stomach and chest, until the cries of pain gave way to muted groans and gasps.
Cato leaned closer to Macro and muttered, ‘Is this strictly necessary? Again?’
Macro nodded. ‘You saw how it was with that Silurian, Turrus. They breed ’em tough in Britannia. That’s why we need to spend more time softening ’em up before we get to the questions. Works well enough in most cases, but Maridius is proving something of a challenge. Maybe Quertus and his boys will succeed where Severus failed.’ Macro was silent for a moment and his stomach grumbled. ‘Pity I didn’t have time to finish that last loaf. Bloody Decimus took his own sweet time in fetching it for us. I’m hungry.’
‘Hungry?’ Cato wondered. The spectacle before him did little for his appetite, but then nothing ever put Macro off his food, he reflected.
The blows continued for a while longer, before Quertus stepped forward and waved his men aside. ‘That’ll do for now, lads. Give him a breather before we continue.’
The Thracian troopers backed off and sat at a table in the corner of the room, while Quertus pulled up a stool and sat down in front of the prisoner. All was still for a moment and the sound of Maridius’s ragged breathing filled the room, above the faint moan of the wind gusting around the walls of the guardhouse.
Cato stood up and crossed the room and stood at the side of the Thracian officer. He stared down at the top of the prisoner’s head for a moment before he began.
‘I know you can understand Latin. Like your brother. You both speak it fluently. Your teacher must have been good.’
‘Our teacher was a Roman prisoner. . We put him to death the moment we understood enough to do. . without him.’
‘Why did you choose to learn our tongue?’
Maridius drew a deep breath and looked up, his good eye glinting with malevolence. ‘Our father taught us that the first step in defeating your enemy is to understand him. And I understand all I need to know about Rome.’
‘Oh?’ Cato smiled thinly. ‘And what do you understand about us?’
Maridius ran his tongue along his dry lips and thought a moment before replying. ‘That you have an insatiable hunger for the land, property and liberty of others. You scour the earth and create a wasteland and call it civilisation. Some civilisation!’ He snorted. ‘You are a greedy people. You are like a great, fat leech sucking the blood out of this world. Your soldiers kill, rape and burn everything before them. Like these Thracian scum who you pay to carry out your dirty work. They are not warriors, not even men, but scum.’
Quertus leaned forward and casually backhanded him with a powerful slap. Maridius groaned, blinked and shook his head.
‘Keep a civil tongue in your head,’ Quertus warned. ‘Or my lads will see to it that your tongue parts company with your foul mouth.’
‘Fuck you. .’
Quertus balled his hand into a fist but Cato intervened before he could strike. ‘No. That’s enough, for the moment.’
He returned the prisoner’s glare calmly and then spoke again. ‘You say that we hunger for the lands of others, but tell me, Maridius, how is that different from the wars you, your brother, and your father fought to conquer the tribes that surrounded the Catuvellauni? Correct me if I’m mistaken but your tribe crushed the Trinovantes, and took their capital as your own. You’ve also taken land from the Cantiaci, the Atrebates, the Dobunni and the Coritani.’ Cato paused and shrugged. ‘Seems to me there’s not that much difference between the ambitions of the Catuvellauni and Rome, only that my people happen to be rather better at it.’
Maridius curled his lip and spat a gobbet on to the toe of Cato’s boot. ‘Fuck you!’
Cato glanced at his boot. ‘And we happen to be somewhat more refined and imaginative in our use of language and invective as well, it seems.’
‘You fucking tell that cunt!’ Macro added emphatically.
Cato stifled a wince, and focused his attention back on the prisoner. ‘So, now we’ve dispensed with the pretence that there is any moral high ground in this conflict, there only remains the question of who is going to win. You must know by now that Rome will triumph. We have more men, better men, and greater resources than Caratacus can ever hope to command. He can only delay defeat. Every death, on both sides, that happens before he finally surrenders is on his hands. He cannot beat us, only prolong the suffering and destruction until the inevitable defeat. You must see that.’
Maridius shrugged. ‘Better to be defeated and die as warriors than live as slaves.’
‘Slaves? Hardly. You and your brothers will be treated no differently to King Cogidubnus who was wise enough to become our ally from the first.’
‘That fat coward?’ Maridius sneered. ‘He has damned himself, his line and his people in the eyes of every other tribe in Britannia.’
‘Hardly every tribe. The Atrebates are only one of twelve tribes who have made peace with Rome.’
‘Then damn them too!’ Maridius shouted.
No one spoke for a moment. Macro yawned. ‘This is all very interesting, sir, but it’s not helping us. He’s as mad as the rest of ’em. Let’s find out what we need and put an end to it.’
Cato raised a hand to silence his friend. ‘I’ll give you one last chance before the interrogation continues, Maridius. While I admire your courage and your pride, it is only helping to prolong the suffering of your people.’
The prisoner gave a dry laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘They are not my people. They are the Silures and the Ordovices. What do I care for their suffering?’
‘That’s nice,’ Macro commented.
‘They are still people,’ Cato continued. ‘They deserve better from those that lead them. They deserve peace.’
‘Roman peace?’
Cato ignored the taunt. ‘Peace. That is what we will give them once Caratacus is defeated. I need to know the location of his army, and how many men he has. I don’t care how I get the information, but I will get it.’
The prisoner glowered and then thrust out his jaw defiantly. ‘Fuck you.’
Macro sighed. ‘What, again?’
With a tired expression Cato stepped aside and nodded to Quertus. ‘Your men may continue.’
The Thracian moved his stool back a pace and then nodded to his men. The trooper tasked with beating the prisoner rose to his feet and moved round to the front of Maridius as he cracked his weathered knuckles and rolled his neck, like a boxer loosening up for a bout, thought Cato. He braced his boots on the floor as Maridius clenched his jaw and half closed his eyes, preparing himself for further blows.
The door to the guardroom opened suddenly and all eyes turned towards it as the duty officer, one of Severus’s optios, stepped inside and saluted Cato.
‘Sir, beg to report, one of the sentries says he has seen movement below the fort.’
‘Movement?’ Cato frowned. ‘What do you mean? Be specific, man.’
The optio was a young man, only a year or two older than Cato had been when he first held the rank. His anxiety was clear to see as he opened his mouth and tried to marshal his thoughts.
‘Just make your report, Optio.’ Cato forced himself to speak calmly. ‘What exactly has the sentry seen?’
‘He says there are men in front of the fort.’
‘He saw them? How many?’
‘He heard voices, sir. And horses. Then he sent another man to find me.’
‘And where were you?’
The optio took a quick breath. ‘In the latrine, sir.’
Cato bit back on his irritation. No doubt the optio had been spending the time with some comrades, in the way that many men did, in the traditional cosy camaraderie of the latrine block. It was far more comfortable to enjoy the banter in the warm and dry of the latrine than spend the night patrolling the windy ramparts of the fort. But that was no excuse. The optio was on duty. If he needed to piss then he could do it at the foot of the rampart. If he needed a shit, then he’d have to wait until he went off duty.
‘We’ll deal with that later,’ Cato said curtly. ‘Did you hear or see anything yourself when you got to the
