Cato 04 - The Eagle and the Wolves (28 page)

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Good. Then you will know how that shame was redoubled when the legions landed and returned my kingdom to me at the point of their swords. Whether it is me, or any other, who rules in Calleva, we do so at the whim of greater powers than the Atrebatans. All we can do is survive as best we can. And that means throwing ourselves at the mercy of the strongest force.’

‘But, my lord,’ Cato protested, ‘you are an ally of Rome, not some vassal.’

‘Really? And what might the difference be in the long run? Ask your tribune. Ask him what will happen to us when Rome eventually crushes Caratacus.’

Cato translated, and silently prayed that the tribune would phrase his response carefully.

Quintillus replied with no trace of his usual cordiality. ‘King Verica, I’d have thought you’d be a bit more grateful to the Emperor. Why, if it wasn’t for us you’d still be stuck in some backroom suite at the Governor’s palace in Lutetia. You’ve done well by Rome, and as long as you stay a loyal ally you will continue to do well.’

‘And you will leave us be?’ Verica replied in Latin. ‘Leave us to rule ourselves?’

‘Of course! As long as it’s expedient.’ Quintillus drew himself up stiffly. ‘You have my word.’

‘Your word?’ Verica tipped his head to one side with an amused expression, as he turned towards Tincommius. ‘You see, Tincommius? That’s the choice before us. The certainty of being conquered if Caratacus wins against the probability of being turned into a province if Rome wins.’

‘It might not ever happen,’ said Cato.

‘It is happening already, Centurion. I know the full scope of the tribune’s powers, as I’m sure do you and Centurion Macro. It’s time that his orders are revealed.’

Cato forced himself not to glance at Artax, and flashed a warning glance at Macro, but he needn’t have bothered. The older centurion was fighting back a yawn and his eyelids were heavy with the desire for sleep.

‘Tribune,’ Verica continued, ‘why not tell us the real purpose of your visit to Calleva? What were your instructions? The ones you discussed with me two days ago?’

‘Sir, that was in strictest confidence.’

‘It won’t be. Not in a few more weeks. I may not be alive then. My closest kinsmen, Tincommius and Artax, need to know the full truth. Tell us now.’

Tribune Quintillus pressed his lips together as he considered the best response to make. In the end he took the least honourable way out.

‘I can’t. My orders were specific - I should tell only you. A soldier never disobeys orders.’

‘Very brave of you,’ Verica replied scathingly. ‘Well then, I’ll have to break the news. Your General Plautius fears that our people will not honour the treaty I made with Rome. Accordingly, he has . . . what was the word? . . . requested! He has requested me to be ready to disband the two cohorts as soon as he gives the word.’

As Cato translated, Macro sat up abruptly, wide-eyed and angry. Tincommius and Artax were similarly shocked.

‘There’s worse news, far worse,’ Verica continued. ‘As well as the disbanding, he requires that every single Atrebatan warrior is disarmed, and the weapons are to be . . . placed beyond use. I believe that was the expression.’

‘No!’ Artax growled. ‘No! My lord, it can’t be. It’s not true. Say it’s not true!’

After his silence thus far, the awful anguish and outrage in Artax’s voice stilled the tongues of the others as the Atrebatan noble jumped to his feet. Verica reached out a hand, open-palmed, to calm his relative.

‘Artax, please . . .’

‘No! I will not surrender my arms! None of us will! We’d rather die.’

Cato translated the man’s outburst.

‘I’m sure the tribune’s happy to arrange that,’ Macro whispered to Cato as Artax continued to rant in Celtic. ‘And the bastard’s going to kill our cohorts.’

‘Quiet, please, sir.’ Cato tapped his friend’s arm.

Verica had risen from his stool and walked over to Artax, gently grasping him by the shoulders. ‘Think what you’re saying, Artax! Think! It is the Roman general’s order. If we resist it, then we are finished. They’ll crush us like an egg. We must disarm our people. We must disband the cohorts. Whatever the dishonour. Dishonour is better than death.’

‘Not for warriors!’ Artax spat back.

‘This isn’t about warriors. This is about all of our people. Do you think for a moment that the legions will stop to discriminate between the people they butcher? Do you?’ Verica shook him. ‘Well?’

‘No . . .’Artax admitted.

‘Then we have no choice . . . You have no choice.’

‘Me?’ Artax looked at his king closely. ‘What do you mean, sire?’

‘If I die, for whatever reason, in the near future, it is my wish that you will become king. I call these others to bear witness to my wish . . . Now do you see why you must carry out General Plautius’ order?’

Every face turned towards the king in astonishment. Then Cato looked round the men gathered by the dying fire. Tincommius was shocked and clearly fighting back some kind of emotion. Tribune Quintillus was surprised and then smiled contentedly. Verica simply looked relieved to have unburdened himself of this decision. Macro looked angry.

‘Me?’ Artax shook his head in bewilderment. ‘Why me?’

‘Yes,’ Tincommius said quietly. ‘Why him, Uncle? Why not me? You have no son, and I am your brother’s son. Why not me?’

‘Tincommius, since you left your father you have been as a son to me. A much-loved son. But you are too young, too inexperienced, and I fear that there are some of our nobles who would twist your thoughts, and turn you against Rome. I would that you were older, and more resilient to such conniving spirits. Also, like me, you have only recently returned from exile, and are something of an unknown quantity to those men that matter in our kingdom. Artax is known and respected by all. Others look up to him, especially those who fear or hate Rome. He is a man of honour and I have no doubt about his loyalty. I’m sorry. I’ve made my decision and there’s no more to be said.’

Tincommius’ face twisted into an expression of pained bitterness as the king turned back to Artax. ‘Of course, my choice will have to be agreed by the council, but I doubt there will be any opposition. When you become king, Artax, you will see things as clearly as I have come to see them. Then you will know what has to be done.’

Artax nodded slowly. There was a long silence around the fire. Then, as Cato watched him, a smile flickered at the corners of Artax’s mouth. ‘Of course, my lord. I am truly honoured by your decision, and I see now what must be done.’

Chapter Twenty-Four

The weather changed the next day. A slow drizzle began just before dawn and the king’s kitchen slaves struggled to get a decent fire going to cook a light morning meal. Verica and his hunting party gathered round a fire that continually hissed from the raindrops spattering down. There was no hint of orange in the dawn, only a dirty pale yellow away to the east. As the pallid light strengthened the sky became an unbroken grey.

‘Great day for it,’ grumbled Macro as he tightened the straps on his leather leggings.

Cato squinted up into fine spray. ‘Might clear up later.’

‘Pigs might fly.’

‘Let’s hope not,’ smiled Cato. ‘I think I’m going to have enough of a problem with ground-based boar.’

Cato was already dressed for the hunt, and leaning on the shaft of a long hunting spear. Unlike the legionary javelin, this weapon was broad-bladed, with vicious barbs that could only be dislodged by tearing away huge chunks of flesh. Although the spear could be thrown, the heavy shaft meant that this could be done at only very short range. Too short for Cato’s liking.

‘Ever hunted boar before?’ Macro asked with a sinking feeling.

‘I got as close to a boar as I ever want to be the other night.’

Macro grunted.

‘Mind you,’ Cato continued. ‘I’ve seen them hunted in the arena.’

‘That’s not quite the same thing,’ Macro said gently.

‘Ugly brutes.’

‘Yes. Ugly and bloody dangerous. If you find yourself on the ground facing one, watch those tusks. I’ve seen ‘em carve a man up really nicely. Didn’t kill him straight off. His wounds got infected with some poison they carry on the tusks. Must have been agony. He died screaming a few days later . . .’

‘Thanks for that. Feel so much happier now.’

‘You’ll be all right,’ Macro laughed, slapping his companion on the shoulder. ‘Just stick close to me and watch your back.’

‘Someone else could use that advice,’ Cato muttered, nodding at the king and his nobles gathered about the fire and toasting each other with beer. Artax was standing close by the side of his king. Cato noticed that he was not drinking like the others, but seemed distracted. As well he might, Cato reflected. Verica was old. In months, maybe even weeks, Artax would be ruler of the Atrebatans. That kind of prospect was likely to turn a man’s mind from the here and now. It was vexing Cato almost as much. Would King Artax be every bit as fiercely proud and prickly as Artax the young nobleman? If so, what hope was there for good relations between the Atrebatans and Rome? But maybe Verica was right. The old king was shrewd enough to see that the Atrebatans needed a ruler who would offend the least number of people and in that respect Artax was indeed a wise choice. But would he be wise enough in turn to see where the only possible destiny of his people lay?

‘Verica’s safe enough,’ said Macro, ‘now that he’s got Artax onside.’

‘Yes. I suppose. But I still don’t trust him. He’s up to something.’

‘You’re jumping at shadows.’

‘Shadows don’t kill people.’

‘No.’ Macro raised his head to the sky and squinted round. ‘Come on then. Doesn’t look like it’s going to get any warmer or drier.’

They just had time to grab a hunk of cold mutton and a small loaf of bread when Cadminius sounded his horn to summon everyone to the hunt. Mouths full, and chewing frantically Cato and Macro stuffed the remains of their barely started meal into their haversacks and hurried over to the horseline. The hunting party heaved themselves on to the backs of their ponies and made themselves comfortable before reaching for the spears their slaves held ready for them. Verica was helped on to his mount, and Artax roughly pushed aside a slave to make sure that it was he who helped his king into the saddle. Verica looked down and smiled warmly, before reaching over to pat Artax on the shoulder.

‘Touching, isn’t it?’ Macro muttered. ‘Nothing quite like having someone throw a kingdom your way to improve your manners.’

Tincommius urged his horse over towards the two centurions.

‘Good morning!’ Cato called out to him.

‘Good? Is it good?’ Tincommius replied sourly.

‘Boy’s got a pine cone up his arse,’ Macro whispered before Tincommius came within earshot. The Briton pulled the reins and drew his horse up beside the two Romans. Macro smiled at him.

‘Cheer up, old son. Just as long as it doesn’t really piss down we should be in for a good hunt. That forest is teeming with boar, if Artax is to be believed.’

‘Artax . . . Oh, I’m sure he’s right.’

Macro and Cato exchanged looks, before Macro continued in a hearty tone, ‘I take it you aren’t best pleased with Verica’s choice of successor?’

Tincommius turned towards them, cold resentment on his face. ‘No. Are you?’

‘Provided he does good by Rome, he’ll do well enough for me.’

‘And you, Cato - what do you think?’

‘I don’t know. I just hope Verica lives for a while yet. Just to keep things settled.’

‘Settled?’ Tincommius laughed softly. ‘Is that what you call it? Nothing’s settled. Not while we’re waiting for the old man to die. Everyone’s thinking about what happens next. Do you really think Artax can hold the kingdom together?’

Cato watched him closely as he replied. ‘Do you think someone else could do a better job?’

‘Maybe.’

‘You for instance?’

‘Me?’ Tincommius looked startled.

‘Why not? You’re closely related to Verica. You have some influence with the court. You might persuade the king’s council to choose you instead of Artax.’

‘Cato,’ Macro growled, ‘best keep our noses out of it. All right?’

‘Just thinking.’

‘No. Thinking’s what you say to yourself up here.’ Macro tapped his head. ‘What you’re doing is shit-stirring. We keep out of tribal politics.’

‘We might not be able to for much longer. We have to think ahead. Tincommius has to think ahead. For all our sakes.’

Tincommius nodded slowly, but Macro shook his head.

‘Leave it out. We’re soldiers, not diplomats. Our job is to protect Calleva and prepare the Wolves and the Boars for battle. That’s it, Cato. We leave the other stuff to cunts like Quintillus.’

Cato raised his hand in surrender. Just then the horn sounded again and there was a jostling of horses as the hunting party formed a loose column behind King Verica. Macro’s horse was squeezed forward and for a brief moment Cato found himself pressed close alongside Tincommius. Their eyes met.

‘Think about what I said,’ Cato said softly.

Tincommius nodded and turned his gaze away, fixing his eye on the stooped figure at the front of the column. Then he clicked his tongue and urged his mount forward.