The servant was silent, his mind racing. ‘I need to think about it, sir.’
Quertus considered the other man for a moment before nodding. ‘All right. But I’ll have your answer tomorrow. One other thing you need to know. If I ever discover you have repeated any part of this conversation, I will have your head. You’ll find that it is much safer, as well as more rewarding, to be loyal to me in this fort. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Decimus swallowed nervously.
‘Then you may go. Remember, one word out of place and you’re a dead man.’
‘I understand, sir.’ Decimus nodded and made his way out of the officers’ mess as steadily as he could. Outside, he shut the door, his hand trembling as he slid the latch into place, and then hurried the short distance down the street back to headquarters.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Maridius had his arms bound behind his back when he was dragged out of his cell and into the small hall in the fort’s guardroom. He had been stripped down to his leggings and his face and chest were heavily bruised. One eye was so badly swollen that he could hardly see out of it. He stank of his own dirt and his skin was streaked with filth and dried blood.
‘Get him on the hook,’ Quertus ordered and his men dragged the warrior beneath the beam in the centre of the room. An iron hook stuck out from the side of the beam. While one of the Thracians held Maridius in position, the other brought out a four-foot-long shaft of wood with a length of rope tightly bound to each end. He pulled the prisoner’s arms back and shoved the wood up beneath them, as far as it would go, and then lifted the rope over the hook and adjusted it until the shaft was parallel to the ground. Maridius grimaced as his shoulders felt the strain.
Cato and Macro watched the preparations from a bench at the side of the room. Macro sat with his back against the wall, his legs stretched out and arms folded, apparently unmoved by the prisoner’s suffering. Cato, however, was not so insouciant. The interrogation of the prisoner was a necessary evil as far as he was concerned and he was keen to see it over with as soon as possible.
One of the Thracian interrogators turned to Quertus and stated, ‘He’s ready, sir.’
Before Quertus could respond, Cato leaned forward and snapped, ‘You will address your remarks to me, trooper, if you want to avoid a charge of insubordination.’
The Thracian glanced at Quertus, who nodded discreetly. The man stood to attention. ‘Yes, sir. The prisoner is prepared for interrogation, sir.’
Cato replied, ‘Very good. You may begin.’
‘Yes, sir!’
The trooper went round to the front of the prisoner while his comrade moved behind Maridius, and savagely kicked him just behind the knee joints. The prisoner slipped down and his shoulders took the full weight of his body. He let out a strained cry of agony and then rolled his head back, eyes clenched, as he fought the pain. The man in front of him squatted slightly, drew his fist back and slammed it into Maridius’s gut, driving the air from his lungs and leaving him gasping for breath. Another blow followed, and another in a steady rhythm, working his stomach and chest, until the cries of pain gave way to muted groans and gasps.
Cato leaned closer to Macro and muttered, ‘Is this strictly necessary? Again?’
Macro nodded. ‘You saw how it was with that Silurian, Turrus. They breed ’em tough in Britannia. That’s why we need to spend more time softening ’em up before we get to the questions. Works well enough in most cases, but Maridius is proving something of a challenge. Maybe Quertus and his boys will succeed where Severus failed.’ Macro was silent for a moment and his stomach grumbled. ‘Pity I didn’t have time to finish that last loaf. Bloody Decimus took his own sweet time in fetching it for us. I’m hungry.’
‘Hungry?’ Cato wondered. The spectacle before him did little for his appetite, but then nothing ever put Macro off his food, he reflected.
The blows continued for a while longer, before Quertus stepped forward and waved his men aside. ‘That’ll do for now, lads. Give him a breather before we continue.’
The Thracian troopers backed off and sat at a table in the corner of the room, while Quertus pulled up a stool and sat down in front of the prisoner. All was still for a moment and the sound of Maridius’s ragged breathing filled the room, above the faint moan of the wind gusting around the walls of the guardhouse.
Cato stood up and crossed the room and stood at the side of the Thracian officer. He stared down at the top of the prisoner’s head for a moment before he began.
‘I know you can understand Latin. Like your brother. You both speak it fluently. Your teacher must have been good.’
‘Our teacher was a Roman prisoner. . We put him to death the moment we understood enough to do. . without him.’
‘Why did you choose to learn our tongue?’
Maridius drew a deep breath and looked up, his good eye glinting with malevolence. ‘Our father taught us that the first step in defeating your enemy is to understand him. And I understand all I need to know about Rome.’
‘Oh?’ Cato smiled thinly. ‘And what do you understand about us?’
Maridius ran his tongue along his dry lips and thought a moment before replying. ‘That you have an insatiable hunger for the land, property and liberty of others. You scour the earth and create a wasteland and call it civilisation. Some civilisation!’ He snorted. ‘You are a greedy people. You are like a great, fat leech sucking the blood out of this world. Your soldiers kill, rape and burn everything before them. Like these Thracian scum who you pay to carry out your dirty work. They are not warriors, not even men, but scum.’
Quertus leaned forward and casually backhanded him with a powerful slap. Maridius groaned, blinked and shook his head.
‘Keep a civil tongue in your head,’ Quertus warned. ‘Or my lads will see to it that your tongue parts company with your foul mouth.’
‘Fuck you. .’
Quertus balled his hand into a fist but Cato intervened before he could strike. ‘No. That’s enough, for the moment.’
He returned the prisoner’s glare calmly and then spoke again. ‘You say that we hunger for the lands of others, but tell me, Maridius, how is that different from the wars you, your brother, and your father fought to conquer the tribes that surrounded the Catuvellauni? Correct me if I’m mistaken but your tribe crushed the Trinovantes, and took their capital as your own. You’ve also taken land from the Cantiaci, the Atrebates, the Dobunni and the Coritani.’ Cato paused and shrugged. ‘Seems to me there’s not that much difference between the ambitions of the Catuvellauni and Rome, only that my people happen to be rather better at it.’
Maridius curled his lip and spat a gobbet on to the toe of Cato’s boot. ‘Fuck you!’
Cato glanced at his boot. ‘And we happen to be somewhat more refined and imaginative in our use of language and invective as well, it seems.’
‘You fucking tell that cunt!’ Macro added emphatically.
Cato stifled a wince, and focused his attention back on the prisoner. ‘So, now we’ve dispensed with the pretence that there is any moral high ground in this conflict, there only remains the question of who is going to win. You must know by now that Rome will triumph. We have more men, better men, and greater resources than Caratacus can ever hope to command. He can only delay defeat. Every death, on both sides, that happens before he finally surrenders is on his hands. He cannot beat us, only prolong the suffering and destruction until the inevitable defeat. You must see that.’
Maridius shrugged. ‘Better to be defeated and die as warriors than live as slaves.’
‘Slaves? Hardly. You and your brothers will be treated no differently to King Cogidubnus who was wise enough to become our ally from the first.’