Cato's Cavalry
- Thread starter Cymraeg
- Start date
Does tripping over an homonym fall under Grammar?
Edit: Or possibly a homonym, which is a Grammar problem IIRC
Welcome back, although perhaps not under these circumstances. Hope the wife is ok.
Welcome back, sir! So very sorry to hear about the upsets in your life, though. Freelancing can be very rewarding -- did it myself for almost eight years -- but demanding at the same time.
You are no doubt receiving all sorts of advice about your wife's osteoarthritis. The best I can offer is to be open to all the possibilities rather than only those offered by conventional medicine. The wife of an acquaintance was diagnosed with osteoarthritis in her spine that the doctors told her would leave her bedbound within months. He happened to be a beekeeper and was well aware of the old saying that beekeepers never get arthritis because of the stings they periodically receive. He found European research from the 1930s that had good things to say about bee stings and arthritis. So he treated his wife with bee stings. Last I heard, they were still going out dancing every Saturday night, and that was ten years after her diagnosis. These days, bee venom therapy is well known.
You are no doubt receiving all sorts of advice about your wife's osteoarthritis. The best I can offer is to be open to all the possibilities rather than only those offered by conventional medicine. The wife of an acquaintance was diagnosed with osteoarthritis in her spine that the doctors told her would leave her bedbound within months. He happened to be a beekeeper and was well aware of the old saying that beekeepers never get arthritis because of the stings they periodically receive. He found European research from the 1930s that had good things to say about bee stings and arthritis. So he treated his wife with bee stings. Last I heard, they were still going out dancing every Saturday night, and that was ten years after her diagnosis. These days, bee venom therapy is well known.
ctayfor
Monthly Donor
One of the things that gave my mother considerable relief from her osteoarthritis was taking a teaspoon of cinnamon and a tablespoon of honey (preferably raw honey) morning and evening. It can be on toast, in a hot drink or just in a spoon, but mixed well together. It's easy to take, not very costly and works synergistically. It's really worth a try. It assists the body in dealing with the arthritis and boosts the immune system too. Most importantly, it reduces pain and discomfort - a lot!
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A wonderful update. It was well worth the wait (as always). However your priorities, understandably, must be elsewhere at this time.
My best wishes to you both.
My best wishes to you both.
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 if 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.
“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 if 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.
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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.
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!”
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!”
Artaxerxes
Banned
I bet the traders been spreading rumours of civil war, someone else is marching North to kick Beliatrix up his arse
I bet its Aurelianus from London. He was informed be Cato before he left Deva and will bring the insignias from the dead dux with him.
Mark, Just up the road from us (I am in Leicester today - well all week every week!) in Nottingham, a common name from older women to younger men is "mi dux" or - My Duke - and is a term of affection in those parts. Much to my embarrasment as a boy of twelve as I thought a certain graet aunt was questioning my sexuality at the time (as in hello ducky!) still you live and learn!
Blimey... It's a small world 
Actually, they say the same thing all over the East Midlands. Except possibly in Lincs and Northants. But they don't count.
Actually, they say the same thing all over the East Midlands. Except possibly in Lincs and Northants. But they don't count.