Simon Scarrow: The Blood Crows

‘I don’t want some tribesman. Last thing I need is a resentful native cleaning my sword and having to guard my back day and night, while I’m dealing with the enemy. No, it has to be someone who chooses to be there. If Decimus was a soldier then who better? He’ll be a useful gauge of the men’s spirits.’

Macro thought a moment and nodded. ‘Fair enough. Now let’s find ourselves somewhere to put the kit.’ He turned to his mother. ‘You’ll be all right for a bit?’

‘I have been for over fifty years now. . Run along boys.’

One of the sentries pointed them towards the administration block being used by the governor and they strode across the courtyard towards the entrance. The thick walls of the structure slightly muffled the sounds of construction but there was a thin patina of dust and grime over the flagstones, and building materials were piled around the margins of the courtyard. A handful of clerks were moving from office to office clutching waxed slates or bundles of scrolls. Inside the headquarters, braziers provided warmth and scores of men worked at the long desks filling the main hall. Cato approached a junior tribune bent over his desk reading a document and tapped his knuckles on the desk. The man looked up with a knitted brow.

‘Yes?’

Cato briefly made the introductions. ‘Just landed. I need to report to the governor and we need quarters until we leave for our commands. And a room for a lady as well.’

‘Quarters? There’s not much to be had. We had to convert the stable block at the back for accommodation. There’s a few places free. It’s dry enough and the stalls have proper cots.’

‘What about a place to stay in the town?’

‘You can try that. It’ll cost you and they are pretty grim. Most rooms rent by the hour, if you see what I mean, sir.’

‘We’ll take the stable,’ Cato replied. ‘Our kit is by the entrance. Have some of your men see to it that it’s taken to our, er, stall. Centurion Macro and I need to report to Governor Ostorius at once. If you would be so kind as to take us to him. .’

The tribune sighed and lowered the report he had been reading before scraping his chair back and rising to his feet. ‘This way, sir. I’ll see to your baggage when I return to my desk.’

He led them to the rear of the hall and into a corridor lined with small offices. Some were packed with yet more clerks while others were occupied by officers and civilian officials assigned to the governor’s staff.

The door at the end of the corridor was ajar and the tribune gestured to Cato and Macro to wait while he stepped forward and rapped on the wooden frame. ‘Sir, there’s two officers to see you. Just arrived from Rome.’

There was a pause before a thin, weary voice replied, ‘Oh, very well. Send ’em in.’

Governor Ostorius sat behind his desk wrapped in a thick scarlet cloak. A brazier added to the heat of the hypocaust system and made the air inside the room sweltering. He sat on a stool close to the fire, hunched over several piles of papers and slates. He looked up wearily as the two officers strode inside and stopped a short distance away to salute. Cato saw that the governor’s face was heavily lined and his eyes were deep-set and rimmed with wrinkles. He knew that Ostorius had won a good reputation as a soldier and administrator and was a tough and hard-driving commander. It was difficult to square that with the frail-looking individual sitting before them.

‘Introduce yourselves,’ the governor snapped, then coughed, raising a loose fist to his lips until the irritation in his lungs passed. ‘Well?’

As the ranking officer, Cato spoke first. ‘Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato, sir.’

‘Centurion Lucius Cornelius Macro, sir,’ Macro added.

The governor looked his new arrivals over in silence for a moment. ‘You’ll have to pass your service records to my chief of staff. I’ll read them later. I like to know the calibre of my officers. Given the problems I’m facing here I can’t afford to carry any lightweights. I take it you have been assigned specific commands in my army?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Cato replied. ‘I’m to command the Second Cohort of Thracian cavalry.’

‘A good unit, that. One of my best. Has been ever since the temporary commander took charge. Centurion Quertus has been hitting the enemy hard, by all accounts. I’ll expect you to do the same when you take charge.’ Ostorius turned his gaze to Macro. ‘And you?’

‘Appointed to the Fourteenth Legion, sir.’

‘I see.’ The governor nodded slowly and then continued, ‘Then you’ll both be joining the main column commanded by Legate Quintatus. He’s a fine officer, but he doesn’t tolerate those who fail to come up to the standards he sets. Be that as it may, I need every man I can get now. Officers more than ever, given the rate at which we have been losing them. I dare say there’ll be a vacancy amongst the senior centurions of the Fourteenth for you, Macro. In fact, I imagine you’ll be one of the most experienced in the legion, for as long as you survive.’

Macro felt a surge of irritation at the governor’s comment. He did not deserve to be spoken to as if he was some no-hoper, rear-echelon outpost commander.

‘I intend to survive long enough to get my discharge and the gratuity that’s coming to me, sir. No barbarian is going to stop that. Many have tried in the past, and paid the price.’

‘Bold words, Centurion.’ A faint smile flickered across the governor’s lips. ‘And tell me, exactly what makes you such a dangerous proposition to our enemies in this cold, forsaken island that Rome insists on adding to the empire?’

Macro was momentarily stuck for an answer as his mind flashed back over recent years. The street fighting in Rome, then the campaign in the sweltering heat, glare and dust of southern Egypt. Before that, the suppression of the slave revolt in Crete and the defence of Palmyra against a horde of Parthians. And earlier, dealing with fanatical Judaean rebels, a secondment to the imperial navy in a campaign against a nest of pirates plaguing merchant ships in the Adriatic Sea. That was after a long period of service with the Second Legion which had guarded the Rhine frontier, before being assigned to join the army that had invaded Britannia and crushed the native armies led by Caratacus. It was a notable period of service by any standard and Macro had won his promotion to centurion on merit — unlike some, who owed their position to powerful family connections. Yet Macro was not prepared to make a song and dance about it in front of the governor. He cleared his throat.

‘I’ve been on detached service for the last few years, sir. Before that I served with the Second, on the Rhine, and afterwards here in Britannia.’

‘Detached service? That is something of a euphemism for spying these days. What exactly was the nature of your, ah, detached service?’

‘I am not at liberty to tell you the details, sir.’

‘Then at least tell me who you were working for.’

Macro felt uncertain, and glanced quickly at Cato, but his friend’s expression was fixed and unreadable as he faced forward. Macro took a deep breath. ‘The imperial secretary, Narcissus.’

‘You worked for that snake?’ Ostorius’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you here on his orders?’

Macro was angered by the suggestion and sucked in through gritted teeth, but before he could respond Cato spoke up.

‘If that were the case, sir, then we’d hardly divulge that information. In any case, I give you my word of honour that we no longer serve Narcissus. We are here as soldiers. To serve you, the Emperor and Rome. Nothing more.’

‘Your word of honour, eh?’ Ostorius sniffed. ‘There’s precious little of that commodity being traded in Rome these days.’ He leaned back on his stool and rubbed the small of his back. ‘I have little choice but to take your word for it. But I warn you, if I get one hint that either of you are here for any reason other than soldiering, I’ll throw you to the natives and let them deal with you. The Druids have some very interesting ways of disposing of their prisoners.’