left his share with a banker in Rome while Macro, who regarded bankers as corrupt parasites, changed the silver into gold coins to make his fortune more portable and kept it in his possession. His little secret, until now. He looked round hurriedly in case anyone had overheard his mother’s remark. Then he turned back to her.
‘All right then. Five thousand. For a half share of the profits.’
‘Four-tenths, I said.’
‘Split the difference,’ Macro said desperately.
‘Four-tenths.’
He gritted his teeth and glared at her before he eventually nodded. ‘Shit. I give in. But keep your hands off my things from now on.’
His mother smiled sweetly and patted his cheek. ‘I knew you’d see sense. And you’ll do very nicely out of it in due course, I promise you.’
Macro wondered about that. His mother, like most small business owners, was as adept at cooking the books as she was at cooking cheap meals for her customers. Still, at least Portia would have the means to make an independent living and that suited Macro, who would rather not have to worry about her when he marched off to fight the enemy. In any case, if she was right then he would earn a tidy profit from his investment.
The serving girl came over with their order, steam curling up from the wine jar and the bowls of stew. She set the tray down with a rattling thump and ungraciously set their bowls before them, together with the plain clay cups and bronze spoons. She sniffed and wiped the cuff of her long-sleeved tunic on her nose.
‘Nine sestertii.’
Before Cato could reach for his purse, Macro interrupted. ‘I’ll pay. Might as well, since it seems to be my day for being fleeced.’
He fumbled in his purse for a handful of coins and slapped them into the grubby hand of the serving girl, who counted them quickly before returning to the counter. Portia watched her closely with cold eyes.
‘It would seem,’ she spoke softly, ‘that there are going to be a few changes when I take over this place. That girl, for one, needs some lessons in how to mend her appearance and her manner.’
‘Let’s eat,’ said Cato, lifting his spoon, anxious to put an end to the carping between Macro and his mother. They were hungry and ate in silence and Cato’s thoughts inevitably drifted back to Julia in Rome. It would be years before he was released from his duties in Britannia. At some point he would have to ask her to give up the comforts and pleasures of her life in Rome to come and join him. He was under no illusions about the basic conditions of life in a frontier fortress, or a provincial town. It would not worry him, but he feared that it would not be good enough for Julia.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices outside in the courtyard and a moment later two officers entered. He recognised them from the governor’s headquarters. Junior tribunes serving with the Ninth Legion. He swallowed the stew still in his mouth and dabbed his lips on the back of his hands before calling out to them.
‘Care to join us?’
The two young men hesitated and Cato chuckled. ‘The drinks are on me.’
The taller of the two, with fine dark hair, smiled. ‘Well, since you put it like that!’
They came over and sat down while Cato introduced Macro and his mother.
‘Tribune Marcus Pellinus,’ the taller one announced and nodded towards his companion. ‘And Caius Decianus. I’ve seen you up at headquarters, haven’t I? You’re the new commander of the Thracian cavalry cohort attached to Legate Quintatus.’
‘That’s right,’ Cato replied. He caught the eye of the serving girl and indicated his new companions. She stirred reluctantly and bent down behind the counter to get some more cups. ‘And my friend here will be taking on a cohort in the Fourteenth.’
‘I bet I know which one that’ll be,’ Pellinus chuckled. ‘Looks like you two have been hand-picked for the job.’
‘And what job would that be?’ asked Macro.
The serving girl set down two more cups and Tribune Decianus helped himself to the jug as he spoke. ‘There’s a forward outpost, some distance inside Silurian territory, where the Thracians have been brigaded with a cohort from the Fourteenth. All part of the governor’s plan to have strong columns pushed as far forward as possible to keep an eye on the enemy and nip in the bud any attempt by Caratacus’s lads to break out into the province. Only, we’ve had reports about trouble with the garrison at the fort.’
‘What kind of trouble?’ asked Cato.
‘You know how it is. There’s never much love lost between legionaries and auxiliaries. Routine name-calling and punch-ups are fine, but the soldiers in those two units really have got it in for each other.’
‘Seems to me the idiots just need someone to knock their heads together,’ Macro grumbled.
Decianus smirked. ‘The temporary commander seems to be doing a good job of restoring discipline while waiting for a replacement to take over. Clearly the garrison will continue to need a firm hand. Which is why I imagine you two have been sent to do the job, judging by your record. I saw the documents today. Very impressive. Sounds like you are just what they need. Especially as your column is going to be one of those at the sharp end of Ostorius’s offensive.’
‘Assuming that he fails to win over the locals at that meeting he’s called,’ said Pellinus.
‘I think we all know that’s not going to end happily,’ his friend responded. ‘The only thing the locals seem to want is to fight. When they’re not doing in Romans they’re at each other’s throats. Ostorius is wasting time when he should be waving the stick about. A damn good caning is the only thing that’ll get the message through their thick skulls.’ Decianus paused and his eyes widened. ‘And since we’re talking about thick skulls, did you see that one in the courtyard just now?’
Portia leaned forward anxiously. ‘What’s that? A barbarian here, on the premises?’
‘Too right, ma’am. Him, his woman and a handful of his brutes. Just arrived. Since they’re armed they must be on their way to the governor’s meeting. Bloody great giant of a man. Wouldn’t want to face him in battle.’
Macro sniffed. ‘I find the bigger they are, the harder they fall.’
‘Well, you’d need a great big felling axe to take that one down. There’s been quite a few of ’em passing through Londinium in the last few days. Caused quite a stir since many of the locals we have here haven’t worn woad in years. Some of ’em have taken to our dress and customs quite well actually.’
Cato doubted it. While they might look the part, and do their best to pick up as much Latin as they could, they would consider themselves to be Britons first and foremost for many years yet. Especially while the tribes of the province were still regarded as separate kingdoms, fiercely proud of their heritage and their independence. That would change the moment their client kingdom status elapsed. It was the same technique Rome used in every new province: strike deals with the local rulers which guaranteed them Rome’s protection in return for the peaceful annexation of their kingdom once the current ruler had died. That might work well enough in other parts of the empire, but Cato suspected that the arrangement would not proceed so easily when applied to the bellicose warriors of Britannia. He finished his stew and washed it down with a draught of warm wine before he spoke to Pellinus.
‘How are preparations going for the new campaign season?’
The tribune’s expression became weary at the prospect of talking shop but Cato outranked him and therefore could direct the course of their conversation as he wished.
‘Almost complete, sir. The forward depots are fully stocked with supplies, the last of the reinforcements are moving up to join their units and the cavalry mounts are being brought to hard condition. The governor wants us ready to march on the first good day of spring, assuming the attempt to get a peace treaty falls through. Which it will. After that, we’re in the lap of the gods. The ground over which we’ll be fighting is mountainous and heavily forested. Only a handful of tracks have been discovered by our scouts. Ideal terrain for ambushes. If Caratacus plays it smart he’ll just wear us down with hit-and-run tactics. Our only hope is to find their villages and lay waste to enough of them so that we force them to face us on the battlefield. Then, if we’re lucky, we can do for Caratacus and his army.’
‘You don’t sound very optimistic,’ said Macro.
‘Oh, I’m optimistic enough. Because that’s what the governor has told us to be in his standing orders. Doesn’t want us to unsettle the reinforcements who are joining our happy little band. No more defeatism is his line and he’ll come down hard on any of his subordinates who even suggests that we won’t have the beating of
