‘Is Legate Quintatus in camp?’
‘Yes, sir. Should be at headquarters.’ He hesitated briefly before he asked, ‘Your authorisation, sir?’
Cato reached into his saddlebag and brought out the small waxed slate bearing the governor’s seal and detailing his name, rank and purpose of travel. The optio examined it quickly before handing it back.
‘Very good, sir. You may pass.’
They rode under the gate and entered the fortress with its neatly ordered timber barracks stretching out either side of the broad avenue that led to the cluster of large buildings that formed the headquarters, senior officers’ accommodation and stores of the Fourteenth Legion. Off-duty soldiers sat outside their section rooms cleaning their armour or playing dice. Others were kitting up ready for the change of watch, or heading out on patrol. Some of the barracks were empty, their former occupants already detached from the legion to garrison the advance outposts. The light plink of hammers sounded from the armoury and a detail of men on fatigues headed towards the latrines carrying buckets, brushes and shovels. Macro smiled at the surroundings that were as familiar to him as any home.
‘Quintatus likes things nice and ordered.’
‘A spit and polish merchant,’ Decimus added sourly.
‘Which is half of what the army is all about. Can’t go out and kill barbarians in the name of Rome unless you look the part.’
The guards on duty at the gate passed them into the legion’s headquarters where Cato and Macro left Decimus with the horses and mules while they went to report to the legate. Despite the pending campaign there was a calm, efficient atmosphere to the place as clerks bent over their records and carried messages to and from the senior officers. Legate Quintatus was with the Fourteenth Legion’s quartermaster as his secretary announced their arrival.
‘A moment,’ Quintatus responded curtly from behind his desk and turned his attention back to the quartermaster, who stood stiffly before him. ‘The granary should have been inspected daily. That’s your responsibility. If you had done your duty then the rats would have been driven out before they ruined a thousand modii of grain. Now it needs making up.’
‘The next grain convoy is due to reach us by the end of the month, sir. I’ll send word that we need more to replace the losses.’
Quintatus shook his head. ‘The end of the month is not good enough. I want it replaced within the next five days.’
The quartermaster’s jaw sagged. ‘But-’
‘No excuses. See to it. If you can’t cut a deal with a reserve unit, then you’ll have to buy it from the natives. Dismissed.’
The quartermaster saluted and turned to leave the room, an anxious expression on his face. Quintatus let out a frustrated sigh, then fixed his penetrating gaze on the two officers standing just inside his office. ‘Well?’
Cato made the introductions and they handed over the slates detailing their service records. The legate looked at his visitors curiously for a moment before he read their records and nodded his satisfaction. ‘Glad to see you’ve served here before. And plenty of combat experience besides, though there are one or two gaps in the record.’
‘We were waiting for reassignment, sir,’ Cato replied. ‘On half pay in Rome.’
‘A waste of your talents. Sitting on your hands while some fat-arsed imperial clerk takes his time finding you a new job. Bloody bureaucrats, eh?’ A sympathetic smile flickered on his lips and then it was gone. ‘Now you’re here. No doubt itching to take up your posts and get stuck into the enemy.’
Macro grinned. ‘You’re reading my mind, sir.’
‘If that’s what you weren’t thinking then you’re no use to me. I won’t tolerate anyone who doesn’t pull their weight, gentlemen. No matter what their rank. We’re up against tough opposition and I want results. Clear?’
Cato nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘As it happens, I’ve been fortunate. . very fortunate to have Centurion Quertus on hand to take command of the outpost at Bruccium while we waited for you to arrive. Quertus has been taking the battle to the enemy at every opportunity. He’s burned more villages and killed more Silurians than any other man in the army. And the enemy have come to fear him. According to some of the prisoners we’ve taken, they call him the Blood Crow, and even the name strikes fear into their hearts.’
‘The Blood Crow. .’ Macro repeated and cocked an eyebrow at Cato. ‘Did the prisoners say why, sir?’
‘It’s straightforward enough. The Thracian cohort have a crow on their standard. I imagine the blood part is down to the methods used by Quertus and his men. It seems that the cohort has adopted the name for the unit. They call themselves the Blood Crows now.’
Cato felt a cold tingle at the base of his spine. ‘What methods do you mean, sir?’
The legate hesitated for a moment before he replied. ‘Centurion Quertus has risen from the ranks. He was recruited in Thrace, though his family comes from the mountains in Dacia, far from anything we might recognise as civilisation. So some might consider his methods. . questionable. But then the outpost is in the heart of Silurian territory and perhaps one needs to fight the barbarians on their own terms if we are to achieve victory. Speaking of which. .’ He reached to the side and drew out a long roll of parchment and spread it out across his desk. Cato saw that it was a map. The marks indicating the position of the Roman forces and the surrounding terrain were detailed, but large sections of the map were blank, beneath the inscription of the names of the Silurian and Ordovician tribes.
The legate tapped his finger on the map. ‘Glevum. I have the Fourteenth and two cohorts of auxiliary cavalry and four cohorts of infantry under my command. A third of my column is garrisoning the forts we have built, or are in the process of building. Our job is to control the valleys and act as the anvil upon which the main weight of the Roman army will strike like a hammer. The hammer is the main column under the governor. He is based further north, here, at Cornoviorum, with the Twentieth Legion, and twelve cohorts of auxiliaries. When he is ready to march, Ostorius intends to strike hard against the Ordovices, and then turn south against the Silures. If it goes to plan, then Caratacus and his forces will be trapped between us, and crushed.’
Cato studied the map, and though the lack of knowledge about much of the terrain over which the Roman forces would march concerned him, he could see the sense of the governor’s strategy. He nodded. ‘Seems like a sound plan, sir.’
Quintatus arched an eyebrow. ‘I’m so glad that you agree, Prefect. I’m sure that Ostorius would be pleased to know that he has your blessing. In any case, he has to find Caratacus first. The bastard’s proved to be as slippery as an eel. All that we know for certain is that he is in the territory of the Ordovices at present.’
Cato flushed, thought about replying but decided it would be better to keep his mouth shut and not risk further opprobrium over his moment of hubris.
‘Your task, assuming it meets your approval, is to control the valley in which Bruccium is located.’ The legate indicated a symbol on the map. ‘You are to patrol the valley and keep it free of the enemy. If you see fit, you may extend the scope of your operations somewhat further. The last report I had from Quertus was over a month ago. He said that he had burned several native villages further to the west and south and claimed that he has killed over a thousand of the enemy. He has suffered considerable losses himself and I will be sending a reinforcement column to the fort as soon as the latest batch of reinforcements arrive from Gaul.’
Macro clicked his tongue ‘There’s been no word for over a month, sir? Anything could have happened in that time. It’s possible that the fort might have been overrun.’