Macro grinned. ‘You’re reading my mind, sir.’
‘If that’s what you weren’t thinking then you’re no use to me. I won’t tolerate anyone who doesn’t pull their weight, gentlemen. No matter what their rank. We’re up against tough opposition and I want results. Clear?’
Cato nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘As it happens, I’ve been fortunate. . very fortunate to have Centurion Quertus on hand to take command of the outpost at Bruccium while we waited for you to arrive. Quertus has been taking the battle to the enemy at every opportunity. He’s burned more villages and killed more Silurians than any other man in the army. And the enemy have come to fear him. According to some of the prisoners we’ve taken, they call him the Blood Crow, and even the name strikes fear into their hearts.’
‘The Blood Crow. .’ Macro repeated and cocked an eyebrow at Cato. ‘Did the prisoners say why, sir?’
‘It’s straightforward enough. The Thracian cohort have a crow on their standard. I imagine the blood part is down to the methods used by Quertus and his men. It seems that the cohort has adopted the name for the unit. They call themselves the Blood Crows now.’
Cato felt a cold tingle at the base of his spine. ‘What methods do you mean, sir?’
The legate hesitated for a moment before he replied. ‘Centurion Quertus has risen from the ranks. He was recruited in Thrace, though his family comes from the mountains in Dacia, far from anything we might recognise as civilisation. So some might consider his methods. . questionable. But then the outpost is in the heart of Silurian territory and perhaps one needs to fight the barbarians on their own terms if we are to achieve victory. Speaking of which. .’ He reached to the side and drew out a long roll of parchment and spread it out across his desk. Cato saw that it was a map. The marks indicating the position of the Roman forces and the surrounding terrain were detailed, but large sections of the map were blank, beneath the inscription of the names of the Silurian and Ordovician tribes.
The legate tapped his finger on the map. ‘Glevum. I have the Fourteenth and two cohorts of auxiliary cavalry and four cohorts of infantry under my command. A third of my column is garrisoning the forts we have built, or are in the process of building. Our job is to control the valleys and act as the anvil upon which the main weight of the Roman army will strike like a hammer. The hammer is the main column under the governor. He is based further north, here, at Cornoviorum, with the Twentieth Legion, and twelve cohorts of auxiliaries. When he is ready to march, Ostorius intends to strike hard against the Ordovices, and then turn south against the Silures. If it goes to plan, then Caratacus and his forces will be trapped between us, and crushed.’
Cato studied the map, and though the lack of knowledge about much of the terrain over which the Roman forces would march concerned him, he could see the sense of the governor’s strategy. He nodded. ‘Seems like a sound plan, sir.’
Quintatus arched an eyebrow. ‘I’m so glad that you agree, Prefect. I’m sure that Ostorius would be pleased to know that he has your blessing. In any case, he has to find Caratacus first. The bastard’s proved to be as slippery as an eel. All that we know for certain is that he is in the territory of the Ordovices at present.’
Cato flushed, thought about replying but decided it would be better to keep his mouth shut and not risk further opprobrium over his moment of hubris.
‘Your task, assuming it meets your approval, is to control the valley in which Bruccium is located.’ The legate indicated a symbol on the map. ‘You are to patrol the valley and keep it free of the enemy. If you see fit, you may extend the scope of your operations somewhat further. The last report I had from Quertus was over a month ago. He said that he had burned several native villages further to the west and south and claimed that he has killed over a thousand of the enemy. He has suffered considerable losses himself and I will be sending a reinforcement column to the fort as soon as the latest batch of reinforcements arrive from Gaul.’
Macro clicked his tongue ‘There’s been no word for over a month, sir? Anything could have happened in that time. It’s possible that the fort might have been overrun.’
‘If that was the case, then I think the enemy would have let us know by now. Caratacus always insists on trumpeting any good news for his side. No, I think Quertus is still very much in the game.’
Cato was examining the map and saw that Bruccium was deep inside Silurian territory, over sixty miles from Glevum, he estimated. Forty miles beyond the nearest Roman-occupied fort of any size. It was too exposed, he decided. Far too exposed. Any supply convoy making for Bruccium would have to cross the passes through the mountains before marching through densely forested valleys: perfect terrain for setting ambushes.
‘How often is the fort resupplied, sir?’
‘It isn’t.’
Cato frowned. ‘How is that, sir? Surely they have to be supplied. There must be several hundred men at Bruccium. Not to mention the horses.’
Quintatus shrugged. ‘The first few convoys got through. Heavily escorted. Then the Silurians got stuck in and we couldn’t get any more to the garrison. I sent word to Quertus that he had permission to fall back before his supplies ran out. He replied that he and his men would live off the land. That was his last word on the subject, so he must have found a way.’
‘That’s hard to believe, sir,’ said Macro. ‘He’s surrounded by the enemy. Surely they could starve him out if they put their minds to it.’
‘Well they haven’t, as far as I know. However Quertus keeps his men going, it works. You’ll see for yourselves once you reach the fort. You’re going to find that there’s a lot Quertus can teach you. If you are wise, Prefect, you’ll pay heed to the man.’
The implied criticism angered Cato and he struggled not to let it show. He was a professional soldier who had served his Emperor loyally and effectively for many years. He knew damn well that it was wise to listen to his subordinates, especially one as evidently capable as Centurion Quertus. Cato swallowed his irritation. ‘Of course, sir.’
‘Good. Then you can leave at first light. I’ll assign you an escort to get you to the fort. A squadron from the legion’s mounted contingent should suffice. After you take command at Bruccium I want a more detailed report of the strength and condition of the two cohorts, as well as the progess they are making against the Silurians. That’s if it is safe to send a rider back to Glevum. Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I am hard pressed to prepare the rest of my column for the coming campaign. Good fortune go with you.’
He gestured towards the door and Cato and Macro saluted and left the legate’s office. Outside in the corridor, as they made their way back to the courtyard to rejoin Decimus, Macro spoke quietly.
‘I’m not so sure about this Centurion Quertus. Sounds like he might cause us a bit of trouble.’
Cato thought a moment. ‘He’s playing by his own rules, that’s for sure. But, as you heard, he is hitting the enemy hard. That’s what the legate and the governor want. I just hope we can maintain the standard when I take command.’
Macro breathed in deeply. ‘Somehow, I don’t think Centurion Quertus is going to be very welcoming. He’s run the show his way for some months now. What makes you think he’ll be happy to hand over the reins to you?’
‘Because he’s a soldier and he does as he’s told.’
Macro pursed his lips. ‘I hope you’re right.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
It began to rain shortly after dawn and Glevum disappeared behind a grey veil of drizzle as the riders hunkered down inside their cloaks and urged their mounts along the track that led towards the distant line of hills. Macro and Decimus had visited the vicus the night before and shared a few jars of cheap wine in one of the simple inns. Cato had remained in headquarters, searching the records office for as much information as he could find about his new unit, and the officer temporarily in command of it. The Thracians had performed creditably in the years they had been posted to Britannia but in the last few months they had accounted for more of the enemy than they had in the previous eight years.
As for Quertus, there was nothing on record that revealed any more than Quintatus had already told him — except for one minor complaint from the previous commander of the Thracians. Following a skirmish on the banks of the Severnus, prefect Albinus had issued an order for Quertus to escort their captives to Glevum. They never
