Before the Druid could speak on, Cartimandua was on her feet shouting her reply. She was forced to raise her voice and where it had been mellifluous earlier in the day it now sounded shrill. The Druid fell silent before her edgy onslaught and then she turned her wrath on her consort who gave as good as he got.
Vellocatus had stopped translating, shocked into silence by the bitter confrontation taking place before him.
‘What are they saying?’ Otho demanded, then grabbed his arm and shook him. ‘Translate, damn you!’
Vellocatus blinked and nodded. ‘She tells him to send his Druid away and to leave Isurium at once. Now Venutius says he refuses to leave. He demands a meeting of the tribal council to discuss the omens and the decision to hand Caratacus over to the Romans.’
A chorus of shouts greeted Venutius’s words and his supporters were joined by others, while the remainder looked to their queen with fearful expressions. Some stood up and shouted angrily at those on the side of Venutius.
‘The situation’s turning to shit,’ said Macro. ‘We have to grab Caratacus now and get out of here, before it’s too late.’
‘It’s already too late,’ said Cato. ‘If we touch him, then we’re as good as dead.’
As the angry exchanges in the hall continued, Cartimandua approached her Roman guests and spoke earnestly in Latin. ‘You must go. Get back to your camp. I’ll deal with this.’
Otho shook his head. ‘We can’t leave without Caratacus.’
She gritted her teeth. ‘Are you a fool, Roman? I tell you, go now. Leave by the side entrance and take to your horses.’
‘What will you do?’ Cato asked.
Cartimandua glanced at her consort. ‘I’ll give Venutius his hearing in front of the council. Then I’ll banish him from my court, and from my realm. I’ll have him cut down the moment he ever shows his face here again.’
‘And Caratacus?’
‘He’ll be sent to you at first light. You have my word on it. Now go!’
Cato turned to Tribune Otho who nodded reluctantly and rose from his seat, helping Poppaea up before steering her towards the side entrance Cartimandua had indicated. Cato and Macro followed, keeping a wary eye on those nearest them. A handful of Venutius’s men jeered and whistled. Outside the hall the Romans hurried along its length in the direction of the hill fort’s gate. Otho wrapped his arm protectively round his wife’s shoulder. Macro and Cato grasped their sword handles, ready to draw them the instant there was any danger. On the far side of the open ground, the bodyguards were waiting anxiously, roused to their feet by the uproar. Cato looked up and saw that the sky along the western horizon was stained a deep crimson. Far above the band of light a crescent moon shone against the backdrop of velvet night, like the blade of a scythe. He shuddered at the sight and could not prevent the thought that perhaps the Druid was right about the omens after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Tribune Otho gave the order for the men of his column to stand to the moment he returned to the camp. The optios and centurions bawled at their soldiers and the Romans stumbled out of their tents in the last glimmer of the failing light and hurriedly put on their armour and began to form up. Meanwhile, the senior officers met in the tribune’s tent. His wife had retired to their sleeping quarters and drawn the curtain behind her, as if that would shut out the danger that she felt herself to be in. Cato could understand her fears. The mission that her husband had been sent out to accomplish had been overturned by events. Now there was a very real possibility that instead of being welcomed as allies of the Brigantian tribe, their hosts might be persuaded into becoming the enemies of Rome. The prospect of the most powerful tribe in Britannia throwing its support behind someone as wily and determined as Caratacus filled Cato with dread.
Nor was he the only officer who feared the outcome of the confrontation between Queen Cartimandua and her consort taking place in the hill fort that towered above the Roman camp. A sombre mood settled on the Roman officers as they sat around the tribune’s desk. Otho had briefly described the evening’s events and now paused to let his officers consider the situation. He cleared his throat so that he might sound calm when he continued.
‘What are our options, gentlemen?’
‘Options?’ Cato folded his hands together. ‘Sir, we have no idea what is happening up there. Until we know otherwise we have to hope that Cartimandua can calm her people down. We should stay in camp until we find out what has happened.’
Prefect Horatius shook his head. ‘By then it could be too late. We can’t afford to sit on our hands, sir. I say we send a cohort of legionaries in to support the queen. They can arrest those who oppose her and get their hands on Caratacus. Come the morning it will all be over. Order will be restored and no one will dare to question the queen’s authority.’
Otho nodded slowly before he replied. ‘Do you think one cohort will be sufficient? What if we sent two? There must have been at least several hundred men up there earlier.’
Cato felt his heart grow heavy as he listened to the exchange and forced himself to expand on the concerns that plagued his mind. ‘Sir, if we send men up to the fort, there will be violence. It doesn’t matter who starts it — blood will be shed. The moment the rest of the tribe hears that Roman soldiers have killed some of their people, no matter what the circumstances, it will turn them against us. We will be playing directly into the hands of Venutius and Caratacus. They will hold it up as an example of what Rome intends for the Brigantes.’
‘Not if we clap those two in irons first,’ Horatius responded. ‘If we arrest the ringleaders of the anti-Roman faction we can put an end to their opposition to Rome right now.’
‘Or we might just provoke the rest of the tribe into war,’ Cato countered. ‘We can be certain of one thing. Whatever the differences between the factions and tribes of the Brigantian nation, they will bury those differences and turn on us the moment we are seen to be using force against them. Besides, with this moonlight, the moment Roman soldiers advance on the fort they will be seen. Venutius and Caratacus will have plenty of time to make their escape.’
‘True, but in that case, they’ll be running with their tails between their legs. We’ll demonstrate our support for the queen’s authority and restore some order at Isurium.’
Cato bit back on his frustration and forced himself to keep his tone even. ‘It will only serve to make her look powerless. To her people she will seem like a Roman puppet. Any authority over her people that she has right now will collapse.’ He turned to the tribune. ‘We have to give Cartimandua the chance to settle this by herself, sir. You’ve seen that she has a forceful personality. She may yet persuade her nobles to back her against Venutius. We must give her a chance.’
Otho’s brow creased as he tried to think the matter through. ‘You may be right, Prefect Cato. It could be dangerous to intervene.’
Horatius snorted. ‘And it might be even more dangerous to sit here and wait on events, sir. I say we go in.’
‘And I say I am considering our options,’ Otho replied curtly. ‘We were sent here on a diplomatic mission, Horatius. Not to invade Brigantia.’
Horatius chewed his lip and was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. ‘If you recall, sir, the legate said that I was to assume command if military action was required.’
‘But it isn’t required yet,’ protested Cato. ‘I say we should wait until we know what has happened.’
‘And I say we don’t take the risk of letting things get out of control. The time for action is now.’ Horatius slapped his hand on the table. ‘If Prefect Cato is nervous, then he can remain in the camp with his men, and protect our baggage. After all, that’s what he’s good at.’
This was too much for Macro and he leaned forward aggressively. ‘It was Prefect Cato who turned the battle against Caratacus, in case you’d forgotten, sir. And there’s many of our men still alive now thanks to his quick thinking, and courage, who might otherwise have been killed on that fucking hill.’