The Emperor's Exile (Eagles of the Empire 19) Page 12

  As they approached the auxiliary sentries at the gate, he took in the easy ambience of the other people in the street. News of the sickness had surely reached the town, but there was little evidence of concern as yet. It was a fine, warm evening, and families were sitting on the steps of their houses chatting with neighbours and passers-by. Cato felt a chill of foreboding.

  Locullus exchanged a salute with the duty optio at the palace gate and the two men went inside. A paved path shaded by cedars led to the entrance of the building, and swifts darted between the trees as they snatched insects from the air. Locullus escorted Cato through to the wide terrace that extended across the rear of the palace. A large awning had been erected at one end beneath which several scribes bent over their work at tables either side of a large desk. The chair behind it was empty, but a short distance beyond, a corpulent man with a shock of fine blond hair, whom Cato took to be the governor, was reclining on a couch overlooking the harbour as he talked to a thin, balding adviser with an intense gaze that made him look slightly deranged. The latter stared coldly at Locullus as the decurion approached with Cato at his shoulder.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Beg to report, the ship entering the harbour is from Ostia.’ That the comment was directed at the adviser rather than the governor was not missed by Cato.

  ‘Who is this?’

  Cato cleared his throat and made his reply to the governor. ‘I am Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato, appointed commander of all military forces on the island.’

  The adviser frowned. ‘I assume you have proof of your appointment.’

  Scurra turned to look at Cato with puffy, watery eyes. ‘Well?’

  Cato reached into his sidebag and took out a leather tube. He eased the cap off, extracting the scroll detailing the scope of his authority and sealed with the imperial ring. This he handed to the governor, who unrolled it and read through the document as his adviser leaned over his shoulder to see the contents for himself. Scurra handed the scroll back. ‘It seems to be in order.’

  ‘We should check all the same,’ said the adviser. ‘It is highly unusual for a governor’s authority to be superseded in this fashion. Shall I draft a letter asking for confirmation, sir?’ The tone of his voice belied the interrogative import of his words, and Cato could not help wondering who was really in charge.

  Scurra shrugged. ‘All right then. As you, ah, ah, ah, think best. Now then, Prefect, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’ He stood up with some effort and faced Cato. ‘No need to introduce myself. Everyone in Rome knows me.’ He grinned. ‘Life and soul of any party. As you probably know, eh?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I have been away from the capital for a while. I don’t recall having the pleasure of meeting you before now.’

  ‘Oh?’ Scurra frowned with disappointment. ‘But I, ah, ah, I’m sure you know me by reputation at least.’

  Cato shook his head.

  ‘No?’ The governor looked positively pained and slumped back onto his couch. ‘No matter. I imagine you’ve been sent here to sort out those troublemakers hiding in the interior.’ He clenched his chubby hands into fists and play-acted a few punches. ‘Knock some sense into the scoundrels! Send ’em packing.’

  ‘Well, yes. Quite. If you could brief me on the situation as soon as possible, I’d appreciate it.’

  ‘Of course. Good idea. Decianus Catus here can deal with that. He’s my top adviser and major-domo rolled into one. Isn’t that right?’

  Decianus forced a smile that did not go any further than his lips, and bowed his head. ‘As you command, Excellency. I can do that after we conclude the business we were discussing before we were interrupted.’

  Scurra shook his head. ‘No, I’ve done enough work for the day. Bored now. We’ll pick it up again in the morning, eh? You take the prefect off and get it done in your office or somewhere. There’s a good fellow.’ He waved them away with one hand while he caught the eye of a slave and beckoned with the other. ‘Fetch me some more wine!’

  His adviser snapped his waxed slate shut and strode towards the nearest arch leading into the building. ‘This way. You will not be needed, Decurion.’

  Locullus stiffened at the curt dismissal and turned to march off along the terrace, the stiffness of his posture eloquent expression of his resentment.

  Even though Cato had set foot on the island less than an hour before, he was already having grave doubts about those tasked with ruling the place and maintaining order. There were plenty of senators who made fine governors, dedicated to the task entrusted to them. Scurra was not one of them. He belonged to a lesser breed of aristocrat who used family prestige and wealth to secure appointments to lucrative positions of power. The kind of men who cut deals with tax farmers to squeeze as much revenue out of a province as possible before their time in office came to an end. They cared nothing for those they ruled over, only for themselves.

  Decianus did not stride so much as strut as he led the way through the arch into a large chamber where two long tables were piled with waxed tablets and scrolls. There was a clear space at one end with some chairs close by. He tossed the slate he was carrying onto the table and pulled up a chair for himself before nodding to Cato. ‘Sit down, Prefect.’

  His peremptory manner infuriated Cato. It was not that he placed much store in the difference between their social rank. He judged men by their deeds, not their lineage. What rankled was the adviser’s arrogance and his unwillingness to conceal it. He paused a beat to calm himself, and considered refusing to sit. Only that would make him look like a man standing before a seated superior. Round one to Decianus, he conceded sourly, dragging a chair over and sinking onto it.

  ‘What are your orders exactly?’ asked Decianus.

  ‘They’re straightforward enough. The emperor and his advisers are concerned by reports that have reached Rome about the failure to contain some of the tribes of the interior of the island. They are understood to be raiding farming estates and even some of the towns on the coast. Nero wants to put a stop to that and has ordered me to pacify the island. To which end I have been granted full control over the garrison.’

  ‘I see. And what makes you think we haven’t got the situation in hand already?’

  ‘Well, have you?’

  Decianus’s lips twitched irritably. ‘We were dealing with it, and would have had the brigands under control if it wasn’t for this pestilence causing the governor to uproot himself from the provincial capital and drag us all to the opposite end of the island.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Cato responded flatly. ‘But now that I am here, you can concentrate on dealing with the sickness and let me attend to the enemy.’

  The freedman weighed the suggestion up. ‘By all means, once we have confirmation from Rome that you are who you say you are and have the authority you claim you were given.’

  ‘You saw the document for yourself. You saw the imperial seal. Let’s not waste time referring the matter back to Rome. Meanwhile, if you attempt to deny my authority, or undermine it, then I will deal with you first, the bandits second.’ Cato held up the leather case. ‘I dare say the commanders of the garrison cohorts on the island will be willing to accept this, so let’s not play games. After all, we are supposed to be on the same side, aren’t we?’ He smiled sweetly. ‘First thing. What caused this outbreak of brigandage?’

  ‘There has always been some trouble on the island as long as it has been a Roman province. Most of the time it’s not much of a problem; cattle raiding and so on. The garrison sends patrols out to try and track the perpetrators down, but they know the interior of the island better than anyone else and can disappear into the forests and hills and hide there until our soldiers abandon the hunt.’

  ‘Aren’t there any local guides who can lead you to their settlements?’

  ‘None of the people of the coastal tribes know the brigands’ territory well enough to help us.’

  ‘What about offering a reward for someone from the tribes supporting these brigand
s?’

  Decianus sneered. ‘Don’t you think that’s been tried? Just about every other barbarian race we have encountered would be willing to sell their people out if the reward is high enough. But not this lot. They’re different.’

  Cato leaned closer. ‘Different?’

  ‘First off, they are utterly loyal to their chiefs and hostile to outsiders. And that’s how they still see Romans, let alone the other tribes, even two hundred years after we took over the island. They’d sooner kill their firstborn than betray any of their own to us. Even when the tribes turn on each other, or when they’re playing out some ongoing feud. The other islanders refer to them as “the ancient ones”.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘They were here long before Rome took the island from the Carthaginians. They date further back than any written history; I don’t suppose even they know how long their people have been here. Though they have left plenty of traces across the island. I’d guess they were once a rich and powerful people, but you’d never know that from the small number of them that remain. You’ll see their carvings on rocks, and from time to time the strange figures they cast in silver and sometimes gold. They’re primitive items, childish to our eyes maybe. But they make interesting additions to the collections of the wealthy back in Rome. The most obvious signs of the power they once had are the towers and forts they left behind. Hundreds of them remain throughout the island. They look like they might once have served a military purpose, but they could be some kind of temple. Most were abandoned long ago and little but ruins remain. But our patrols report that some of them are still used as strongholds.’

  ‘What are these tribesmen like, these “ancient ones”?’

  ‘You’ll see for yourself when you encounter them. They look more animal than human. They wear the fleeces of sheep and other beasts and have strange headgear with horns, and masks with twisted features that look like . . . like demons.’

  ‘Demons,’ Cato repeated with a chuckle. ‘And have you come across any of these demons yourself?’

  ‘Not a living example. There was one who was washed up on the banks of a river near Carales. His body was brought to the governor’s palace. Aside from the strange clothing, his skin was almost covered with tattoos.’ A look of contempt formed on Decianus’s face. ‘Bloody barbarian animals . . . They should have been wiped out centuries ago when we took the island from Carthage.’

  ‘Why weren’t they?’

  ‘Like I said, they never caused enough trouble. As long as Sardinia produced enough trade and taxes to keep Rome happy, the Senate, and then the emperors, saw no reason to divert the necessary troops to the island to put an end to the problem.’

  Cato reflected on this briefly. It was the same in many of the provinces. Small bands of brigands eked out a precarious existence where Rome’s forces were too thinly spread. As long as they remained more of a nuisance than a threat to Roman control, there was little desire to waste resources destroying them. Occasionally, such brigands made the mistake of being too ambitious to be ignored.

  ‘Do you know who is leading them?’ Cato asked.

  ‘Not exactly. Only rumours, as you’d expect given how remote they are. There’s talk of a man who calls himself King of the Mountains. They say he has united most of the brigands, and the tribes that support them. That has made it almost impossible for our patrols to operate in the inland areas he controls. And that’s how things will remain until this man overreaches himself, or Rome eventually decides to deal with him.’

  ‘Well, they have now. That’s why I am here.’

  Decianus gave a contemptuous laugh. ‘Do you imagine you are the first man given the task? There have been attempts in the past, but they’ve all failed due to the lack of sufficient soldiers to do the job. Let me ask you something. How many men have been assigned to your command over and above the cohorts already stationed here?’

  Cato leaned back. ‘I have brought a cadre of good men to improve the training and morale of the garrison units. They’ll make a difference.’

  ‘Really? How many men exactly?’

  ‘Six in all.’

  ‘Six . . . Good luck with that.’

  Cato felt his temper rising again and struggled to resist the urge to put the freedman in his place. ‘What is the strength of the island’s garrison?’

  The other man concentrated briefly. ‘Three cohorts of auxiliaries. The Fourth Illyrian under Prefect Tadius at Tibula, Vestinus’s Sixth Gallic at Tharros, and Bastillus’s Eighth Hispanic at Carales. The Tharros cohort has a cavalry contingent. Then there’s the naval squadron at Olbia. Two biremes and a handful of liburnians, which are supposed to cover the trade routes either side of Sardinia and Corsica. Including the marines and sailors I’d say there are no more than two thousand men in all. Two thousand and seven, now that you have arrived.’

  Cato ignored the jibe. ‘What condition are they in?’

  ‘All the cohorts are under strength and they have been stationed here for long enough that hardly any of them have any campaign experience. Many of them are spread amongst the outposts that surround the interior. They’ve done a decent enough job of patrolling the roads and keeping the bandits at bay, until recently.’

  ‘What has changed?’

  ‘Two years of failed crops and the hunger that goes with it. The bandits and the tribes they come from suffered the consequences along with everyone else. So they took action and started attacking the farming estates, taking what they wanted from the granaries and storehouses, and looting the villas. When one of their stragglers was captured by a patrol, Scurra decided to make an example of him and he was crucified on a rock overlooking Bosa. After that, the bandits began killing people. Romans mostly. Tax collectors were the obvious target.’

  ‘When aren’t they?’

  ‘True, but then they targeted the estate stewards and any owners who were living in their villas. Their friends in Rome and those with property in Sardinia demanded action. Especially when the bandits burned their buildings to the ground and released the slaves. Some of those have joined the brigand bands.’

  ‘Dare I ask if taxes have been raised since the famine began?’

  Decianus regarded him with sour cynicism. ‘Of course. How else were we supposed to make up the shortfall in revenue?’

  ‘And it did not occur to the governor to make up the difference from his own resources rather than give the tribesmen one more reason to become brigands?’

  ‘You know how it goes, Prefect. Scurra’s term of office comes to an end in eight months’ time. He’s done well out of the contracts he sold to tax farmers. He’ll return to his estate near Capua and live in comfort, and the troubles here will become the problem of the next governor.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll find a new master to serve. The next governor, or some other Roman aristocrat with sufficient avarice to appreciate my services.’

  Cato scrutinised him. ‘You’re not too fond of Scurra, then?’

  ‘He pays well and is smart enough to understand that I am indispensable to him. In return I am a loyal servant. The arrangement suits us both.’

  ‘I see . . . So Scurra has done nothing to soften the blow of the famine. He’s made the situation worse by allowing the tax farmers to make even more demands on the people of the province. I have barely enough men to maintain order, let alone crush the brigands, and now there’s the pestilence to complicate matters. How did that start?’

  ‘Who knows? It might have been caused by the bad air in the marshes outside Carales. It might have come in one of the ships that landed there. It’s possible that it may be some kind of judgement from the gods. Scurra paid for a bull to be sacrificed to Phoebus to protect us from any further sickness.’

  ‘We can see how well that worked.’

  ‘Be careful, Prefect. Such impiety is often punished by the gods.’

  Cato shrugged. ‘I’ll take my chances. What measures did Scurra take to deal with the pestilence?’<
br />
  ‘Besides the sacrifice? Not much,’ Decianus admitted. ‘What can a man do but look out for himself? Scurra’s personal physician advised that we should all take a regular potion made up of vinegar, mustard and the urine of a young boy.’

  Cato gave a dry laugh. ‘That’s a new one! How did it work out?’

  ‘I’m still here, aren’t I? Maybe you should try it.’

  There was no point in arguing about that, Cato conceded, though he was more than a little sceptical about the efficacy of the potion Decianus had described.

  ‘Thank you, but I’ll give that a miss for now. Is there anything else I should know about?’

  Decianus stroked his jaw and his thin lips lifted in mild amusement. ‘I think that’s enough to contend with as it is, Prefect. What are your plans for dealing with the brigands?’

  Cato considered the question in the light of the information he had been given. ‘I’ll set up my headquarters at Tharros and manage the campaign from there, since I don’t want Scurra, or you, breathing down my neck. I’ll summon the garrison commanders and then make my plans for dealing with the brigands.’

  ‘What makes you think you’ll succeed where others have failed? Have you considered relinquishing your appointment, returning to Rome and leaving this all to me and Scurra to deal with?’

  ‘Believe me, I wish I had the luxury of such a choice.’

  The freedman’s eyes fixed on him intently. ‘You were forced into this?’

  Cato saw the potential danger at once and cursed himself for revealing information that Decianus might be able to use against him. A report sent back to Rome detailing any setbacks that could be attributed to Cato would find a sympathetic ear from the likes of Burrus. He cleared his throat and quickly redirected the conversation. ‘Those grumbling estate owners you mentioned. There happens to be one of them on the ship that brought me here from Ostia.’

  ‘Indeed? And who might that be?’

  ‘Claudia Acte.’

  ‘The emperor’s mistress? I knew Nero had granted her some property on the island, but why would she leave Rome to visit her estates?’