Otho was silent for a moment, hunched over his desk as he stared down at the ground in numbed horror at the revelations about his wife. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Trust me, all that I say is true. If you want her to live, you must ensure that she gives up working for Pallas and abandons her scheming for ever. Do you understand?’
Otho looked up, a faint expression of hope on his face. ‘You’d let her live?’
‘Only on the condition that she does as I ask. If not, then others will make the decision about her fate.’
‘Now wait a minute!’ Septimus interrupted. ‘She’s a traitor. There will be no mercy shown to her. My father wouldn’t stand for it.’
‘Your father is not here,’ Cato said flatly.
‘No, but he’ll hear about this. Then you’ll be in deep trouble yourself, Prefect Cato.’
‘Shut up,’ Cato responded wearily. ‘Just shut your mouth.’
‘What?’ Septimus stepped forward. ‘You dare to challenge my father, or me? What do you think Narcissus will say when he finds out that you have let her go? Your life will be forfeit. Better to let me take Poppaea back to Rome for questioning.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Cato replied. ‘Besides, I doubt that you would take her to Narcissus at all. Far more likely you would turn her over to Pallas.’
Septimus gaped at Cato before he asked softly, ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘That will become clear in a moment.’
Otho rose from his chair and made to leave the tent.
‘Wait!’ Cato blocked his way. ‘There’s something more.’
‘What more could there be?’ Otho replied coldly. ‘You’ve said enough.’
‘Not quite enough. Sit down.’
Otho hesitated, but then returned to his chair and slumped on to it. ‘Well?’
‘You should know that your wife was not acting alone. She had an accomplice. Someone who was sent to Britannia after her, to reveal himself and aid her in her schemes.’
‘And who would that be?’
Cato stepped aside and gestured towards Septimus. ‘Him.’
‘Me?’ The imperial agent started. ‘What bollocks is this?’
Cato stepped up to him and stared him in the eye. ‘You are working for Pallas, are you not?’
Septimus’s brow crinkled and he laughed nervously. ‘You’re joking. You know I work for Narcissus. You know it.’
‘That was true, until recently. Until you realised which way things were going in the power struggle between Pallas and Narcissus. You saw that Narcissus was losing influence over the Emperor. And once Claudius has gone and his wife, Agrippina, ensures that her son becomes Emperor then Narcissus is as good as dead, and his followers along with him. You decided that it was time to switch your allegiance to his enemy, Pallas. So when Narcissus sent you here to foil the plot, he never suspected that you would in fact be doing your best to ensure its success. Mind you, I should have guessed earlier myself.’
‘Lies!’ Septimus snorted. ‘This is insane. Narcissus is my father. You think I would betray my own father? My flesh and blood?’
Macro glowered at him. ‘Narcissus is a scheming snake. I’d place good money on the odds that his offspring has inherited the same characteristics.’
‘Pfftt!’ Septimus rounded on Cato and jabbed a finger at him. ‘Where’s the evidence? You couldn’t lay any at the door of Poppaea and it’s the same for me. You can’t prove a thing.’
Cato smiled thinly. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Septimus. You’ve covered your tracks fairly well. Except for one thing. We knew that Venutius needed treasure to buy support for his rebellion. Without it, he was helpless. And then, suddenly, he had access to a fortune. We found a chest of recently minted coins up in the fort. Coins just like this.’ He fished the silver denarius he had kept earlier and held it up for the others to see. ‘Roman. You gave it to him. From the small hoard of silver you brought with you from Rome to buy the services of anyone who could help your true master’s cause. You gave Caratacus a small fortune in silver in the hope that it would allow him to buy off Venutius and his followers and sabotage our efforts to bring peace to Britannia.’
‘More lies,’ Septimus scoffed. ‘He obviously got the silver somewhere else. From Poppaea most like, given that we know she’s a traitor.’
‘Yes, that’s what I thought at first,’ Cato admitted. ‘But then I asked myself how she could have delivered the silver into the hands of Venutius. I couldn’t see how it was possible.’ He handed the coin to Tribune Otho. ‘There, sir. Examine it closely.’
Otho frowned, wrenching his thoughts away from his wife’s treachery. He lifted the coin and scrutinised it in the dim light of the oil lamp. He shrugged. ‘It’s a denarius, like any other.’
‘Not quite like any other,’ Cato responded. ‘Smell it.’
Otho hesitated and then sniffed cautiously. ‘It smells of. . slightly. . of vinegar?’
‘Not vinegar, cheap wine. Septimus has been storing the coins in his wine jars. The same jars I saw him handing over to Venutius’s men yesterday.’
The tribune sniffed again and then lowered the coin as he stared at Septimus. ‘Is this true?’
‘Of course not! It could smell that way for any reason. He’s lying.’
Macro delivered a sudden, hard, blow to Septimus’s stomach, winding the man. ‘Don’t you ever dare accuse the prefect of lying, your treacherous cunt.’
Septimus slumped on to the ground, on all fours, gasping for breath. The others regarded him silently for a moment before Cato spoke. ‘I should have seen it all much earlier. From the moment Caratacus escaped. Someone had to put the two guards at ease so that he, or she, could get close enough to kill them quickly. A moment’s work for anyone trained to use a knife. That would be you, or Poppaea. Most likely she claimed to want to have another look at the prisoner, with you at her side, offering them a sample of your wines. As soon as you were close you went in with the knife. Between the two of you it was over in an instant. After you had got Caratacus out of the pen you planned to get him out of the camp in your cart. Of course, you had to make it look like he had beaten you senseless and run off with your cart and mules. Hence the blow to your head, and before that the deliberate planting of your purse in my tent, just so that you would have a good reason to be passing by when Caratacus escaped, and could make up the story about being knocked out and your cart taken.’
‘But I was knocked out.’
‘It had to look convincing. But the blow was light enough. That’s what the surgeon said at the infirmary.’ Cato weighed him up and shook his head sadly. ‘There’s no longer any doubt in my mind, Septimus. You were working for Pallas from before the time you left Rome. You murdered two of Macro’s men, you helped Caratacus to escape and you provided the silver that destabilised the Brigantian nation. The question is, what do we do with you now?’
‘So what are we going to do with him?’ asked Macro.
Cato cleared his throat and answered in a flat voice. ‘He’s going to disappear. Just like his victims back in Rome. I’ll tell Narcissus that he was killed during the fight with Venutius. There’s nothing to be gained from telling the truth about his son.’
‘Why not tell him?’ asked Macro. ‘He deserves to know what kind of creature he’s fathered.’
Cato shook his head. ‘Narcissus has no future. He’s doomed. I see no reason to add to what he is bound to suffer at the hands of his enemies.’
‘Really?’ Macro sniffed. ‘Then you’re a better man than I am.’
‘No. I don’t think so, my friend. Besides, Narcissus’s influence may be on the wane but he’s still powerful enough to come after us to avenge his son.’
‘So what now?’ Lebauscus interrupted. He gave Septimus a kick that sent him sprawling. ‘What do we do with this piece of shit?’
Cato answered without hesitation. ‘He dies. He dies now. Macro, get him up on his feet.’
Septimus’s eyes widened in terror and he tried to crawl towards the entrance to the tent. But Macro was on him in an instant and wrestled him to his feet before pinning his arms behind his back.