Cato 04 - The Eagle and the Wolves (25 page)

‘No. Is there anything else, sir?’

‘Just make sure you don’t let the side down tomorrow. Both of you. And keep a respectful distance from me at all times. Understood?’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Macro and Cato.

‘Dismissed.’

As the two centurions passed back through the hall Cato turned to Macro. ‘For a moment there I thought you were going to take him up on that offer.’

‘I was. But a sensible man picks his fights, he doesn’t let others pick them for him. That twat would have thrashed me. He knew it and I knew it. So what reason was there to fight?’

‘Put like that, none at all.’ Cato was pleased. It was one of those rare moments in all the time he had known Macro that the veteran centurion had allowed logic to triumph over bullish pride. Better still, in some neatly discreet way Macro had got one over the preening artistocrat, as the ruffled haughtiness of the tribune’s parting words clearly revealed. ‘That was nicely done.’

‘Course it was. I eat cunts like that for breakfast.’

‘Must be something in the porridge.’

Macro glanced at him, and roared with laughter. At the sound, one of the hunting dogs snapped upright, ears pricked up and nose pointing at the two centurions. His owner raised his head, scowled at the Romans and gave his hound a kick.

Macro slapped Cato on the back. ‘You’re all right, lad! You’re all right.’

Back in the royal enclosure the business of preparing for the hunt continued in the boiling heat, and the two centurions were pushing their way through the heavily laden servants when Cato heard someone call his name. Looking through the crowd, he saw Tincommius. The Atrebatan prince frantically waved a hand and pushed towards the centurions, his expression wrought with anxiety.

Cato pulled on his friend’s arm. ‘There’s Tincommius. Something’s wrong.’

‘Eh?’ Macro tried to peer over the shoulders of the men around him. Then Tincommius was before them, breathless and desperate.

‘Sir! Please, come with me at once!’

‘What’s happened?’ Macro snapped. ‘Make your report!’

‘It’s Bedriacus, sir. He’s been stabbed.’

Chapter Twenty-One

‘What happened exactly?’

‘Come now, sir!’ Tincommius pleaded.

‘Tell me what happened?’ Macro replied harshly.

‘I don’t know. I found him inside the headquarters building. He was lying on the floor in the corridor. There was blood everywhere.’

‘Is he still alive?’

‘Yes, sir. Just.’

‘Who’s looking after him?’

‘Artax. He was in the corridor just after I found Bedriacus.’

Cato grabbed Tincommius’ arm. ‘You left him with Artax? Alone?’

Tincommius nodded. ‘I sent a man for the surgeon before I came to find you.’

‘Why the hurry?’ asked Macro.

Tincommius glanced round before he leaned closer. ‘He was losing consciousness. He called out Cato’s name and said something about Verica being in danger.’

‘Verica?’ Macro said loudly. ‘What kind of danger?’

‘Keep it down!’ Cato warned, as one of the stewards looked in their direction. ‘Want everyone to hear?’

For a moment Macro was startled by the vehemence of Cato’s tone. Cato turned back to Tincommius and spoke quietly. ‘What exactly did Bedriacus say?’

‘He had to see you. Had something important to say; he’d overheard someone talking about the king. About killing him . . . That’s all I got out of him before Artax found us.’

‘Artax heard him say all that?’

Tincommius nodded. ‘Then he sent me to find you.’

Cato exchanged a look with Macro. ‘We’d better get back to the depot quick as we can.’

‘Right.’

‘Has he said anything?’ Tincommius gasped as they burst into Cato’s quarters, breathless. The surgeon was crouched over the body. Opposite him Artax was kneeling on the floor and looked round.

‘Na . . .’

A pool of blood glistened in the light from the high window in Cato’s office. More blood was splashed about the beaten earth floor, and was smeared on the whitewashed lathe walls either side of the wooden doorframe.

Cato took a sharp breath at the sight of Bedriacus. The hunter’s face looked whiter than snow, with a waxy pallor. His eyes flickered open and shut as his mouth hung loose, the tongue feebly moving over his trembling lips. Bedriacus’ red tunic had been removed and lay to one side, dark and wet. Only the loincloth remained on the hunter, and the drained white skin smeared with his blood made him look to Cato like a creature that had been caught and skinned.

‘How is he?’

‘How is he?’ Macro looked up from the surgeon. ‘Use your bloody eyes. He’s had it. Don’t need to be a quack to work that one out.’

‘Quiet, please, sir,’ the surgeon requested. ‘It’s best for him.’

Cato slowly crossed the room and kneeled to one side of the huddle of men. ‘Artax? He say anything to you?’

Artax raised his shaggy head and looked levelly at Cato, his expression clear of any feeling of any kind.

‘Did he say anything to you while you were waiting with him?’

Artax was still for a moment, and then gently shook his head.

‘Nothing? Nothing at all?’

‘Nothing that made any sense, Roman.’

Cato and Artax stared at each other, then Cato continued softly, ‘I find that difficult to believe.’

Artax shrugged, but said nothing. Before Cato could question him more closely Bedriacus let out a long gasping groan. His eyes opened wide, stared wildly round at the faces of the men leaning over him, and then fixed on Cato.

‘Sir . . .’

‘Bedriacus, who did this? Did you see who did this?’

‘Here . . . closer . . .’

Cato leaned forward, until his face was no more than a foot from Bedriacus’ staring eyes. The hunter’s left hand shot out and clenched Cato’s tunic by the collar. The centurion instinctively tried to pull back but there was an insane power in the dying man’s grasp and he pulled Cato closer. Cato could smell the stale odour of the hunter’s breath and the sweeter, thicker stench of his blood.

‘The king . . . in great danger.’

‘I know . . . Now, just-’

‘Listen! I came to tell you . . . Heard some men talking. Nobles . . .’ Bedriacus’ face contorted, and a violent spasm shot through his body.

‘Hold him down!’ the surgeon ordered, pulling Cato’s cloak off a peg on the nearby wall. He threw the thick woollen folds over Bedriacus’ body. The spasm quickly passed and the hunter’s grip on Cato’s tunic relaxed. His breathing now came in shallow gasps, his eyes fixed desperately on Cato. The centurion grasped the hunter’s face between his hands.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ shouted the surgeon.

‘Quiet!’ Cato snapped. ‘Bedriacus! Bedriacus! Who did this? Tell me! Tell me, while you can!’

Bedriacus tried to answer, but the fight had almost died in him. His eyes flickered towards Tincommius, then back to Cato and he managed to whisper. ‘My eyes . . . grow dim . . .’

Tincommius gently pushed Cato away and rested a hand on Bedriacus’ brow. ‘Sleep, Bedriacus the hunter. Sleep.’

‘Stop that!’ Cato snapped. ‘You bloody fool! We have to know.’

Tincommius looked up with a dark and angry expression. ‘The man’s dying.’

‘I can’t stop that. No one can. We have to know. You heard him: someone’s after Verica. Now, get out of my way!’

‘Too late,’ murmured Artax. ‘Look. He’s gone.’

Cato turned away from Tincommius, and looked down at Bedriacus. The hunter was quite still, eyes staring up at the ceiling, mouth slack and without breath. The surgeon leaned closer to inspect Bedriacus for any sign of life. He turned his head, and placed an ear on the Briton’s breast. A few moments later he sat up, and released the bloodstained wad of cloth that he had been holding to the hunter’s stab wound. As the material came away, Cato saw the dark puncture, like a glistening mouth. Then the macabre illusion was broken as blood welled up and trickled down the skin and on to the floor.

‘He’s dead,’ the surgeon said officially.

‘Right then, better get it in a report,’ said Macro, rising to his feet. ‘You want the body taken anywhere?’

The surgeon nodded towards the two Britons still sitting beside Bedriacus. ‘Ask them, sir. I don’t know the local customs.’

‘Goodbye, Bedriacus,’ Artax said quietly. Cato looked up and saw a faint smile playing at the corners of Artax’s lips as the nobleman continued, ‘Safe journey to the next world.’

Cato quickly went to the door and shouted an order for the headquarters guard. As distant footsteps pounded across the courtyard he turned back to the two Britons, still squatting over the body. Macro came over to him.

‘What’s up? Why call the guard? We can get someone else to take the body away.’ The older centurion’s gaze flickered over the blood smeared across the floor. ‘Better get ‘em to clean up your office as well.’

‘We can deal with that later,’ Cato replied. ‘Right now I want Artax taken and held somewhere safe. Somewhere nice and quiet, where we can ask him a few questions.’

‘What the bloody hell is going on?’ Tribune Quintillus exploded as he marched into Cato’s office. ‘Why was I called away from my training?’ Then he noticed the body on the floor. Cato had arranged his cloak so that it covered Bedriacus’ face. Only his bare feet stuck out from the heavy material. ‘Who is that joker?’

‘Joker, sir?’ Cato followed the direction of the tribune’s glance. ‘That’s one of my men. My standard bearer, Bedriacus.’

‘Dead?’

Macro nodded. ‘Well spotted, sir. Glad to see the army is still pursuing its policy of recruiting the brightest and the best.’

Quintillus ignored the comment, and turned to Cato. ‘How?’

‘Stabbed, sir.’

‘Accident?’

‘No.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Quintillus nodded thoughtfully, and then decided what must have happened. ‘Some kind of local grudge thing no doubt. Give the Celts long enough and they’d all kill each other. Save us the job. Do we have the culprit?’

‘No, sir,’ replied Macro.

‘Why not?’

Macro gave Cato a look of exasperation as Quintillus continued without pausing for any kind of response, ‘If you haven’t caught the killer, then why send for me? Why waste my time? I can’t do your job for you, you know. Well?’

‘We haven’t positively identified the killer yet,’ Cato said apologetically. ‘But the matter is more complicated, sir.’

‘Complicated?’ Quintillus smiled. ‘What could possibly be complicated about some native brawl?’

‘It’s not a brawl, sir. Or at least it doesn’t seem like one. Tincommius found him in the corridor.’

‘Tincommius?’ The tribune frowned, before he placed the name, and his face brightened. ‘One of those clowns that hang around King Verica? What on earth was he doing in here?’

‘He’s serving with the two cohorts we raised,’ Cato explained. ‘So are a great many of the nobles, as it happens.’

‘They’ve done us proud, sir,’ Macro added. ‘They’re good men.’

‘Yes, well, quite.’ Quintillus turned on Cato. ‘What’s Tincommius got to do with this killing?’

‘As I said, sir, he found Bedriacus on his way to find me.’

‘Who was on his way to find you?’

‘Bedriacus!’ Macro snapped.

Cato shot him a warning look. ‘Yes, sir, Bedriacus. He was trying to tell me about something he’d overheard. Something about a plot against King Verica.’

‘A plot?’ Quintillus laughed. ‘What is this? Some cheap matinée performance at Pompey’s theatre?’

Cato fought to control his exasperation as he replied. ‘Never having had the opportunity to attend Pompey’s theatre I wouldn’t know about that, sir.’

‘You haven’t missed anything. But it sounds like someone is trying to make up for your lack of education. Or pulling your leg.’

‘Pulling his leg!’ Macro shot a finger at the body. ‘That’s a dead man there, sir. Pretty harsh practical joke, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Centurion, if you only knew the kinds of things the young blades get up to back in Rome . . . Still, in this instance, maybe there’s something more to it. Please continue, Centurion Cato. About this plot?’

‘Yes, sir. That’s all we got out of Bedriacus before he died.’

‘He didn’t happen to let you know who stabbed him?’

‘No, sir,’ Cato admitted.

‘Oh, come on! This is ridiculous. There must be more to it than that!’

‘Maybe, sir. Tincommius was joined by another man before he set off to find us.’

‘And who is this man? Let me guess - another one of Verica’s little friends?’

‘As it happens, yes, sir. But one who might have less cause to be fond of Rome than some of his comrades.’

‘Imagine that.’

Cato shrugged. ‘I find it difficult to believe that he just happened to be nearby when Tincommius found this man dying, right outside my quarters. Especially when Bedriacus had something vital he had to tell me. Too much of a coincidence, wouldn’t you agree, sir?’