‘Just before I told the optio, sir.’
‘And nothing since then?’
‘No, sir,’ the legionary admitted.
Quertus tutted and turned to Cato. In the faint loom of the starlight Cato could see the sneer on the Thracian’s face. ‘Seems like I was right, after all. . sir.’
Cato did not respond but stepped up to the breastwork and strained his eyes and ears as he stared down towards the parade ground. Beyond the ditch the ground seemed to merge into a dark mass; he could only just make out the dim outlines of the haystacks and only because he knew they were there. Macro stepped up beside him and was silent for a moment as he, too, searched for signs of danger.
‘What do you think, sir?’
Cato looked round as he heard the sounds of the legionaries deploying along the wall on either side of the gatehouse. Even though they had been ordered to stand to as quietly as possible, the thud of nailed boots on the wooden walkway and the dull clink and clatter of kit seemed very loud in the still night. Cato was torn between the need for caution and the fear of making himself look foolish in front of Quertus for calling Severus and his men out on the whim of a sentry. He glanced at the legionary and could make out his grim features. He was in his thirties and had the stern, lined face of a veteran. Not the kind of man to raise the alarm without good cause, Cato decided. He turned back to Macro.
‘I can’t see anything. But this man has and we’ll keep the men at their posts until first light.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Macro replied in a relieved tone. ‘What about the other century? And the Thracians?’
‘You’d rouse my men just because of a nervous sentry?’ Quertus shook his head.
‘They are my men, Centurion,’ Cato said firmly. ‘Every man in this fort is under my command. Including you. I’ll thank you to remember that.’
Quertus was silent for a moment before he shrugged his wide shoulders. ‘As you wish. Though it is my duty to advise you that I know the men, the fort, and this valley far better than you, and I say there is nothing out there. The enemy are too cowardly to dare show their faces in front of Bruccium. A tendency that seems to be spreading to some in our own ranks, it seems.’
The remark was addressed at the sentry but the veteran did not show any sign of reacting to the insult.
‘Your advice is noted, Centurion,’ Cato said curtly. He turned to Macro. He had made his decision. ‘Pass the word for the rest of the garrison to stand to.’
Macro nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
He crossed to the ladder and clambered down before trotting off towards the barrack blocks. Cato turned to the sentry. ‘Give us some privacy, soldier.’
The veteran lifted his shield and moved to the opposite corner of the gatehouse platform. Once he was sure the man was out of earshot, Cato rounded on the Thracian.
‘I will not have you question my orders again.’
‘As I said, I was offering advice.’
‘There’s a world of difference between offering advice and the insolent, insubordinate comments you have grown accustomed to. That comes to an end now.’ Cato spoke softly through gritted teeth, his face no more than a foot away from the Thracian’s. Despite his earlier intention to play his hand carefully, something had snapped inside him and a cold, ruthless anger flowed through his veins. ‘I have seen all I need to see of the fort, the men, the officers and the way you have been waging your campaign against the enemy. This is not the way of Rome. This is not the way of the Roman army. This is not my way. I am in command here and my orders will be obeyed without question from now on. If you overstep the mark again, Centurion Quertus, I will have you arrested and charges brought. Do you understand?’
The Thracian put his hands on his hips. ‘Finally. . I wondered how long it would be before it came to this. I was starting to doubt that you had any backbone at all. Just like that fool, Prefect Albius. Now, I’ll have my say. I know your type. Young men who have caught the eye of a legate or governor and been promoted far beyond what they deserve. I was a fighting man while you were still sucking at your mother’s tit. Sure, you’ve had your share of campaigns and battles, but you, and all the other stuck-up Roman officers, have been fighting to subdue Britannia for nearly ten years now. And the enemy are still out there, laughing at you.’ He leaned closer and slapped his chest. ‘They mock you but they fear me. I know how to break their will to fight. Your methods have failed. Mine are succeeding. And you’d do well to keep your nose out of it and leave the command of the garrison to me. . sir.’ He uttered the last word with undisguised irony and contempt.
Cato stared levelly back at him. ‘Your methods? I don’t see any method to what you have done here. The heads on pikes, the impaled bodies, the burned villages, the slaughtered women and children. There is no method in that. Just the bloodthirsty cruelty of a barbarian.’
‘A barbarian who knows his enemy as intimately as his own men.’
‘Oh?’
Quertus was quiet for a moment before he continued in a flat tone. ‘You think me a barbarian. . well, I learned my ways at the hands of the enemy. The enemy are a cruel people. Cruelty is the only language they understand, so I resolved to pay them back in kind, and with interest. And now it is their will that is breaking. I know what I am doing, Prefect. And I can do it with or without you. Understand that and perhaps you’ll survive to return to Rome one day.’
Before Cato could respond, the sentry thrust his arm out. ‘Sir! Down there!’
Cato turned and followed the direction indicated by the veteran. It took a moment for his eyes to catch the movement and then he saw a figure emerging from the gloom, a man on horseback steadily picking his way across the uneven ground to the avenue of heads before turning his mount up the track towards the gate. Any fleeting satisfaction that Cato felt over Quertus’s misjudgement of the sentry vanished as he scrutinised the approaching rider. Then, when the man was no more than a hundred feet from the ditch, the moon finally broke free of the thin bank of clouds and bathed the night-time landscape in a thin wash of grey light. It was enough to make out some of the details of the approaching rider, and more men moving across the parade ground. Cato felt his heart lurch at the sight of the latter. Then his attention was drawn to the rider again as he reined in and raised something to his lips. A sharp note from a horn split the quiet of the night. The note was repeated again before the rider came on, having alerted the garrison of his intention to talk rather than spring a surprise.
Quertus chuckled and turned to the sentry. ‘Soon as he gets in range, try him with your weapon.’
‘No,’ Cato intervened. ‘He’s played by the rules, so will we. Put aside your javelin.’
The sentry grounded the butt and turned his attention back to the rider.
‘Rules?’ Quertus breathed in deeply.
Cato ignored him and glanced back over the fort. The garrison was fully roused now and light glowed in the doors of the barrack blocks, illuminating men spilling out as they made adjustments to their kits on the way to their assigned stations. Small flames flared as men ran to light the braziers at the foot of each tower to prepare fires to light the tarred bundles of wood that would be thrown out to illuminate the approaches to the fort.
‘You, in the fort!’ a voice called out and Cato fixed his eyes on the rider, approaching the earth-covered trestle bridge that spanned the ditch.
Cato cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘That’s close enough! Stop there!’
The rider obediently reined in and sat tall in his saddle, staring up at the dark outlines of the men atop the gatehouse, black against the backdrop of the stars. Behind and below him, a torch flickered into life close to the parade ground. As the flame caught, other torches were lit and Cato could see a thin line of men stretching out across the ground facing the fort.