Cartimandua looked at him suspiciously. ‘Your men would permit that?’
‘Of course, your majesty. You are the queen of the Brigantes once more. I will leave a unit of my men here while you restore order and decide the fate of the rebels. Send my men back to the camp the moment you feel they have served their purpose.’
She looked at him shrewdly. ‘I am in your debt, Prefect Cato. Or at least in the debt of your tribune, Otho. Where is he?’
Macro suppressed a smile as Cato stroked his chin before he replied. ‘The tribune felt it best to entrust the capture of the fort to professional soldiers, your majesty. He will resume command of the column now that we have carried out our task.’
‘I understand. Thank you, Prefect, and you too, Centurion.’
Cato bowed his head and Macro followed his lead.
The queen dipped her head in acknowledgement and was about to turn towards her people when Cato spoke again. ‘There is one further matter, if I may?’
‘Yes?’
‘You might show some leniency to the rebels. Now that we have Caratacus, there will be no figurehead to lead those who would wage war against Rome. Except Venutius of course.’
Cartimandua’s expression darkened. ‘He will pay the price for his treachery. There are ways a man can die that make every instant of the process an unbearable torment.’
‘I’m sure that’s true. But he’s a spent force now. The rebellion has been crushed at the outset. If you execute him, I fear it will only fuel the resentment of those who followed him.’
Cartimandua fixed her penetrating gaze on Cato. ‘As you pointed out, I am the queen. The fates of Venutius and all those foolish enough to listen to him are mine to decide.’
‘Of course. I only meant to offer my advice. Nothing more.’
‘And I thank you for it.’ She turned away dismissively and strode towards those who had remained loyal to her. As they made their way out of the hall, Macro shook his head.
‘Could have been more grateful, given the blood that our men have shed to save her skin.’
‘True. But we’re here to serve Rome, and right now, putting her back on the throne is what is in Rome’s best interest. Take some satisfaction from that.’
‘Seems like I’ll have to, given that we’re not even going to get any loot out of it.’
At mention of the word, Cato glanced round the hall and saw that the legionaries were poking around curiously. ‘I want these men out of here. Make sure they haven’t lifted anything first.’
‘Sir!’ one of the legionaries called out and the two officers turned to see the man standing in the doorway leading through to the chamber at the rear of the hall. ‘You should see this.’
They hurried over as the soldier ducked back inside. The room was lit by a hole far above a small fireplace and a single beam of light shone down at an angle. The legionary was standing next to an open chest at the side of the room. Part of the beam lay across the chest and reflected off the contents on to the inside the lid. Cato and Macro crossed the room to join the soldier and saw that the chest was filled with silver coins. All three stared at the hoard in silence for a moment.
‘That explains a lot,’ said Macro. ‘Now we know how Venutius persuaded so many to back his cause.’
‘Indeed,’ said Cato.
Macro coughed. ‘So what do we do with it, now that it’s ours? Spoils of war?’
The legionary looked up hopefully.
Cato shook his head. ‘No. It stays here. The queen will need it to buy off any remaining troublemakers.’
Macro looked horrified. ‘But, sir-’
‘It stays here, Macro. And we don’t touch it. Those are my orders.’ He turned to the legionary. ‘You’re to remain here and guard it until further notice. And don’t even think about helping yourself to so much as one coin. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Macro was still looking longingly at the silver. He reached down and picked up a handful and held them up. ‘A hundred or so wouldn’t be missed.’
‘Macro. .’
‘A pity,’ the centurion replied. ‘A fistful of freshly minted denarians would be a nice little souvenir of our visit to Isurium.’
Cato frowned and muttered, ‘Freshly minted?’
He reached down and picked up a coin. Sure enough, it was as Macro said. Barely a scratch on it, and he recognised the imprint well enough from the year before when he and Macro had been in Rome and the coins had just come into circulation, depicting the Emperor visiting his troops. A sudden thought struck him and he lifted the coin to his nose and sniffed.
‘Good enough to eat, eh?’ Macro grinned, clearly hoping that avarice had worked its merry way with his superior.
‘Not eat. .’ Cato replied with a cold, calculating expression. He closed his hand round the coin and shut the lid of the chest. ‘There’s one final matter to be resolved before we return to Viroconium.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
‘A fine result, Prefect Cato.’ Otho beamed as he sat at his table in the headquarters tent with Cato. Outside, dusk was slowly swallowing the daylight. As the day had been sweltering so the evening was warm and close, and the insects were swarming to feed on the blood of the men who had been sweating in heavy armour throughout the day.
Following the defeat of the rebels and the release of Queen Cartimandua, Cato had ordered the auxiliary troops to remain in the fort at the disposal of the queen. The legionaries had cleared the fort, bastion and slopes of the hill of the dead and wounded. The former had been brought back to the camp and laid in long lines outside the main gate, while funeral pyres were built for the following day. The wounded were brought back in carts and wagons to be treated by the surgeons assigned to the column. Once the wound to his hand had been cleaned and dressed, Cato had a brief conversation with Macro before sending him on an errand, then made his way to headquarters.
‘We have Caratacus in the bag, and we’ve stamped down on the anti-Roman sentiment amongst the Brigantes. The Druid’s body was found amongst the dead and Queen Cartimandua owes us a considerable debt, and she knows it. As I said, a fine result all round.’
Cato suppressed a grim smile at the tribune’s use of ‘we’. Otho had spent the day safe in the camp and had merely acted as a spectator of the grim struggle to take the fort. He had not felt the heat, the exhaustion and the naked fear of battle. He had not fought the enemy, nor incurred any injury, and yet he was already taking credit for the result. It was not hard to guess how the final report of the mission to Isurium submitted by Otho to Legate Quintatus would bear only a passing resemblance to the actuality.
‘We have concluded the task we were sent here to carry out,’ Cato agreed. ‘Although our success has come at a cost.’ He paused to recall the details of the butcher’s bill that Macro had brought him shortly before they had left Isurium to return to the camp. ‘Besides the death of Prefect Horatius and Centurion Statillus, the Seventh Cohort lost sixty-eight men killed, and another ninety-two were injured. Including two centurions and an optio. The First Century of Macro’s cohort lost twenty-one dead, and fourteen wounded. The other units got off lightly. The Eighth Cohort, six dead and eighteen wounded, and the auxiliaries ten dead and fifteen wounded. Only one of the Blood Crows was wounded. Knocked from his saddle while chasing down one of the fugitives from the fort.’
Otho nodded soberly. ‘A sad loss of life, I’m sure. But sometimes one cannot cook an omelette without first breaking a few eggs, nay?’
‘Eggs? I am not sure that I find that comparison easy to accept, sir.’
‘A figure of speech, Prefect. Of course, our dead will be honoured and Rome will be saddened by the news, and grateful that they were prepared to make the supreme sacrifice for the good of the empire.’
‘Yes, sir.’
There was a pause before Otho cleared his throat and continued. ‘Now that the military operation is over, there is no reason why command of the column cannot revert to me.’