Brothers in Blood (30 page)

Cato hurried to the rear of the tower and leaned over as he spotted Macro’s foreshortened figure.

‘Open the gate! There’s someone approaching from the fort. With horsemen not far behind. Get out there and bring the man in.’

Macro’s dimly visible face stared up. ‘Yes, sir!’

He glanced round to the front rank of the First Century of his cohort. ‘You heard the prefect! Get that locking bar out!’

Dark shapes rushed forward and Cato heard the men gasp as they lifted the heavy timber beam from its brackets. A moment later the hinges groaned as the gates were hauled aside. Then Macro issued a curt command.

‘First Century! At the double . . . Advance!’

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

T
heir boots pounded across the packed earth of the narrow causeway as they poured out of the gate, across the ditch and into the night. Macro instinctively held his shield tightly to his side to keep his balance as best he could. His right hand hung loose as there was no need for his sword just yet. He scanned the moonlit landscape ahead until he saw the figure hurrying towards him. Altering direction to meet the fugitive, he also saw the horsemen angling in towards him. It would be a close thing, Macro decided. He steadily increased his pace and ordered his men to keep up. The riders posed little threat to the legionaries. There were too few of them. Yet they came on in a frantic charge, heedless of the risk to their mounts as they plunged through the night. He could hear them now, uttering savage cries as they urged their horses on, like hunters closing in for the kill.

‘This way!’ Macro called out. ‘Over here!’

The figure plunging through the grass ran straight at Macro. Behind him galloped the horsemen, and Macro could see that they carried spears. The leading rider lowered his weapon and took aim with the point.

‘Shields to the front! Form wedge!’ Macro bellowed as he swung his round and snatched out his sword, pressing the flat of the blade against the shield trim. He slowed to allow the men of the front rank to take position either side of him, and the men following fanned out as they continued forward.

The fugitive glanced back over his shoulder and saw the nearest of the riders a short distance behind. He put on a last desperate sprint for the safety of the Roman formation, but Macro could see that he would not make it before the riders caught up with him.

‘Drop down! Down!’ Macro shouted frantically as the first horseman thundered up to the man. Whether he heard the warning or acted on instinct, the fugitive threw himself to the side and rolled on the ground. The rider stabbed and missed and then snatched at his reins as his horse plunged towards the Romans. Macro felt the blow on his shield as the chest of the horse struck. Then the animal reared above him, the rider cursing as he stabbed with his spear. The iron point glanced off the curve of the shield and Macro punched his sword up, feeling the point drive home into flesh.

Then the horse was gone, wheeling away towards the other horsemen. Macro looked for the man they had been chasing and saw a tall figure rise up from the grass. He could make out the flowing hair and the left hand clasped to the opposite shoulder. Then the man plunged forward, pushing past Macro into the safety of the Roman formation. There were still others to deal with and Macro did not spare him a glance as he closed ranks and raised his shield towards the oncoming riders.

‘First Century! Halt!’

Their boots ground to a stop and their panting breath filled the air as they faced the horsemen. At the last moment the riders veered down the sides of the wedge, stabbing their spears at the dark shapes of the legionaries. The clatter of iron on wood and the brass bosses of the shields stung the air but none of the spears struck home. Macro edged back into the formation and ordered the men on either side to close up. Then he turned and saw that the man they had rescued was on his knees gasping for breath.

‘You all right, lad?’

The man looked up at Macro, his features clear to see in the moonlight. Macro started. ‘By the gods, Vellocatus!’

The nobleman nodded and struggled to catch his breath. ‘Your tribune . . . Have to speak to him . . . At once.’

‘Right, then.’ Macro sheathed his blade and helped the Brigantian to his feet. There was a dark stain on the cloth on his right shoulder where he still pressed his hand to control the bleeding. Macro steered him into the heart of the formation and covered his body with his shield. Around the compact formation of the legionaries the horsemen were wheeling round, trying in vain to find a way past the large rectangular shields. Macro looked back towards the fort and estimated that it was over two hundred paces away. The blast of a trumpet announced that the general alarm had been given.

‘Fall back on my count! One . . . two . . .’

With the centurion calling the pace, the men tramped back in the direction of the camp, with Vellocatus safe in the middle of the formation. As they approached the camp, a squadron of cavalry disgorged from the gate and galloped towards them and Macro smiled as he recognised the shape of the Blood Crows’ banner.

‘It’s our prefect, boys! Come to escort us into camp.’

The native horsemen broke away as they became aware of the threat. Macro saw one of them turn back and raise his spear in an overhand grip. The man gave an enraged shout and hurled his weapon at Vellocatus. Macro instinctively threw himself at the intended victim and both men crashed to the ground as the spear whipped over their heads and struck one of the legionaries in the thigh, bursting through his flesh and out the other side. The Roman staggered under the impact and then looked down in a disbelieving stupor at the shaft piercing his leg.

There was a shout of command and the riders wheeled away and galloped back towards Isurium. The wounded legionary sheathed his sword and calmly lowered his shield to the ground as he inspected his wound with a trembling hand.

‘Get that out of him, and bind the wound up,’ Macro ordered.

A heartbeat later the auxiliary cavalrymen reined in either side of the formation and Cato called out, ‘All right there, Macro?’

‘Fine, sir.’

‘Did you get to our man in time?’

‘He’s here. It’s Vellocatus.’

There was a pause as Cato took in the information and felt a sickening dread at its implications. ‘Get him into camp. I’ll send for the tribune. I don’t think he’s going to like what our friend has to say.’

The surgeon from the Ninth Legion concentrated on cleaning the wound on his shoulder as Vellocatus gave his account to the officers standing around him. They had gathered just inside the gate where Cato had ordered a brazier to be lit to provide sufficient light for the surgeon to tend to his patient.

‘They’ve taken the queen prisoner,’ Vellocatus said bitterly. ‘Venutius had her arrested. Her guards have been disarmed and Venutius’s men were rounding up anyone who was loyal to Cartimandua. There was a struggle in one part of the hall and that’s when I managed to get out by the side door. They spotted me at once and one of them got his blade into my shoulder before I went over the wall and made for your camp. You must help. You’ve got to rescue the queen,’ he insisted.

Otho and his officers exchanged anxious glances before Cato spoke up. ‘What happened? Precisely. We have to know before we can act.’

‘What’s there to know that we don’t already?’ Horatius countered. ‘She’s failed to take control of her people. Now this renegade’s in charge. Him, and Caratacus. So we’ll have to go in there and sort ’em out.’

‘Wait,’ Cato protested. ‘We need to know more.’

Horatius cooked his head. ‘Why exactly?’

‘Because it doesn’t make sense.’ Cato turned to Otho. ‘Sir, yesterday when we had the private audience with Cartimandua, she said that she had paid her people off. She said their loyalty had been bought. Remember?’

The tribune nodded. ‘That’s right. Seems she was wrong.’

‘She seemed confident of it at the time. And again in the hall last night. There was support for Venutius, but a minority of those present. I’m sure of it.’

Otho thought a moment. ‘You’re right. What of it?’

‘There’s only one way Venutius could have swung enough support round in his favour to depose the queen. He offered them more gold.’

‘That’s right,’ Vellocatus interrupted. ‘He did. Silver coin for every man who sided with him against the queen.’

‘Did he show them the silver?’ asked Cato. ‘Did you see it?’

Vellocatus nodded. ‘One of his men brought in a chest. Filled with coins.’

Horatius sighed impatiently. ‘I fail to see what the point of this is. It doesn’t change anything.’

Cato turned to him. ‘But where did he get the silver? He must have ready access to a fortune. You don’t just scrape that together by having a whip-round amongst your tribal supporters.’

‘All right,’ Horatius conceded. ‘So how did he get hold of it?’

Cato glanced at Macro before he replied. ‘He’s been helped by someone on our side. A spy.’

Horatius stared at him and then suddenly laughed. ‘Oh, fuck off! We’ve got a native spy on our side? He’s blended in and passed himself off as Roman, has he?’

‘I didn’t say he was a native.’

‘What then? You mean a Roman? One of us?’

‘That’s exactly what I mean. Someone sent to help Venutius depose the queen and get the Brigantes to support Caratacus.’

Horatius shook his head and smiled mockingly. ‘Just listen to yourself, Cato. It’s absurd.’

‘Prefect Cato’s right,’ Macro interrupted. ‘There’s a spy in our camp, and he’s out to undermine the security of the province.’

Horatius and the others turned to Macro in surprise. Horatius sucked in a breath before he responded. ‘You too? What, is it something in the rations you boys in the baggage train escort have been eating? Some of those mushrooms the Druids are so fond of?’

‘It’s the truth.’ Macro spoke as calmly as he could. ‘The prefect and me were briefed that there’s a faction in Rome that want to abandon Britannia. The spy is working for them.’

‘And why would you be briefed?’

‘Because we’ve done work for the side that’s against the faction I’m talking about.’

Horatius frowned. ‘What’s this? You and the prefect are also spies?’

‘No,’ Cato cut in now that Macro had blurted out the truth. ‘Not any longer. Not since we returned to the province. I give you my word on that. We were informed in case we could assist in frustrating their plans.’

Tribune Otho stared at him. ‘Informed? Who informed you?’

Cato shook his head. ‘We’re not at liberty to say.’

‘Bah!’ Horatius growled. ‘Utter bollocks, whichever way you look at it. And it doesn’t change a thing. We’ve got to get up there. Sort Venutius and his lads out, and put Cartimandua back on her throne.’

‘That’s right.’ Vellocatus nodded. He shifted round to face Otho, and the surgeon had to hurriedly withdraw the needle and thread he had been about to use to sew up the wound on the Brigantian’s shoulder. ‘That’s what you must do. You have no choice.’

Otho avoided his gaze as he considered the prospect. ‘I have just over two thousand men under my command, and we are now in the heart of what has become enemy territory. Aside from the hundreds of men Venutius now has at his command, there will be tens of thousands more that will rally to his standard in a matter of days.’ He looked up. ‘Gentlemen, as far as I see it there is no choice. We have to retreat. At once.’

There was a stunned silence before Vellocatus spoke in an anguished voice. ‘You would betray your ally? You would abandon Cartimandua to her fate? Is this how Rome honours her treaties?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Otho responded. ‘There’s nothing we can do. It would be suicide to attempt to rescue her. I will not risk my men’s lives in a futile gesture.’

Horatius regarded the tribune with contempt. ‘Your men, or your wife?’

Otho glared at him. ‘What are you suggesting?’

‘I always said you should never have brought your wife along. Women have no place in such a campaign.’

Macro nodded in agreement.

‘That’s my decision, Prefect. And I am in command here.’

‘No, sir. You are not. Not any longer. The legate’s orders were clear. If it comes to a fight then you are to cede command to me.’

‘But we can avoid a fight if we retreat at once.’

‘We’re not going to retreat. There will be a fight. And I will be in command. Until it’s over.’ Horatius smiled wryly. He turned to look round the faces of the other officers. ‘In accordance with orders, I am taking command from Tribune Otho. Is there any objection?’

Centurion Statillus shook his head, and Acer followed his lead. Horatius’s eyes shifted to Cato. ‘Well?’

Despite his instinct that it was the right thing to attempt a rescue, Cato made himself quickly run through the options. Retreat was possible. It would avoid the bloody loss of life of any attack on the hill fort. Both native and Roman. But there was no guarantee that they would make it back across the frontier before Venutius and his warriors caught up with them and forced them to turn and fight. They could lay siege to the fort, but every day they spent waiting for Venutius to run out of food and surrender was a day the enemy could mobilise reinforcements amongst the tribes and then march on Isurium. No, there was only one logical course of action, Cato concluded. They must crush the rebellion before it could spread, and restore Cartimandua to power. And that meant agreeing to the change in command of the forces in the camp.

‘I have no objection.’

‘Macro?’

‘I agree.’

Horatius nodded. ‘Then it’s settled. I have command. I’ll make plans for an attack on the fort at first light.’

‘Why wait, sir?’ asked Macro. ‘What if they try and get out under cover of darkness? If Venutius and Caratacus flee then we’ll never track them down.’

‘No, they’ll stay where they are,’ Horatius replied. ‘They think they’re safe up there. Though I dare say they will have already sent word to the tribes to concentrate at Isurium as soon as possible. That’s why we have to settle this tomorrow.’

The surgeon had finished sewing up Vellocatus’s wound and was tying a dressing over his handiwork. The Brigantian shield-bearer stood up and bowed his head gratefully to Prefect Horatius. ‘I thank you, sir.’

‘Don’t thank me until the job is done, young man. The rest of you, brief your officers and prepare your men for the attack. I suggest you feed ’em at dawn, and let ’em rest as much as they can before then. You’ll have your orders as soon they’re ready.’

‘What about me?’ Otho asked quietly.

Horatius regarded him for an instant before he shrugged. ‘Do as you will, sir. Join us, or stay here in the camp with the unit left on watch, and your wife. It’s your decision.’

‘I see.’

‘That’s all. I’ll be at headquarters if I’m needed.’ Horatius turned to the Brigantian. ‘You come with me. I need to know the layout of the fort, and anything else that might cause us a nasty surprise.’