The surgeon from the Ninth Legion concentrated on cleaning the wound on his shoulder as Vellocatus gave his account to the officers standing around him. They had gathered just inside the gate where Cato had ordered a brazier to be lit to provide sufficient light for the surgeon to tend to his patient.
‘They’ve taken the queen prisoner,’ Vellocatus said bitterly. ‘Venutius had her arrested. Her guards have been disarmed and Venutius’s men were rounding up anyone who was loyal to Cartimandua. There was a struggle in one part of the hall and that’s when I managed to get out by the side door. They spotted me at once and one of them got his blade into my shoulder before I went over the wall and made for your camp. You must help. You’ve got to rescue the queen,’ he insisted.
Otho and his officers exchanged anxious glances before Cato spoke up. ‘What happened? Precisely. We have to know before we can act.’
‘What’s there to know that we don’t already?’ Horatius countered. ‘She’s failed to take control of her people. Now this renegade’s in charge. Him, and Caratacus. So we’ll have to go in there and sort ’em out.’
‘Wait,’ Cato protested. ‘We need to know more.’
Horatius cooked his head. ‘Why exactly?’
‘Because it doesn’t make sense.’ Cato turned to Otho. ‘Sir, yesterday when we had the private audience with Cartimandua, she said that she had paid her people off. She said their loyalty had been bought. Remember?’
The tribune nodded. ‘That’s right. Seems she was wrong.’
‘She seemed confident of it at the time. And again in the hall last night. There was support for Venutius, but a minority of those present. I’m sure of it.’
Otho thought a moment. ‘You’re right. What of it?’
‘There’s only one way Venutius could have swung enough support round in his favour to depose the queen. He offered them more gold.’
‘That’s right,’ Vellocatus interrupted. ‘He did. Silver coin for every man who sided with him against the queen.’
‘Did he show them the silver?’ asked Cato. ‘Did you see it?’
Vellocatus nodded. ‘One of his men brought in a chest. Filled with coins.’
Horatius sighed impatiently. ‘I fail to see what the point of this is. It doesn’t change anything.’
Cato turned to him. ‘But where did he get the silver? He must have ready access to a fortune. You don’t just scrape that together by having a whip-round amongst your tribal supporters.’
‘All right,’ Horatius conceded. ‘So how did he get hold of it?’
Cato glanced at Macro before he replied. ‘He’s been helped by someone on our side. A spy.’
Horatius stared at him and then suddenly laughed. ‘Oh, fuck off! We’ve got a native spy on our side? He’s blended in and passed himself off as Roman, has he?’
‘I didn’t say he was a native.’
‘What then? You mean a Roman? One of us?’
‘That’s exactly what I mean. Someone sent to help Venutius depose the queen and get the Brigantes to support Caratacus.’
Horatius shook his head and smiled mockingly. ‘Just listen to yourself, Cato. It’s absurd.’
‘Prefect Cato’s right,’ Macro interrupted. ‘There’s a spy in our camp, and he’s out to undermine the security of the province.’
Horatius and the others turned to Macro in surprise. Horatius sucked in a breath before he responded. ‘You too? What, is it something in the rations you boys in the baggage train escort have been eating? Some of those mushrooms the Druids are so fond of?’
‘It’s the truth.’ Macro spoke as calmly as he could. ‘The prefect and me were briefed that there’s a faction in Rome that want to abandon Britannia. The spy is working for them.’
‘And why would you be briefed?’
‘Because we’ve done work for the side that’s against the faction I’m talking about.’
Horatius frowned. ‘What’s this? You and the prefect are also spies?’
‘No,’ Cato cut in now that Macro had blurted out the truth. ‘Not any longer. Not since we returned to the province. I give you my word on that. We were informed in case we could assist in frustrating their plans.’
Tribune Otho stared at him. ‘Informed? Who informed you?’
Cato shook his head. ‘We’re not at liberty to say.’
‘Bah!’ Horatius growled. ‘Utter bollocks, whichever way you look at it. And it doesn’t change a thing. We’ve got to get up there. Sort Venutius and his lads out, and put Cartimandua back on her throne.’
‘That’s right.’ Vellocatus nodded. He shifted round to face Otho, and the surgeon had to hurriedly withdraw the needle and thread he had been about to use to sew up the wound on the Brigantian’s shoulder. ‘That’s what you must do. You have no choice.’
Otho avoided his gaze as he considered the prospect. ‘I have just over two thousand men under my command, and we are now in the heart of what has become enemy territory. Aside from the hundreds of men Venutius now has at his command, there will be tens of thousands more that will rally to his standard in a matter of days.’ He looked up. ‘Gentlemen, as far as I see it there is no choice. We have to retreat. At once.’
There was a stunned silence before Vellocatus spoke in an anguished voice. ‘You would betray your ally? You would abandon Cartimandua to her fate? Is this how Rome honours her treaties?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Otho responded. ‘There’s nothing we can do. It would be suicide to attempt to rescue her. I will not risk my men’s lives in a futile gesture.’
Horatius regarded the tribune with contempt. ‘Your men, or your wife?’
Otho glared at him. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘I always said you should never have brought your wife along. Women have no place in such a campaign.’
Macro nodded in agreement.
‘That’s my decision, Prefect. And I am in command here.’
‘No, sir. You are not. Not any longer. The legate’s orders were clear. If it comes to a fight then you are to cede command to me.’
‘But we can avoid a fight if we retreat at once.’
‘We’re not going to retreat. There will be a fight. And I will be in command. Until it’s over.’ Horatius smiled wryly. He turned to look round the faces of the other officers. ‘In accordance with orders, I am taking command from Tribune Otho. Is there any objection?’
Centurion Statillus shook his head, and Acer followed his lead. Horatius’s eyes shifted to Cato. ‘Well?’
Despite his instinct that it was the right thing to attempt a rescue, Cato made himself quickly run through the options. Retreat was possible. It would avoid the bloody loss of life of any attack on the hill fort. Both native and Roman. But there was no guarantee that they would make it back across the frontier before Venutius and his warriors caught up with them and forced them to turn and fight. They could lay siege to the fort, but every day they spent waiting for Venutius to run out of food and surrender was a day the enemy could mobilise reinforcements amongst the tribes and then march on Isurium. No, there was only one logical course of action, Cato concluded. They must crush the rebellion before it could spread, and restore Cartimandua to power. And that meant agreeing to the change in command of the forces in the camp.
‘I have no objection.’
‘Macro?’
‘I agree.’
Horatius nodded. ‘Then it’s settled. I have command. I’ll make plans for an attack on the fort at first light.’
‘Why wait, sir?’ asked Macro. ‘What if they try and get out under cover of darkness? If Venutius and Caratacus flee then we’ll never track them down.’
‘No, they’ll stay where they are,’ Horatius replied. ‘They think they’re safe up there. Though I dare say they will have already sent word to the tribes to concentrate at Isurium as soon as possible. That’s why we have to settle this tomorrow.’
The surgeon had finished sewing up Vellocatus’s wound and was tying a dressing over his handiwork. The Brigantian shield-bearer stood up and bowed his head gratefully to Prefect Horatius. ‘I thank you, sir.’