The Blood Crows (Roman Legion 12) (6 page)

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.’

Cato shot him a look. ‘Just don’t let it come to you while you’re fighting at my side. Last thing I need is some old codger guarding my flank when we get stuck into the enemy.’

‘That’s pretty ungrateful, given how I had to nursemaid you through your first battles when you were a green recruit.’ Macro laughed and shook his head. ‘I’d never have guessed then that you’d turn out to be quite the soldier.’

Cato smiled. ‘I learned from the best.’

‘Shut up, lad. You’ll make me cry.’ Macro chuckled. Then his expression hardened. ‘Seriously though. I have my doubts about our new general. The way he looks now, a few months in the field will kill him off. Right in the middle of the campaign.’

‘Not if he can negotiate a peace with Caratacus. Or at least with enough tribes to islolate him.’

‘What chance do you think there is that Caratacus wants peace?’

Cato thought back to the small hut in which he had been questioned by Caratacus. He remembered all too vividly the determined gleam in the Briton’s eyes when he said that he would die rather than bow to Rome.

‘If I was a betting man, I’d give you odds of a hundred to one against.’

‘And I’d say those are generous odds, my friend.’ Macro clicked his tongue. ‘We’re in for a tough time of it, Cato. Just for a change.’

‘Nothing we can do about it.’

‘Oh yes there is!’ Macro grinned. ‘You heard the man; there’s all the delights of Londinium awaiting us.’ His expression became a little anxious. ‘Just as long as you don’t let on to my mother, eh?’

CHAPTER FIVE

‘Well, boys, what do you think of this place?’ Portia asked as they took a table close to the inn’s fireplace. It was the evening of their third day in Londinium and she was accompanied by her son and Cato. Just for a change it was raining again, a steady downpour angled by a stiff breeze that lashed the streets of Londinium, pattered off the few tiled buildings and ran off the thatched roofs of the rest. The inn had once been a large barn before it had been extended with outbuildings that formed a modest courtyard in front of the entrance. A gate opened out on to a wide street that stretched from the quay on the Tamesis up to the site of the basilica complex. Despite the weather the street was busy and the rattle of cartwheels and the braying of mules could be clearly heard over the hiss of the rain.

Macro drew back the hood of his military cape and ran a quick glance over his surroundings. The inn was warm and dry and the floor was paved and liberally covered with straw to absorb the filth on the boots and sandals of those coming in from the street. There was a bar counter to one side, inset with large jars to hold the stew and heated wine that was served to customers. Several long tables with benches on either side filled most of the open space. Despite all the renovations, there was still a faint tang of horse sweat in the air, but Macro did not mind. There were worse odours.

‘Nice enough,’ he conceded. ‘Compared to most in this town.’

Cato nodded. While waiting for the order to join Ostorius and his staff on the ride to the meeting with the tribal leaders they had spent the time in the inns recommended by Decimus. There was little else of note to see. Despite her earlier misgivings about the discharged legionary, Portia had found his guidance useful as she inspected a number of inns and subtly sounded out their owners to discover who might be willing to sell their business to her.

Cato gestured to a serving girl behind the bar and she hurried over to take their order. She was young, barely into her teens, and was dumpy with a poor complexion but at least she spoke reasonable Latin.

‘Jar of wine for the three of us. What’s in the stew today?’

She shrugged. ‘Same as every day. Barley and onion gruel.’

Cato forced a smile. ‘Sounds fine. Three bowls then, with bread. I take it that’s fresh?’

‘Baked just the other day, sir. Fresh enough.’

Without waiting for further comment she turned and hurried back towards the counter to prepare a tray for their order.

‘Nice enough?’ Portia said flatly as she stared at her son. ‘Is that all you have to say?’

‘What do you want me to say?’ Macro growled. ‘It’s an inn, like any other.’

‘No, as it happens.’ She wagged a finger. ‘This is the one I want to buy. Thanks to Decimus, I learned that the owner is a veteran of the Second Legion who has had enough of Britannia and is selling up to return to Rome. I’ve made an offer and he’s accepted.’

Macro took another, longer look round the premises. ‘Why this one?’

Portia swiftly marshalled her arguments and counted them off on her fingers as she replied. ‘Firstly, the location. Plenty of passing customers and a lot of them work at the governor’s headquarters so they can afford to pay more for their wine and food. Second, there’s eight rooms in the courtyard that are already rented to travellers. I can have more accommodation added to the rear. As the province is settled, this town is bound to grow in size and there’s a small fortune to be made from those passing through Londinium. And third, there’s some small storerooms on the opposite side of the courtyard that we could rent out to the prostitutes’ guild. An extra service that some of the customers would welcome, I’m sure. There’s plenty of potential here and the price is very fair.’ She paused. ‘There’s only one snag. What’s left of the money I got from selling my place in Ariminum is not going to cover what I offered.’

Macro cradled his head in his hands and groaned softly. ‘I can see where this is going, Mother. You want me to give you the rest from my savings.’

‘Not give, as such. Think of it as a loan or, better still, a sound investment. I can cover half the cost. You pay for the rest and I’ll make you a sleeping partner, and you can take four-tenths of the profits,’ she added quickly.

Macro looked up sharply. ‘Four-tenths? Why not half?’

‘Because I’ll be doing all the hard work. Four-tenths. That’s my final offer.’

Cato sat quite still, watching the exchange and somewhat in awe of Portia’s sound business sense and ruthless approach to getting her way. It was clear which of those qualities Macro had inherited in abundance.

‘Wait a moment!’ Macro held up his hands. ‘What if I decide I don’t want to lend you the money?’

Portia folded her slender hands together and pouted slightly. ‘Would you really do such a thing to your mother? Force me to buy some grotty little chop house, which is all I could afford without your help. Work myself to the bone for a pittance and then die old and alone?’

‘For fuck’s sake, you know it won’t come to that!’ Macro said crossly. ‘I’ll see to it that you’re taken care of. It’s the least I owe you.’

‘Quite.’ She nodded. ‘So?’

Macro breathed in deeply and let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Very well. How much do you need?’

‘Five thousand denarii. That’s all.’

Macro’s jaw sagged. ‘Five thousand! That’s . . . that’s . . .’ His brow creased in concentration. ‘Several years’ pay.’

‘You can easily afford it.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘I had a little look in that chest of yours that you keep at the bottom of your kitbag.’

‘But it’s locked.’

She gave him a sympathetic look. ‘I spent fifteen years working in a bar in Ariminum, my boy. There are many useful tips and skills I picked up from my customers. Lock-picking is the least of them. The more interesting point is how a centurion managed to come by such a large fortune.’

Macro exchanged a quick glance with Cato and both men felt a tremor of anxiety trace its way down their spines. When they had been in Rome they had helped to unmask a conspiracy in the ranks of the Praetorian Guard. The silver was part of a convoy of bullion that the conspirators had stolen from the Emperor, and was still unaccounted for as far as the imperial palace was concerned. Cato had argued that it should be handed back but Macro had fervently insisted that they had earned the silver and refused. So they had split the proceeds. Cato had left his share with a banker in Rome while Macro, who regarded bankers as corrupt parasites, changed the silver into gold coins to make his fortune more portable and kept it in his possession. His little secret, until now. He looked round hurriedly in case anyone had overheard his mother’s remark. Then he turned back to her.

‘All right then. Five thousand. For a half share of the profits.’

‘Four-tenths, I said.’

‘Split the difference,’ Macro said desperately.

‘Four-tenths.’

He gritted his teeth and glared at her before he eventually nodded. ‘Shit. I give in. But keep your hands off my things from now on.’

His mother smiled sweetly and patted his cheek. ‘I knew you’d see sense. And you’ll do very nicely out of it in due course, I promise you.’

Macro wondered about that. His mother, like most small business owners, was as adept at cooking the books as she was at cooking cheap meals for her customers. Still, at least Portia would have the means to make an independent living and that suited Macro, who would rather not have to worry about her when he marched off to fight the enemy. In any case, if she was right then he would earn a tidy profit from his investment.

The serving girl came over with their order, steam curling up from the wine jar and the bowls of stew. She set the tray down with a rattling thump and ungraciously set their bowls before them, together with the plain clay cups and bronze spoons. She sniffed and wiped the cuff of her long-sleeved tunic on her nose.

‘Nine sestertii.’

Before Cato could reach for his purse, Macro interrupted. ‘I’ll pay. Might as well, since it seems to be my day for being fleeced.’

He fumbled in his purse for a handful of coins and slapped them into the grubby hand of the serving girl, who counted them quickly before returning to the counter. Portia watched her closely with cold eyes.

‘It would seem,’ she spoke softly, ‘that there are going to be a few changes when I take over this place. That girl, for one, needs some lessons in how to mend her appearance and her manner.’

‘Let’s eat,’ said Cato, lifting his spoon, anxious to put an end to the carping between Macro and his mother. They were hungry and ate in silence and Cato’s thoughts inevitably drifted back to Julia in Rome. It would be years before he was released from his duties in Britannia. At some point he would have to ask her to give up the comforts and pleasures of her life in Rome to come and join him. He was under no illusions about the basic conditions of life in a frontier fortress, or a provincial town. It would not worry him, but he feared that it would not be good enough for Julia.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices outside in the courtyard and a moment later two officers entered. He recognised them from the governor’s headquarters. Junior tribunes serving with the Ninth Legion. He swallowed the stew still in his mouth and dabbed his lips on the back of his hands before calling out to them.

‘Care to join us?’

The two young men hesitated and Cato chuckled. ‘The drinks are on me.’

The taller of the two, with fine dark hair, smiled. ‘Well, since you put it like that!’

They came over and sat down while Cato introduced Macro and his mother.

‘Tribune Marcus Pellinus,’ the taller one announced and nodded towards his companion. ‘And Caius Decianus. I’ve seen you up at headquarters, haven’t I? You’re the new commander of the Thracian cavalry cohort attached to Legate Quintatus.’

‘That’s right,’ Cato replied. He caught the eye of the serving girl and indicated his new companions. She stirred reluctantly and bent down behind the counter to get some more cups. ‘And my friend here will be taking on a cohort in the Fourteenth.’

‘I bet I know which one that’ll be,’ Pellinus chuckled. ‘Looks like you two have been hand-picked for the job.’

‘And what job would that be?’ asked Macro.

The serving girl set down two more cups and Tribune Decianus helped himself to the jug as he spoke. ‘There’s a forward outpost, some distance inside Silurian territory, where the Thracians have been brigaded with a cohort from the Fourteenth. All part of the governor’s plan to have strong columns pushed as far forward as possible to keep an eye on the enemy and nip in the bud any attempt by Caratacus’s lads to break out into the province. Only, we’ve had reports about trouble with the garrison at the fort.’

‘What kind of trouble?’ asked Cato.

‘You know how it is. There’s never much love lost between legionaries and auxiliaries. Routine name-calling and punch-ups are fine, but the soldiers in those two units really have got it in for each other.’

‘Seems to me the idiots just need someone to knock their heads together,’ Macro grumbled.

Decianus smirked. ‘The temporary commander seems to be doing a good job of restoring discipline while waiting for a replacement to take over. Clearly the garrison will continue to need a firm hand. Which is why I imagine you two have been sent to do the job, judging by your record. I saw the documents today. Very impressive. Sounds like you are just what they need. Especially as your column is going to be one of those at the sharp end of Ostorius’s offensive.’

‘Assuming that he fails to win over the locals at that meeting he’s called,’ said Pellinus.

‘I think we all know that’s not going to end happily,’ his friend responded. ‘The only thing the locals seem to want is to fight. When they’re not doing in Romans they’re at each other’s throats. Ostorius is wasting time when he should be waving the stick about. A damn good caning is the only thing that’ll get the message through their thick skulls.’ Decianus paused and his eyes widened. ‘And since we’re talking about thick skulls, did you see that one in the courtyard just now?’

Portia leaned forward anxiously. ‘What’s that? A barbarian here, on the premises?’

‘Too right, ma’am. Him, his woman and a handful of his brutes. Just arrived. Since they’re armed they must be on their way to the governor’s meeting. Bloody great giant of a man. Wouldn’t want to face him in battle.’

Macro sniffed. ‘I find the bigger they are, the harder they fall.’

‘Well, you’d need a great big felling axe to take that one down. There’s been quite a few of ’em passing through Londinium in the last few days. Caused quite a stir since many of the locals we have here haven’t worn woad in years. Some of ’em have taken to our dress and customs quite well actually.’

Cato doubted it. While they might look the part, and do their best to pick up as much Latin as they could, they would consider themselves to be Britons first and foremost for many years yet. Especially while the tribes of the province were still regarded as separate kingdoms, fiercely proud of their heritage and their independence. That would change the moment their client kingdom status elapsed. It was the same technique Rome used in every new province: strike deals with the local rulers which guaranteed them Rome’s protection in return for the peaceful annexation of their kingdom once the current ruler had died. That might work well enough in other parts of the empire, but Cato suspected that the arrangement would not proceed so easily when applied to the bellicose warriors of Britannia. He finished his stew and washed it down with a draught of warm wine before he spoke to Pellinus.

‘How are preparations going for the new campaign season?’

The tribune’s expression became weary at the prospect of talking shop but Cato outranked him and therefore could direct the course of their conversation as he wished.

‘Almost complete, sir. The forward depots are fully stocked with supplies, the last of the reinforcements are moving up to join their units and the cavalry mounts are being brought to hard condition. The governor wants us ready to march on the first good day of spring, assuming the attempt to get a peace treaty falls through. Which it will. After that, we’re in the lap of the gods. The ground over which we’ll be fighting is mountainous and heavily forested. Only a handful of tracks have been discovered by our scouts. Ideal terrain for ambushes. If Caratacus plays it smart he’ll just wear us down with hit-and-run tactics. Our only hope is to find their villages and lay waste to enough of them so that we force them to face us on the battlefield. Then, if we’re lucky, we can do for Caratacus and his army.’