Cato’s eyes flickered to the man he had taken to be Venutius; he glared coldly at Cartimandua and her young favourite.
‘No love lost there,’ Macro whispered. ‘And she’s not exactly hiding her affections.’
Cartimandua lowered her hand and sat back, fixing her eyes on the tribune. She was still for a moment, and the rest of the hall took their lead from her so that the new arrivals felt the gaze of hundreds of eyes upon them. She spoke to Vellocatus and he nodded before he rose to his feet and took his station beside the Romans. Then Cartimandua spoke again for all to hear, and her words were translated for the tribune and his companions.
‘I bid our Roman guests and allies welcome to the great hall of the Brigantes. They will be shown every courtesy by our royal order. We have pledged our friendship to Rome, as they have pledged to support our interests and independence and gifted us gold and silver as guarantee of their intent to honour the treaty between us. All here know this and are bound by the sacred oath I swore as our pledge to Rome. Now comes the first great test of that treaty.’
Cato saw her left hand give the merest flicker of movement and a figure to the side of the platform eased himself towards a small doorway at the side of the hall as the queen continued.
‘There comes amongst us a fugitive who was once a great king in the south of the island. A great warrior who has been an unflinching enemy of Rome since they first set foot on Britannia. In the course of his struggle, he has been defeated time and again by the legions of Rome. Losing his realm, he chose to lead other tribes against Rome and all have been defeated and destroyed and their lands are filled with cries of lamentation and despair. A fate the Brigantes have been spared. A fate we shall not countenance for our people.’ Her gaze travelled across the assembled nobles, daring any of them to defy her will. ‘This king, having been defeated and driven from the mountains of the Silures and the Ordovices, now comes to us to ask for shelter and sustenance, demanding our hospitality, which our custom obliges us to provide. But there are limits to such obligations when they endanger their hosts and a decision has to be made between our customs and our very survival. It is for this reason that we have summoned you to bear witness to the fate of this king. . Caratacus.’
As her words echoed down the length of the hall, Cato saw the man emerge from the side door at the head of a small party. Four large warriors in ochre tunics and wearing swords in shoulder slings escorted an even larger man in their midst. Caratacus was finely dressed in a blue tunic and white leggings. His hair had been plaited and hung down his broad back. A gold torc gleamed about his neck. He strode towards the platform with his head tilted slightly so that he seemed to tower over those around him. His appearance and demeanour was not so much that of a prisoner of the Brigantes as a king advancing into the hall with his personal bodyguard.
Despite the fact he was the sworn enemy of Rome, Cato could not help feeling admiration for his proud bearing. He sensed the same mood in the rest of the hall and felt a sickening sense of foreboding in his stomach. The enemy leader was a man who commanded instant respect by his very presence. It was small wonder that so many had been willing to follow him to defeat and death across the long years of conflict with Rome.
The one-time king of the Catuvellauni made to address the gathering but he was cut off by a sharp word from Cartimandua and she glared at him threateningly. Caratacus bowed his head with a small smile and the queen drew a fresh breath to address the hall.
‘We are bound by our treaty with Rome to deliver this man into their custody,’ Vellocatus translated, ‘and we shall honour that obligation.’
What seemed like a sigh swept through the crowd and there were pockets of muttering. The queen rose to her feet and spoke again in a cold, determined voice.
‘We have made our decision and it will not be undone!’ She glared round defiantly before she continued in a more moderate tone, ‘However, there is no need to abandon our good reputation for hospitality. Tonight, there will be a feast in honour of Caratacus, before he is taken into Roman custody.’
‘Feast?’ Macro sucked in a breath through his teeth. ‘For that bastard?’
‘Shh!’ Cato hissed softly.
Tribune Otho could not help revealing his surprise and then a flash of anger at the announcement. He turned swiftly to Vellocatus. ‘Tell your queen that is not acceptable. This man is an enemy of Rome, a fugitive from our justice. He should be in chains.’
‘No!’ She stabbed a finger at him to silence the Roman and spoke in Latin. ‘You too are guests here and it ill behoves a guest to dictate terms to their host. So you will keep such thoughts to yourself, Tribune, if you have even the slightest conception of civilised manners. Is that understood?’
Otho was taken aback by her outburst, delivered in his tongue, and his jaw sagged briefly before he nodded. But his wife was not so easily discomforted and she took half a step forward and tilted her head towards the Brigantian queen. ‘Now you listen here, no one speaks to a Roman like that. No one.’
‘But I just did,’ Cartimandua replied evenly. ‘And if you wish for a place at the feast you would do well to speak only when spoken to, Lady Poppaea.’
Poppaea’s carefully plucked eyebrows shot up in outrage and her husband took her arm. ‘No more, my dear. This is not the time or place for it.’
Caratacus had been watching the brief altercation with wry amusement and now his gaze turned to Cato.
‘Ah, Prefect Cato. My short-lived captor. I trust that my escape did not cause you too much personal inconvenience.’
Cato bowed his head to the enemy king. ‘Sir, I will not deny that it displeased General Ostorius. However, it now seems that it is your escape that is short-lived.’
‘You think so? Truly?’
‘The queen has spoken. You will be back in our hands come the morrow. We already have your brothers, your wife, your children, and tomorrow we shall have you. The war you have waged against Rome is over. There will be peace. So I suggest you enjoy the feast tonight, sir. It will be the last one you enjoy as a free man.’
Caratacus’s expression darkened for a moment before he smiled coldly and spoke in a menacing undertone. ‘Perhaps it is you who should be enjoying the feast, Prefect Cato. Who knows? It might well be the last meal you ever eat.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
During the afternoon more groups of nobles and their entourages arrived at the hill fort and soon there was no further stabling available for their mounts and they were obliged to leave them down in the settlement below the fort. Trestle tables and benches were carried into the hall and arranged in three rows stretching down the length of the building. Outside, the queen’s servants built up the cooking fires and then lit them in the afternoon to allow them time to burn down to embers to roast the meat over.
Following her announcement about the feast, Queen Cartimandua retired into a private hut to the rear of the hall, together with her Roman guests. The tribune ordered his bodyguards to wait with their horses. As the mounts were led away, Cato saw Caratacus escorted to a smaller dwelling that had been assigned to him, where he was kept under guard. Cartimandua’s private quarters had been prepared for the meeting. A small circle of stools had been placed on the flagstoned floor and a larger, padded seat dominated the far side of the circle. Once Cartimandua was seated, the rest followed suit and there was a short period of shuffling before Cartimandua smiled at them.