At once, all the tension seemed to drain from Cato’s body and he felt an urgent desire to laugh out loud as he realised that Belmatus and his men had been given precisely the same orders as he had. They, too, had been instructed not to land the first blow, but were free to do anything short of that to provoke the Romans to violence. Now that the bluff had been exposed, that was not going to happen, Cato thought with relief.
The column trudged forward through the heart of the baying mob but not one blow was exchanged, not one Roman turned to hurl abuse back at the Brigantians, and a short time later the vanguard left Belmatus and his men in its wake. From the top of the next hill Cato turned aside to look back and saw the nobleman wave his arm angrily at his men until they fell silent and stood still, watching the backs of the Roman soldiers as they marched off across the serene sprawl of the countryside. Cato took out his canteen and rinsed off as much of the shit as he could. The next time, he might not be so lucky, he mused. It would be an arrow, spear or slingshot that was hurled at him.
The column continued into the hills that stretched into the distance on both sides and the natives kept pace with them on either flank. There were no more attempts to stand in their way and that night the two forces set up camp less than a mile apart. The sprawl of the Brigantian fires illuminated the natives in a ruddy glow as they gathered about the flames and talked in the animated way of the Celts. Their voices carried to the orderly lines of the ramparts where Roman soldiers patrolled in silence, stopping from time to time to cast a wary eye on their neighbours, before resuming their steady pace as their eyes scanned the darkness for any sign of danger. As the night drew on, the natives fell to singing. At first the tunes were raucous and good-spirited, but by and by they fell to more gentle, soulful songs that sounded sorrowful to Cato’s ear as he walked the section of the perimeter entrusted to his men.
In the normal course of events it was the duty of the optio in charge of the watch to ensure that the men remained alert, but Cato had not been able to sleep. Taking up his cloak he had made his way on to the sentry walk and passed from post to post, giving the password each time he was challenged. Cato approached one of the corner platforms where the dark mass of a ballista loomed against the lighter shades of the landscape, barely lit by the distant curved gleam of a crescent moon, no wider than the lethal curve of the daggers Cato had once seen in Judaea. He heard a muttered exchange between two men and his lips pressed together in an angry line as he prepared to berate the sentries. Then he made out Macro’s voice.
‘Tuneful lot, ain’t they? What are they singing about now?’
There was a pause before the other man replied. ‘It’s a lament. . About the wife of a warrior waiting for her man to return from battle. She doesn’t know it, but her man has fallen. A hero’s death. She stands at the gate of her village with the other women and searches for the face of her beloved amongst those returning, until the last of them has passed. And then she knows. .’
Cato recognised the voice of Vellocatus as he spoke. The Brigantian was interrupted by a gruff snort.
‘Not very cheerful,’ said Macro. ‘Still, the tune isn’t too bad. Not too bad at all. You’ll have to teach it to me some day. .’
He turned as he sensed Cato’s presence and nodded a greeting as he recognised his friend. ‘Evening, sir.’
‘Centurion.’ Cato nodded and his eyes shifted to the native translator. The man’s features were just discernible in the faint glow of the moon. Enough to see the pained expression as he glanced towards the distant campfires. ‘Anything to report?’
‘No. Belmatus and his boys are being as good as gold. And they’re providing a bit of entertainment.’
‘Let’s hope they continue to behave.’ Cato stepped up to the palisade beside them and looked out over the intervening ground. ‘I wonder if they’re going to keep this up all the way to Isurium.’
‘The singing I can live with. But, if they want a fight, then they’ll come off worst.’
‘Unless they’re reinforced. Besides, the further we go into their territory, the longer the retreat, if it comes to that.’
‘Do you know,’ Macro responded, ‘I had worked that out for myself.’
Cato was irritated with himself for the unnecessary comment. It betrayed his nerves. He flashed his friend a quick smile. ‘Sorry.’
The three men fell silent as they listened to the soft sound of the singing drifting through the night. Then Cato was aware that Vellocatus was quietly humming along with the melody and it occurred to him that the translator would rather be with his compatriots than here on the rampart. He cleared his throat.
‘Why are you here, Vellocatus?’
The Brigantian turned to him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, why are you with us rather than with them?’ Cato gestured towards the distant figures gathered round the campfires.
Vellocatus looked at the Roman officer shrewdly. ‘You mean, why am I helping you rather than my compatriots?’
‘Yes.’
‘I am here on the orders of my queen.’
‘Why did she choose you?’
‘Because I speak your tongue. Because she trusts me. Those are reasons enough. Besides, she ordered me to. I have no choice in the matter.’
‘We all have choices. You could have chosen to side with those who would rather not hand Caratacus over to us. You could have joined the faction of Venutius. But you didn’t. I’m curious to know why.’
The other man casually rubbed the back of his neck. ‘In truth, I am a shield-bearer of Venutius. Something of an honour in our tribe. I will not deny I was proud that he chose me. Venutius is a great warrior. As courageous as he is strong. Our people admire him. That is why he came to the attention of Cartimandua in the first place. That is why she took him as her consort. With Venutius at her side she purposed to strengthen her hold over our people and unite them.’ Vellocatus gave a wry smile. ‘Unity is a quality that most of the tribes on this island pay scant heed to, as you Romans may have noticed. If we had placed greater value in uniting against you then your legions would have been driven back into the sea long ago.’
‘You think so?’ Macro intervened. ‘I think our determination to see a job through is more than a match for your unity.’
‘Good as your legions are, even they would never be able to overcome the combined might of our tribes. If the Brigantes go to war against Rome, there is a very real prospect that you will be defeated.’
‘I think you overestimate your chances, young man.’
‘Vellocatus,’ Cato turned to face him. ‘If what you say is true, then why doesn’t every man in your tribe choose to follow Venutius?’
The translator hesitated. ‘There are two main factions amongst the Brigantes, the western tribes and those in the east. Venutius comes from the western tribes and there are many there who have ties to the Ordovices. Their sympathies are with Caratacus and his allies. There are some who would willingly fight Rome. That’s why the queen chose Venutius for a consort, to hold our people together. She, and I, come from the eastern lands. We have less cause to hate Rome. Besides, there is always the risk of defeat, and the queen is cautious of exposing her people to the consequences. I agree with her.’