Brothers in Blood by Simon Scarrow Page A

Like most of them broad-stripers. Give ’em a couple of years and they’ll do us no harm. Best we can hope for really.’
    He paused to eat another mouthful and then, when he did not continue, Cato cleared his throat. ‘Nothing else? Is that all your friend had to say about Otho?’
    ‘Near enough. There was something else.’ Horatius lowered his voice and leaned closer. ‘There was a rumour about the reason behind his fetching up here on this miserable island.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘You know how it is, Cato. One servant mutters something to the next and before you know it they’re saying two and two make five. In this case, it seems that our friend Otho was sent here on the orders of the Emperor, as a punishment. If you’re going to punish someone, that’s the way to do it, sure enough – send ’em to Britannia.’
    Cato’s curiosity was piqued and he swallowed hurriedly in order to urge his comrade to say more. ‘What was the punishment for?’
    Horatius winked. ‘Something to do with his wife. She insisted on coming with him from Rome. Read into that what you will. According to my mate, she’s quite a looker.’
    Cato sucked in air between his teeth. He had wondered about bringing his own wife, Julia, with him, but had decided against it due to the danger posed by an unsettled province, swarming with the enemies of Emperor Claudius. If Otho had chosen to permit his wife to accompany him then it was possible that he felt she would be in greater danger if she remained in Rome. That, or perhaps the tribune was obsessively jealous and dare not leave his wife to her own devices in the capital.
    The thought sparked off a stab of jealousy in Cato’s gut and unbidden images and anxieties about Julia’s fidelity rushed into his thoughts. She was part of the social world of the aristocrats; there were plenty of wealthy, powerful, well-groomed men to catch her eye, and with her beauty she could have the pick of them if she wished. He forced such fears from his mind, furious and ashamed with himself for doubting her. After all, was he not availed of the same opportunities to indulge himself in the towns and tents of the camp followers, albeit that the company was somewhat less select and self-regarding? And Cato had not broken faith. He must trust that Julia had similarly honoured him. What else could he do? Cato asked himself. If he tormented himself with such fears it would be a dangerous distraction – for him and, more importantly, for his men.
    He tried to clear his mind as he ate some more meat and washed it down with another sip of wine. ‘Is that all you know about the tribune?’
    Horatius looked at him sharply. ‘That’s all. I ain’t the town gossip, Cato. And frankly that’s the limit of my fucking interest in the new lad and his wife.’
    ‘Fair enough.’
    But the other prefect was not done with Cato yet and turned to look across the table. ‘Hey, Centurion Macro!’
    Macro looked up.
    ‘You’ve served with Cato for a while, right? Is he always so nosy?’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘You know, asking questions all the time?’
    Macro chuckled, the wine working its effect on him as he responded with a slurred edge of his words. ‘You don’t know the half of it. If something happens, the prefect wants to know the reason why. I keep telling him, it’s the will of the gods. That’s all a man has to know. But not him. He has the mind of a Greek.’
    ‘Really?’ Horatius shuffled on the bench. ‘Just as long as that’s as far as his taste for Greek ways takes him.’
    Macro roared with laughter. ‘Oh, in that respect he’s as straight as a javelin. And with good reason. You should see his wife. Prettiest girl in Rome.’
    Cato frowned and gritted his teeth as he pointed a finger at Macro. ‘That’s enough, Centurion. Understand?’
    His friend’s sharp tone cut through the fog in Macro’s mind and he lowered his gaze guiltily. ‘Apologies, sir. I spoke out of turn.’
    Cato nodded. ‘Quite. And I’ll