‘What’s that lot?’ Macro demanded.
‘Report on the damage to the granary, sir. One of the piles collapsed and the rats got into the grain. Ruined ten modii of barley. Then there’s the promotion authority for Diodorus, sir. The rest are the strength returns and records for the Illyrians. I assumed you’d want to see them.’
‘Of course. On the desk.’
The clerk unloaded his burden and left Macro staring at the pile of tablets. He let out a frustrated hiss. So much for proper soldiering. If Cato had still been here, he would have been dealing with all the paperwork. ‘The lucky bastard,’ muttered the centurion sourly.Then, for the first time, he saw the small dice box near the edge of the desk, half hidden beneath a waxed slate, and felt his guts lurch. His friend had forgotten to take the lucky dice with him. Macro could not help thinking it was a bad omen. A bad omen indeed.
CHAPTER SIX
‘Prefect Cato, greetings!’ Legate Quintatus smiled warmly as he looked up from his evening meal. ‘Come, sit with me and I’ll send for some more food.’
‘Thank you, sir, but no. My men have force-marched to get here. They’re tired and I need to see that they’re assigned tent lines and find some food for them. I just came to report my arrival.’
‘Look after the men first, eh? Good for you. I wish there were more officers like you.’ The legate chewed quickly and swallowed. Then his expression became formal. ‘So why the forced march and the later than expected arrival?’
‘We were delayed because our replacements were late in arriving, sir. I did not think it prudent to leave the fort without a garrison.’
‘And why were the Illyrians late, I wonder?’
Cato did not feel comfortable informing on a fellow officer, but he had been asked directly, and Fortunus had done nothing to deserve being defended.
‘It might have had something to do with the camp followers that came with them.’
Quintatus raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Camp followers? Who would authorise that? No, wait! Let me guess. It would be that corrupt dog, the prefect of the Eighth. No doubt he took a decent backhander from the centurion on behalf of the families and traders who supply his men.’ He laughed briefly. ‘That Placidus is an ambitious fellow. He has the necessary greed and venality to go far in the world. Perhaps I should keep an eye on him.’
‘That might be a wise notion, sir, given that he should be furthering the military aims of Rome rather than lining his own purse.’
Quintatus eyed Cato warily. ‘Not all of us share the same highly developed sense of morality that you clearly think you possess in such abundance.’
Cato stiffened. ‘I merely wish to serve Rome to the best of my ability, sir. And I expect others to do the same.’
‘Do you? Why, I wonder? I find it hard to believe that someone with your undoubted intelligence and experience would insist on such a naive sense of duty from those higher up the scale than the common soldiery. The Glory of Rome is an idea that the aristocrats have sold to the plebs since the earliest days of the Republic, in order to justify their self-aggrandisement.’
Cato experienced an instant of cold fury at the other man’s cynicism. ‘I imagine you are right in some cases, sir. But there are men of honour even in the Senate.’
‘Then they’re fools, and you’re a fool for believing in them.’ All trace of good humour had faded from the legate’s face. ‘I had hoped for better from you, Cato. After all you have done in the service of Narcissus, I had considered you a man after my own heart.’
‘I am not sorry that I have disappointed you, sir.’
There was a brief pause as the men stared at each other and the muffled sounds of the army in camp continued heedlessly. At length Quintatus pushed his plate away, his appetite ruined. ‘Be careful what you say, and to whom you say it, Cato.’
‘I am not afraid of you, sir. Nor Pallas.’
‘You should be. Particularly of Pallas. He has a heart darker than Hades, and he is more cunning than a pit filled with snakes. I am a mere shadow of that man, yet I alone present more than enough of a threat to you.’
‘I am aware of that, sir,’ Cato said bitterly as he recalled the dangerous posting that Quintatus had assigned to him and Macro when they had arrived in Britannia earlier that year.
‘Then do I understand that you have decided not to offer your services to me?’
Cato felt a calmness in his mind. He had rehearsed this moment many times during the march from the fort. He breathed deeply before he framed his reply. ‘Sir, I respect your offer, and I respect your view of the realities of politics in Rome.’
‘But . . . ?’
‘But I do not share your ambitions or values. How could I? I was not born into the senatorial class. I have reached equestrian rank and have no expectation of ever becoming a member of the Senate. That naturally curtails any ambitious instinct I may have. But I am no fool, and I know that it would be better to serve you than be your enemy. If only for the sake of my friends and my family. I just wish you to know that I choose to serve you with a heavy heart.’
‘I see.’ Legate Quintatus smiled thinly. ‘And now that you have had your moment on your high horse and told me your low opinion of me and those like me, I assume you believe that that in some way saves your honour?’
‘On the contrary, sir. I think it renders me a hypocrite.’
‘Hypocrite?’ Quintatus shook his head sadly. ‘Do not feel so bad about that, Cato. The term loses its pejorative burden when you have no choice in the matter. Trust me, I know. But if you wish to be hard on yourself, that’s your affair. Just as long as you serve me, you can pinch your nose against the stench as much as you like.’ Quintatus’s lips curled into a faint sneer. ‘You and that oaf Macro.’
‘Centurion Macro may be many things, sir, but he is no oaf.’
‘I don’t care what he is, just as long as he is on my side. Else he is an enemy.’
Cato felt his stomach give a nervous lurch. ‘Sir, Macro is a fine soldier, but he has no political head. It is better to leave him to get on with soldiering and accept my services alone.’
The legate’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘You told him about my offer?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And he rejected the chance to serve me?’
‘In so many words, yes. And he’s right, sir. Macro has not got the taste for such a line of work. It is best to leave him out of it.’
‘That’s for me to decide. The centurion is a formidable man, in his way. As the saying goes, it is better to have such men inside the fort pissing out rather than outside pissing in.’
‘Macro is not important to you, sir. He would serve you best if you just left him to fight the enemy.’
‘While I admire your efforts to safeguard your friend, we both realise that Macro has knowledge of certain realities inside the imperial household that Pallas cannot afford to permit any wider circulation. You understand what I am talking about?’
Cato knew all too well what his superior was getting at. Two years earlier, while he and Macro were carrying out an undercover operation in the Praetorian Guard, Macro had caught Pallas and the emperor’s wife in a compromising embrace. Given the lack of mercy that had been shown to the emperor’s previous wife and her lovers, Pallas would not rest easy until Macro was safely contained, or eliminated. Through no fault of his own, he constituted a threat to the imperial freedman, and that was not something the likes of Pallas would tolerate. Cato felt afraid for his friend.
‘Macro is not loose-lipped, sir.’
‘Except when he is in his cups, I understand.’
‘Even then, he has more than enough sense to keep such knowledge to himself. You and Pallas can afford to leave him alone. I give you my word on that. I’ll make sure that he says nothing.’
‘Your word? How noble of you.’ Quintatus sniffed. ‘But since you are not noble, such a pledge carries no weight. I’m sorry, Prefect, but you must persuade Macro to join you in serving me, or I will not be able to protect him. I may even be called upon to silence him.’