‘Well, I’m hungry enough to eat anything. And not a little thirsty.’
‘Happily, in that regard I can provide you with something a little more interesting than the native beer which would otherwise be all that is on the menu.’
‘Beer?’
‘That’s what they call it. Frankly, I’ve smelled more appetising horse piss. But Quertus is happy for the men to drink the stuff. Reckons a plain diet helps them keep their minds focused on killing.’
The orderly finished building the fire and left the room. Macro was keen to press Severus on his earlier question. ‘Seems like there’s been a lot of that on both sides. So what happened to the rest of the Fourth Cohort?’
‘We started losing men as soon as we arrived in the valley and began work on the fort. Nothing serious, just the usual skirmishes when the natives had a crack at our lumber parties. Then, when the fort was ready, the prefect began to send patrols out into the valley. We were under orders to take the fight to men under arms only. The rest were to be left unharmed. We were even encouraged to trade with them.’ Severus smiled. ‘Seems the prefect had some quaint notion that there’s more ways to build an empire than simply using force.’
‘Yes, I’ve come across his kind myself.’ Macro sighed. ‘Bloody odd notions of how to go about the business of being a soldier.’
‘Quite. Anyway, the Silures were happy to stage ambushes and harass the patrols, and then hide their weapons and slip back into their villages as if nothing had happened, and we had to go along with it. Except for Quertus. He refused. His unit had been fighting the Silures for years, and he argued that he knew their mind, and that the prefect’s approach was futile. Maybe he’s right. He should know. A few years earlier, before he was promoted to command the unit, he was captured, along with the survivors of a squadron he led. It seems the Silures held them for some months, and killed a handful off, before handing the rest over to the Druids to sacrifice. Quertus managed to escape, after he’d seen his companions burned alive. So I guess he has some grasp of the way the Silures live and think. In any case it convinced him that they could never be won over. More than that, he thinks that they can only be defeated if we turn their barbarism on them, and make the Silures as afraid of Romans as we are of the Druids.’
Macro puffed his cheeks. ‘So that’s his strategy?’
Severus lowered his voice as he continued. ‘It’s only half the story. Quertus knew that those who follow him need to be committed to his way of waging war. That’s why he’s encouraged his men to change their appearance and go back to the old ways of Thrace. He began to change their training, making them concentrate on killing, and absolute obedience to his will. One day he brought back some prisoners from a village at the far end of the valley. Twenty or so men, women, and a handful of kids. He had them tied to stakes on the training ground below the fort and then ordered his men to use them for spear practice. One of the men refused, and Quertus took his sword out and killed him on the spot. I didn’t see it happen, but I’m told he showed no emotion when he did it, and simply told his men that the same would happen to them if they ever refused an order.’
‘Shit. . That’s taking things a bit too far.’
‘That’s what Prefect Albius thought.’
They were interrupted by the return of the orderly who set down a jar, two cups and a wooden platter on which he had arranged a few strips of dried mutton and a handful of barley-flour biscuits. He bowed his head and left the room, closing the door behind him. Severus waited until he heard the man’s footsteps receding before he continued.
‘The prefect summoned Quertus and, so I heard, warned him not to do it again. If he did then he would be reported to the legate for disciplinary charges. So Quertus took to killing his victims on the spot, but word of that got back to the prefect, who announced that he would accompany Quertus on patrol from then on.’
‘Let me guess,’ said Macro. ‘That’s the patrol the prefect didn’t return from.’
Severus nodded. ‘The official version is that they charged into a village and the prefect was killed in the fighting when he fell from his horse. That was the first of the villages to be burned to the ground and every living thing in it put to the sword, in revenge for the death of the prefect, Quertus said. That became the pattern afterwards. Village after village, farm after farm. Until the only living people in the valley were here at Bruccium. Then, earlier this year, he started work on the surrounding valleys. Of course, he lost men in the process, but then he offered the legionaries a chance to join the Thracians. By that time food was running short, and since the legionaries were left behind to protect the fort, Quertus said that they did not need as much food as the auxiliaries. Then the reason was that they did not deserve it, since they took no risk. A man can only go so far on an empty stomach, and our lads went to him willingly. The only conditions were that they obeyed his will completely, and that they take on the appearance of the Thracians. That’s what happened to Stellanus and Fermatus.’
Macro’s eyes widened. ‘They’re Roman officers?’
‘They were. And a third of the Thracian cohort used to be legionaries. There was one other requirement before men could count themselves as followers of Quertus.’ Severus poured them both a cup of wine and then looked down into the dark liquid in his cup. ‘Quertus told them they had to take the head of one of their enemies and drink his blood.’
Macro stared at him. ‘You are fucking joking. .’
‘I wish I was. By all the gods, I wish I was joking. But it’s true.’
Despite the horrors he had seen in the campaigns he had fought across the years, Macro felt his guts clench tight, and cold, with fear.
‘It can’t be true.’
‘You’ll see for yourself, soon enough. You, and the new prefect. He won’t last long, though.’
Macro stared across the table. ‘Is Cato in danger?’
‘Of course he is. If he tries to take any action against Quertus then he’s as good as dead.’
‘But he’s the bloody prefect!’ Macro protested. ‘Appointed to the command by the Emperor himself. What he says goes. The moment Quertus tries anything on, Cato will have him disciplined. Or arrested.’
‘Really? And who will do that?’
Macro shook his head disbelievingly. ‘This is the fucking army. An order is given and the men jump to it.’
‘Oh, this is the army, all right. But in this fort it belongs to Quertus. Who do you think the Thracians will obey if there is a confrontation between your prefect and Quertus? And what goes for them goes for most of the surviving legionaries as well. None of them dares to step out of line. Not any more. You remember that cross we passed earlier? After the last prefect died, there were some officers and men in this cohort who refused to accept Quertus as their new commander. They confronted him in front of the whole garrison. He had his men arrest them for mutiny, and they were crucified and left to die, one by one. No one has dared to challenge him since then. Worse still, there is a reward promised to anyone who brings word of someone plotting mutiny. You can imagine how that might still any tongues.’ Severus drained his cup. ‘You should never have come here, Macro. But you weren’t to know. No one does outside of this valley, except those poor Silurian bastards.’
Macro was silent for a moment. ‘Why hasn’t anyone attempted to inform the legate what is going on at Bruccium?’
‘None of the legionaries is allowed to leave the fort, except as part of a Thracian patrol. When he took over, Quertus announced that anyone who tried to leave would be regarded as a deserter and executed.’
‘And has anyone attempted to reach Glevum?’
‘One of the optios. He got no further than five miles from the fort when one of the Thracian patrols ran him down.’