were bound to be thinned out, as they always were, since they led from the front and suffered a disproportionate casualty rate as a result. If Macro survived, he might achieve command of the First Cohort of the legion one day, and after that the post of camp prefect, and take direct command of the legion if the legate was absent, or badly wounded or killed. The very thought of assuming such a responsibility filled him with hope.
The governor sighed and stroked the grey stubble on his chin. He seemed to shrink in on himself even further as he pondered the situation in silence for a while before speaking again.
‘I am getting too old for this. Once my period of office is over I shall retire.’ The corners of his lips lifted slightly. ‘I’ll return to my estate in Campania, tend to my vineyards and grow old with my wife. I have served Rome long enough, and well enough to earn that at least. . Still, there is work to be done!’ He forced himself to sit up and return his attention to the two officers standing before him. ‘Even though I am preparing for the new offensive, there is still some small hope for peace.’
‘Peace, sir?’ Cato puffed his cheeks. ‘With Caratacus? I doubt he will agree to any terms that Rome offers him.’
‘Oh? And how would you know, young man?’
‘Because I know the man, sir. I have met him and talked with him.’
There was a tense silence as the governor stared wide-eyed at Cato. Then he leaned forward. ‘How can this be true? Caratacus is consumed with hatred for Rome, and all those who serve in her legions. He rarely takes prisoners, and those that are captured are never again seen by their countrymen. So how is it that you were accorded such a dubious honour?’
The governor’s tone was scathing, but Cato ignored the slight when he replied. ‘I was captured by Caratacus, along with a handful of my comrades, in the second year of the invasion, sir. Once we reached the enemy’s camp, I was questioned by him.’
‘Why?’
‘He wanted to know more about Rome. About what motivated her soldiers. He also wanted to impress on me that the native tribes were proud and their warriors would never bow their heads to those who invade their lands. He vowed that they would rather die than accept the shame of submission to the Emperor.’
‘I see. And how is it that you lived to tell me this?’
‘I escaped, sir.’
‘You escaped from the enemy camp?’
Cato nodded.
‘Then the gods must favour you, Prefect Cato, for I have never heard of another Roman who can claim to have done the same.’
Macro chuckled. ‘You don’t know the half of it, sir. Fortuna has a full-time job keeping the prefect out of trouble.’
Cato cocked an eyebrow at his friend. ‘You don’t do so badly yourself.’
The governor cleared his throat irritably. ‘I was talking about peace, gentlemen. It’s several years since you last encountered Caratacus. Years of continual warfare. Both sides have been worn down by the struggle and I suspect that our enemy’s appetite for conflict is as exhausted as mine. And there are those in Rome whose impatience with the situation in Britannia is growing by the day. Most notably, Pallas, one of the Emperor’s closest advisers. I don’t suppose you know the fellow.’
‘I know of him, sir,’ Cato replied cautiously, before the governor continued.
‘From what my friends in Rome say, Pallas is the rising star. He’s close to the Emperor’s new wife and her son, Nero, who may well be the next Emperor when Claudius dies. It seems that Pallas is all for pulling the army out of Britannia and abandoning the province. To be sure, it has been an expensive exercise and there’s precious little return on Rome’s investment of gold and men. Nor is there much prospect of deriving anything of lasting value from Britannia once we’ve exhausted our supply of prisoners of war for the slave market. The silver, tin and lead we were led to believe the island was awash with have proved to be far less in reality. As far as I understand it, there’s only two reasons why we still have boots on the ground. Firstly, some of the wealthiest men in Rome have lent rather large sums to the leaders of the tribes who have allied themselves to us. As it happens, Narcissus is amongst them, which is probably why he is so keen to have our armies remain here, at least until his loan has been repaid. The other reason is to do with simple pride. If Rome was seen to retreat from Britannia, it would be a humiliation for the Emperor, and our enemies in other frontier provinces would be bound to take heart from our failure here. Of course, with a change of regime, the next Emperor could justify a withdrawal in terms of correcting the mistakes of his predecessor. So, gentlemen, as you can see, Rome’s grip on Britannia is far from certain.’
The governor lowered his gaze and reflected a moment before he continued. ‘Many of our comrades have shed blood here, and many have fallen. If we are ordered to abandon Britannia then that sacrifice will have been for nothing. As I see it, I have two courses of action open to me, if the sacrifice of our comrades is to have had a purpose. I must utterly destroy the remaining tribes who oppose us here, or make a lasting peace with them. Either way, it must be done as swiftly as possible, so that there is peace in the province before a new Emperor ascends the throne. Only then will there be no excuse to pull out of Britannia. That is why I have invited the kings and chiefs of every tribe as far north as the Brigantes to a meeting to discuss terms to end the conflict. I have given my word that safe passage through our frontier will be granted to the tribes that have not already allied themselves to us.’
Macro hesitated before he asked the obvious question. ‘Do you intend to keep your word, sir?’
‘Of course.’
‘Even if Caratacus himself turns up? If we bag him, and the others who are causing us trouble, we could put an end to the native resistance as quick as boiled asparagus.’
Ostorius sighed and shook his head. ‘Or, we could outrage all the tribes and provide them with a cause to unite them against us — as swiftly as the culinary cliché you suggest. Perhaps it would be best if you kept such thoughts to yourself, Centurion. Leave the thinking to wiser heads, eh?’
Macro pressed his lips together and clenched his fists behind his back as he nodded curtly in response to the put-down. There was an uncomfortable silence before Cato turned the conversation in a different direction.
‘When and where is this meeting to take place, sir?’
‘In ten days’ time, at one of their sacred groves, some sixty miles west of Londinium. I will take a small bodyguard with me.’ He suddenly looked at Cato and smiled. ‘There’s no immediate rush for you two to join your units. In any case, it’s only a small diversion from the road to Glevum.’
‘Us?’ Cato could not hide his surprise. ‘But we’re soldiers, sir. Not diplomats. Besides, we hoped to join our new commands as soon as possible. If the coming campaign is going to be tough then I want to get to know the men I am leading as well as possible before we go into action.’
‘That won’t be necessary, if we can make peace with our enemies. And since you have met Caratacus before, you may prove to be useful during the negotiations. You’re both coming with me.’
‘Very well, sir. As you command. There’s just one thing. What makes you think the enemy will be prepared to make peace with us?’
Ostorius replied in a cold tone, ‘Because if they don’t, then I shall make it perfectly clear that before the year is out, every last village in every tribe that still opposes us will be razed to the ground, and those natives that are spared will all be sold into slavery. .’ The governor yawned. ‘And now I must take some rest. That will be all, gentlemen. I suggest you enjoy the few delights that Londinium has to offer while you can. I’m sure they’ll have some suggestions in the officers’ mess. Dismissed.’
Macro and Cato stood to attention, saluted and then turned to leave. Ostorius stared down at the piles of records and reports at his feet for a moment and then rose slowly from his stool and walked stiffly to the narrow campaign cot that had been set up by the wall. Easing himself down, he lay on his side, still wearing his boots, and pulled his cloak over his body as best as he could before he fell into a troubled sleep.
‘What do you make of him?’ Macro asked when they were a short distance down the corridor outside the governor’s office.
Cato glanced round and saw that there were no clerks near enough to overhear his remarks. ‘He’s at the end of his tether. Worn out by his duties. But I’ve heard that he’s as tough a commander as any.’
Macro shrugged. ‘Being tough does not make you immune to age. I know that well enough. I ain’t as fast in a fight as I used to be. Comes to us all in the end.’
