His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices outside in the courtyard and a moment later two officers entered. He recognised them from the governor’s headquarters. Junior tribunes serving with the Ninth Legion. He swallowed the stew still in his mouth and dabbed his lips on the back of his hands before calling out to them.
‘Care to join us?’
The two young men hesitated and Cato chuckled. ‘The drinks are on me.’
The taller of the two, with fine dark hair, smiled. ‘Well, since you put it like that!’
They came over and sat down while Cato introduced Macro and his mother.
‘Tribune Marcus Pellinus,’ the taller one announced and nodded towards his companion. ‘And Caius Decianus. I’ve seen you up at headquarters, haven’t I? You’re the new commander of the Thracian cavalry cohort attached to Legate Quintatus.’
‘That’s right,’ Cato replied. He caught the eye of the serving girl and indicated his new companions. She stirred reluctantly and bent down behind the counter to get some more cups. ‘And my friend here will be taking on a cohort in the Fourteenth.’
‘I bet I know which one that’ll be,’ Pellinus chuckled. ‘Looks like you two have been hand-picked for the job.’
‘And what job would that be?’ asked Macro.
The serving girl set down two more cups and Tribune Decianus helped himself to the jug as he spoke. ‘There’s a forward outpost, some distance inside Silurian territory, where the Thracians have been brigaded with a cohort from the Fourteenth. All part of the governor’s plan to have strong columns pushed as far forward as possible to keep an eye on the enemy and nip in the bud any attempt by Caratacus’s lads to break out into the province. Only, we’ve had reports about trouble with the garrison at the fort.’
‘What kind of trouble?’ asked Cato.
‘You know how it is. There’s never much love lost between legionaries and auxiliaries. Routine name-calling and punch-ups are fine, but the soldiers in those two units really have got it in for each other.’
‘Seems to me the idiots just need someone to knock their heads together,’ Macro grumbled.
Decianus smirked. ‘The temporary commander seems to be doing a good job of restoring discipline while waiting for a replacement to take over. Clearly the garrison will continue to need a firm hand. Which is why I imagine you two have been sent to do the job, judging by your record. I saw the documents today. Very impressive. Sounds like you are just what they need. Especially as your column is going to be one of those at the sharp end of Ostorius’s offensive.’
‘Assuming that he fails to win over the locals at that meeting he’s called,’ said Pellinus.
‘I think we all know that’s not going to end happily,’ his friend responded. ‘The only thing the locals seem to want is to fight. When they’re not doing in Romans they’re at each other’s throats. Ostorius is wasting time when he should be waving the stick about. A damn good caning is the only thing that’ll get the message through their thick skulls.’ Decianus paused and his eyes widened. ‘And since we’re talking about thick skulls, did you see that one in the courtyard just now?’
Portia leaned forward anxiously. ‘What’s that? A barbarian here, on the premises?’
‘Too right, ma’am. Him, his woman and a handful of his brutes. Just arrived. Since they’re armed they must be on their way to the governor’s meeting. Bloody great giant of a man. Wouldn’t want to face him in battle.’
Macro sniffed. ‘I find the bigger they are, the harder they fall.’
‘Well, you’d need a great big felling axe to take that one down. There’s been quite a few of ’em passing through Londinium in the last few days. Caused quite a stir since many of the locals we have here haven’t worn woad in years. Some of ’em have taken to our dress and customs quite well actually.’
Cato doubted it. While they might look the part, and do their best to pick up as much Latin as they could, they would consider themselves to be Britons first and foremost for many years yet. Especially while the tribes of the province were still regarded as separate kingdoms, fiercely proud of their heritage and their independence. That would change the moment their client kingdom status elapsed. It was the same technique Rome used in every new province: strike deals with the local rulers which guaranteed them Rome’s protection in return for the peaceful annexation of their kingdom once the current ruler had died. That might work well enough in other parts of the empire, but Cato suspected that the arrangement would not proceed so easily when applied to the bellicose warriors of Britannia. He finished his stew and washed it down with a draught of warm wine before he spoke to Pellinus.
‘How are preparations going for the new campaign season?’
The tribune’s expression became weary at the prospect of talking shop but Cato outranked him and therefore could direct the course of their conversation as he wished.
‘Almost complete, sir. The forward depots are fully stocked with supplies, the last of the reinforcements are moving up to join their units and the cavalry mounts are being brought to hard condition. The governor wants us ready to march on the first good day of spring, assuming the attempt to get a peace treaty falls through. Which it will. After that, we’re in the lap of the gods. The ground over which we’ll be fighting is mountainous and heavily forested. Only a handful of tracks have been discovered by our scouts. Ideal terrain for ambushes. If Caratacus plays it smart he’ll just wear us down with hit-and-run tactics. Our only hope is to find their villages and lay waste to enough of them so that we force them to face us on the battlefield. Then, if we’re lucky, we can do for Caratacus and his army.’
‘You don’t sound very optimistic,’ said Macro.
‘Oh, I’m optimistic enough. Because that’s what the governor has told us to be in his standing orders. Doesn’t want us to unsettle the reinforcements who are joining our happy little band. No more defeatism is his line and he’ll come down hard on any of his subordinates who even suggests that we won’t have the beating of Caratacus this time round. So yes, I’m an optimist. But before that, I’m a realist. And I’d say anyone who really thinks this is going to be just a stroll in the forum is in for a great big fucking surprise. Pardon, madam.’
Portia sighed with exasperation and waved the apology aside. Then she froze and looked towards the doorway of the inn. Cato turned to follow the direction of her gaze and saw that two large warriors had entered the room. They wore heavy capes woven with a checked design in brown and white. Their hair was tied back and braided in a thick queue that hung down their backs. Swirling tattoos covered their hairy arms and long swords hung from baldrics. The native warriors slowly shuffled inside, followed by several more of their companions, including one huge man who had to bow his head to avoid the beams that stretched across the interior. At his side was a woman, her head covered with the hood of a cloak. The serving girl took one look at the giant and hurried through a doorway behind the counter, calling for her master.
As the newcomers made their way to the counter, the leader of the party looked round the room until his gaze rested on the small party of Romans. His expression was fierce, but then a look of puzzlement worked its way through as he stared directly at Macro and Cato.
‘I don’t fucking believe it. .’ Macro grasped Cato’s arm. ‘Look who it is! Recognise him?’
‘Of course,’ Cato replied quietly. ‘Prasutagus.’
There was a scraping as Macro rose from his bench and called across the room. ‘Prasutagus! It’s me. I mean us. Macro and Cato!’
Decianus nearly choked on his wine. ‘You mean you know that brute?’
Macro ignored the tribune and took two steps towards the native leader and held out his hand. Prasutagus stood still for a moment before he smiled faintly and nodded without offering his hand in return. Macro lowered his and shook his head in wonder. ‘I don’t believe it. . Prasutagus.’
‘Hello, Centurion,’ a woman’s voice interrupted the startled silence of the inn. Macro turned and saw that the woman had lowered the hood of her cloak to reveal thick tresses of coppery red hair. Her eyes twinkled as she smiled a greeting.