‘No need to sound the alarm. Caratacus and his lads are just having a bit of fun. Let our boys rest. At least they’ll be more ready to face what the morning brings than the enemy will.’
Petillius was silent for a moment before he replied in a reluctant tone, ‘As you wish, sir. I hope you’re right.’
The last words stung Macro’s pride and he was about to snap at his subordinate when he realised that Petillius’s nerves were even more strained than his own. It would do the man no good to have his superior bawl him out. Macro sighed. ‘Get some sleep, Centurion. I’ll keep watch on them for a while.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Petillius nodded, took one last look over the wall, and then descended the wooden steps to the foot of the ramp and sat down, crossed his arms over his knees and lowered his head.
Macro leaned on the rail and watched the crowd gathering around the fire. It was clear that something was about to happen, something to mark the height of their celebrations. Then he saw a small party emerge from the darkness, and the crowd parted before it. A tall figure in dark robes led the way. Behind him came clusters of three men, each with a prisoner pinned between two of them. The prisoners were thrust on to the ground close to the fire, five in all. More of the tribesmen arrived carrying wooden frames in the shape of an A. They bound the first of the prisoners to the frame with his head at the apex and his limbs tied firmly to the lengths of timber stretching out at an angle. When the preparations were complete, the figure in the dark robe gestured towards the fire and the frame was raised off the ground and set upright. The prisoner started writhing as he saw the fire and knew, as Macro did at the same time, what fate was to befall him. Several men strained on a rope fixed to the top of the frame and began to slowly pay it out so that the frame tipped towards the fire. For a moment the crowd fell silent and then the man’s cries of pain, quickly followed by screams, sounded. The natives let out a cruel roar at his agonies. The soldier twitched uselessly against the ropes that bound him to the frame. His tunic caught alight and he was engulfed in fire as his screams reached a new pitch of torment and terror.
Macro turned away, not wishing to see any more. He slumped down inside the tower, resting his back against the hard timber of the palisade, but he could not escape the chilling sounds from below. He stared up at the cold stars and prayed to the gods for deliverance.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
‘I didn’t expect to find you here, sir.’
Legate Quintatus regarded the exhausted mud-spattered individual who had been brought to his quarters shortly after he had retired to his bed for the night. He had hurriedly put on a tunic and gone to the office of the commander of the fort at Isca to confront the man who had demanded he be awakened at such a late hour.
‘Prefect Cato. . You look as if you have been through the mill.’
Cato was too tired to appreciate the legate’s laconic comment. He was so exhausted that he could barely stand, yet he must make his report as swiftly as possible if there was still a chance that Macro and the others could be saved. He had been in the saddle since leaving the mountain pass that morning. Together with the surviving Thracians, he had ridden out of the forest a short distance ahead of a party of Silurian horsemen who had pursued them as far as Gobannium. Along the way they had been forced to leave the wounded man behind. He was in too much pain to continue and they could not take him on without slowing down and risk being caught by the enemy. He understood the situation well enough and made his farewells to his comrades before drawing his sword and walking his horse back along the track towards their pursuers.
At Gobannium Cato was informed that Legate Quintatus and his column had advanced to Isca. Cato rested the horses for an hour before continuing on, riding hard through the afternoon and on into the dusk, then darkness, before they had seen the distant campfires of the Fourteenth Legion and the auxiliary cohorts attached to the legate’s command. They had been picked up by a cavalry patrol whose immediate reaction to the appearance of the Thracians was to take them for the enemy. Only the prefect’s presence had persuaded them otherwise. Cato demanded to see the legate at once and they were escorted to the fort at Isca around which the small army was camped. Leaving the standards with a tribune on the legate’s staff, Cato immediately made his way to the private quarters of Quintatus to make his report.
‘It has been a fraught day, sir,’ Cato replied wryly. ‘I had assumed you were at Glevum.’
‘We received orders from Ostorius two days ago to march into Silurian territory. It seems that the governor has lost contact with Caratacus’s army and his patrols can find no trace of him. He’s either made his way north to link up with his Brigantian allies, or he’s marched south. That’s what Ostorius wants me to find out.’
‘He went south, sir. He’s besieging Bruccium. That’s what I have come to report. That and the loss of the column sent to reinforce me.’
Quintatus stared at him. ‘What’s that? And what of the escort? Tribune Mancinus?’
‘All lost, sir.’
‘Impossible!’
‘They were ambushed in the pass near the fort. I took some of my cavalry out to try and cut a way through for Mancinus’s men, but we were caught in the trap along with them. I only just managed to get out with the standards, sir.’
‘They’re safe? Well, that’s something. But, by the gods, I’ve lost nigh on a thousand men.’
‘And you’ll lose the fort as well, sir, unless you bring your column up at once.’
Quintatus thought for a moment. ‘The fort is a side issue. The real opportunity is to catch up with Caratacus and force him to give battle. Failing that, I can hang on to his heels until Ostorius arrives with his army and we can catch and crush him between us.’ His eyes gleamed at the prospect. Then he regarded Cato again. ‘Are you certain that it is Caratacus and that he has his entire army with him?’
‘It’s him all right, sir. I’ve seen him before. I recognise him well enough. And there are at least ten thousand men with him.’
‘Then it must be true. But why would he want to take Bruccium?’
‘Two reasons, sir. Firstly, the Thracians have been carving up Silurian territory for the last few months.’
‘That will be the work of Centurion Quertus.’ The legate nodded. ‘A fine officer, that.’
Cato pursed his lips briefly. ‘His methods were. . unusual, but it seems they helped to provoke Caratacus into action.’
‘I assume that you are claiming the lion’s share of the credit for that?’
‘I would never claim any credit for the work of Quertus, I assure you, sir. But the reason Caratacus came after the garrison was more likely down to the fact that we captured his brother, Maridius. He is our prisoner at the fort.’
The legate smiled. ‘You have been busy, Prefect. It appears that you and Centurion Quertus have done very well indeed. I am sure that the governor will be the first to reward you both handsomely if this results in the defeat of Caratacus. Of course, Ostorius will be the main beneficiary. The Emperor will give him a public ovation at the very least. A suitable triumph for a long career in the service of Rome.’
‘I seek no reward, sir. And Quertus will not be able to accept one either.’
‘Oh? Why not?’
‘Centurion Quertus is dead, sir.’
‘Dead. How?’
Cato hesitated for an instant. ‘He died fighting, sir.’
The legate nodded. ‘I would expect nothing less of the man. He will be avenged. But first we must lose no time in marching on Bruccium. Wait here, Prefect. I’ll issue orders to my staff to have the men ready to break camp at first light.’ He scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘It’s thirty miles. Nearly two days’ march. Who have you left in command at the the fort?’
‘Centurion Macro, sir.’
‘A good man?’
‘The best, sir.’
‘Then I pray that we arrive in time to save him, and the others. We can’t afford to lose good officers like him, and Quertus.’
