‘So what do we do with him, this Maridius?’ Macro asked as he warmed his hands over the brazier. Even though summer was not far off, the Silurian mountains were wreathed with cold winds and frequent mists and rain. Outside the walls of the headquarters building a breeze gusted in the night, rattling the shuttered window of Cato’s office. Decimus had brought them a simple meal of stew. Some of the horses injured in the recent attack had not been passed fit for any further service by the horsemaster of the Thracian cohort and had been slaughtered for their meat. The garrison of Bruccium relished the addition of fresh meat to their diet for a few days before the usual issue of gruel would resume.
Cato poured himself a cup of posca, the common legionary’s drink of cheap wine, watered down. ‘We were damned lucky to get our hands on him.’
‘True,’ Macro agreed with feeling. ‘But what was he doing in that village in the first place?’
Cato took a sip, and thought a moment. ‘It’s likely he was sent there by Caratacus. Perhaps to recruit more men. Or perhaps to see at first hand the effect that Quertus was having on their allies and try to rally them. Unless he tells us, we can’t be sure.’
‘He hasn’t said a word. I’ve had some of Severus’s lads work him over, but the bastard is as tough as he looks. We haven’t got anything useful out of him yet. Perhaps we’ll have better luck this evening.’
‘I hope so. I’ve told Quertus to send some of his men to do the interrogating tonight.’
Macro looked up sharply. ‘Why involve him?’
‘I am the prefect of the Thracian cohort as well as commander of the fort. I need to make sure I take every opportunity to remind him, and the rest of his. . my men.’
Macro sighed wearily. ‘I doubt the Thracians will have any more luck than my boys. Although the way they look might just give them an edge in putting the frighteners on Maridius. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up.’
‘Well, if we can’t make him talk, then he might serve as a hostage — assuming there’s any fraternal sentiment between him and Caratacus. In any case, he’ll need to be taken to Glevum. He’s too important to keep here.’
Macro nodded and then turned to another matter. ‘What do we do with the rest of the prisoners? We can’t keep ’em here.’
Only fifty or so of the Silurians had been captured in the valley eight days previously. Many more had chosen to die fighting, or had been cut down by the Thracians before they could make a choice. When the column had returned to Bruccium the captives had been herded into one of the empty barrack blocks and the doors locked behind them. They were fed meagre rations once a day and allowed to slop out their latrine tubs each morning. The garrison had already consumed much of the food looted from the village and would soon start eroding the limited reserves held inside the fort’s granary.
‘I’ve made a decision about them,’ Cato replied from behind the simple trestle table that acted as his desk. He leaned back as Decimus lifted a bowl from his tray and set it down, along with a bronze spoon, in front of his commander. ‘They’ll be escorted back to Glevum. I’ll send four squadrons of the Thracians along with them to guard the prisoners. Quertus will be in command.’
Macro looked up from his bowl at his friend. ‘What makes you think he’ll go along with that?’
‘Because it’ll be an order. I’ll arrange it so that if he refuses, then he will have to do so in front of the entire garrison. Then we’ll see who the men obey.’
Macro sighed. ‘I hate to be the one to tell you, but the Thracians will back him, almost to a man.’
Cato nodded. ‘I expect you’re right. That’s why we’re waiting for the reinforcement column to turn up. Once your legionaries are up to strength I’ll have more than enough men to swing things our way. If I pick the right moment, Quertus will have to give in or fight against superior odds. He’s stepped over the line, but not so far that he can’t see a way back. I intend to give him a chance.’
Macro was silent for a moment before he replied in a strained voice, ‘For the love of all the gods, Cato, why? That bastard tried to have you killed.’
Cato folded his hands together and rested his chin on them as he considered his friend’s protest. Macro was right. The Thracian was dangerous, and driven by a madness Cato could barely understand. There was more to the extreme manner in which he waged war than simply the bloodthirsty proclivities of his race. He wanted revenge, consumed by the desire to destroy the Silures, right down to the last living creature that they possessed. And yet the effect on the enemy of the horror of the Thracian’s campaign — the heads, the rotting corpses and the burned-out remains of villages — had been impressive. They feared the men of the cohort. The very sight of the Blood Crow banner had sent them running for their lives. Perhaps fear was the very best of weapons, Cato mused. Nothing could stand before it, neither the best armour nor the highest of ramparts. Only courage of equal intensity stood any chance against a strategy based on instilling such terror as Quertus and his men inflicted. Terror then, the supreme tool of war. .
Part of Cato’s mind recoiled from this line of thought. The cool calculation of a moment before made him despise himself. He was not Quertus. He never could be. But at the same time he knew he was perfectly capable of such ruthlessness. The difference between himself and the Thracian was that he chose not to be ruthless. . Or perhaps that was merely the excuse he offered himself to justify his moral cowardice. He raised his eyes and looked at Macro, wondering if he should try to explain his doubts. As far as his friend was concerned, Quertus had condemned himself the moment he had tried to have Cato killed. Nothing else mattered. Macro was inclined to take a more direct route in his judgement of people.
‘If Quertus can be persuaded to leave Bruccium and escort the prisoners back to Glevum,’ Cato began, ‘then he will be out of the way while we take full control of the situation and make sure that he cannot try to resume control when he returns. If he does try, I’ll be able to play by the rules and have him arrested for insubordination, and even mutiny. Due legal process will be served.’
‘What the fuck is wrong with you, Cato?’ Macro groaned. ‘Where was due legal bloody process when he tried to stab you in the back, eh? When your enemy fights dirty, you do the same. Say the word, and I’ll stick a sword in the bastard’s guts and I won’t shed a fucking tear over the cunt. That’s my kind of due legal process.’
Cato was momentarily taken aback by his friend’s words. ‘Er. . Quite so.’
There was a brief silence in which Cato allowed his friend to simmer down a bit before he continued. Decimus took the chance to clear his throat. Cato glanced at him.
‘Might I go now, sir?’
Cato nodded. ‘Get yourself something to eat.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Decimus turned towards the door and was about to leave the room when Macro called to him.
‘Hey, Decimus, see if there’s any of that Silurian bread left in the officers’ stores. If there is, bring us a loaf each.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Decimus replied and left the office, shutting the latch quietly behind him.
Cato did not have much of an appetite, thanks to his concerns. ‘I’ll be fine with just the stew.’
‘Suit yourself. If you don’t want the bread, I’ll eat yours.’
Macro fell on his stew, slurping the steaming liquid from the spoon as Cato stirred his thoughtfully and then spoke again.
‘Macro, we must be careful. We have never been in a situation like this before.’
As he spoke, Cato recalled the march back from the Silurian village. He and Macro had made sure to stay within the column, day and night, always one watching while the other slept. Quertus had made one attempt on Cato’s life, and he was bound to have more men amongst his followers who were prepared to do his bidding and murder a superior officer. As soon as they had returned to the fort Cato had given orders for the headquarters guards to be drawn from the legionary cohort alone. Men that Centurion Severus had hand-picked for their trustworthiness.