without question from now on. If you overstep the mark again, Centurion Quertus, I will have you arrested and charges brought. Do you understand?’
The Thracian put his hands on his hips. ‘Finally. . I wondered how long it would be before it came to this. I was starting to doubt that you had any backbone at all. Just like that fool, Prefect Albius. Now, I’ll have my say. I know your type. Young men who have caught the eye of a legate or governor and been promoted far beyond what they deserve. I was a fighting man while you were still sucking at your mother’s tit. Sure, you’ve had your share of campaigns and battles, but you, and all the other stuck-up Roman officers, have been fighting to subdue Britannia for nearly ten years now. And the enemy are still out there, laughing at you.’ He leaned closer and slapped his chest. ‘They mock you but they fear me. I know how to break their will to fight. Your methods have failed. Mine are succeeding. And you’d do well to keep your nose out of it and leave the command of the garrison to me. . sir.’ He uttered the last word with undisguised irony and contempt.
Cato stared levelly back at him. ‘Your methods? I don’t see any method to what you have done here. The heads on pikes, the impaled bodies, the burned villages, the slaughtered women and children. There is no method in that. Just the bloodthirsty cruelty of a barbarian.’
‘A barbarian who knows his enemy as intimately as his own men.’
‘Oh?’
Quertus was quiet for a moment before he continued in a flat tone. ‘You think me a barbarian. . well, I learned my ways at the hands of the enemy. The enemy are a cruel people. Cruelty is the only language they understand, so I resolved to pay them back in kind, and with interest. And now it is their will that is breaking. I know what I am doing, Prefect. And I can do it with or without you. Understand that and perhaps you’ll survive to return to Rome one day.’
Before Cato could respond, the sentry thrust his arm out. ‘Sir! Down there!’
Cato turned and followed the direction indicated by the veteran. It took a moment for his eyes to catch the movement and then he saw a figure emerging from the gloom, a man on horseback steadily picking his way across the uneven ground to the avenue of heads before turning his mount up the track towards the gate. Any fleeting satisfaction that Cato felt over Quertus’s misjudgement of the sentry vanished as he scrutinised the approaching rider. Then, when the man was no more than a hundred feet from the ditch, the moon finally broke free of the thin bank of clouds and bathed the night-time landscape in a thin wash of grey light. It was enough to make out some of the details of the approaching rider, and more men moving across the parade ground. Cato felt his heart lurch at the sight of the latter. Then his attention was drawn to the rider again as he reined in and raised something to his lips. A sharp note from a horn split the quiet of the night. The note was repeated again before the rider came on, having alerted the garrison of his intention to talk rather than spring a surprise.
Quertus chuckled and turned to the sentry. ‘Soon as he gets in range, try him with your weapon.’
‘No,’ Cato intervened. ‘He’s played by the rules, so will we. Put aside your javelin.’
The sentry grounded the butt and turned his attention back to the rider.
‘Rules?’ Quertus breathed in deeply.
Cato ignored him and glanced back over the fort. The garrison was fully roused now and light glowed in the doors of the barrack blocks, illuminating men spilling out as they made adjustments to their kits on the way to their assigned stations. Small flames flared as men ran to light the braziers at the foot of each tower to prepare fires to light the tarred bundles of wood that would be thrown out to illuminate the approaches to the fort.
‘You, in the fort!’ a voice called out and Cato fixed his eyes on the rider, approaching the earth-covered trestle bridge that spanned the ditch.
Cato cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘That’s close enough! Stop there!’
The rider obediently reined in and sat tall in his saddle, staring up at the dark outlines of the men atop the gatehouse, black against the backdrop of the stars. Behind and below him, a torch flickered into life close to the parade ground. As the flame caught, other torches were lit and Cato could see a thin line of men stretching out across the ground facing the fort.
‘Who are you and what do you want?’ Cato called down.
There was a pause before the rider replied in a deep voice that carried the length of the wall on each side of the gate. ‘I am King Caratacus, warlord of the free tribes of Britannia.’
Cato felt his blood chill. He leaned forward across the rail the better to make out the rider. In the torchlight the man’s face was clear enough to prove the truth of his words.
‘I have come to claim back what is mine,’ he continued clearly in fluent Latin. ‘You have my brother. I command you to give him up to me, if he still lives.’
Cato’s mind was racing with surprise and the implications for the wider campaign now that the enemy leader was before him. If Caratacus had word of his brother’s capture and rushed south to negotiate his release then the enemy army was without its commander. It presented a fine opportunity for Governor Ostorius to strike. The ladder creaked and a moment later Macro climbed on to the platform, breathing heavily from his exertions.
‘You heard?’ Cato asked him.
‘Yes. Bastard has a fine pair of lungs on him. Doubt there’s a man in the fort who doesn’t know he’s right on our doorstep.’ Macro glanced over the breastwork and shook his head admiringly. ‘Whatever else you say about him, the lad’s got balls.’
‘We should kill him. Now,’ Quertus growled. ‘Before the fool rides away.’
Macro sucked his teeth. ‘He’s right. Kill him.’
‘No,’ Cato replied decisively.
The enemy commander called up to them again. ‘I asked if you had my brother, Maridius. Centurion Quertus, speak up and answer me!’
Before the Thracian could respond, Cato leaned forward. ‘I am in command at Bruccium. Prefect of the Thracian Cohort.’
‘Prefect? What happened to that vile cur Quertus?’
Cato answered as loudly as he could, so that the garrison would hear him. ‘He serves me now.’
‘And who are you, Roman? What is your name?’
There seemed no advantage to be gained from not answering and Cato drew a deep breath. ‘Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato.’
‘Prefect Cato. .’ There was a brief pause. ‘Is my brother alive?’
‘He is.’
‘Good. Then I demand his release.’
‘Demand?’ Macro gave a light, dry laugh. ‘The cheeky sod. Tell him to fuck off, sir.’
‘Kill him,’ Quertus muttered. ‘Before it’s too late.’
Cato ignored them both. ‘Maridius is my prisoner. Why should I release him?’
Caratacus was silent for a moment. ‘Because, if you do not, then I shall take this fort, and I swear by all the gods of my tribe that I will kill you and every man you command. Just as you have killed my allies. Every man taken alive will be impaled on the ramparts of Bruccium, and your heads will line the road from here to Gobannium. . Release Maridius, and you have my word that I will spare the garrison, on the condition that you abandon the fort and march back to Glevum.’
‘He’s having a laugh,’ Macro said softly to Cato. ‘How is he going to take the fort? He’d need an army for the job.’
A cold sensation gripped Cato’s guts as he replied to his enemy. ‘I will not give up the fort, just as I will not give up Maridius, or any other prisoner.’
Caratacus sat silently in his saddle for a moment. ‘So be it.’
Then he twisted round and called down into the valley in his native tongue and the men with the torches ran forward.
Macro craned his head and strained his eyes. ‘What are they up to?’
‘They’re heading for the haystacks, I think.’
The warriors’ torches cast a red glow over the haystacks as the men approached, then the first of the torches arced brightly through the air before landing on a haystack. More torches were thrust into the other haystacks and flames licked up from each, spreading quickly until they blazed in the darkness, casting great pools of light across the surrounding landscape. And revealing the dense ranks of warriors stretching across the floor of
