CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
There was a knock on the door and a moment later Decimus entered and bowed his head in salute. ‘Sir, the last of the officers has arrived. They’re waiting in the hall.’
‘Very well.’ Cato eased himself up from the stool behind the desk. ‘Help me with the armour.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Decimus crossed the commander’s office to the wooden frame on which Cato’s armour and weapons hung. Two hours had passed since they had reached the fort. The prisoner had been taken to the fort’s guardhouse while Decimus had managed to unpack Cato and Macro’s baggage in the quarters they had been assigned in the fort’s headquarters block. There had been no need for Quertus to remove his kit since he had never chosen to occupy the rooms that had belonged to Cato’s predecessor. The former prefect’s meagre possessions had been left in place and Decimus had summoned the last two clerks from the headquarters staff to remove them to one of the storerooms. The clerks were aged veterans, grey-haired and too feeble to take their place in the ranks alongside their younger, fitter comrades. Earlier, they had explained to Cato that since Quertus had taken command, the rest of the headquarters staff had been plucked from behind their desks to join the ranks of the men that Quertus led against the surrounding tribes. There had been no attempt to maintain the records of the two cohorts in the garrison and the headquarters block had been largely abandoned. Only the two clerks remained, doing such tasks as their temporary commander deigned to give them.
Cato had changed out of the tunic and boots he had worn for the ride from Glevum. In their place he had put on a fresh tunic and a leather jerkin trimmed with shoulder strips, and calfskin boots which were more comfortable and practical than the sturdy soldier’s sandals that he favoured in the field. He held his arms out as Decimus fitted the back and front plates of his cuirass and started fastening the buckles. Once he had finished one side, the servant shuffled round and started work on the other, clearing his throat as he addressed his superior.
‘This ain’t what I was expecting, sir,’ he began cautiously.
‘It isn’t what either of us was expecting,’ Cato replied wryly. ‘Centurion Quertus has some rather individual notions about the duties of a garrison commander and officer in the Roman army.’
Decimus grunted and continued to the next buckle. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this place before, sir. Never want to see anything like it again, for that matter. All those heads. And the bodies left in the ditch. It ain’t right. And those men of his, it’s like they’re in a trance. None of them wanted to speak to me while we were marching to the fort. Just ignored me, though I did see a look in their eyes. Like they were too afraid to talk.’
‘Really? Perhaps they were just observing good discipline.’
Decimus fastened the last buckle and took a step back. ‘Is that what you think, sir?’
‘I don’t have to tell my servant what I think, Decimus. Nor do I think it is proper for you to voice such opinions about a senior centurion. Is that clear?’ Cato did not want to dress the man down but he needed to know there were boundaries which had to be observed, unless permission was given to cross them. Cato relaxed his tone as he continued, ‘That’s the official line, in normal circumstances. But the situation here is far from normal. We must tread very carefully about Centurion Quertus for the moment. I need you to be my eyes and ears amongst the rankers of the garrison. Find out what has been going on here. See if anyone knows anything about the fate of my predecessor, Prefect Albinus. But be careful, Decimus.’
‘I will be, sir. Since you left me with no choice about coming here, I aim to get out of Bruccium in one piece and get what you promised to pay me.’
‘Assuming I live long enough to honour my debt.’
Decimus stared at him. ‘Do you think we’re in that much danger, sir?’
Cato looked at him with a surprised expression. ‘Of course we are. These mountains and valleys are home to the toughest, most ruthless warriors in Britannia. They hate us with a passion, and they’ll fight until the bitter end. And it’s possible that we don’t just have to worry about the enemy. I won’t lie to you, Decimus. I’ve never seen anything like this place either. I’ll have to be careful. So will you and Macro. Keep your wits about you at all times, understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. I hope I’m being overcautious and things aren’t as bad as they seem. Maybe in a few days we’ll have a laugh about it.’
‘Somehow I doubt that.’
‘We’ll see. Now for the band.’
Decimus took the bright red strip of cloth from the stand and passed it round the midriff of the cuirass before tying it off at the front and tucking the loose ends in so that the slack hung in decorative loops.
‘How do I look?’ asked Cato.
Decimus pursed his lips. ‘If it was anywhere else, I’d say fine. But here, you look out of place, sir.’
Cato did not respond but pointed to his sword and Decimus placed the strap over his shoulder and settled the scabbard to Cato’s right, and then plucked up the collar of the tunic to ensure there was no point at which the neck of the cuirass would chafe against the prefect’s skin. He stepped back to admire his handiwork and forced a smile. ‘You look ready to present to the Emperor himself, sir.’
‘One last thing.’ Cato hated vainglory but considered that it would strengthen his position at the fort if the officers realised that their new commander was not just some chinless wonder straight from a comfortable household in Rome. ‘Over there, in that chest. My medal harness.’
Decimus did as he was told and retrieved the set of polished discs fastened to the gleaming leather of the harness. Cato was gratified to see the frank look of admiration in the veteran’s eyes as he placed the harness over the breastplate. Cato held them in place while his servant fastened the buckle at the back.
‘You’ve seen quite a lot action then, sir. They don’t hand these out just for showing up.’
‘No, they don’t.’ Cato smiled briefly. ‘As for action, I’ve seen more than enough. But I’ve got the feeling that I’ll be seeing plenty more, and soon, if the gods have their way.’
‘Don’t know about the gods, sir. But I’m sure that’s what Caratacus has in mind for us. And if not him, then Centurion Quertus.’
‘That is for me to decide now,’ Cato responded firmly. He took a deep breath and faced the door, pausing a moment to collect his thoughts and calm his troubled mind. Then he picked up the leather document holder that contained his authority to assume command of the garrison and strode towards the door. He stepped out into the corridor and made his way towards the main hall of the headquarters block, his boots echoing off the walls.
The centurions and optios of the Thracian unit and the cohort of infantry from the Fourteenth Legion were sitting on a series of benches as Cato entered the hall. The space was lit by tallow lamps set in iron brackets along the walls, and heated by a brazier burning at one end.
As soon as Cato entered, Macro shot to his feet and barked out, ‘Commanding officer present!’
The other men hesitated until Quertus rose slowly to his feet and then they followed his lead. Cato made his way round the room to the space in front of the officers and indicated to Macro that he was ready.
‘At ease!’
The officers sat down and Cato gave them a moment to make themselves comfortable, and to run his eye over the men he now commanded. He had assumed that there would be a marked difference between the appearance of the officers of the Thracian cavalry cohort and those from the legion. Instead he was shocked to see that nearly every man was unshaven, with uncut hair tied back in the manner of Centurion Quertus. Only two of the centurions from the Fourteenth and their optios were recognisably Roman, with cropped hair and standard- issue tunics and boots. Cato felt his heart sink at the sight, and knew that he faced even more of a challenge than he had thought. He took a breath and clasped his authorisation in his hands behind his back.
‘Good evening, gentlemen. If this fort is like any other then word will already have got round about my arrival, but, for the record, I am Prefect Cato, appointed to command the garrison at Bruccium.’ He held the document holder up and flipped open the lid of the tube before extracting the authorisation bearing the Emperor’s seal. He raised it so all could see and then returned it to the leather case. He indicated Macro. ‘The other officer is Centurion Macro, taking up the command of the Fourth Cohort of the Fourteenth. Before I commence the briefing I wish to know more about the men I shall be commanding. One officer at a time.’
Before Cato could choose the first, Quertus was on his feet, arms folded. ‘Very well. I am Centurion Sycharus Quertus of Dacia. I was a prince among my people before I was forced to flee after my father was murdered. I was raised in Thrace, where I was conscripted into the regiment and sent to serve on the Rhine.
