Petronius licked his lips. ‘Yes, sir . . . But if I may?’
Quintatus cocked an eyebrow and drew an impatient breath. ‘What is it?’
‘It seems that I have misunderstood the terms of our original arrangement. For which I apologise most humbly. However, in light of the perilous nature of what you now ask of me, I feel that a . . . bonus would be justified. In recognition of my loyal and useful service to Rome, may I suggest that I am appointed as your agent in the sale of the captives resulting from the enemy’s defeat?’
Quintatus was still for a moment. ‘At ten per cent.’
‘Sir, I feel it reasonable to suggest a figure more commensurate with my valuable contribution to the defeat of our enemy. Say, twenty-five per cent.’
The legate snorted. ‘Not even Crassus would have been so audacious as to make such a demand! You overstep yourself, Petronius.’
‘Twenty per cent, then, sir.’
‘Fifteen, and I’ll overlook your presumption.’
‘Seventeen.’
‘Fifteen. And that is the end of the matter.’
The merchant made to speak, but thought better of it just in time and nodded in agreement.
‘Good. Then I expect to hear your report tomorrow evening. Leave us.’
The merchant bowed low and backed out through the tent flaps. Cato could not help a degree of sympathy for the man. Although it was true that he had traded freely with tribes who were sworn enemies of Rome, and no doubt profited handsomely, circumstances had changed. The natives were on a war footing and were likely to be suspicious of any visitor, no matter how familiar. Still, if Petronius Deanus was smart, he would establish his good faith by offering the enemy some intelligence regarding the Roman army bearing down on them.
Cato’s thoughts were interrupted by a new arrival. Silanus, the camp prefect, saluted the legate and stood, feet apart and hands clasped behind his back, straight as the shaft of the legions’ standards he had fought under for most of his life.
‘Sir, you sent for me.’
‘I did. Summon all senior officers to headquarters at once. You may inform them that we shall be attacking the Deceanglian capital at dawn tomorrow.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cato was standing beside his horse on a low mound no more than half a mile from the settlement. It would be at least an hour before the first glimmer of dawn crept along the horizon, but all around he could hear the movement of men and horses. The army had begun the advance from the marching camp at dusk, with each unit following its appointed guide into position so that by daybreak the enemy capital would be surrounded, with little hope of escape for the inhabitants. It was never an easy thing for an army to manoeuvre at night, and even though the preparations had been thorough, Cato’s column had bumped into one of the cohorts of the Twentieth Legion that in turn had been held up. As a result, the Blood Crows and the Fourth Cohort had reached their start line for the dawn attack far later than he had intended, and there would be little chance for the men to rest before they went into action.
It had been a freezing night, but the march had kept the troops warm. The bitter cold had also frozen the ground, and men and horses no longer had to negotiate the quagmire that had hindered their advance into the mountains so far. Mist had pooled in the dips and folds of the valley, and Cato was pleased that it would help to conceal his men as they made their final approach to the main gate of the enemy settlement. The legate had given the vanguard the honour of leading the attack. It was their task to take the main gate and open the way for the follow-up cohorts of the Fourteenth Legion. If the enemy was alert and reacted swiftly, then Cato and his men would suffer heavy casualties. He had therefore made his mind up to launch the assault as quickly and ruthlessly as possible. While the legionaries charged over the open ground towards the bridge crossing the outer ditch, the Blood Crows would race ahead of them with the ladders to scale the ramparts either side of the gatehouse. A small party of legionaries would bring up the rear, carrying the ram to smash through the stout timbers of the gate. As soon as the breach was made, two cohorts of the Fourteenth would burst from cover and storm the settlement. The rest of the army would have the job of rounding up the natives as they fled from their capital. As Petronius Deanus had not returned, there was no knowing precisely how many warriors they faced. Cato’s expression soured as he recalled the smarmy merchant. No doubt he had made a run for it rather than risk his skin by entering the enemy’s lair. He could not escape the legate’s wrath for ever, though, and woe betide him when he was eventually apprehended by the Roman authorities.
If good fortune was on the side of Rome, then the king of the Deceanglians and some of the chiefs of the allied tribes would be killed or captured, and the effective resistance would be at an end in the region. After which it only remained to cross the narrow channel that separated Mona from the mainland and wipe out the Druid cult, then mop up the remnants of the Silurians and Ordovicians, and the west of the province would be secure. Legate Quintatus would win a notable victory, add lustre to his family name and advance his career in Rome. At the palace, the emperor would take the credit for overseeing the triumph of his forces over their barbarian foes and issue a large donative to the army as a reward. No doubt the lion’s share of that would be paid to the Praetorian Guard, whose loyalty Claudius prized far above that of troops fighting at the fringes of the empire. The Praetorians, after all, had already demonstrated that they were not above eliminating an emperor and then forcing his successor on the Senate and people of Rome. These realities were not lost on any person with even a passing familiarity with the political world, and Cato could not help regretting the cynicism such awareness fostered. The same went for the triumph the emperor was sure to proclaim, with the craven support of his lackeys in the Senate. An elaborate procession would wind its way along the main thoroughfares of Rome, passing through the Forum and beneath the tiered magnificence of the imperial palace before culminating at the Temple of Jupiter, where the displays of captured enemy weapons would be dedicated. The centrepiece of the procession would be the emperor, standing tall in an ornate chariot, while the captive leaders would follow in chains to await their fate. If Claudius was feeling magnanimous, he would pardon them as a token of the mercy that Rome often bestowed on the defeated. Otherwise they would be strangled before the roaring mob, who would be primed with free handouts of coin, bread and wine.
There would be more immediate rewards for the men of Quintatus’s army, especially those of the vanguard. As was the custom, the first man to scale the enemy’s ramparts would be decorated and promoted. The same applied to the first soldier into the breach: one of the legionaries manning the ram would end the day an optio, just one step away from becoming a centurion. A fresh battle honour would be added to the standards of both units, and Cato’s stock would rise within military circles. His name would be on the list of those considered for command of the more prestigious units of auxiliary troops.
As he waited in the bitter-cold darkness, Cato allowed himself a moment of private reverie as he contemplated such a pinnacle to his career. He would be an influential and wealthy man, with a fine house in the capital and perhaps a substantial villa in Campania, on the shores of the bay that stretched out beneath the looming mass of Mount Vesuvius. There could be no more tranquil and comfortable place to retire and live out the remainder of his days with Julia and their family. He felt a surge of affection and longing in his heart, and for a moment wished that he could be far from these grim mountains and their barbaric inhabitants. Far from the hardships and dangers of army life. He imagined himself sitting beside a gently crackling fire, playing with their son, with more children perhaps, while Julia looked on with the same loving smile that had won his heart.