‘That’s enough, Macro,’ Cato interrupted. ‘Leave him be.’
The prefect regarded the prisoner thoughtfully. Centurion Quertus clearly had earned himself a frightening reputation amongst the Silures. That was all to the good. If you could strike fear into an enemy’s heart before they faced you in battle then the fight was half won. Of course, the man was exaggerating the details. That was to be expected when rumour fed on rumour. No doubt the centurion’s methods were harsh and he made full use of surprise to achieve his victories over the enemy, but the rest of it was nonsense. The stuff of nightmares. Still, it gave Cato an edge over his prisoner. He glanced at Trebellius and spoke in a harsh tone.
‘Ask him where his village is again. Tell him that if he does not give me the location we’ll take him with us to Bruccium and let Quertus continue the interrogation there.’
As he heard the translation Turrus flinched, as if he had been kicked, and Cato saw that he was genuinely terrified by the prospect of falling into the hands of Centurion Quertus. The Silurian clasped his hands together and shuffled slightly towards Cato and pleaded with him.
A cold look of satisfaction was on the decurion’s face as he conveyed the prisoner’s words. ‘He begs you to spare him. Don’t take him to Bruccium. Send him to Glevum instead. He’d rather be a slave than face Quertus. . Then there was some stuff about begging his gods to save him.’
Cato leaned forward and prodded the end of his crutch into the prisoner’s chest. ‘Then tell me where your village is! Tell me that and you have my word that you and your people will be spared. Slaves you will become, but you will escape sword and fire. Now tell me!’
Turrus made a keening noise in his throat and shook his head, torn between the dread of facing the enemy who haunted his darkest nightmares and the shame of betraying his tribe. He gritted his teeth and bowed his head as he shrank back into himself.
Trebellius clicked his tongue. ‘Want me to continue with the interrogation, sir? Another beating might break him, now that you’ve gone and put the frighteners on him.’
Cato thought a moment. Despite the man’s terror, he would not give up his family. There was a chance, however remote, that the Romans might be set upon before they reached Bruccium. No doubt he would cling to that hope. Until they reached the fort. Then there would be no escaping the choice Cato had forced upon him. The prefect shook his head.
‘No. Pick him up. Take him outside and tie him up securely for the night. Make sure he can’t do any harm to himself. You’d better tell the optio to have the men on watch check him from time to time. All right, we’re done here.’
Trebellius saluted and then hauled the prisoner up on to his feet. ‘Come on, my little beauty, it’s time for some shut-eye.’
The decurion bundled Turrus out of the mess room and shut the door behind him.
Cato nodded to Decimus squatting in a corner chewing on a strip of dried beef. ‘I want to speak to the optio in command of this outpost.’
Decimus struggled to his feet and limped out of the room. There was a brief silence before Macro gestured to the bowl of stew that had been prepared for Cato. ‘Do you mind?’
The stew had cooled and congealed into a glutinous mass, with a thin film of fat across the surface. Cato shook his head again. ‘Be my guest.’
As Macro tucked into his second helping his friend stroked his jaw and considered their situation.
‘The nearer we get to Bruccium, the stranger things seem to be. Even if half of what our friend Turrus said is true, then we’re really going to be out on a limb. Doesn’t it strike you as very convenient?’
Macro looked up, spoon dripping small brown clods as he held it in mid-air. ‘Convenient, how?’
‘We didn’t exactly win many friends in Rome before we left. Indeed, that’s why Narcissus was doing us a favour getting us posted to Britannia as soon as possible.’
‘And here we are, so what’s the problem?’
‘It’s just that “here” happens to be on the road to an isolated fort as far forward as it’s possible to be, surrounded by enemy warriors and commanded by a man who seems to be a bloodthirsty maniac. It feels to me like we’ve been set up for a fall, Macro.’
‘Set up by who?’
‘Who do you think? Pallas, it has to be.’ Cato recalled the oily Greek freedman who served as an imperial adviser. With the Emperor growing old and infirm, his servants were positioning themselves to take advantage of the situation when Claudius’s successor took the throne. Pallas had sided with the Emperor’s new wife, Agrippina, and her son Nero. The latter might already be Emperor but for Cato and Macro saving the life of Claudius in an attempt on his life. Cato sighed. ‘We put an end to Pallas’s plot against the Emperor and he wants his revenge, as well as to tidy up any loose ends.’
‘Shame that none of the mud stuck to him.’ Macro sniffed. ‘That sly Greek bastard got away with it.’
‘True, but we know what he did. As long as we’re alive then Pallas sees us as a potential threat. He can’t afford for us to reveal what we know, even though few people are going to believe us. What could be better for him than sending us into danger?’
‘Aren’t you forgetting something? I doubt the fort was even built when Narcissus sent us on our way. And your predecessor died shortly before that. There’s no way the news could have reached Rome before we set out.’
‘It doesn’t matter. The specifics are of little account. My guess is that after Pallas learned that we were bound for Britannia he sent a message to one of his agents here with orders to make sure we were put in harm’s way. My guess is that Pallas has a man inside the governor’s staff, if not the governor himself. They would see to it that we were sent somewhere there is a good chance we’ll be killed off. Bruccium fits the bill nicely and the death of the previous prefect meant there was no need to get him reassigned to a new posting. So far it’s worked out well for Pallas.’
‘If that’s what is going on,’ Macro said doubtfully. ‘But frankly, Cato, I think you’re jumping at shadows. Our being sent to Bruccium is just the luck of the draw.’
Cato looked at him. ‘You really think so? After all the scheming we’ve witnessed over the last few years? You know how things work inside the palace.’
They were interrupted by Decimus as he returned with the optio. They stepped into the mess room and the optio closed the door behind him before saluting his superiors. ‘Optio Manlius Acer, sir. You wanted to see me.’
Cato nodded. ‘At ease, Optio. Take a seat.’
The optio looked briefly surprised at the informality shown to him by someone as senior as a prefect and then sat on the bench opposite.
‘This is the last outpost before the fort at Bruccium, right? There’s nothing beyond here. Not even a signal post.’
The optio nodded.
‘The thing is, there’s been no report from Bruccium in over a month. Have you heard anything?’
‘Heard, no. But I saw a patrol towards the head of the valley ten days ago, sir. A squadron of Thracian cavalry. They looked on for a moment and then disappeared into the trees.’
‘But no message? No request for supplies?’
The optio shook his head.
‘Peculiar, don’t you think?’ Cato pressed him.
‘Peculiar doesn’t begin to describe it, sir. Before Quertus took command the prefect used to send two squadrons and two centuries of legionaries back to the depot to escort the supply convoy up to the fort every ten days, regular as anything. After the prefect died the routine continued for a while, then many days would go by between supply runs. Eventually the resupply requests and the escort stopped coming.’
Macro looked at the optio. ‘Why didn’t you send a patrol to investigate?’
‘Not my job, sir. My orders are to guard this side of the pass and report back to Glevum on any sightings of the enemy.’
‘That’s not really good enough, is it?’ Macro asked caustically. ‘You were pretty slow to come to our aid earlier today, and now this. I’m not impressed.’
Acer folded his hands together and rubbed a thumb across the knuckles of the other hand. ‘Sir, I’ve less than forty men here. We’re in the heart of enemy territory. If we take unnecessary risks then we die.’
