‘And when will that be, I wonder?’ the younger man responded, his voice edged with bitterness. ‘From what I’ve heard, the Emperor’s triumphant celebration of the conquest of Britannia was somewhat premature. Like as not we’ll still be fighting Caratacus and his followers until we’re old men.’
‘Suits me.’ Macro shrugged. ‘Better some honest soldiering back with the legions than all that cloak and dagger stuff we’ve had to put up with since we were last here.’
‘Thought you hated Britannia. Always going on about the bloody damp, the cold and lack of decent food. Couldn’t wait to leave, you said.’
‘Did I say that?’ Macro feigned innocence, and then rubbed his hands together. ‘Still, here we are. Back where there’s a decent campaign on the go and a chance for more promotion and awards and, best of all, a chance to top up my retirement fund. I’ve been listening to reports as well, my lad, and there’s talk of a fortune in silver to be had in the mountains to the west of the island. If we’re lucky we’ll be sitting pretty once the natives have been given a good kicking and come to their senses.’
Cato could not help smiling. ‘Kicking a man seldom induces him to be reasonable, in my experience.’
‘I disagree. If you know where to kick a man, and how hard, he’ll do whatever you need him to.’
‘If you say so.’ Cato had no wish to enter into a debate. His mind was still troubled by the prospect of being parted from Julia. They had met a few years earlier, on the empire’s eastern frontier where her father, Senator Sempronius, had been serving as the Emperor’s ambassador to the King of Palmyra. Marriage into a senatorial family was a considerable advance in status for a junior legionary officer like Cato, and the cause of some anxiety at the prospect of being sneered at by those from old aristocratic families. But Senator Sempronius had recognised Cato’s potential and had been pleased for him to marry his daughter. The wedding had been the happiest day of Cato’s life, but there had been little time to become accustomed to being a husband before he had received his marching orders from the imperial secretary. Narcissus was under growing pressure from the faction which had chosen the young prince Nero to succeed Emperor Claudius. The imperial secretary had sided with those supporting Britannicus, the Emperor’s natural son, and they were steadily losing influence over the doddery old ruler of the greatest empire in the world. Narcissus had explained that he was doing Cato a favour in sending him as far from Rome as possible. When the Emperor died, there would be a scramble for power and no mercy would be shown to those on the losing side, nor to anyone associated with them. If Britannicus lost the struggle, he was doomed, and Narcissus with him.
Since both Cato and Macro had served the imperial secretary well, albeit unwillingly, then they, too, would be in danger. It would be better if they were fighting on some far-flung frontier when the time came, beyond the vengeful attention of Nero’s followers. Even though Cato had only recently saved Nero’s life, he had crossed the path of Pallas, the imperial freedman who was the brains behind the prince’s faction. Pallas was not inclined to forgive those who stood in the way of his ambitions. Nero’s debt to Cato would not save him. So, barely a month after the marriage had been celebrated in the house of Julia’s father, Cato and Macro were summoned to the palace to receive their new appointments: for Cato, the command of a Thracian cohort, and for Macro the command of a cohort in the Fourteenth Legion, both units serving with the army of Governor Ostorius Scapula in Britannia.
There had been tears when the time came for Cato to depart. Julia had clung to him and he had held her close, feeling her chest shudder as she buried her face in the folds of his cloak, the dark tresses of her hair falling across his hands. Cato felt his heart torn by her grief at separation, which he shared. But the order had been given, and the sense of duty that had bound Rome’s citizens together and made it possible for them to overcome their enemies could not be denied.
‘When will you return?’ Julia’s voice was muffled by the folds of wool. She looked up, her eyes red-rimmed, and Cato felt a rush of anguish flow through his heart. He forced himself to smile lightly.
‘The campaign should be over soon, my love. Caratacus cannot hold out for much longer. He will be defeated.’
‘And then?’
‘Then, I shall await word of the new Emperor, and when it is safe to return I will apply for a civil post in Rome.’
She pressed her lips together for a moment. ‘But that could be years.’
‘Yes.’
They were both silent for a moment before Julia spoke again. ‘I could join you in Britannia.’
Cato tilted his head to one side. ‘Perhaps. But not yet. The island is still little more than a barbaric backwater. There are few of the comforts you are used to. And there are dangers, not least the unhealthy airs of the place.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I have experienced the worst of conditions, Cato. You know I have. After all that we have been through we deserve to be together.’
‘I know.’
‘Then promise to send for me as soon as it is safe for me to join you.’ She tightened her grip on his cloak and stared intently into his eyes. ‘Promise me.’
Cato felt his resolve to shelter her from the dangers and discomforts of the new province dissolve. ‘I promise.’
She eased her grip and shifted half a step away from him, with an expression of pained relief, and nodded. ‘Don’t make me wait too long, my dearest Cato.’
‘Not one day longer than necessary. I swear it.’
‘Good.’ She smiled and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the mouth and then stepped back and gave his hands a last squeeze before straightening her back. ‘Then you must go.’
Cato took one long last look at her and then bowed his head and turned away from the senator’s house and marched along the street that led in the direction of the city gate where he would take one of the boats down the Tiber to join Macro at the port of Ostia. He looked back when he reached the end of the street and saw her there, standing at the door, and forced himself to turn and stride out of sight.
The pain of their parting had not dimmed over the long journey across the sea to Massillia and then overland to Gesoriacum where they had boarded the cargo ship for the final leg to Britannia. It felt strange to return to the island after several years. Earlier that day the cargo ship had passed the stretch of riverbank where Cato and his comrades in the Second Legion had fought their way ashore through a horde of native warriors urged on by screaming Druids hurling curses and spells at the invaders. It was a chilling reminder of what lay ahead and Cato feared that it would be some years yet before he considered it safe to send for his wife.
‘Is that it ahead? Londinium?’
Cato turned to see a slender, hard-faced old woman picking her way across the deck from the direction of the hatch leading down to the cramped passenger quarters. She wore a shawl over her head and a few strands of grey hair flickered in the breeze. Cato smiled in greeting and Macro grinned a welcome as she joined him at the side rail.
‘You’re looking much better, Mum.’
‘Of course I do,’ she said sharply, ‘now this wretched boat has stopped lurching all over the place. I thought that storm would sink us for sure. And, frankly, it would have been a mercy if it had. I have never felt so ill in my life.’
‘It was hardly a storm,’ Macro said disdainfully.
‘No?’ She nodded at Cato. ‘What do you think? You were throwing up as much as me.’
Cato grimaced. The tossing and pitching of the ship the previous night had left him in a state of utter misery, curled up in a ball as he vomited into a wooden tub beside his cot. He disliked sea voyages in the Mediterranean at the best of times. The wild sea off the coast of Gaul was pure torture.
Macro sniffed dismissively. ‘Barely blowing a gale. And good, fresh air at that. Put some salt back into my lungs.’
‘While taking out absolutely everything from your guts,’ his mother replied. ‘I’d rather die than go through that again. Anyway, best not to remember. As I was saying, is that Londinium over there?’
The others turned to follow the direction she indicated and gazed at the distant buildings lining the northern bank of the Tamesis. A wharf had been constructed with great timber piles driven into the river bed, supporting the cross-beams packed with stones and earth and finally paved. Several cargo ships were already moored alongside and as many others were anchored a short distance upriver, waiting for their turn to unload their freight.
