for peace on any terms.’
Cato listened in silence, taking it all in. It made sense of what he had seen, he reflected, but there was something that Quertus was holding back. And besides, it did not excuse the challenge to his authority. Above all, there was still the matter of the circumstances surrounding the death of the previous prefect.
‘This. . success of yours has come at a cost, I should think. How many men have you lost since taking command here?’
‘No more than Rome can afford.’
‘How many?’
‘I haven’t been keeping strength returns.’
‘But you must have some idea,’ Cato insisted.
Quertus folded his hands. ‘There is a price for success in war. A price that is paid in men’s lives. It has cost my cohort over half of its men. I made good the losses from those legionaries who volunteered to take their places. And there are many who freely volunteered. And some who did not. Men like Petillius and Severus who did not have the stomach for such work. They were left to defend the fort when I led the rest to fight the enemy. But now we are short of legionaries. It is good that we can expect reinforcements. Enough men to finish what I started.’ His eyes gleamed at the prospect.
‘Quertus, I am in command now. I will decide what happens next.’
The Thracian regarded him coolly. ‘You would be wise to let me continue my work. . sir.’
‘Is that a threat?’ Cato asked, resisting the urge to let his hand rest on the pommel of his sword.
Quertus was still for a moment before he shook his head. ‘We are on the same side. We work for the same ends. It is simply a question of method, and I believe that mine works. Let me show you. Come on the next raid and judge for youself. I understand that you witnessed a Silurian war band attacking the outpost in the next valley.’
‘Yes. And how exactly did you come to understand that?’
‘One of my scouts saw it. He reported it to me and we set out to hunt down the Silurians. Instead we found you. And your prisoner. Once I have questioned him and we have the location of his village we can make an example of them.’
‘I’d prefer to have Centurion Macro interrogate him.’
‘Has he been trained in interrogation techniques?’
Cato allowed himself a light smile. ‘He, uh, got his training on the job. Macro can loosen a man’s tongue if anyone can. But that can wait until tomorrow.’
Quertus nodded thoughtfully. ‘As you wish, sir.’
‘I’ll be honest with you, Centurion. I am not sure what to make of your activities in the last few months. I need to consider the situation. We’ll talk more tomorrow, after the inspection.’
‘The men don’t need inspecting, sir.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ Cato yawned.
The Thracian stood up. ‘Will that be all?’
‘Not quite. I want the heads removed from the fort’s walls, by tomorrow.’
Quertus inclined his head in the slightest of salutes before he turned and left the hall. Once he was alone, Cato slumped down on the chair and lowered his head into his hands and closed his eyes. He instinctively disliked and distrusted the Thracian officer. Yet the man had made a reasoned case for his extreme methods and perhaps there was some merit to them. The strains of the long ride from Glevum were beginning to tell and it was hard for Cato to think. He needed rest. A decent sleep to ready his mind for tomorrow, which was sure to be a testing day.
Stifling another yawn he stood up and stretched his shoulders, feeling a satisfying crack in one of his joints. He left the hall, and saw no sign of Macro in the corridor. He felt vaguely uneasy about going to his quarters without knowing that his friend was safe in this strange fort with its garrison of soldiers intoxicated by Quertus’s thirst for war. But Macro was tough enough to look after himself, Cato decided. He walked slowly to his quarters and shut the door behind him. He hesitated a moment before slipping the bolt into place, locking it shut. Then, for good measure, he dragged a document chest against the inside of the door before heading for the sleeping chamber.
Cato removed his sword, struggled out of his harness and unbuckled his armour before setting it all down on the floor beside his cot. Then he eased himself down on to the cot and lay on the thin mattress stuffed with horsehair and closed his aching eyes with relief. For a moment he reviewed the conversation he had had with Quertus, before his mind started drifting. The last image that filtered through his thoughts was the young Silurian impaled at the head of the pass leading into this valley of death. Cato frowned at the image, and knew it was a harbinger of worse sights to come. Then at last he fell into a troubled sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘Hey!’ Macro called out to the other centurion as he followed him out of the building into the darkness of the small courtyard at the front of the fort’s headquarters. A single torch flared in a bracket above the entrance gate, though the other officers had already left. ‘Severus!’
The man stopped and turned to face Macro, who grinned.
‘I knew it was you! By the gods, man, how long has it been?’ Macro strode up to him and clasped him by the shoulders. The centurion was thin and his face looked drawn. A thin fringe of wiry grey hair ringed his head and his bald crown gleamed dully in the light of the torch flame. ‘You’ve changed, Severus. I almost didn’t recognise you. What happened to that athletic legionary with the fine head of blond hair? The one who broke the hearts of all the local women in the vicus outside the Second Legion’s fortress?’
‘He grew old, and fearful,’ Severus replied quietly. He glanced past Macro towards the corridor leading to the hall. ‘Will the prefect be keeping Quertus for long?’
‘If I know Cato, they’ll be talking for a good while yet.’
Severus looked relieved and he offered Macro a tired smile. ‘Well, at least you haven’t changed that much. Still the same bull of a man with coarse curly hair you could brush your boots with.’
‘So you recognised me too then?’
‘The moment I saw you in the hall.’
‘Then why didn’t you say? I doubt there’s any of the original training section left these days. Fuck, it’s good to see a familiar face in this nightmare of a place.’
Severus’s smile faded. ‘It’s a nightmare all right.’
‘And that Quertus is a piece of work. A regular cold killer.’
Severus stared back at Macro. ‘You don’t know the half of it. That’s why I didn’t say anything about recognising you back in the hall. I’m in enough danger already without drawing any more attention to myself.’
‘Danger? What do you mean, Severus?’
The other man looked around anxiously, but nothing moved in the shadows of the courtyard. They were alone. ‘Look here, Macro, we need to talk. But not here. Let’s get over to our side of the fort, away from these Thracian bastards. I’ve still got a few jugs of Gallic wine. I’ll share a cup with you.’
‘Fine. Let’s go!’ Macro clapped him on the shoulder. ‘There’s a lot to catch up on. Be good to have a drink before I take charge of the cohort.’
They left headquarters and turned into the main thoroughfare that bisected the interior of the fort. To their left Macro could see some of the other officers making for the long barrack blocks where the troopers had their quarters on one side while their mounts were stabled on the other. They turned right, towards the smaller barracks of the legionary cohort. As they made their way through the fort Macro could see signs of neglect. Weeds were thrusting up in the alleys between the timber and daub buildings. Some of the drains had blocked and small pools of foul-smelling water were backing up. There were none of the usual sounds that Macro associated with the forts he had known for most of his life. The barracks were silent — no raucous laughter from men sharing a drink as they played dice. There were no men sitting on stools outside the section rooms cleaning their kit. There were few men to be seen at all. As they reached the quarter assigned to the legionary cohort they passed a high timber
