The Northern Conspiracy, page 14
part #3 of Cato's Cavalry Series
“Cottia…” He said her name carefully. There was much that he wanted to ask her (such as how she had gotten here), but also much that did not want to be asked at that moment.
To her credit she never took her eyes off Caecilius. “Cato.”
“He needs to be captured and questioned. He has done much that needs to be answered for.”
The bow creaked slightly. “I want to hear from him about what he did to my father.”
Cato looked at the man. “And I want to hear from him about why he tried to foment civil war here. The fate of your father was just a part of this.”
Cottia’s eyebrows twitched at this, before coming down again as she scowled. “I want my revenge, Lucius,” she growled.
“You will get it, eventually. I swear it.”
Cottia smiled bitterly for a moment – and then she took a step back. Unfortunately Caecilius took that to mean that she was somehow taking her eye off her, because his hand flashed to the knife at his belt. This was a mistake. The bow came down in a flash and then it sang. The arrow sped across the corridor and embedded itself in the man’s shoulder, where the breastplate ended, forcing a moment of sudden shock as he stared at it, followed by a scream of pain.
Not that Cato cared about the pain that Caecilius must been feeling. He launched himself at the traitor, knocking him against the wall with a great clatter and then he drew his sword quickly and held it against the throat of the keening man as he reeled against the bricks. “Yield!” He roared the word so loudly that it echoed down the corridor.
Caecilius looked at him with a face wracked with a combination of agony and fear – and then the bow creaked again. “I yield,” he moaned.
“Relax that bowstring, Cottia,” Cato said with a grim smile. “He’ll tell us all that we want to know.” There was a long moment of silence, punctuated only by the gasps of pain coming from the wounded man, and then they heard the first clatter of hobnails on flagstones as soldiers rushed towards them. Only then did the bow slowly creak as the tension was gradually released. He relaxed slightly. Oh, this was going to be a fascinating set of conversations.
Being in charge of anything these days was a challenge. There was always so much to do, always so much to organise and always so many people to talk to. To order. To shout at. And in some cases to worm information out of.
“Come in Malgo,” Cato grunted as he saw the now-familiar figure of the older man in the doorway. “What’s morale like with the garrison?”
Malgo strode in and then stood at parade rest, which obviously gave him a little time to consider his answer. “Permission to be blunt, sir?” Cato nodded and Malgo winced slightly. “Well sir, it’s shitty. The morale of the garrison is somewhere below the soles of their boots. They feel like they’ve been lied to and manipulated sir. And there’s a lot of rumours flying about those gold pieces from Constantinople.”
Cato leant back in the chair and did some wincing of his own. “I was afraid of that,” he said bitterly. “Damn Beliatrix. And damn Caecilius. Stupidity and treachery – what a combination. Are their quarters secure?”
“Yes sir. I take it that you want witnesses for when they are searched?”
A bitter smile crossed Cato’s face. “You do indeed. And any room that Caecilius has been seen in.”
“Yes sir. By the way, there’s an officer missing. Has been for several days now. One Caius Allerianus. Supply officer with rather unsavoury contacts.”
Cato frowned slightly. “Search the fortress again. Which reminds me. Are there any merchants in the city with connections to the Eastern Empire?”
“I have people checking that now sir.”
Of course he did. Which reminded him. “Malgo, how long have you been a Decurion?”
The other man eyed him. “Um – about ten years sir, before I retired.”
“Why did my father never make you a Centurion?”
The eyeing became puzzled at the sudden change of topic. “He did once sir. I refused it. Your father was a good friend sir. No favouritism sir, bad for morale.”
“Which is why I’m promoting you to Centurion, effective immediately. We need this place back up and running at once. Chaos is bad for morale and is morale is as shitty as you say it is, well then we need a man of your talents. If need be bring your wife and family here, but your retirement needs to take second place to duty, Malgo. You are needed here.”
The older man gaped at him for a long moment and then recovered enough to stand at attention. “Permission to think about it sir?”
“Permission denied. You are a Centurion. You’ll have to live with the additional decorations. One last thing – Malgo, did you know that Cottia rode with us?”
The newly minted Centurion stared at a point on the wall over Cat’s left shoulder. “No sir,” he said woodenly. “I was not aware that a woman called Cottia rode with us. She might have been riding in disguise sir.”
Cato stared at him carefully. Malgo’s statement contained a large amount of room for manoeuvre and he had to admire it. It was a classic example of the language used by lower ranks when they didn’t want to lie to a superior officer but at the same time didn’t dare tell the full truth. “Very well Centurion. Carry on.”
Malgo stamped, saluted and then left with the tread of a man who was grateful at the opportunity to leave before he could be more closely questioned. Cato watched him go with a smile. And then he frowned. He had some rooms to search.
They found the gold in a saddlebag in a disused room in a dusty corridor. Judging by the footprints at least one person had been down it recently and it led Cato and his little search party straight to the room. Cato hefted the heavy bag carefully and then peered into it. Ah. At least two hundred solidi. Caecilius had been well paid for his treachery.
Then he paused. Lerix was sniffing the air to one side thoughtfully and he did the same. Oh. Yes, there was something there. Something familiar. “Search the room. Something or someone died in here.”
The room was as dusty as the corridor had been, with barrels containing a wide range of oddments, from some garum sauce that had possibly been made at the time of Constantine to the load of rather rusty hobnails. Oh and there was the barrel with the corpse. It was a man, with black hair and military dress. How he had died was a mystery, but a rather shaken soldier from the garrison had identified him as the missing Caius Allerianus. The body had been removed, the room searched further, revealing nothing else, and that had been it.
“Something else to ask Caecilius about,” Cato muttered as he stomped along the corridor, the saddlebags over one shoulder.
“Yes sir,” Malgo muttered at his shoulder. The newly promoted Centurion seemed to be in two minds about many things. On the one hand he was revelling in the chance to reorganise what seemed to be a fundamentally shaken garrison. On the other he was a little bemused about the promotion. “By the way sir we found his horse. It was by the river gate. And apparently a ship left about an hour after Caecilius was captured. Owned by a Gaulish trader called Taterix. However, I’ve talked to people who met him, and they said that his accent was a bit odd.”
“Odd?” Cato raised an eyebrow and glanced at Malgo as they turned a corner down another corridor. “Odd in what way?”
“They weren’t sure that he was Gaulish. One thought that he might have been a Galatian.”
Cato’s eyebrows came down into a scowl. “And there’s our connection to the East. I don’t even think that many Galatians even still speak their original language. Send word out to the South. If this Taterix’s ship makes landfall in Britannia it is to be impounded and the crew arrested. I want to talk to this Gaul who might be a Galatian. Send word to Londinium as well. Aurelianus needs to know about that ship as well. The Gauls needs to be warned about what Constantinople is doing.”
“Yes sir,” said Malgo, before striding off.
Cato watched him go for an instant before he resumed his own journey to the office that he had commandeered from the hapless Beliatrix the Elder, who was now confined to his own quarters under close arrest and guarded by men that Cato trusted. There was still so much to do, including something that he was dreading for reasons that he still didn’t understand. He needed to talk to Cottia.
He found the daughter of Tortorius in the archery lists, practicing with her bow under the watchful gaze of one of those wizened veterans who was either older than he looked or more weathered than he should look. Judging by the muttered comments and tips he was giving her, he was already well acquainted with her. Seeing Cato approach the man stiffened, nodded respectfully and then faded into the background with all the skill of a veteran who knew when to avoid an officer.
Cottia let an arrow fly into the inner ring of the target and smiled briefly, before catching sight of him and pausing for an instant. Then she sniffed and reached for another arrow. “I was wondering when you’d have the time to talk to me,” she muttered, before drawing, aiming and loosing in an instant. The arrow thunked into the target a hairsbreadths away from the last one. “I imagine that you’ve been busy.”
“Oh, you might say that,” Cato replied dryly as he leant against the nearest wall. “Tracking down Caecilius was one thing. Putting this garrison back together is something else. I’ve promoted Malgo to Centurion and asked him to start work.”
Judging by her scowl and nod she thought that that was a good thing, before she sent another arrow into the target. She had been practicing a lot, he could tell.
“I was under the impression that I asked you to stay in Deva.” He said it just as she prepared to draw the bow again and was rewarded with a pause. “Where it was safe.”
“I was safe. I was surrounded by soldiers.” She shrugged and then sent another arrow into the target, which was starting to look a little crowded.”
“Soldiers who could have been going into battle.”
Another shrug. “I’m good with a bow.” Another arrow thunked into the centre of the target.
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
“My gamble with the standards could have failed. There could have been a battle, the start of civil war. There could have been fighting and you could have been in danger. I would never have forgiven myself if something had happened to you.” His voice was rougher at the end than it had been at the beginning. He’d gone there to scold her. This was turning into something different.
She paused, mid-draw. “But nothing did.” She drew and loosed the arrow.
“Not the point again. Why did you come with the Legion? Why take the chance?”
“I come from here. I was born here. My father was a soldier here, as you know.” She drew and loosed again. The arrow joined the others at the centre of the target, making the others quiver as it slammed into their midst. “I wanted to find out who killed my father.” This was said with a snarl of fury.
He stepped forwards without conscious thought and stood in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. “He will be tried, he has that right, but his guilt is clear. He had the gold and we think that he killed at least one other man. And he had every reason to kill your father, who would have been a threat to Beliatrix. We will get the truth from him. And he will pay for his crimes.”
She looked up at him, her face taut with emotion. He could see the fury fade, replaced with satisfaction and then something else, something that reminded him of Julia for a moment. His blood seemed to be thundering through his veins for some reason that he couldn’t explain.
“I wanted to make sure that you were safe as well.” She was whispering. Why was she whispering? And why was he looking into her eyes so intently?
And then there was the scuff of hobnailed boots to one side as Malgo half-ran into the lists. “Legato Legionis! There is an army approaching from the South!”
Chapter Nineteen
Cato peered at the mass of men that could be seen marching up the South road. He could see from his vantage point on the highest watchtower on the walls that they were infantry, and well-trained infantry at that. He rubbed a finger under his nose for a moment and then looked at the young sentry next to him. “Can you see any banners from here?”
The sentry squinted at the oncoming men. “Not really sir. They’re too far away. But I think that there’s a red banner in the lead there.”
Cato looked at the sentry sharply and then squinted himself. “Damn, but you might be right.” And then he grinned. “An army from the South and a red banner – there can be only one man in charge of that!” And then he was off down the stairs, his heart lighter than it had been for days as the worry lifted off him. As he reached the bottom he looked around. “Malgo! I want a Turmae of men formed up at once, along with both my bannermen! We have an old friend to welcome here!”
The newly minted Centurion looked at him, read his face and then took off at a run as he bellowed orders. Other men watched him, flinched slightly at the volume and then started running themselves.
The shouting did its magic. Not long after the South gates of Eboracum saw a full Turmae of cavalry trot through, with Cato in the lead followed by his two bannermen, one with the Dragon Banner and the other with the Eagle.
As they passed down the road they could see the great mass of men ahead of them and Cato’s eyes were instantly drawn to the horsemen leading the oncoming army. Yes, there was a red banner there and as they got closer he could see the shape of a golden spear – and then the man in armour by that banner let out a great shout and galloped towards them.
Cato grinned and then formally saluted as the man approached. Lucius Ambrosius Aurelianus Aemilianus was in a set of utilitarian armour, nothing flashy, nothing ostentatious, and yet he had a far more commanding presence than the elder Beliatrix brother could ever.
“Cato!” the Dux of Britannia shouted as he drew level. “It is you! Who else could fly those banners!?! Your father’s banner and the Eagle!” And then he saw the Cincticulus and if anything his grin got larger. “At last – you have taken the rank you are due.”
“I had little choice,” Cato replied as he clasped forearms with his old friend. “It has been a busy time since you sent me here. There is much to tell you. Eboracum is secure. Beliatrix is under arrest. But we have a lot of gold coins from Constantinople being spent in strange places. Someone has been trying to subvert people all over the place. One of Beliatrix’s men, Caecilius, seems to have been in the pay of someone from the East.” He paused and swallowed. “So was Corius back in Deva.”
Aemilianus looked at him sharply and then pulled a face. “Corius? Really?”
“He tried to kill me. I fought back. He’s dead. Had a lot of gold in his office.”
The other man swore under his breath and then gestured at the fortress. “Ride with me. I have news as well. War is being prepared in Rome – brother fights brother. And Constantine of Gaul is also dealing with unrest. Who knows what else has been funded with that gold? Tell me everything.”
Cato did just – he spoke until he was hoarse, telling of his trip to Eboracum so many long days ago, his talk with the dead Dux, his flight from the fortress with the younger Beliatrix and also eventually Cottia, and then their trip to Deva, followed by the marshalling of the First Cavalry Legion and the march on Eboracum, along with his confrontation with Beliatrix the Elder and (eventually) Caecilius.
By the time he finished, as he and his old friend entered the bowels of the fortress and passed along the corridor that led to the office of the old Dux, he could see that Aemilianus was looking at him slightly oddly. “What?”
“You have changed Cato. You have put aside your old… hesitations.”
“I… I had no choice,” Cato sighed as he sat on a chair opposite the desk. “Chaos was about to envelope the North, a chaos orchestrated by Caecilius and his damn gold. I’ve sent word out to the South to hunt down that ship and that damn Galatian. We need proof.”
“We do at that.” Aemilianus sat at the desk and pulled a wry face as he looked at the map on the wall. “You pulled the fangs of this conspiracy here, far better than I could have. I was on my way North anyway with the Second Legion when I had word of what had happened. Your young friend Beliatrix the Younger found me on the road with his father’s banner and insignia. He’s somewhere back there. Smart little fellow.”
“Smarter than his brother.” Cato shook his head. “You’ll need to talk to him at some point.”
“I know I will. I need to send word to the North first though. A deputation came South from Valentia just before I heard about the madness here in Eboracum. The tribes are united on one thing – they are pleading to formally join us. They want our protection.”
Cato looked at him and then smiled slightly. “My father’s prediction was right then.”
“He was right. The border has shifted North, as he thought it would. But if this conspiracy here had succeeded, then it might not have happened, because we would now be fighting each other.” Aemilianus shook his head. “Idiots. Eboracum will always need the fortress, just in case the North needs reinforcements. But it has been changing for many years now. Trade is always important. Without trade we are weak, we are poor and we are shrunken.”
A pause filled the air as the two men stared at the map – and then the moment broke as they both shivered slightly. “You mentioned unrest in Gaul,” Cato muttered. “What of that?”
Aemilianus pulled a face. “Constantine is said to be facing a revolt near Massilia. Not a large one, but worrying enough.” Then he pulled a more anguished face. “And Sulpicius of Hispania has… taken a more radical decision. He has… proclaimed himself Rex.”
Cato looked at his old friend worriedly. “This cannot have come as a surprise to you.”
