Cato stared at him, trying to see beyond the ragged soiled clothing and unkempt hair to the man who had once been a legionary. If Decimus was speaking the truth then his army career had been cut short by the fortunes of war. The same fortunes that had seen fit to spare Cato and Macro through all the campaigns and desperate battles they had endured over the years. It sometimes felt to Cato that he was sorely testing the luck that had been apportioned to him. Sooner or later a spear, or sword thrust, or arrow would find him, just as it had Decimus and countless others.
‘How many years have you served in Britannia?’
Decimus scratched his chin. ‘I came over five years ago from the training depot in Gesoriacum. Served with the Second against the Decangli before being sent up with a detachment to reinforce the Fourteenth at Glevum. Then two years campaigning against the Silures before this.’ He patted his lame leg.
‘All right, then.’ Cato nodded and thought a moment before he continued. ‘How do you like working as a wharf rat?’
‘Fucking hate it, sir.’ He hurriedly turned to Portia. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’
Portia looked back levelly. ‘I spent the best part of fifteen years living with a marine. So keep your fucking apology to yourself.’
Macro stared at his mother in shock; his mouth sagged open and then shut quickly as he decided it was best to ignore what she had said.
Decimus turned back to Cato. ‘But what’s an invalid soldier to do? I was lucky to get a partial pay-out of the discharge bonus. Enough to set me up in digs here, but not enough to live on.’
‘I see,’ Cato responded. ‘Well, I may have work for you. Nothing too onerous, but there might be some danger. If you’re interested, come back here at first light.’
Decimus looked surprised for a moment before he bowed his head and limped away.
Macro watched him until he was out of earshot and then turned to Cato. ‘What was that all about?’
‘Things have changed since we were last here. Sure, we’re going to get a briefing from the governor, but he’ll paint the scene from his perspective. The usual blend of confidence and underplaying the threat posed by the enemy. Ostorius is like any other governor. He’ll want to make out that his period in office was a great success and he’ll want any letters or reports that we write home to reflect that. So, it might be useful to hear the views of one of Marius’s mules. Besides, I’ll need a servant in camp to take care of my kit. Someone I hope I can trust.’
‘Trust?’ Portia sniffed. ‘That vagabond? He looks like a common crook to me.’
Cato wagged a finger. ‘Don’t rush to judgement. Appearance is not everything. If it was, everyone would run a mile from your son.’
‘They already do,’ Macro growled. ‘If they know what’s good for them.’
‘Oh, you!’ His mother lightly slapped his shoulder. ‘You’re a pussycat in tiger’s clothing. Don’t think I can’t see that. Cato too.’
Macro flushed with embarrassment. He hated talking about feelings and the idea that he even had a sensitive side to his nature filled him with disgust. Feelings were for poets, artists, actors and other classes of lesser mortal. A soldier was different. A soldier was required to put his heart and brains in check and get on with doing his duty. When he was off duty, he should play as hard as he could. Of course, he admitted to himself, some soldiers were different. He stole a glance at Cato, thin, sinewy and, until recently, youthful-looking. Now there was a certain hardness to his gaze and the gawky awkwardness of earlier years had largely gone. He moved purposefully and with an economy of effort that was the hallmark of a veteran. Yet Macro knew his friend well enough to know that his mind was ever restless, steeped in the works of the philosophers and historians that he had studied so earnestly as a boy. Cato was a very different kind of soldier, Macro reflected, and he grudgingly accepted that the younger man was all the better for it.
He cleared his throat with a deep rumble of irritation before addressing Cato.
‘Well, it’s your decision. But why not just buy yourself a slave? You can afford to. And there’ll be bargains to be had in Londinium with the prisoners the army has taken.’
‘I don’t want some tribesman. Last thing I need is a resentful native cleaning my sword and having to guard my back day and night, while I’m dealing with the enemy. No, it has to be someone who chooses to be there. If Decimus was a soldier then who better? He’ll be a useful gauge of the men’s spirits.’
Macro thought a moment and nodded. ‘Fair enough. Now let’s find ourselves somewhere to put the kit.’ He turned to his mother. ‘You’ll be all right for a bit?’
‘I have been for over fifty years now. . Run along boys.’
One of the sentries pointed them towards the administration block being used by the governor and they strode across the courtyard towards the entrance. The thick walls of the structure slightly muffled the sounds of construction but there was a thin patina of dust and grime over the flagstones, and building materials were piled around the margins of the courtyard. A handful of clerks were moving from office to office clutching waxed slates or bundles of scrolls. Inside the headquarters, braziers provided warmth and scores of men worked at the long desks filling the main hall. Cato approached a junior tribune bent over his desk reading a document and tapped his knuckles on the desk. The man looked up with a knitted brow.
‘Yes?’
Cato briefly made the introductions. ‘Just landed. I need to report to the governor and we need quarters until we leave for our commands. And a room for a lady as well.’
‘Quarters? There’s not much to be had. We had to convert the stable block at the back for accommodation. There’s a few places free. It’s dry enough and the stalls have proper cots.’
‘What about a place to stay in the town?’
‘You can try that. It’ll cost you and they are pretty grim. Most rooms rent by the hour, if you see what I mean, sir.’
‘We’ll take the stable,’ Cato replied. ‘Our kit is by the entrance. Have some of your men see to it that it’s taken to our, er, stall. Centurion Macro and I need to report to Governor Ostorius at once. If you would be so kind as to take us to him. .’
The tribune sighed and lowered the report he had been reading before scraping his chair back and rising to his feet. ‘This way, sir. I’ll see to your baggage when I return to my desk.’
He led them to the rear of the hall and into a corridor lined with small offices. Some were packed with yet more clerks while others were occupied by officers and civilian officials assigned to the governor’s staff.
The door at the end of the corridor was ajar and the tribune gestured to Cato and Macro to wait while he stepped forward and rapped on the wooden frame. ‘Sir, there’s two officers to see you. Just arrived from Rome.’
There was a pause before a thin, weary voice replied, ‘Oh, very well. Send ’em in.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Governor Ostorius sat behind his desk wrapped in a thick scarlet cloak. A brazier added to the heat of the hypocaust system and made the air inside the room sweltering. He sat on a stool close to the fire, hunched over several piles of papers and slates. He looked up wearily as the two officers strode inside and stopped a short distance away to salute. Cato saw that the governor’s face was heavily lined and his eyes were deep-set and rimmed with wrinkles. He knew that Ostorius had won a good reputation as a soldier and administrator and was a tough and hard-driving commander. It was difficult to square that with the frail-looking individual sitting before them.
‘Introduce yourselves,’ the governor snapped, then coughed, raising a loose fist to his lips until the irritation in his lungs passed. ‘Well?’
As the ranking officer, Cato spoke first. ‘Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato, sir.’
‘Centurion Lucius Cornelius Macro, sir,’ Macro added.
The governor looked his new arrivals over in silence for a moment. ‘You’ll have to pass your service records to my chief of staff. I’ll read them later. I like to know the calibre of my officers. Given the problems I’m facing here I can’t afford to carry any lightweights. I take it you have been assigned specific commands in my army?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Cato replied. ‘I’m to command the Second Cohort of Thracian cavalry.’
