‘Very well. Carry on.’
The Thracian sucked in a deep breath and continued. ‘Once the main escape route is covered, we launch our attack against the chief and his retinue. We ride down from the trees and charge towards the hillock the moment the alarm is raised. When it is, my men will make as much noise as possible. Helps to put the shits up the enemy. We hit the chief and his retinue as swiftly as possible and go in hard and take no prisoners. With no one to lead them and no standard to rally around, the rest of the men in the vale usually try to surrender. Some villagers will try and make a break for it, but they will run into the four squadrons spread out across their path. Then we move in and kill everything and burn every building to the ground. There will be some who manage to evade us, and they’ll bide their time until we have gone, and then emerge from their holes and run to the nearest tribes and relate what has happened to their allies. They in turn will send a patrol here to see for themselves and report back that the survivors were telling the truth.’ Quertus’s lips parted in a wolfish grin. ‘And that is how I strike terror into the hearts of the enemy. That is how the legend of the Blood Crows spreads across the land of the Silures and fills the bastards with fear.’
There was a strained tone to his voice as he concluded and Cato shot him a quick look. There was hatred there, and something more. But there was no time to reflect on that. The enemy would be stirring soon and the Thracian cohort must launch its attack to make the most of the element of surprise. But there was one matter that Cato was determined to resolve before the attack began.
‘Your plan is sound. There is only one change I want to make.’
Quertus looked at him sharply. ‘You said you were here to observe. Not interfere.’
‘Whatever I said, I am the commander of the cohort and I give the orders, and you will call me sir when you address me.’
Quertus stared back, struggling to keep his expression neutral. ‘I know what I am doing, sir. I’ve used these tactics many times before without any problems. There’s no need to change anything.’
‘That is for me to decide,’ Cato said firmly.
‘Oh really?’ Quertus shuffled back from the edge of the dip before raising himself up on to his knees. He moved with a sinuous grace for such a large man, Cato noted. Quertus casually flipped the side of his cloak across his shoulder to reveal his sword. Both men were still for a moment and Cato stared defiantly at the centurion. Then Quertus chuckled and rose to his feet so that he towered over the prone figure of his commander. ‘So what is it that you think I should change, sir?’
Cato was propped up on his elbows, looking over his shoulder, and felt both uncomfortable and vulnerable. He eased himself back, out of sight of the huts in the vale below and scrambled to his feet before he addressed the Thracian on more level terms, while watching him for any sign of treachery.
‘We’ll carry out your plan as you’ve stated it, but at the end I want prisoners. Once we’ve broken their resistance, we’ll take those that surrender alive.’
‘And why would we do that?’
Cato knew that he did not need to explain himself to any subordinate, but there was a dangerous gleam in the other man’s eyes and he did not want to force a confrontation while the two of them were alone.
‘Prisoners provide intelligence on the enemy, and they are worth good money.’ There was a third reason, that Cato did not hold with slaughtering women, children and other non-combatants. But he felt certain that to say this would only open him to Quertus’s ridicule.
‘They are the enemy, sir. Even the children. Savage barbarians, all of ’em!’ He spat. ‘Why let little nits grow up to become lice? Better put an end to them at one stroke.’
‘We spare them because when this campaign is over they will be part of the empire, and paying their taxes. I suspect that the Emperor would not take kindly to the prospect of having those whom he will one day rule put to the sword.’
‘The Emperor is not here. The Emperor does not know what savages these people are. They can never be civilised, only killed like the vermin they are.’ Quertus spoke through gritted teeth, as if in pain, and his eyes blazed with rage. ‘They deserve to be wiped out, every one of them! Village after village, man after man, even their cattle, their pigs, sheep and dogs. We must let nothing survive.’
Cato was momentarily shocked by his vehemence, and then he knew just how dangerous the Thracian was. He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck as he stared at the man, and fear, ice-cold, spread through his guts. He swallowed and tried to speak as calmly as possible. ‘Why? Why do you hate them so much?’
Quertus stared at Cato from under his thick brows. ‘You don’t know?’
‘Why should I? If there’s a reason, then tell me.’
The Thracian lowered his head so that Cato could no longer clearly see his expression. ‘Roman, I know the Silures. I have lived amongst them. I was once their prisoner. They treated me worse than a dog. Bound me and tormented me with hunger and thirst, and beat me. Mocked me. Made fun of me. . Humiliated me. Not just their warriors, but their women and children as well. You think children are innocent? Think again. Give them licence to do as they will and there is nothing they aren’t capable of. Nothing. Look.’ He rolled up his right sleeve and raised his arm. Cato saw that there was a crude lattice of white scar tissue. Quertus smiled grimly. ‘They did that with spear tips heated in the heart of a fire. On my arms, my legs, my back and chest. Children. . They must die along with the rest. I will have it no other way.’
Cato felt some sympathy for the other man’s torment. Both Macro and Julia had once been prisoners of a rebel gladiator and his band of followers, and even though they had rarely spoken of it, he knew the experience had scarred them both. But experience does not justify behaviour, he firmly believed. There were no exceptions. He took half a step away from the Thracian and he responded gently, ‘I am giving you an order, Centurion Quertus. We will take prisoners.’
‘No!’ Quertus lowered himself into a crouch, like a cornered beast, and his sword hand grasped the handle of his weapon. ‘They die! And I will kill any man who shows them mercy.’
‘Then you’ll have to kill me.’ Cato spoke without thinking and was horrified by his foolishness. His fingers crept up his thigh towards his sword.
‘Kill you?’ Quertus chuckled. ‘Do you think I couldn’t?’
Cato’s heart was beating like a hammer inside his chest. ‘I wouldn’t be the first Roman you have killed, right?’
‘Not by a long way, Prefect.’ There was a faint scrape as he began to draw his blade.
Cato reached for his weapon but resisted the temptation to rip it from the scabbard. ‘That’s enough, Quertus. Think about what you’re doing. You threaten me with a weapon and, by the gods, I swear I’ll have you crucified.’
‘What’s going on here, then?’ a gruff voice interrupted. Cato glanced to his left and saw Macro emerging from the gloom, picking his way through the stunted saplings growing along the edge of the hollow. There was a small growl of frustration in Quertus’s throat before he sheathed his weapon and eased himself into a more erect posture. Cato followed suit, his heart still pounding inside his chest. In a wild moment of fancy he thought about calling on Macro to help him kill Quertus here and now while they had the chance. But there was the danger that he might fatally injure one of them. And what if they returned to the camp without the Thracian? How would his men react? Whatever story Cato made up, they would be suspicious and send someone to look for their leader. When they found the body, they would tear Cato and Macro apart. With bitter realisation he knew that this was not the time to act. He turned to his friend and tried to sound calm.
‘Macro, what are you doing here?’
‘You’ve been a long time, sir. I was worried. Came to make sure nothing had happened to you. Both of you.’