Quintatus scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘Very well. I give you my word that I will treat you no differently to any other man under my command. Is that good enough for you?’
Cato reflected a moment and nodded. ‘I don’t think there’s anything else to be said, sir. May I go and find that bed you mentioned?’
‘Be my guest.’
Cato bowed his head and turned to half walk, half stumble from the room. The legate watched him go and was silent for a moment before he shook his head and muttered to himself, ‘What a remarkable young man. . A pity he has earned himself such powerful enemies.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
For most of the following day the enemy were content to remain in their camp and the men of the garrison of Bruccium looked on with a sense of relief. The screams of the men who had been burned alive had unnerved many in the fort and even Macro, tired as he was, had been unable to get much sleep. It was long after midnight before the Silurians finished celebrating their victory and began to settle for the night, leaving their fires to die down. When the sun rose and there was no sign of any pending attack, Macro allowed most of the men to return to barracks to rest. A quarter of their number remained on duty, manning the wall and keeping watch for any sign of enemy activity. Orders given, Macro curled up on the floor of the tower and surrendered to the leaden weariness that weighed so heavily on his limbs.
He was woken at midday by one of the sentries, as he had ordered, and stirred stiffly to regard the enemy still sleeping off their festivities of the night before. Some small parties of younger men and boys were scouring the valley for firewood. Food was evidently running short, as a small herd of cattle and another of goats were driven into the camp from a nearby valley and were being slaughtered a short distance away from Caratacus’s shelter. The first of the carcasses was dragged over to the parade ground and cut into chunks for roasting on a spit over a freshly lit fire. More cooking fires were lit as the remainder of the slaughtered animals were distributed to the rest of the camp. As the afternoon wore on, the smell of roasting meat drifted up to the defenders
Macro felt his stomach rumbling and contemplated just how good a roast leg of beef would taste after the meagre rations he had been enduring in the fort. He even considered having some of the horses slaughtered but put the notion aside. It would be bad for the morale of the surviving Thracians. If it seemed inevitable that the fort would fall then Macro resolved to have the animals killed to deny them to the enemy. But only then. In the meantime there was only thin gruel and the last chunks of dried-out cheese and stale bread to look forward to. Thankfully, he mused, hunger had a way of making even the most unappetisingly bland food seem like a banquet.
Late in the afternoon, as the enemy feasting came to an end, a small party headed up the slope towards the main gate. They announced their approach with blaring horns and Macro saw that it was Caratacus, together with four men. One of them wore the black cloak of a Druid, while another was one of the prisoners. He had been stripped of his armour and boots and wore only a torn tunic. He was held firmly in the grip of two burly warriors and his head hung on his chest as they dragged him towards the fort. At the sound of the horns, Centurion Petillius climbed the tower and joined Macro. They exchanged a nod before Petillius gestured over the rail.
‘What are they playing at now?’
‘We’ll know soon enough.’
Caratacus stopped beyond javelin range and put his hands on his hips as he addressed the defenders.
‘Romans! Last night you witnessed the fate of some of your comrades. It is a pity that you had to watch the entertainment from afar. If you had shared the warmth of our fires you would have been there to see their flesh burn and hear the prayers they offered to your gods, begging for mercy.’ Caratacus paused and looked round theatrically. ‘Where are they now? Where is your Jupiter? Your Mars? It seems that your gods lack any interest in you. Or is it that they fear the power of our deities? In any case, the words of the dying fell on deaf ears. As I say, it is a shame you could not share such entertainment with us. To that end, I have come to offer you a small spectacle of your own. Here, where you can see and hear clearly.’ He stepped up to the prisoner and roughly raised his chin so that his face was visible to the defenders.
‘This is the commander of the Roman column we annihilated yesterday,’ Caratacus announced.
Petillius cursed ‘Shit. That puts paid to the prefect and the Thracians.’
The enemy commander continued addressing the garrison. ‘This man is Tribune Gaius Mancinus, a proud and haughty aristocrat. No doubt one of those Romans who can trace his family line all the way back to Aeneas. Let us see how a Roman aristocrat dies. A simple execution would be too merciful. I have never been too proud to learn from my enemies, and the Blood Crows have proved to be excellent teachers. You have terrified my Silurian friends and I must show them that you are, after all, just mortal men. Not demons. So, when we take the fort I shall hand any survivors over to the Silurians to do with as they wish. The purpose of this afternoon’s lesson is to show you that you will reap what you have sowed. .’ The enemy general stared at the faces watching him from the wall and then stepped aside and gestured to the Druid to continue.
The dark-robed figure approached Mancinus and took out a knife. He cut into the neckline of the tunic and then ripped it down as far as the tribune’s groin. Then he made another cut until the cloth was rent top to bottom, exposing the front of the Roman officer.
‘Sweet Mithras. .’ Petillius muttered. ‘They’re going to gut the poor bastard.’
Macro quickly turned to him. ‘Get Maridius up here, fast as you can!’
Petillius ran back to the ladder and descended two rungs at a time. A moment later Macro heard his boots pounding towards the barracks where the Catuvellaunian prince was imprisoned. In front of the fort the Druid scored a shallow cut across Mancinus’s chest. The tribune strained to free himself from the grip of the two warriors but they were strong men and held him firmly and his efforts came to nothing. The blood flowed down over his pale skin. The Druid waited for a moment before he cut into Mancinus’s flesh again, an inch or so higher up where the Druid could see his handiwork more clearly. This time the Roman could not help crying out and the sound cut into Macro’s heart. He raged against his enemy and his inability to do anything to help Mancinus.
As the Druid began to make a third cut, Macro turned away and hurried across to the rear of the tower and looked down into the fort, willing Petillius to appear with the prisoner. Another cry sounded from in front of the fort and Macro clenched his jaw in a silent grimace. Then he saw Petillius appear between two of the stable blocks, thrusting Maridius before him. The prisoner wore only the baggy breeches he had been left with after his questioning some days earlier. Although his face and body were bruised, the swelling around his eyes and lips had subsided.
‘Bring the bastard up, quick!’ Macro bellowed.
He turned and ran across the tower and waved his hands to attract the attention of Caratacus. ‘Enough! Tell your Druid to put aside his blade!’
The enemy commander and his companions looked up at Macro while Mancinus’s head rolled back and he let out a faint groan.
‘What is it?’ Caratacus called back. ‘Do you think to try and stop our entertainment? I thought Romans were used to this. I thought you had stronger stomachs. Are you so easily unmanned by the sight of blood?’
Macro did not respond to the taunt. He knew he had to delay Mancinus’s torment long enough for Maridius to reach the top of the tower. His mind struggled to outline a means of saving Mancinus.
‘Listen, you fucking savage, I’ve had enough of your game. You want to play rough with your prisoners? Then so can we. If your Druid puts that knife to the tribune again then I swear to all the gods that you will regret it for what’s left of your miserable bloody life.’
Caratacus laughed. ‘Don’t waste your breath on empty threats! Besides, my army would be most disappointed if I put an end to this spectacle. I have promised the tribune to the Druids to make a blood offering to our gods. Nothing can save him now!’
Macro heard sounds on the ladder behind him and saw Maridius being bundled up the ladder. He crossed to him and hauled him up on to the platform before dragging him across to the wooden rail. Clenching his fist in the long hair of the prisoner, Macro jerked his head up so that his face would be clearly visible to Caratacus and the others.
