wants. That could be Otho, his wife, Horatius, almost anyone.’
‘Even you?’ Macro growled.
Septimus scowled. ‘I serve Narcissus. He serves the Emperor. That makes me above suspicion. About the only people I don’t suspect are you two. If only because your lives are in danger from the man we’re looking for. Or woman,’ he added.
‘The way I’m feeling about your boss Narcissus right now, I might as well be Pallas’s agent. I’d happily do you and Narcissus in just to get you off our backs, no matter what happened to the empire as a result.’
The two men glared at each other in the baleful gloom of the moonlight and Cato eased himself away from the wagon. ‘This isn’t getting us anywhere. I’ve said what I’ve come to say. You should keep a close eye on Otho. That’s what I think.’
‘Duly noted. Now, I’d better get back to my customers, before someone starts wondering why we’ve got so much to talk about.’
Septimus shoved the jar back into the wagon and moved towards his counter, raising his voice a little. ‘I am sorry, dear sirs, if my price is too high. I had assumed Roman officers had sufficient coin to live like gentlemen.’ He added with a critical note to his voice, ‘Things are not always what they seem.’
The two officers nodded curtly to him and threaded their way back through the crowd and away from the makeshift inn.
‘A fat lot of use that was, talking to him,’ Macro complained.
‘Yes,’ Cato said softly. ‘Not helpful. . Not helpful at all.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Cato sat silently in his saddle as he cast his eyes over the men he had selected for the mounted vanguard. There were fifty of them, standing by their horses as they waited for him to address them. He had given orders for their kit to be carried on the baggage carts so that they would be unburdened and ready to respond to any threat. Most were Thracians, men who had followed him into battle before. Their discipline had been vouched for by their squadron commanders. A handful were drawn from the recent intake of Batavians who had proven themselves reliable.
‘They look like good men,’ Cato said quietly to Decurion Miro, standing by his side.
‘Yes, sir. Our best. More than a match for that mob on the hill.’
Both men’s gaze shifted upwards to where a thin line of horsemen stood on a ridge less than a mile away. They had changed position during the night and now stretched across the track that the column would have to climb when they broke camp. That task was already well under way. The wooden palisade had been taken down and the pointed stakes packed on to the wagons. The last section of the rampart was being swiftly shovelled back into the ditch so that only the raised spoil marked the outline of the previous night’s camp. The tents had been struck and the last of them were being tied over the saddle packs of the column’s mules. The draught animals were hitched to the wagons and carts and the drivers steered them into line. Ahead and behind, the infantry were forming up, marching yokes resting against their shoulders. The cavalry of Horatius’s cohort and the balance of the Blood Crows had formed up on the flanks and rear of the column, no more than twenty paces from the infantry. Poppaea Sabina’s carriage was positioned in the middle of the short baggage train, with a section of legionaries assigned to protect her.
‘Let’s hope we don’t have to put it to the test,’ Cato responded. Then he cleared his throat and spoke formally. ‘Thank you, Decurion. You may join the main column now.’
‘Sir?’ Miro turned to him.
‘I’ll take command here. You’ll be in command of the rest of the cohort, until further notice.’ Cato had been anticipating this moment. He had already made his mind up to exclude the decurion from the vanguard. Miro’s nerves the previous day had betrayed his unsuitability for the job. Cato needed men who could be relied on to be steady in testing circumstances. But he had no desire to say as much to the decurion. Even though Miro lacked the correct temperament for command, or even the task at hand, he was a competent enough officer and did not deserve to be offended. He had risen in rank as high as he was going to go and would serve out his enlistment as a decurion. His value to Cato lay in him serving contentedly in that capacity.