Cato saw Miro flinch at the name of the Druids’ stronghold and felt uneasy that such a man was following him into battle. He’d far sooner have Macro. Someone he could trust with his life. In fairness, Miro had not let him down yet, but neither had he revealed so much fear of his enemy, and Cato wondered how far the sentiment spread through his column, and indeed, the rest of the army.
‘One further thing. We will be joined by an officer from army headquarters. Tribune Livonius. He will be mapping the route day by day.’
Crispus frowned briefly, then nodded. ‘Livonius. He’s a narrow-striper serving with the Twentieth, isn’t he?’
‘That’s right. Do you know anything about him?’
‘If it’s the same Livonius, then I’ve heard he’s handy in a fight. He led a woodcutting party into the foothills a month ago and they were attacked by a war party of Silurians. Could have ended badly, but the tribune held the lads together and they cut their way free and made it back to the nearest outpost without losing too many men. Sounds to me like he has a cool head. Though why he’s been given a job as a cartographer is a puzzle. Men like that should be commanding troops in the line.’
‘An accurate map might well be a very valuable commodity, particularly in the mountains,’ Cato countered. ‘Still, if he’s as reliable as you say, then he’s a welcome addition to the column. Just as long as he doesn’t hold us back. All right, gentlemen, I’d offer you the chance to lose some money at dice, but we have an early start and a long day ahead of us. So unless there’s anything more to say?’ He glanced at Crispus and Miro, but neither man responded. ‘Then I’ll bid you good night.’
They rose from their stools and exchanged a salute before leaving the tent. As the flap slid back into place behind them, Cato let out a long sigh and stretched his shoulders until he heard them crack. Almost all the preparations had been made at the fort, and his men were ready to march at dawn. He had some misgivings about Miro, but it was too late to change anything now. To send him back to join Macro would demonstrate to all that he had lost confidence in the decurion. That was the kind of blow to a man’s esteem that was hard to overcome. Better to give him the chance to prove himself and gain the confidence that might eventually allow him to get the better of his innate nervousness and caution. After all, Cato reminded himself, he had had to face his own fears earlier in his career. He recalled all too vividly the cold, sinking dread that clenched in his guts during his first combat against the German warriors on the Rhenus frontier. Even now, he still experienced the same moment of fear before a fight, but knew that he must never reveal it to the men who followed him. Even if that meant taking more risks than some of his rank were inclined to do. He must be seen to be courageous and confident, whatever he felt beneath such a hardened veneer.
The tent flaps opened and Thraxis stepped across the threshold. ‘Will you be needing anything else, sir?’
‘What?’
‘Before I turn in? Is there anything you need?’
Cato thought about the one last task he had been putting off, and nodded. ‘Some heated wine, and give my cloak a brush. I want the mud off it when we lead the army out of camp tomorrow.’
Thraxis hissed softly to himself, but loudly enough that Cato heard.
‘Problem?’
‘It’s just a little mud, sir. And it’ll be in the same state as it is now when we’re no more than a mile from the camp.’
‘Look, I’m not asking you to comb every fibre out, tread it in urine and rinse it in spring water before drying it in the sun and doing the whole fuller’s special. Just get the bloody mud off and hang it with my armour.’
‘As you will, sir.’ Thraxis crossed to the cape lying bundled on a stool. He picked up the folds of red wool and turned to leave, muttering darkly about the pointlessness of the task.
After he had gone, Cato reached down into his document chest and rummaged until he found a clean sheet of vellum, a pot of ink and a stylus. He laid the sheet on the desk, unstoppered the ink and dipped the nib, taking care to tap the excess off before he poised the stylus over the vellum. Then he wrote neatly, ‘To my beloved wide Julia, mother of my beloved son Lucius, greetings.’ He cursed, and erased ‘wide’ with several quick strokes, writing ‘wife’ above. He was tired and needed to focus his thoughts. This was too important a letter to be composed carelessly. He breathed deeply, then began to write again. He told her that he had heard the news of their son’s birth from another officer; he had no doubt Julia had sent a letter relating the same event, only it had not yet arrived. And since the army was about to march, he was taking the chance to write to her expressing his delight at becoming a father and his pride and love for his wife for bearing him a fine son.
That part of the letter was easy to write, and a joy to do so. What came next required much more thought, since his missives to Julia were bound to be scrutinised by an agent of Pallas, or Narcissus, or both, before they were passed into the hands of his wife. He dipped his stylus again and continued, writing that he hoped Julia was well and being careful not to permit too many visitors to their house in case they had an adverse effect on her health. That he trusted her father, the good senator, would look after her affairs while she concentrated on the well-being and raising of Lucius. He paused and read his words back to himself, trying to imagine Julia doing the same and understanding the covert warning he was attempting to convey. Not knowing who would be likely to intercept his letter, it was imperative that he did not name any names, or give any sense of who commanded his loyalties, and yet Julia had to be made aware that she was being watched. She was certainly shrewd enough to guess, and knew about his previous dealings with Narcissus. What she could not know was that Pallas’s man had made overtures to her husband, backed up with threats to his family. How to convey that without saying it vexed Cato’s weary mind, and at length he set down his stylus and sat back in his chair.
‘Fuck . . .’
A moment later, Thraxis entered and set down a steaming cup. ‘Had to get that off Centurion Crispus’s slave. I owe him a favour now. If you’d given me some coin earlier, I could have got some from one of the traders in the vicus. But-’
‘Thank you. That will be all. Go and get some sleep.’
‘Sleep? Still got the cloak to do first.’
‘Isn’t it done yet?’
Thraxis glared at him. ‘It will be done as soon as it can be done, sir.’
‘Then don’t let me stop you.’
Thraxis muttered something in Thracian as he left the tent, and Cato turned his attention back to the letter, scratching his jaw irritably.
He struggled on by the pale flame of the lamp until the oil began to run out and the flame slowly shrank. He concluded with a brief reaffirmation of his love and then signed his name and read over the letter. It was barely adequate for the purposes he intended – to state that he pined for her and to warn her to stay away from the cross-currents of politics in the capital. Nevertheless, he folded the vellum carefully and then reached for the sealing wax. He dripped it over the fold and pressed his equestrian ring into the swiftly hardening wax, leaving the impression of a mounted soldier hurling a bolt of lightning. Julia had helped him choose the symbol when he had finally been confirmed in his present rank by the emperor and entered the equestrian tier of Roman society. He caressed the seal lightly and left the letter on his desk for Thraxis to take to headquarters in the morning with instructions for the staff remaining at Viroconium to ensure that it was sent to Rome at the first opportunity. He knew that it might take as much as four months at this time of year, and offered a quick prayer to Minerva that Julia would be wise enough to steer clear of political intrigue in the interim.