There were a few mutters from some of the officers and Ostorius pursed his lips irritably. ‘Quiet, gentlemen! I know how you feel about spending any more time in these wretched mountains. But grumbling will not get us the result we desire. We must force the enemy to battle. Only then can we be sure of destroying him once and for all. That is why I hope that Caratacus has turned north. If, as I suspect, he intends to keep his army intact rather than risk exhausting it and losing most of his strength to straggling, then he will retreat to his strongholds in Ordovician territory and draw on the plentiful supplies he has there. He knows that he risks being forced to defend those lands if we pursue him, but at the same time he can keep open his lines of communication to the Brigantes.’ Ostorius turned to the map, which did not extend as far as the tribe he was referring to so he waved a hand in the air above and to the right of the map. ‘Up that way.’
Cato and some of the other officers smiled indulgently before the general lowered his arm and continued. ‘As you may know, there are elements amongst the Brigantes who are more than sympathetic to Caratacus. We’ve already had to intervene once to keep Queen Cartimandua in power. Her decision to ally herself with Rome has not played well with many of her nobles but, according to the latest intelligence, she has the matter in hand. It’s some gratification to see that she is proving her loyalty to the Emperor. Mind you, so she should, given the amount of gold the Emperor has paid for her loyalty. Thank the gods that other women can be bought more cheaply, though from what I hear, the further we venture into the mountains, the more our ladies of easy virtue in the civilian camp are upping their prices. We’d better catch Caratacus soon or they’ll bankrupt my army.’
There was laughter at the general’s comment this time, and even Cato chuckled.
‘True enough,’ Macro grumbled under his breath. ‘Grasping little cows.’
The mood in the tent had become less formal and, watching the general’s expression, Cato caught the intelligent gleam in the old man’s eye and realised that the moment of levity was a little trick to draw his officers closer to him. A useful device, Cato decided, making a mental note to use it when he addressed his own subordinates.
‘So, gentleman, if our soldiers are to avoid financial ruin, we must track down and complete the destruction of Caratacus. The man has been a blade in our side from the first moment we set foot in these lands.’ Ostorius’s expression became serious. ‘He is a noble foe. The best enemy I have had the honour of fighting, and there is much that can be learned from a leader of his calibre. Therefore I would ask that he be taken alive when the time comes. His death would be a great pity. If the man can be tamed then I am certain he would be a powerful ally. But I digress.’ He turned back to the map. ‘I have sent scouts down both valleys with orders to locate the enemy. We will advance once we know which direction Caratacus has taken. Until then the army can rest in camp. Use the time wisely. Have the men clean their kit, see to their blisters and get some sleep. For the officers I have arranged a different form of entertainment.’ He pointed to the map again, a short distance from where the army was in camp. ‘We passed this vale this morning. A dead end according to the patrol that explored it. However, there’s plenty of game there. Deer and some wild pigs. It would be a shame to pass up the opportunity while we await news of Caratacus. So I invite you all to a hunt there. Find a good horse, a sturdy spear and join me at the posterior gate at dawn tomorrow. . Who is with me?’
Macro stood up at once. ‘Me, sir!’
At once the rest followed suit, Cato amongst them, all eager to escape the duties in the camp and lose themselves in the thrill of the hunt. The cheering quickly died down as Ostorius cracked a smile and waved his hands to calm their spirits.
‘Good! Good. Before I dismiss you, some will have noted the arrival of a new face to our happy little brotherhood. Marcus, stand if you will.’
A tribune seated at the front of the tent rose to his feet and turned to face his comrades. Cato saw that he was a tall, broad-shouldered officer of about twenty. He wore a polished breastplate with a simple design and his cloak and body were spattered with mud, indicating that he had only recently reached the camp. His fair hair was thinning and lay in neatly oiled curls on his scalp. He nodded a greeting and smiled pleasantly as he glanced round the faces before him. The general patted him on the shoulder.
‘This is Senior Tribune Marcus Sylvanus Otho, of the Ninth Legion. He is in command of a detachment I have ordered up from Lindum. He rode ahead to announce their arrival on the morrow. Four more cohorts to add to our strength, more than enough to ensure that we crush the enemy when they finally find the courage to turn and face us. I take it you will be joining the hunt tomorrow, Tribune Otho?’
The young man’s smile faded for a moment. ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure, sir. However, I feel it is my duty to be here when the men reach camp.’
‘Stuff and nonsense!’ Ostorius barked. ‘The camp prefect will show them to their tent lines, as he will be in command during my absence. Isn’t that right, Marcellus?’ The general gestured towards a weathered veteran sitting in the front row.
The officer shrugged. ‘As you say, sir.’
‘There, your men are taken care of.’
The tribune bowed his head wearily. ‘I thank you, sir.’
Ostorius beamed at him and clapped the officer on the shoulder before waving him back to his seat. He turned to the others.
‘It is the tradition, before a hunt, to celebrate with a feast. Alas, the poor rations available to us on the march are barely adequate to the task, but my cook has tried his best. .’ The general clapped his hands and the flaps at the back of the tent parted as two soldiers beyond drew them aside to reveal a tented extension to the general’s command post. Several trestle tables had been set up side by side to create a long dining table, lined with benches. Jars of wine and oil-lamp stands were arranged at intervals and the surface was laden with silver cups, platters and trays heaped with small loaves. A waft of warm air carried the faint scent of roasting meat to the officers in the adjoining tent and Macro smacked his lips.
‘Pork, if I’m not mistaken. Please gods, let it be pork!’
Despite feeling that he should show a measure of the aloofness due his rank, Cato could not help his stomach giving a little growl at the imminent prospect of good food and wine. Meanwhile, the general was smiling at the expressions of his officers and he briefly milked the moment before turning towards the table and beckoning them to follow him. ‘To your places, gentlemen.’
The officers rose and eagerly followed their commander. Each man was familiar with the strict precedence of the seating and once Ostorius had taken his place at the head of the table, the legates of the two legions sat on either side, then the senior tribunes, the camp prefects, before the prefects of the auxiliary units, in order of seniority. This left Cato nearly halfway down the table, next to the centurions commanding the legionary cohorts. Macro sat opposite and instantly reached for the nearest jug, peered inside to make sure it was wine, and filled his cup to the brim. Then he shot a guilty look across at Cato and raised the jug as he cocked an enquiring eyebrow.
‘Thank you.’ Cato picked up his cup and reached over for Macro to pour.
‘Mind moving up a place?
Cato glanced round to see Horatius, prefect of a cohort from Hispania, a mixed unit of infantry and cavalry. Like Cato, he had only recently been appointed to his command and had joined Ostorius’s army a few months before. He was a scarred veteran who had earned his command the hard way after reaching the exalted post of First Spear centurion of the Twentieth Legion. In the normal run of things Cato’s command of a mounted unit would mean that he held the superior rank, but at present the command of the baggage train conferred the lowest status amongst the prefects. He rose to his feet and the centurions to his right shuffled down to make space for him. Horatius nodded his thanks as he took the spot Cato had given up. He settled himself and turned to Cato with a curious expression.