Macro turned away, not wishing to see any more. He slumped down inside the tower, resting his back against the hard timber of the palisade, but he could not escape the chilling sounds from below. He stared up at the cold stars and prayed to the gods for deliverance.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
‘I didn’t expect to find you here, sir.’
Legate Quintatus regarded the exhausted mud-spattered individual who had been brought to his quarters shortly after he had retired to his bed for the night. He had hurriedly put on a tunic and gone to the office of the commander of the fort at Isca to confront the man who had demanded he be awakened at such a late hour.
‘Prefect Cato. . You look as if you have been through the mill.’
Cato was too tired to appreciate the legate’s laconic comment. He was so exhausted that he could barely stand, yet he must make his report as swiftly as possible if there was still a chance that Macro and the others could be saved. He had been in the saddle since leaving the mountain pass that morning. Together with the surviving Thracians, he had ridden out of the forest a short distance ahead of a party of Silurian horsemen who had pursued them as far as Gobannium. Along the way they had been forced to leave the wounded man behind. He was in too much pain to continue and they could not take him on without slowing down and risk being caught by the enemy. He understood the situation well enough and made his farewells to his comrades before drawing his sword and walking his horse back along the track towards their pursuers.
At Gobannium Cato was informed that Legate Quintatus and his column had advanced to Isca. Cato rested the horses for an hour before continuing on, riding hard through the afternoon and on into the dusk, then darkness, before they had seen the distant campfires of the Fourteenth Legion and the auxiliary cohorts attached to the legate’s command. They had been picked up by a cavalry patrol whose immediate reaction to the appearance of the Thracians was to take them for the enemy. Only the prefect’s presence had persuaded them otherwise. Cato demanded to see the legate at once and they were escorted to the fort at Isca around which the small army was camped. Leaving the standards with a tribune on the legate’s staff, Cato immediately made his way to the private quarters of Quintatus to make his report.
‘It has been a fraught day, sir,’ Cato replied wryly. ‘I had assumed you were at Glevum.’
‘We received orders from Ostorius two days ago to march into Silurian territory. It seems that the governor has lost contact with Caratacus’s army and his patrols can find no trace of him. He’s either made his way north to link up with his Brigantian allies, or he’s marched south. That’s what Ostorius wants me to find out.’
‘He went south, sir. He’s besieging Bruccium. That’s what I have come to report. That and the loss of the column sent to reinforce me.’
Quintatus stared at him. ‘What’s that? And what of the escort? Tribune Mancinus?’
‘All lost, sir.’
‘Impossible!’
‘They were ambushed in the pass near the fort. I took some of my cavalry out to try and cut a way through for Mancinus’s men, but we were caught in the trap along with them. I only just managed to get out with the standards, sir.’
‘They’re safe? Well, that’s something. But, by the gods, I’ve lost nigh on a thousand men.’
‘And you’ll lose the fort as well, sir, unless you bring your column up at once.’
Quintatus thought for a moment. ‘The fort is a side issue. The real opportunity is to catch up with Caratacus and force him to give battle. Failing that, I can hang on to his heels until Ostorius arrives with his army and we can catch and crush him between us.’ His eyes gleamed at the prospect. Then he regarded Cato again. ‘Are you certain that it is Caratacus and that he has his entire army with him?’
‘It’s him all right, sir. I’ve seen him before. I recognise him well enough. And there are at least ten thousand men with him.’
‘Then it must be true. But why would he want to take Bruccium?’
‘Two reasons, sir. Firstly, the Thracians have been carving up Silurian territory for the last few months.’
‘That will be the work of Centurion Quertus.’ The legate nodded. ‘A fine officer, that.’
Cato pursed his lips briefly. ‘His methods were. . unusual, but it seems they helped to provoke Caratacus into action.’
‘I assume that you are claiming the lion’s share of the credit for that?’
‘I would never claim any credit for the work of Quertus, I assure you, sir. But the reason Caratacus came after the garrison was more likely down to the fact that we captured his brother, Maridius. He is our prisoner at the fort.’
The legate smiled. ‘You have been busy, Prefect. It appears that you and Centurion Quertus have done very well indeed. I am sure that the governor will be the first to reward you both handsomely if this results in the defeat of Caratacus. Of course, Ostorius will be the main beneficiary. The Emperor will give him a public ovation at the very least. A suitable triumph for a long career in the service of Rome.’
‘I seek no reward, sir. And Quertus will not be able to accept one either.’
‘Oh? Why not?’
‘Centurion Quertus is dead, sir.’
‘Dead. How?’
Cato hesitated for an instant. ‘He died fighting, sir.’
The legate nodded. ‘I would expect nothing less of the man. He will be avenged. But first we must lose no time in marching on Bruccium. Wait here, Prefect. I’ll issue orders to my staff to have the men ready to break camp at first light.’ He scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘It’s thirty miles. Nearly two days’ march. Who have you left in command at the the fort?’
‘Centurion Macro, sir.’
‘A good man?’
‘The best, sir.’
‘Then I pray that we arrive in time to save him, and the others. We can’t afford to lose good officers like him, and Quertus.’
‘No, sir.’
The legate gestured towards a jar of wine on his desk. ‘Help yourself while I set things in motion. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I will need more details from you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Once he was alone, Cato stood still for a moment, his mind dulled by tiredness, but he could not allow himself to rest yet. He took one of the legate’s finely decorated silver cups and poured himself a generous amount of wine. With the cup in hand, he eased himself down on to a couch with a horsehair cushion and took a sip. It was a sweet wine, not quite to Cato’s taste but it warmed his insides as it flowed into his stomach. He resisted the temptation to drain the cup and pour another. He needed to keep his wits about him. There were certain matters that he still had to resolve with the legate before he could let go and rest. He felt his eyelids drooping and instantly stood up, the wine slopping from his cup. Setting the cup down, Cato made himself pace steadily up and down the length of the office, not trusting himself to stop, let alone sit again. His head felt as if it was stuffed with wool and he worried that his mind would not be able to function as sharply as it needed to. The rhythmic pounding of a headache made matters worse.