‘Spoken like a true warrior,’ Macro jibed.
Vellocatus stiffened. ‘Even a shield-bearer to a hero like Venutius can understand that war is not the answer to everything, Centurion. I saw that my queen was right to tread carefully. The certainty of peace with Rome is better than the risk of defeat and the crushing of our people under your heel. I have no desire to share the fate of the Catuvellauni or the Durotriges. Nor do many in our tribe. The queen knows this, and shares their concerns.’
‘You seem to know the queen’s mind rather well,’ Cato said evenly. ‘For someone who serves as the shield-bearer of Venutius.’
The young nobleman opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated, then looked away.
Cato sensed he had stepped on troubled ground and needed to proceed more tactfully. He changed the line of enquiry. ‘And what does the queen’s consort make of her caution?’
‘Venutius is a warrior, born and bred. He has led our tribe in battle many times. But being a leader is not the same thing as being a ruler. That requires wisdom along with courage, as I have come to learn through my service to the queen. He is no longer content to be her consort but has ambition to rule in her place so that he can lead his people in a war with Rome, with Caratacus at his side.’
‘Caratacus is the not the kind of man to stand at anyone’s side,’ said Cato. ‘He won’t be content to let Venutius command your people. That is the role he wants for himself. And another army to oppose us with. He’ll fight us to the last drop of blood of any man in Britannia that he can talk into following him. Only Queen Cartimandua stands in his way.’
‘Not just her. There are still many of us who are loyal to her,’ Vellocatus replied fiercely. ‘We’ll not stand by and let Ventius take the throne.’
Macro cocked his head. ‘Loyal to the queen, but not loyal to your warlord, eh?’
‘My duty is to my people, my queen and then Venutius.’
‘Very laudable.’ Macro nodded to Cato. ‘Wouldn’t you say?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Cato replied, and then kept quiet as he waited for the young man to continue. Instead, Vellocatus took one last look at the glow of the fires before he turned back to the two Roman officers.
‘I’m exhausted. I shall retire if you don’t mind.’
Cato stared fixedly at him and then nodded. ‘Of course. Sleep well.’
The Brigantian nobleman nodded curtly and hurried down the interior slope of the rampart before striding in the direction of the headquarters tent.
‘Well, well. .’ Macro said softly. ‘It seems the lad was caught between two stools. Glad he’s come down on the right side, at least as far as we’re concerned.’
Cato nodded slowly. ‘I think there’s more to it than that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There was something in his tone when he spoke about Cartimandua. Did you hear it?’
‘I heard what he said.’
‘Not quite the same thing.
Macro sucked in a breath. ‘For fuck’s sake, give it to me straight.’
‘I mean that there’s more to this than his loyalty to the queen over the loyalty he owes to the man who honoured him with the role of shield-bearer. .’
Macro considered this for a moment before he swore softly. ‘You mean he’s taken a shine to the woman?’
‘Somewhat more than that. And I think the affection is returned.’
‘How can you know that?’
‘She sent us someone she could trust, who happens to be the servant of the man who is an ally of Caratacus. Venutius isn’t in on the secret of their relationship. Why would he be? I’m sure the queen and Vellocatus are being careful how they play it. You know how easily passions are stirred up amongst the Celts.’
‘That I do,’ Macro replied with feeling.
‘She’s been clever.’ Cato scratched his chin. ‘And Vellocatus hasn’t been very honest with us. At least we know that his first loyalty is to Cartimandua.’
‘What if you’re wrong?’ asked Macro. ‘What if he’s really working for Venutius?’
Cato considered this and then shook his head. ‘As I said, there was something in his voice when he spoke about Cartimandua. . I’m sure of it.’
Macro stretched his shoulders wearily. ‘Sweet Jupiter, that must make for an uneasy relationship at Isurium. The queen’s playing the boy against her husband. If the truth gets out, that’ll put an end to their domestic bliss. And how!’
‘Quite.’ Cato nodded. ‘As if we didn’t have enough to deal with as things stand. The last thing we need is a civil war in Brigantia. If the difference of opinion over handing Caratacus into our custody doesn’t spark things off, then Cartimandua’s infidelity might well be the excuse Venutius needs. And we’ve got an agent in our own ranks to worry about.’
‘Danger on every side then,’ Macro mused sourly. ‘Sounds about right. Tell me, Cato, what have we ever done that the gods have decided they’re going to drop us in the shit right up to our necks at every available opportunity? Eh? Tell me that.’
The singing had come to an end and the natives began to stretch out on the ground, warmed by the dying flames. Cato shrugged.
‘The gods play their games, and we play ours, Macro. And it seems there’s nothing we can do about it except try to stay alive. That’s all.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
They reached the Brigantian capital at dusk three days later. Isurium had once been a hill fort whose ditches circled the crest of a steep-sided hill overlooking a river valley. Now the crest was covered with the thatched roofs of scores of huts of varying sizes. A large timber hall had been constructed on the highest point and dominated the fort. A narrow track curved through the lines of ditches and palisades and led down to a large settlement at the foot of the hill. Small farmsteads dotted the surrounding valley.
The shadows were lengthening by the time the Roman column halted half a mile from the track leading up into Isurium. The native force that had shadowed them continued into the settlement while the horsemen climbed the hill and disappeared from view amongst the complex of earthworks guarding the entrance to the fort. As soon as the column halted, the soldiers began their usual routine. A screen of pickets was sent out to guard their site while their comrades downed packs and took up their picks to start work on the ditch and rampart.
As the shadows lengthened, scores of natives, more daring than most of their tribe, ventured closer for the first view any of them had ever had of the Romans who had swept all before them in the lands to the south. They kept to a safe distance and simply watched as the camp rose from the ground before their eyes. Before the light had completely faded, the palisade was in place and the ballistas were being assembled on strongpoints at each corner.
‘I want gate towers constructed tomorrow,’ Tribune Otho ordered as he inspected the camp with his senior officers. ‘We may be here for several days. Or longer if the situation turns against us.’ He turned to Centurion Statillus. ‘I want the camp’s defences improved as far as possible. We’ve no caltrops, so we’ll have to make do with stakes and whatever other obstacles we can deploy. See to it.’
‘Yes, sir.’
They were standing on the rampart nearest Isurium and the dark mass of the hill loomed high above them in the night. The hall was lit by braziers positioned a safe distance from the thatched roofs and in the red hue the structure seemed even larger than it had in natural light. All the officers were looking in the same direction and there was a brief silence before Prefect Horatius cleared his throat and spoke for all of them.
‘When are they going to acknowledge us?’
There had been no contact with the queen or any of her officials since the column had arrived and that struck Cato as ominous. He turned to Vellocatus.
‘These are your people. Why do you think the queen hasn’t sent someone to greet us?’
‘I don’t know,’ Vellocatus admitted. ‘But if I was allowed to ride up there, I can find out and report back.’