anytime soon. Is that clear?’
Portius nodded nervously. ‘Quite c-clear, sir.’
‘Good. Then see to it that our rations are issued on time, and in the right amount, first thing tomorrow. Same goes for the leather and other kit I’ve asked for.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cato stared at the tribune for a moment longer, to make the most of the young officer’s discomfort. Then he continued in a menacing tone, ‘Don’t let me have any cause to repeat this ever again . . .’
‘No, sir. Never again. I swear, by the gods.’
‘The gods will be the least of your worries. If you fail me, and I fail the army, then some enemy warrior is going to carve you up. And if he doesn’t then I will.’
‘Are you threatening me, sir?’
‘No, I’m promising you.’ Cato narrowed his eyes and spoke softly. ‘Now, get out my sight before I forget the legal niceties and just wring your wretched neck myself.’
Portius backed away a few steps before he dared to turn and hurry from the tent as Cato glared after him. Once the tribune had gone, Cato relaxed and allowed himself a small smile. It had felt good to unnerve the younger officer. And it had been good for the other man as well. Hopefully from now on he would do his job properly. At the same time, the fact that he had bullied another person and felt pleasure from it troubled Cato. He had seen enough bullying in the army in his time to know that while it worked to get a job done in the short term, it undermined the recipients in the longer term. That aside, he had had a glimpse of himself being the cause of and enjoying the discomfort of another person. It was not an edifying experience and he felt the burden of shame settle on his shoulders as he made to leave the tent.
‘Bravo, Prefect Cato.’
He turned quickly and saw that he was not the last officer remaining in the tent as he had thought. A figure detached itself from the shadows at the side and moved into the glow of the oil lamps. It was the legate of the Fourteenth, Quintatus, the man who Cato had suspected of having a hand in sending him to take command of the fort at Bruccium, a task that had nearly cost him and Macro their lives.
Quintatus smiled. ‘Nice piece of beasting there. The pathetic little whelp deserved it. Too many of the junior tribunes fetch up in the army thinking it’s some kind of a game. A chance to get away from their families and still carry on behaving like the other drunken rakes in Rome. Discipline is what they need and discipline is what the army gives them.’
Cato took a deep breath. ‘I was simply reminding him of his duties, sir.’
‘Of course you were, and you did a good job of it.’
The legate regarded him for a moment, his cold eyes twinkling as he sized Cato up. ‘You think that being given the command of the baggage train escort is some kind of a punishment, don’t you?’
‘Someone has to do it,’ Cato replied flatly.
‘True. But why you? That’s what you’re wondering.’
‘What I think is my own business, sir.’
‘Maybe. But perhaps you are right to think there’s a reason behind it, Cato. You’re marked as one of Narcissus’s men, no matter what you do. Narcissus is not the only man to have a private organisation of agents working for him. Pallas is the same. Another bloody imperial freedman with grand ambitions. And just as crafty and dangerous as his rival, Narcissus. If there’s one thing you can be sure of, it’s that Pallas will have agents on the staff of General Ostorius. And they won’t shirk from doing you down.’
‘So I’ve seen,’ Cato replied, watching Quintatus closely. ‘Are you one of Pallas’s men?’
‘Me?’ Quintatus laughed. ‘Fortunately not. I’m too high-born for that. Those Greek freedmen prefer not to work with public figures if they can avoid it. Better to use the kind of people who can’t achieve the highest offices in the empire and therefore do not constitute a threat to the likes of Pallas and Narcissus.
Portius nodded nervously. ‘Quite c-clear, sir.’
‘Good. Then see to it that our rations are issued on time, and in the right amount, first thing tomorrow. Same goes for the leather and other kit I’ve asked for.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Cato stared at the tribune for a moment longer, to make the most of the young officer’s discomfort. Then he continued in a menacing tone, ‘Don’t let me have any cause to repeat this ever again . . .’
‘No, sir. Never again. I swear, by the gods.’
‘The gods will be the least of your worries. If you fail me, and I fail the army, then some enemy warrior is going to carve you up. And if he doesn’t then I will.’
‘Are you threatening me, sir?’
‘No, I’m promising you.’ Cato narrowed his eyes and spoke softly. ‘Now, get out my sight before I forget the legal niceties and just wring your wretched neck myself.’
Portius backed away a few steps before he dared to turn and hurry from the tent as Cato glared after him. Once the tribune had gone, Cato relaxed and allowed himself a small smile. It had felt good to unnerve the younger officer. And it had been good for the other man as well. Hopefully from now on he would do his job properly. At the same time, the fact that he had bullied another person and felt pleasure from it troubled Cato. He had seen enough bullying in the army in his time to know that while it worked to get a job done in the short term, it undermined the recipients in the longer term. That aside, he had had a glimpse of himself being the cause of and enjoying the discomfort of another person. It was not an edifying experience and he felt the burden of shame settle on his shoulders as he made to leave the tent.
‘Bravo, Prefect Cato.’
He turned quickly and saw that he was not the last officer remaining in the tent as he had thought. A figure detached itself from the shadows at the side and moved into the glow of the oil lamps. It was the legate of the Fourteenth, Quintatus, the man who Cato had suspected of having a hand in sending him to take command of the fort at Bruccium, a task that had nearly cost him and Macro their lives.
Quintatus smiled. ‘Nice piece of beasting there. The pathetic little whelp deserved it. Too many of the junior tribunes fetch up in the army thinking it’s some kind of a game. A chance to get away from their families and still carry on behaving like the other drunken rakes in Rome. Discipline is what they need and discipline is what the army gives them.’
Cato took a deep breath. ‘I was simply reminding him of his duties, sir.’
‘Of course you were, and you did a good job of it.’
The legate regarded him for a moment, his cold eyes twinkling as he sized Cato up. ‘You think that being given the command of the baggage train escort is some kind of a punishment, don’t you?’
‘Someone has to do it,’ Cato replied flatly.
‘True. But why you? That’s what you’re wondering.’
‘What I think is my own business, sir.’
‘Maybe. But perhaps you are right to think there’s a reason behind it, Cato. You’re marked as one of Narcissus’s men, no matter what you do. Narcissus is not the only man to have a private organisation of agents working for him. Pallas is the same. Another bloody imperial freedman with grand ambitions. And just as crafty and dangerous as his rival, Narcissus. If there’s one thing you can be sure of, it’s that Pallas will have agents on the staff of General Ostorius. And they won’t shirk from doing you down.’
‘So I’ve seen,’ Cato replied, watching Quintatus closely. ‘Are you one of Pallas’s men?’
‘Me?’ Quintatus laughed. ‘Fortunately not. I’m too high-born for that. Those Greek freedmen prefer not to work with public figures if they can avoid it. Better to use the kind of people who can’t achieve the highest offices in the empire and therefore do not constitute a threat to the likes of Pallas and Narcissus.
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